‘Pleased to meet you,’ Caitlin said impatiently.
Within moments Lorenzo was back, carrying two canvases covered in bubble wrap. He laid them on a table in the back corner of the gallery and beckoned them over.
‘There is this one,’ he said, placing a very small painting of a lemon grove in the conventional, pastel-coloured style on the table. ‘And then . . .’
He turned over the second canvas with a flourish.
‘There is this one!’
‘Oh – that’s stunning!’ Caitlin cried, her eyes feasting on the exuberant colours and abandoned brush strokes. The painting was of a moonlit sea, jagged rocks and towering cliffs. But the focus of the picture was a rowboat, being tossed on the waves. In the prow of the boat stood a woman and in her arms, lifted high into the air, was a small child. The woman was painted in dark colours but the child was almost luminous in quality – pale, glowing and ethereal like a ghost or spirit.
‘Summer, this is amazing,’ Caitlin breathed. ‘Look at the way the moonlight hits the water . . .’
She turned excitedly to Summer and stopped short.
Tears were pouring down Summer’s cheeks and she was shaking from head to toe.
‘Summer? What’s wrong?’ Caitlin looked anxiously at Lorenzo, trying to think of a reason to explain away her friend’s tears.
Lorenzo touched Caitlin’s arm.
‘Let her cry,’ he said softly. ‘Why not? You also would cry if you see your dear, late mother’s work, no?’
‘How did you know who I am?’ Summer asked a few minutes later when she had managed to compose herself enough to speak.
‘That way you banged your elbows,’ Lorenzo said, laughing. ‘So like your mother – I see that – how you say? – that gesture, many times.’
‘You knew my mum?’ Summer gasped. ‘How come?’
Lorenzo sighed.
‘Some years ago – maybe three now – I plan to exhibit her pictures in my gallery in Genoa . . .’
‘It was you?’ Summer exclaimed.
‘Ah, but it was not to be.’ Lorenzo shrugged. ‘Your father – it was felt not, how you say, appropriate. He was probably right . . . but a shame.’
Lorenzo’s voice trailed off and his tone changed.
‘She was so talented, was she not? Such vibrancy . . .’
‘But the two styles are so different,’ Caitlin observed, glancing from the chocolate box lemon grove to the passion and fire of the seascape.
‘It is true,’ Lorenzo agreed. ‘All her work is good, of course – but the pieces she painted at the abbey – oh! They are, how you say – meravigliosa!’
‘The abbey?’ Summer exclaimed.
Lorenzo frowned.
‘You remember – when she have to take time out, to go away, to––’
‘Oh, you mean her painting trips! Right – so this abbey was one of the places she went?’
Lorenzo looked away and busied himself with folding up the bubble wrap. ‘Sure, that’s right.’
‘It figures,’ Summer said, nodding. ‘Loads of her paintings have ruins in – Dad didn’t like them, said he preferred houses with roofs on!’
‘But I am being rude,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You would like a drink, yes? Is warm day.’
Summer nodded and Lorenzo disappeared down the stairs.
‘Shall I take photos of the pictures?’ Caitlin whispered. ‘I could blow them up really large . . .’
‘Yes, go for it,’ Summer urged her. ‘Quickly.’
By the time Lorenzo reappeared Caitlin had taken half a dozen shots and was stuffing her camera back in its case.
Lorenzo tossed a can of lemonade at each of them. As she yanked at the ring-pull, Caitlin noticed Summer’s hands were shaking.
‘What was the other picture? The one that was sold?’ Summer asked.
‘This is it.’ He laughed, pointing to the painting of the moonlit sea. ‘When I had to sell it, I realise I cannot part with it. And now I know why – you must have it. It is only right.’
He gazed at the picture for a long time.
‘Your mother, she gave it to me as gift,’ he explained. ‘But I feel it is right for it to go to you.’
He walked briskly over to a cabinet and pulled out some fresh bubble wrap.
‘I can’t take it with me now,’ Summer said. ‘My father . . . well, will you keep it for me?’
‘Of course,’ Lorenzo replied. ‘And at home, I have something else you might like. I will make sure you get it.’
‘You want my address?’
‘I know your address,’ he said laughing. ‘Everyone know the Tilneys of Casa Vernazza, no? I will have it delivered, OK?’
‘Allo moto, allo moto!’ Caitlin’s phoned blared, shattering the peace of the gallery.
‘Yes? Oh, hi Ludo. Er – no, no we’re on our way back – what? Oh, OK then. Hang on.’
She pulled a face at Summer, who was staring at her open-mouthed.
‘It’s Ludo for you,’ she said. ‘He tried your phone but it’s off. Izzy gave him my number – sorry.’
Summer snatched the phone from Caitlin’s hand.
