by Rachel Lyndhurst; Carmen Falcone; Ros Clarke; Annie Seaton; Christine Bell
He walked over to the Mercedes and watched the tears fall for a second or two before leaning forward to peel the children off Vanessa. “Vanessa needs to go now, or she’ll miss her plane,” he said, a muscle twitching in his jaw as he tugged a little harder on Bee’s shoulder.
“Daddy’s right.” Vanessa smiled brightly. “And I can’t go home to my mummy all soggy from your tears, now can I?”
The twins giggled in a snuffly way, reassured by Vanessa’s comparative lack of hysteria and seemed to calm down completely when she handed them a brand new folded handkerchief each, which had their initials embroidered on to them.
Lorenzo took a deep breath and spoke slowly and clearly so there could be no accusations of a catch in his voice. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for us here, Vanessa. We wish you well in the future.”
“It’s been wonderful, Signor Ferrante, and may I wish you all the very best for the future, too.”
Lora drew the girls back a few feet away from the wheels of the car as its engine started, and they waved as it started to pull away. “Right,” Lora chirped quickly as the car disappeared. “We’d better get into the red car with Daddy very quickly now.”
There were questions on both girls’ lips, it was obvious to anyone with half a brain, but he was grateful for Lora’s attempt at distracting them, because he had no reassuring words or answers for them today. Not answers they would like or even understand anyway.
Lorenzo felt more comfortable once they were on the open road. Lora sat beside him, and the children quietly watched a film on screens fitted into the back of the front seats. He could avoid eye contact and questions if he was supposed to be paying attention to his driving.
“What’s the itinerary?” Lora said. “You’ve never instructed us to be smart before.”
“Palermo is our capital city, and I want to show all my girls off in their summer finery.”
“Lovely. And the real reason?”
“I’m taking Fina and Bee visiting.” He needlessly readjusted the rear-view mirror as he chose his words carefully. He didn’t want Lora within a half a mile of his father’s house, especially if his half-brother Siro was hanging about. “I thought you might like to do some shopping or sightseeing. I’ve arranged for Gennaro to meet you in the main square, and I’ll pick you up later.”
“Fair enough. I can recognize an order when I’m being given one, but I don’t need a bodyguard trailing around after me, so no Gennaro.”
“I would be much happier if you do as I say. He’s a nice guy, and he’ll make sure you don’t get lost. Besides, how will it look if a paparazzo gets a photo of you not being looked after properly? Bodyguards kind of come with the territory these days…” Lorenzo didn’t want an argument, because he was tense enough already.
“No, Lorenzo, I need some space.”
He sighed but decided to silently ignore her request anyway. Gennaro was a master of lurking unseen in the shadows, and he was waiting in the square already. He’d know what to do, and dear, sweet, feisty Lora would never know any different. “Okay, I’ll tell him. Buy something nice for yourself.” His gaze flickered quickly to the rear view mirror again to check his security detail was still following at a discreet distance. “Believe me, you’ll have a better time than we will. You can probably guess where we’re going to turn up unannounced.”
“Oh…Palermo. That’s where he lives, isn’t it? That’s why we’ve not visited the capital of Sicily in the last three weeks and have been almost everywhere else. You’re taking them to visit their grandfather?”
He nodded. “You’re sharper than Mamma’s tongue, and you are correct.”
“Do you take them to see him often?”
“No.” He indicated left before overtaking a farm truck. “He’s not seen them since they were tiny babies in intensive care. So this is effectively a first for them all.” And the last if he had anything to do with it, he thought bitterly, but he never wanted his daughters accusing him of keeping them away from the old monster. “He sent their charm bracelets through the post on their third birthday, and that’s been it.”
“I can’t pretend I’m sad to be out of this one.”
“We’ll make the most of it because, once we’re done, it’s back to Taormina for dinner with my mother. The girls will be staying there with her tonight now that Vanessa has gone.”
“But, I can—”
He held up an autocratic hand to silence her, but he didn’t take his eyes off the road. “It has all been arranged.”
