From Humble Beginnings (Joe Steel) by Ian Harwood Page B

usual, dragging myself out of bed even more difficult.  I’ve a slash on my cheek from yawning during shaving and the bastard won’t stop weeping, no matter how much toilet tissue I paste on to the wound.  
    I’m not in the best of moods as I trudge down the stairs out of a bedroom that looks like a tart’s boudoir and head towards the equally depressing blood red dining room. Cass is already there and she’s a lot perkier than I am.  But that wouldn’t be all that hard! Feeling like death warmed up in the face of executive vitality, it’s no wonder I come a cropper in the looks department. 
    She’s reading a paper, la Repubblica , and just the sight of all that Italian gives me a headache.  The idea of having to rely on Clordina as a translator is a nightmare.  I might just have to stick to Cass’ side for the entire trip, because I’d only trust the Italian hottie as far I can throw her.  She’s as deceptive as hell and that is only my first impression!  The very notion of trusting her with private and confidential company information has me sinking to my seat with a groan. 
    “You look like you had a rough ni ght.  What did you do after I went to bed?”
    “I slept!” My grouchy voice is rasped with early morning gravel.  “I’m not a morning person.”
    “I’d never tell.  Amazing how I didn’t realize that before though, huh?” she asks, slowly pushing the paper down to the table and starting to eat her breakfast again. 
    Breakfast consists of a small bowl of fruit and a cup of coffee.  Oh, and a yoghurt. 
    No wonder she’s so skinny. 
    Although in fairness, Juliet’s on the border of being too thin and yet, she ate more than me that one time I stayed over at her flat.  That was probably one of the few times in my life that I woke up in a good mood.  A rare commodity for me.  Deep down, I’m a rebellious teenager.  Always refusing to wake up until the last minute, before literally having to fling myself out of bed to ensure that I do actually get up and don’t sink back into sleep. 
    Brigida appears with a thin, bone china mug on a tray and a selection of papers.  She places the tray at my side and asks, “Coffee, signor?”
    “Please. Black.”
    “Sugar?” she asks, hand hovering over a silver bowl loaded with sugar cubes. 
    “I can manage myself. Thank you.”
    She shrugs and hands me the bowl.  “Would you like something hot for breakfast? An omelette?”
    “Please.  An omelette with grilled tomatoes.”
    She nods and leaves the tray with the papers before departing herself. 
    “Odd woman, that,” Cass murmurs as she glances at the housekeeper’s retreating back. 
    “In what way?”  From what I can tell, she’s no odder than anyone else around here. 
    “Her eyes.” Cass shrugs.  “They see and yet, they don’t.”
    “It’s no wonder you reached the position you’re in thanks to observations like that!” With a roll of my own eyes, I ask, “What is that supposed to mean?”
    “It means that something is not right with our housekeeper.”
    “Like what?”
    “I’ve been thinking.  You were right.  They were a bit too heavy-handed last night.”
    “Who? The escorts.”
    Cass sighs. “Yes.  And she’s dodgy as well.”  She jerks her head towards the kitchen.
    “Woman’s intuition?”
    “Maybe.  Or common sense.”
    As she spoke, Marco appears.  Safe to say the stench of manure also popped on to the scene.  In fact, that was the only way I recognized him.  The guy must roll aroun d under the rose bushes to stink so badly.  In comparison to his wife who has the faint tang of bleach about her, he’s night and she day.  How she could bear to be anywhere near him with that pong, I’ll never know. 
    He looks as bad as he smells.  Having glimpsed him in the half shadows, I didn’t really get a good picture of the man, but now, I can say he certainly lives up to that odour! Ratty hair, the black curls streaked with salt and