‘We’re coming, OK? Like what’s the rush? Oh well, I might have guessed it would be her. Caitlin’s just sketching something and then we’ll come.’
She thrust the phone back into Caitlin’s hand and turned to Lorenzo.
‘I’ll be back for the painting just as soon as I can, OK? And thanks, thanks so much.’
Summer was walking so quickly that Caitlin could hardly keep pace with her.
‘Isn’t it brilliant that you’re getting the picture?’ she said. ‘When are we going to be able to come back for it?’
‘We? Get real! From now on it’s just me – not you. I thought I could trust you.’
‘What?’ Caitlin demanded. ‘You can! What have I done? It’s not my fault Ludo got hold of my number.’
‘It’s a good thing he did,’ Summer retorted. ‘The moment I heard that stupid ring tone, I knew I’d heard it before. You followed me last night, didn’t you?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ Caitlin stammered, cursing herself for not changing the ring tone.
‘Don’t lie,’ Summer snapped. ‘There’s hardly likely to be anyone else with such a naff ring tone. So what were you doing? Spying and planning on running back to tell tales?’
This, Caitlin thought hurriedly, called for what her father called ‘a damage limitation exercise’. She could admit to everything and risk Summer clamming up and shutting her out totally, or she could lie just a little bit and hopefully be in with a chance of unravelling the whole mystery.
‘Summer, I don’t know what you’re on about,’ she said firmly. ‘The only time my phone’s rung since I’ve been here is when I went for a walk up the hill behind the village. My mum rang to check I’d arrived – like how overprotective is that? If you heard that, you were either sitting in a bush . . . hey, you weren’t – you know – doing stuff with that guy . . .?’
Her comment had the desired effect.
‘Get real!’ Summer retorted. ‘Go on. What else did you do?’
‘And I took some pictures near that old church – and that’s it! So that’s where you were, right?’
Summer nodded, pausing as they turned on to the cliff path and saw the others in the distance, loading stuff back on to the boat.
‘And you didn’t see anything?’
‘What was there to see?’ Caitlin asked as casually as she could. ‘Like I said, I was too busy taking pictures.’
‘OK, sorry.’ Summer looked mildly abashed. ‘Anyway, we’d better get back to the boat; apparently Gabriella’s got one of her headaches.’
Caitlin said a silent prayer of thanks for her narrow escape.
‘I said you’d been sketching,’ Summer called over her shoulder. ‘What if they ask to see your work?’
‘That’s the least of our problems,’ Caitlin replied. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll deal with it. And before you ask – no, I won’t
be telling anybody about anything we’ve done today, OK?’
Summer nodded. ‘You’d better not,’ she said. ‘I’m still not convinced you’re being straight with me.’
‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ Caitlin asked. ‘What’s not to be straight about?’
Caitlin tried to ignore the stab of conscience as she smiled reassuringly at Summer. The lie was, after all, in a very good cause. And one day, Summer would thank her.
It was well past midnight and Caitlin couldn’t sleep. The more she thought about it, the more determined she was to put the plan she had devised that morning into practice. She had intended to confide in Summer but now she wasn’t so sure.
All the way home in the boat that afternoon, Summer had sat in the stern, her back resolutely turned on Caitlin, yabbering away to Freddie, Izzy and Jamie in an artificially bright voice. Gabriella had gone below to lie down and Caitlin had Ludo all to herself, which was great – except for the questions. He’d clearly had a few beers over lunch and there was a can at his side as he steered Gina homewards. Now, Caitlin lay on the bed, running and re-running their extraordinary conversation in her mind.
‘So, where did you two go?’ Ludo had asked the moment they got under way. ‘What did you draw? Can I see?’
That last question she had been ready for.
‘Not yet – it’s just rough sketches and I have this thing: no one sees my stuff till it’s finished. I know it sounds precious but . . .’
‘No, that’s OK, Mum was just the same. She’d never show us a thing till she thought it was perfect.’
He had suddenly looked so young and so downcast that Caitlin’s heart lurched. Maybe, she had thought, now was the moment to get him to open up a bit more.
‘Your mum’s stuff was amazing.’ She had caught her breath as Ludo turned sharply and stared at her.
‘I mean, I guess it was, not that I’d know,’ Caitlin had said. ‘Just from what Summer said about her talent. And the picture on her wall.’
‘Does Summer talk about Mum a lot?’ This was one question Caitlin hadn’t been prepared for. She had hesitated, not knowing what she was expected to say.
‘Well, she never used to say anything about her, but the last couple of days – well, yes, quite a lot actually. She really misses her.’
‘We all do, but the thing is . . .’ He had dropped his voice, even though the throbbing of the boat’s engine made it impossible for anyone else to hear. ‘. . . the rest of us started missing her years before she died.’