Once inside Palermo, Lorenzo pulled up in the Piazza Castelnuovo, ignoring the beeping of horns behind him. “See that building over there?” He pointed to a huge golden chunk of architecture at one end of the square, two layers of columns, a grand dome, and a massive frontage topped with what looked like a bronze chariot and stampeding horses.
“The one that looks like a warmonger’s wedding cake?”
He frowned, not because of her impetuousness, but because he wanted to get this visit to his father over with. “That’s the Teatro Politeama, the opera house. We’ll meet you here when we’re finished. Wait on the steps, I’ll find you.”
“When?” Lora fumbled with her bag and started to open the car door.
“Probably no more than an hour, but I’ll text you. Got your phone with you?”
She shot him an “of course” look. “You said I had to carry it with me everywhere, remember?”
“And is it turned on?”
“It will be once I’m out of the car.” She wriggled out, but appeared to have an afterthought and quickly put her head back inside. “Have a nice time,” she said with a big smile for the twins. “Remember to say ‘yes please’ and ‘no thank you.’”
Seraphina and Beatrice called out “si” in unison and then fell about laughing. They had no idea they were being delivered to the lion’s den, and Lorenzo wanted more than anything to protect them from the monster that was their grandfather. He didn’t want to make them unhappy, but it was like taking them for their vaccinations—a short burst of pain and it would all be over. Lorenzo had a duty to take them there just this once; when they were adults, they could make their own decisions.
…
Lora smiled in the sunshine of a manic Palermo morning. The noise of the traffic was almost deafening—coach engines, sirens, chattering crowds, and car horns were constantly blasting like a cacophony of nesting birds on a cliff face. It was all so very Italian; an irrepressible lust for life and unstoppable tide of activity. She headed for the shade of one of the palm trees that lined the square and pathways, whispering in the breeze against the ancient buildings. She took a moment to stand still and admire an old-fashioned horse and carriage that clattered past.
The pedestrian area was quieter, but not without the small-engine buzz of a scooter now and then. Discordant music from sidewalk cafes and a flute player floated on the air, and Lora promised herself she would sit and have a coffee at one of the shrub-fenced establishments in the middle of the concourse. Or maybe an ice cream or a glass of wine for half an hour’s people watching.
However, time wasn’t on her side if all she had was an hour in the city. Any plans she might have made to visit the art galleries or the morbid catacombs of the Capuchins would have to be put on hold until she’d found a couple of nice gifts for the twins. It had only occurred to her that morning as they waved off Vanessa that her time with the children was also coming to an end soon, and it had made her feel sadder than it really should.
She strolled through a few cobbled side streets, gazing into shop windows as she went. A flash of color caught her eye at the end of the street, a burst of yellow, red, and orange that couldn’t be ignored. The emporium probably didn’t have what she was looking for, but the pottery hanging outside was irresistible. She stepped up and into the tiny shop and felt a frisson of delight at the fat ceramic lemons, garlic, and shellfish that covered the walls. Smiling suns and moons peered down from the ceiling and spotlights gl
inted off the surface of blown glass balloons in fishing nets.
“Buongiorno,” said the middle-aged woman behind the counter and smiled. She then continued reading her magazine, clearly not one for the hard sell, which pleased Lora. Haggling over prices and fending off aggressive sales pitches were one of her least favorite things. She wandered deeper into the store and was drawn to a display of miniature clay baskets of fish and vegetables, brimming soup terrines, and loaves of bread. She picked up a box of chocolates to admire. They were beautiful, perfect for the twins’ ostentatious doll house, but they were also ridiculously expensive, and Lora could picture the puppy swallowing them. Then a glint of sunlight landed on a glass case against the crumbling back wall, and amongst the crystal animals and gold chains was the tiniest burst of color… Her heart began to beat faster as she got nearer and it appeared that the perfect gift had found her in the end. There it was: an inch long semi-circle of enamel strips set in silver. A rainbow charm. Lora was breathless with excitement. She grinned at the shopkeeper and waved to get her attention. The woman came quickly enough, jangling a set of keys, and when Lora pointed to the tiny jewel in the case, the older woman smiled and nodded. “Questa?”
