The Brande Legacy

by Alicia Hope

  As she smiled her thanks, he exclaimed, ‘Oh! The Prima Donna, I nearly forgot.’ Hastily pulling his mobile phone from a pocket, he dialled a number, which was answered after numerous rings. While speaking on the phone, apologising to Prima Donna’s maître d’ for the late cancellation, Byron’s eyes never left Claire-Rose’s face.

  She looked away to take in the café’s unpretentious but charming interior, breathing in the aromas of frying butter, garlic, and fragrant melting Romana cheese. Her ears picked up Frank Sinatra’s velvety voice crooning a love song from hidden speakers.

  ‘I hate it when people cancel on us at the last minute, so I don’t like doing it to other restaurants,’ Byron grumbled, snapping his mobile shut and returning it to his pocket.

  ‘I don’t think they’ll have trouble finding other takers for our table. It looked like a queue was forming outside “El Swanko” when we arrived.’ As Claire-Rose spoke, a young couple strolled past the café’s window, arm-in-arm.

  The man pointed toward Prima Donna’s doorway. When the woman looked up, Byron recognised Skye, and immediately felt better about cancelling the booking. He turned to gaze at Claire-Rose again, as Ada bustled to their table, bearing a bottle of Lambrusco and a plate of golden, buttery garlic bread.

  ‘Here, you have-a while you decide,’ she said, putting the bread and wine on the table and handing them each a menu.

  While Claire-Rose greedily demolished two thick, buttery slices and perused the food options, finding each dish more tempting than the last, Byron polished off the remaining garlic bread and filled their glasses with the ruby red, spritzig wine. Ada reappeared shortly afterward to take their orders, and it wasn’t long before their noses picked up the tantalising smell of frying bacon wafting from the kitchen.

  ‘Mmm, carbonara,’ Claire-Rose murmured, licking garlic butter off her fingers. ‘If it’s as good as I hope, you’ll be glad you took my advice and ordered it too.’

  Byron smiled indulgently. ‘I’ve had it before, so I know how good it is.’

  ‘I take it you’ve been coming here a while?’

  ‘Yeah, ever since Ma and Pa first opened the café.’

  ‘Si,’ Ada chimed in as she appeared with their individual salads. The small red bowls were bursting with a dewy mix of leaves, bright red cherry tomatoes, crumbled white fetta cheese, and richly coloured Kalamata olives. ‘And our Byron, he-a saved us when things they got-a bad.’

  ‘It was nothing—’

  ‘Ah, c’mon!’ Ada turned glowing eyes onto Claire-Rose. ‘He’s-a too modest. We would not-a be here, serving you tonight, if not-a for our boy.’

  ‘Oh, really?’

  ‘Yes, he—WHAT?’ Ada shouted toward the kitchen. ‘Please excuse, Gino calls.’ She hurried away.

  ‘So, I’m dining with a hero, am I?’ Claire-Rose smiled and raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

  ‘Hardly. Ma’s just exaggerating, as usual.’ But Byron could see from Claire-Rose’s expression she wasn’t going to rest until he spilled the beans. He sighed. ‘When they first opened the café, they took some boffin’s advice to find a niche market to cater to, instead of going with their original plan of offering Italian cuisine. The only niche still available in the city was Eastern European food. Chilled soup, runny stews, that sort of thing.’

  Claire-Rose wrinkled her nose.

  ‘Yeah, that was the reaction of a lot of their clientele, unfortunately. The niche was too small. The establishment costs and dwindling custom had Gino’s going under, drowning in a sea of debt.’

  Drowning….

  Claire-Rose frowned away thoughts of Edward Lorienne. Now was not the time to be preoccupied with the mystery.

  Byron was looking expectantly at her, so she hastened to say, ‘So where did you come in?’

  ‘Well, I’d eaten here a few times – mostly because I felt sorry for them – and then one night Ma told me they could only offer me what they were having for dinner themselves. It was lasagne and a green salad, and it was fabulous! So I told them straight out they should ditch the Eastern European cuisine in favour of their home-grown Italian.’

  My heart swells with a pain unbearable....

  The words in Elizabeth’s diary flittered across her mind. Rattled, she swallowed and spluttered, ‘And they did?’

  He nodded but with a half smile on his lips and an intrigued slant to his brows. ‘Are you pondering on your mystery again?’

