I want to speak to Polly. I need to tell her where I am, and why I’m here. I want to tell her I’ve woken up in an extraordinary bedroom which would resemble a sultan’s harem if it wasn’t for its pale pine walls and ceilings. The Italianate buildings of Lugano are hidden by the bristling barrier of dark green trees that populates Gustav’s estate, creating the illusion that I am holed up in a very glamorous gingerbread house hidden in the forest, the crisp Alpine vista of violet mountains painted on like a box of Lindt.I’m alone in my chocolate box chamber. I want to share all this before it fades. I need to hear Polly’s voice. Her opinions. Her conclusions about all this. Maybe I can even cadge a visit to New York for Christmas. I wait for the tone. But what do you know? Up here in the idyllic mountains there’s no signal.I toss the mobile onto an upturned barrel carved with the faded words Tre Api Merlot Reserva, which serves as a bedside table. I lie back on the huge square pillow.