“Si,” Lora said and then a horrible thought occurred to her and she wished she had more than a smattering of tourist Italian at her disposal. “Due?”
“Si, si,” came the reply as she was handed the tiny piece, and the woman waved toward a door at the back of the store. “Il ripostiglio.” She guessed that must mean there were more out the back.
Lora turned the metal around in her hand. “It’s perfect.”
“And you like two of ‘em?” The shopkeeper grinned. “I have a little English, not bad, eh?”
A warm glow spread through her; this couldn’t have turned out better. “Yes, please. Si, grazie.” She watched with pleasure as the charms were tucked into gauze bags, drawn together at the top with silk ribbons, and then popped into tiny black boxes.
The shopkeeper patted each box fondly. “Regalo? Gift?”
Lora nodded and was delighted to discover that gift-wrapping was part of the service. She jumped when her cell phone beeped with an incoming text. It could only be Lorenzo; his timing was predictably perfect. Having paid, she stepped out into the Palermo sunshine and took a moment to get her bearings when she was jolted roughly from behind.
“Scuse!” The voice was deep and male. Large warm hands claimed her shoulders. “Mia colpe.”
He was taller than her, skinny with black floppy hair, and eyes hidden by gold-framed aviator sunglasses. He wore a dark blue hoodie in spite of the heat, and she felt very uneasy, sliding her left hand and the Ferrante diamond behind her back. It would be just her luck to get mugged after refusing a bodyguard that morning. “No problem,” she said and made to step around him.
“Inglese?” he said with a leery smile. “I think we may have met somewhere before. You come from London, si?”
A sick lump lodged in her throat then turned to stone as he lightly lifted the edge of his jacket to reveal what looked like the grip of a small handgun. His smile faded into a thin line, and he grabbed her hand roughly as a camera flash went off from under a street awning to the left of them. He pulled her into his bony chest, the fabric of his T-shirt smelling of onions and nicotine, and she thought she was going to vomit any second through sheer terror.
Another camera flash made her close her eyes, and she could hear a scuffle break out behind them. “What do you want?” she cried out and instinctively tried to wriggle free. “Let go of me!”
“You’re coming with me,” her assailant growled back, but was violently knocked to the ground by a black, bulky blur.
It was Lorenzo’s bodyguard, Gennaro… He must have been trailing her all along, and, for once in her life, Lora was incredibly glad Ferrante was a paranoid control freak. Gennaro’s sidekick Danio ran over the street toward them and handed her a long lens camera before taking his turn with the wriggling vermin on the sidewalk.
Gennaro picked his shades up from the ground and dusted off the grit that had coated them when they’d gone flying. His expression was grim. “We go,” he barked and took her firmly by the elbow. Lora swallowed hard, her throat dry and uncomfortable; she wasn’t going to argue this time.
When Lora and Gennaro reached the steps of the opera house, she was breathless, and Lorenzo was already waiting with the engine idling and his face like thunder. He shot her and the camera a sharp look when she climbed in and then stared straight ahead, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the steering wheel with force. It felt distinctly as if she was in trouble, even though she hadn’t done anything wrong.
The silence in the car was crushing in comparison to the hubbub of Palermo life outside the metal and glass shell. It was like being in a coffin, and she felt claustrophobic and anxious. It must have been an awful visit to Ferrante senior, and her getting into a nasty scrape would only have made things worse, but dare she ask? Dare she break the horrible silence? Somebody had to.
“I saw some lovely paintings today, girls.” She twisted round to see their serious faces. “And a horse drawn carriage, how about that?”
“We saw our nonno,” Bee said in a neutral voice. “He had lots of books.”
“He did?” Lora injected as much enthusiasm as she could into her reply. “Sounds…sounds very grand.”
“It was scary,” Fina added. “He has old wood guns on the wall, but we got money!” She fished an envelope out of her rucksack and flapped it around like a fan. “Not sure how much, but probably enough for some candy.”