  Her eyes widened at his perceptiveness and she chuckled, ‘Sorry, sprung!’ When he continued gazing intently at her, she prompted, ‘So, you were saying the Capaldis changed their cuisine at your suggestion?’

  With a shrewd look lingering in his eyes he replied slowly, ‘Yeah, pretty much straight away. By then they didn’t have a lot of money left to buy expensive European ingredients, anyway.’ His eyes swept the room and he added, ‘And now their café’s one of the most popular Italian joints in the city. It’s just a quiet night tonight. Fridays and Saturdays are their busiest. You have to book if you want a table.’

  ‘What he does not-a tell you,’ a deep voice said from nearby, ‘ is that he also helped us turn-a this place,’ and a pair of thick, dark-haired arms indicated the café’s décor, ‘into a little piece-a of home, of Italy.’

  ‘Gino!’ Byron leapt to his feet and was immediately drawn into a bear hug by a large man wearing a tomato sauce-splattered apron.

  ‘Byron, mio figlio. You not-a come and see me in-a da kitchen? Whats-a wrong with you?’ His reproachful glance fell on Claire-Rose and his face lit up. ‘Oh, I-a see. You want-a to impress-a your bella ragazza, eh? Heh, heh, heh.’ When he chuckled, Gino’s expansive waist bounced up and down, and Claire-Rose couldn’t help laughing with him.

  ‘Claire-Rose, this is, obviously, Gino Capaldi. Gino, may I introduce Claire-Rose Brande.’ Byron’s eyes held a proud light as he made the introductions.

  When Claire-Rose went to rise, Gino waved her down, saying, ‘It’s-a my pleasure to meet-a you, Claire-Rosa.’ He took her hand and put it to his lips. ‘And to have-a such a beautiful rosa in-a my café.’

  She blushed and Byron cautioned with a good-natured grin, ‘Watch him, he’s a silver-tongued devil!’

  ‘Ah!’ Gino exclaimed, thumping Byron on the shoulder, ‘You make-a the fun, buonfiglio, but I think-a this rosa, you like-a her too, si?’ Gino turned to Claire-Rose again. ‘He no bring other ragazze here for a long-a time, and Mama, she start-a to worry. But now,’ and with a flourish of outstretched hands indicating the two of them, he pronounced, ‘this a-make-a her glad.’

  It was Byron’s turn to look abashed, and he mumbled in Claire-Rose’s direction, ‘Now you know why I was going to take you to Prima Donna.’

  She giggled as Gino roared, ‘What? You wanted to take-a Rosa to that place? What-a for? Seagull’s dinner – a drink-a da water and a look around? No, no, no!’

  Byron joined in the laughter and said boldly, ‘I knew you’d embarrass me if I brought her here ... and you didn’t disappoint.’

  ‘Disgraziato! Ingrato figlio!’ Gino bellowed, trying unsuccessfully to swallow indulgent mirth.

  ‘Inglese, Gino, Inglese!’ Ada chided, hurrying over to put a restraining hand on her husband’s arm. ‘And-a the kitchen, she needs you.’

  ‘La cucina, always she wants-a me, like-a my beautiful cara,’ he chortled, throwing his hands into the air in mock exasperation. Grabbing his wife around her ample waist, he planted a noisy kiss on her floury cheek.

  ‘Ah, come on, Gino!’

  With a fond smile at the young couple, the Capaldis returned through the swinging doors into the aromatic kitchen.

  ‘My Italian is ... well ... non-existent,’ Claire-Rose grinned, ‘so can you tell me what ragazze means?’

  Byron mumbled sheepishly, ‘I think it means girlfriends.’

  ‘Ah.’ She nodded with a knowing smile. ‘And what does Gino call you? Figlio, is it?’

  He replied with obvious pleasure, ‘Figlio is Italian for son
.’

  The swinging doors banged once more and they looked over to see Gino and Ada returning, carrying two generously-sized pasta bowls from which steam curled tantalisingly. The bowls were reverently placed in front of Byron and Claire-Rose, and then Gino and Ada straightened, their countenances shining with pride, as they waited for a reaction.

  ‘Oh, wow,’ Claire-Rose breathed, taking in the red-gold bacon bits and sautéed mushrooms clinging to the creamy pasta under a topping of freshly-shaved parmesan cheese. She sniffed the fragrant vapour rising from the bowl, picking up a hint of garlic and white wine among the other delectable aromas. Closing her eyes, she murmured, ‘Mm mmm.’

