Now he leant back and forgot everything except the beauty of the flowers, the shrubs, the trees in blossom and the picturesqueness of the small villages where half the population seemed to be sitting out in the sunshine drinking wine.
And where inevitably there was the sound of music.
‘How could I have been so stupid as not to come here more often?’ Wynstan asked himself and he wished that when he reached the Villa he could be alone there.
Because he felt suddenly reluctant to face anything that might spoil the loveliness of the blue sea, the vivid sky and the vibrant quality of the air, he stopped the carriage at the Castellammare di Stabia.
There he sat outside a small inn and ordered a bottle of the local wine.
The Italian coachman was delighted. He put hay bags over the noses of t