“You’re not allowed candy.” Lorenzo’s tone was gruff. “It’s bad for you.”
Fina pouted but was defiant. “Gelato, then? With chocolate sprinkles?”
Bee started to bounce up and down on her booster seat. “Ooh, ooh, French fries? Could we have that?”
“Quiet now,” Lorenzo said in a gentler voice. “You can discuss the whole thing with Nonna over dinner tonight. I’m sure she’ll be interested to hear all about your visit to Palermo. Isn’t that so, Lora?”
She nodded and turned back in her seat, glancing briefly at his dark expression as she did so. “Nonna will be thrilled, I’m sure.”
“And while you two entertain your grandmother, Lora can tell me all about her day. In detail. Every second of it.”
He shot her a brittle smile that made her spine tense. She hadn’t been looking forward to this dinner date as it was, and now it seemed he wasn’t going to make it any easier for her, either. It looked like he was planning a very Sicilian interrogation…
Chapter Fourteen
The long drive back left them all feeling tired and cranky, so it was a relief to finally reach the Via Roma high up in Taormina. Rosa Ferrante’s house was a vision of pink terracotta and white stucco with white shutters closed against the sun behind black iron balconies across the frontage. At the top of the house was a long rooftop terrace jutting out beyond vast windows designed specifically for enjoying the spectacular views over the bay and Mount Etna. It was much bigger and grander than Lorenzo’s hideaway, as showy and in your face as its owner. Rosa clearly had a position in Sicilian society to maintain and wasn’t bothered that the property was directly above a very busy road.
Lorenzo turned right into a private drive to the side of the property, cross-hatched with yellow lines on the tarmac to dissuade cheeky tourists from parking on private property. “Damn place,” he muttered. “Totally impractical, crap security, no privacy…”
Lora stretched as Lorenzo locked the car and gestured for the girls to run ahead toward a narrow green door that didn’t match the grandeur of the rest of the place. “That was a beast of a journey,” she said, her throat feeling dry and then saw that the camera she had left on her seat was in his hand.
“A necessary evil,” Lorenzo said and rubbed his jaw as he looked at her. “And now the girls are out of earshot, can I expect a thank you for having had you followed by security after all?�
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There was no way she was going to get away with her dignity intact this time. “I’m sorry, you were right. I shouldn’t have gone off on my own. I had no idea Palermo was still so dodgy.”
“Dodgier than it ever was,” he said and flicked the camera on. He skimmed through the most recent few shots and took a deep breath. “I thought so.”
“Paparazzi?”
“Possibly, but not the usual type.” He showed her the digital screen. “Looks pretty much like a lover’s clinch from where I’m standing, and that’s what they wanted all over the media by dinner time. Ferrante’s fiancée cheating on him with his brother.”
“Your brother?”
“My half-brother, Siro.”
“You’ve never mentioned him before.”
“I was hoping I wouldn’t need to. My father married his mistress soon after the divorce, legitimizing the little bastard. He appointed him his sole heir when we fell out, but he still has a chip on his shoulder about the business interests I’ve built up on my own in Sicily. I suspect he’s heard rumors about some Russian deal going on and he’d love to ruin me just for the fun of it, to stoke his ego. What better way than stealing my fiancée from under my nose?”
“What a creep. Why’s he like that?”
He shook his head. “You don’t need to know any more, but if Gennaro hadn’t turned up when he did there would be many more intimate photographs of you and him on this camera, believe me. Siro has no shame or sense of honor and doesn’t care how he gets his own way. Come on, let’s get inside and have something to drink.”
She followed him into a cool hallway painted in shades of blue. The doorframes were a deep, mellow brown oak and a distressed hall table painted in aquamarine with gold detailing held a huge crystal vase of creamy lilies. It was elegant and surprisingly contemporary; Lora had expected creaking antiques or the equivalent of white leather sofas and chrome. Her heart sank when she heard Rosa’s voice echoing up the hallway.