  Satisfied, Ada and Gino wished them a hearty, ‘Buon appetito!’ and left them to eat.

  Byron and Claire-Rose wasted no time tucking into their meals, and while savouring each mouthful, Claire-Rose watched and listened as the Capaldis served other tables.

  After a while she put down her fork and picked up her wine glass. Taking a sip, she glanced over the rim at Byron. ‘You must be special, ‘cos I haven’t heard Gino call anyone else figlio. It’s always signore, and signora for the women.’

  He smiled. ‘Well, they say I’m like the son they never had.’ Then he grew serious again. ‘And Gino has been like a father to me since my own—’

  Noticing the momentary twist to his lips, she said softly, ‘What happened with your dad?’

  A sad light crept into his eyes. ‘Old news. Don’t want to bore you with it.’

  ‘You won’t bore me, I promise.’

  He sighed and said offhandedly, ‘Haven’t you heard? My father was against us buying the castle, and when we went ahead against his wishes, he ran off to Australia and left us to it.’

  The memory of Kathryn’s bitter words to Emma flitted across Claire-Rose’s mind. ‘So you think your father was right? Right about the castle, right about how he treated Byron, and right to walk out on us all—’

  ‘What was he like?’

  ‘Who?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Your dad, who else.’

  Byron made an exasperated sound and sat back in his chair. ‘Why are you so interested in my father?’

  ‘Sorry if I’m being nosy,’ she chuckled, ‘but I like to hear about other people’s dads. I lost my own when I was five, so I was only starting to know what it was like to have a dad, and then he was gone.’

  ‘Oh ... I’m sorry, Claire-Rose.’ Byron reached over to cover her hand with his. ‘How did you lose him?’

  ‘Cancer.’ Shrugging off the sympathy in Byron’s eyes, she went on crisply, ‘Yeah, well, like you said, old news. But losing him so young makes the memories I have of Dad, and the stories Mum has told me about him, all the more precious.’

  Byron gave a rueful nod and withdrew his hand. Picking up his fork as though about to plunge it into what remained of his pasta, he put it down again and leaned on his elbows to murmur, ‘I know what you mean.’ Lowering his gaze to study his half-empty bowl, he muttered, ‘My dad was a natural born adventurer. He and Mum volunteered abroad until Emma and I came along, but even that didn’t stop his globe-trotting. After getting Mum settled in a cottage in town, he left her to raise us. He went off to do things like teaching in South Africa, earning big money with a mining company in the Middle East, and managing an Australian cattle station the size of a small country.’ A faraway quality crept into Byron’s voice and the corners of his mouth tilted upward briefly. ‘He had me over there once, helping with a big cattle drive.’

  Claire-Rose found it easy to imagine Byron burning around in the dust on a quad bike, mustering a bunch of feral cattle.

  He glanced across at her and his face grew serious again. ‘Oh, he stayed in regular contact with us through phone calls and letters, and in between adventures he came home to visit. Then Mum had the great idea of buying the castle. She thought having a project to work on would keep him at home....’ With a slow shake of his head, he reached for the wine bottle and re-filled their glasses. ‘But in the end, it had the opposite result.’ Lifting his fashionably stubbled chin, he gave a humourless snort. ‘I’m too much of a realist to give this any credence,’ and he flashed Claire-Rose a rueful glance. ‘But some might say we’d been slugged by the curse of Lorienne Castle.’

  Chapter Thirteen

  Encounters

  The bike’s headlight cut through the blackness as they zoomed toward the castle. Once they left the city they struck little other traffic. They could’ve been the only two people on the planet. Claire-Rose gave a contented sigh and rested her helmeted head against Byron’s shoulders as he handled the powerful Ducati with confident skill. The chill night air rushed past her warm cheek, feeling like freedom’s breath, and she was sorry when they arrived at the castle.

  Stopping outside the Lodge with the motor running, Byron lifted his helmet’s visor and turned to pat her on the knee. ‘Home sweet home ... unless you’d like a nightcap at my place?’ His hand rested warmly on her thigh and he made no secret of the question beneath his question.

  She raised one eloquent eyebrow and smiled. ‘This’ll be fine, thanks.’

  ‘Can’t blame a bloke for trying.’ He grinned and reached over to turn off the ignition. Silence, the thick, dark kind that follows nightfall, closed in around them.

  She took off her helmet and ran fingers through her hair. Dismounting, she handed him the helmet, and went to take off the jacket. When he saw her shiver, he said, ‘Hang onto it, you might need it again.’ His eyes danced. ‘I’m owed some more time off which I should take.’

  She smiled her gratitude and drew the jacket around herself. When he reached out and pulled her to him, she didn’t resist. Gazing into her eyes, he stroked her cheek with his thumb, and then tilted her chin upward and kissed her.

  She only had time to register how firm and warm his lips felt against hers before the fireworks went off inside her. A thrilling tingle zapped from her inner core to the outer edge of her aura – which she didn’t really believe in, but lots of her convictions were being tested lately – and it felt as though every cell in her body was running around with its shirt over its head yelling, OH WOW, OH WOW, OH WOW!

  Of its own volition, her body leaned into the embrace and he drew her closer. When he finally raised his head and gazed into her eyes again, she said huskily, ‘Thanks for a lovely evening,’ while extracting herself gently from his embrace. ‘See you at breakfast.’

  His hang dog expression and resigned sigh as he grudgingly released her made her chuckle low in her throat. With a rueful shake of his head he murmured, ‘Well, goodnight, Claire-Rosa.’ Even as she moved away he kept hold of her hand, and then her fingers, until she turned and walked, a little unsteadily, toward the Lodge’s entrance.

  He watched until she was safely inside before starting the motorbike again. Taking care not to rev the motor too much, he rode up the laneway toward the shed near his cottage, where he parked the bike beside an old Mazda. Turning off the ignition, he removed his helmet, but didn’t dismount straight away. Sitting back, he reflected on the evening as silence settled around him again.

  Claire-Rose is different from the other women I’ve known, he acknowledged, she’s a real woman, not just a girl in a woman’s shoes. And she has a special something about her....

  These thoughts were abruptly pushed aside as jack-booted General Testosterone made his presence known, chiming in with, hey, you’re not forgetting this is only a holiday fling are you, soldier? ‘Cos that’d be a little bit stoopid! She’s only here for a short time, remember?

  Byron scowled, recalling how the General had led him into trouble before. But, to give credit where it was due, they’d been skirmishes of the nicest kind.

  Wrenching the key from the bike’s ignition, he got off and threw a cover over the Ducati’s sleek, warm body. Turning on his heel, he marched across to the quaint but shabby cottage nestled between the castle and the Lodge that he called home, and let himself in.

  * *
*

  ‘Diet be damned, I’m having a full cooked breakfast this morning,’ Jill announced, licking her lips. ‘I didn’t eat much yesterday.’

  ‘Right you are ma’am, and the same for you, sir?’ Byron smiled at Peter Fox, who nodded.

  On his way to the kitchen, Byron found his eyes once again searching the entrances for Claire-Rose. He pushed through the swing doors, barking the order at the cook, ‘Two fulls.’

  Sam, the talented but temperamental cook with the famously prickly personality, stopped what he was doing and stared darkly at him. Realising how close he was to being left to manage the rest of the breakfasts on his own, Byron cleared his throat.

  ‘That’s two full cooked breakfasts, thanks Sam.’ On receiving a curt nod, he busied himself laying out the cutlery, distractedly banging cupboard doors and clattering cups onto saucers. Sam shook his head and returned to his griddle plate.

  ‘Noisy in there this morning,’ Jill murmured to Peter, nodding toward the kitchen.

  ‘Gudt morningk.’ Thomas and Selena walked up to the Fox’s table. ‘May ve join you?’

  ‘Of course,’ Jill gushed, ‘we got this big table so everyone can share it.’

  ‘Does that include me?’ Alan Jenkins was already pulling up a chair.

  ‘Sure. Where’s Sally?’

  A shadow crossed Alan’s face. ‘She’s ... ah ... still asleep, but I was too hungry to wait for her to get up.’

  ‘Psht! It takes so long for ze vives to get ready, a man could starve, yah?’ This comment earned Thomas a glare from Selena, but the others at the table chuckled.

  ‘Morning all.’ Claire-Rose strolled up with a smile.

  ‘Claire-Rose, good morning! Pull up a pew, here, beside me. Move along one, Peter.’ Jill gave her husband a shove and he grumblingly obliged.

  ‘How are we all this morning?’ Claire-Rose’s eyes swept the little group. Smiling nods greeted her from all except Alan Jenkins, who she thought appeared preoccupied.

  ‘Fine, but I wish I looked as good as you do this morning.’ Jill had been taking in Claire-Rose’s bright eyes and rosy glow.