Caitlin had wondered just how many cans of beer he’d consumed.
‘What do you mean?’
‘Oh – I just meant, you know, Freddie and me, being sent off to boarding school – well, we got used to not having Mum.’
He had eased the throttle on the boat and turned her towards the harbour.
‘Lucky for Summer then, getting to stay at home,’ Caitlin had commented. ‘She said her old school was just round the corner from your house in Brighton.’
Ludo had nodded. His knuckles were turning white as he gripped the steering wheel.
‘Yeah. She was Mum’s favourite, no doubt about that. Poor little sod. If it hadn’t been for Gaby coming over and moving in to––’
‘Did I hear my name?’ Gaby had emerged from the galley, looking slightly less pale than before.
‘Oh, hi! I was just saying to Caitlin that she should go and check you were OK,’ Ludo had blustered. ‘Only five minutes and we’ll be back.’
‘Great,’ Gaby had replied. ‘I’ll just get my things.’
With that she had disappeared down the hold again.
Caitlin was struggling to get her head around all this new information and was on the point of pressing Ludo for an explanation when Jamie had come over and plonked himself down beside them.
‘Hi, mate – you OK?’ Ludo had asked. ‘Want to take her in?’
‘Sure, thanks,’ Jamie had replied eagerly, edging over and taking the wheel. ‘By the way, is your brother here for long?’
‘Rest of the summer, I guess – till uni starts. Why?’
‘No reason.’ Jamie had sighed. ‘Just wondered.’
For a moment now, lying on the bed and trying to keep cool by flapping the sheet up and down over her sweating body, her thoughts strayed to Jamie’s question. She had a nasty feeling that it had a great deal to do with the way Freddie and Izzy had been thick as thieves all day, or the way Freddie muscled in on every conversation and worse, the way Izzy let him.
She’d have to sort her brother out in the morning, tell him to be more assertive. She couldn’t help wondering whether Summer had been right when she’d said that Izzy made mincemeat of any guy who fancied her.
Thinking of Summer brought her thoughts sharply back to the mystery of the Tilney family. Because a mystery it certainly was. Why would Ludo call Summer a poor little sod, when she got to stay at home with her mum? And more importantly, why would Gabriella leave Italy and move in to a marital home unless she was out for one thing and one thing only? To break up a marriage and – no! Surely not. She couldn’t – but if Sir Magnus was in on it too, she could.
Gabriella and Magnus could have murdered Summer’s mum and then pretended it was an accident. Her mind began racing.
‘Oh my God!’
What was it Summer had told her? That her mum felt safe and happy when she was around – so could that mean that Summer’s mum knew, deep down, that her life was in danger, and that even Sir Magnus wouldn’t do anything while his own daughter was on the scene? Summer’s school trip to the States would have given him and Gaby the perfect opportunity. And Summer had admitted that it had taken her father four whole days to let her know that her mother was dead. Four days spent covering up their tracks, perhaps.
Caitlin’s heart began racing and she was off the bed, pacing the room now, overwhelmed by the thoughts chasing each other round and round in her head. She would have to talk to Summer, make her see that she was on her side. And then she’d have to start putting her plan into action. She had the perfect alibi. The whole family knew that she had an art project to complete.
What they didn’t know was that the paintings and the life – and death – of Elena Cumani-Tilney, was going to be the topic.
CHAPTER 7
‘A woman in love with one man cannot flirt with another.’
(Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey)
‘SUMMER, CAN I COME IN?’ CAITLIN CALLED THROUGH THE keyhole of Summer’s bedroom the following morning before breakfast.
The door opened and Summer, her hair still tousled from sleep, waved her in.
‘What’s the matter? Are you OK? You look a bit sunburnt,’ she said, sleepily.
‘I’m fine, but listen – I’ve been thinking. You want to find out the truth about your mum and all this mystery, right?’
Summer yawned and nodded.
‘And you want me to help?’
Summer nodded again.
‘Right – so the first thing you have to do is to be really nice to Gabriella for a bit – I mean, seriously matey.’
‘Are you out of your mind?’ Summer exploded. ‘After what she did to my mum?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘She made that last year of her life a misery,’ Summer declared. ‘Taking over, bossing everyone about – Mum said that she was killing her creativity. She had to keep going away in order to paint at all.’
‘Was this – I mean, did she live with you? In England?’ She wasn’t sure that she should let on about her conversation with Ludo, given Summer’s somewhat volatile nature.
‘Off and on,’ Summer grunted. ‘She used to be Mum’s best friend, way back – she had this house in the next village. Well, she’s still got it but she rents it out to holidaymakers now she’s shacked up with Dad. She used to come to stay with us in Brighton from time to time and when we were over here, she was always hanging around.’
She glared at Caitlin.
‘So, who put you up to this
dumb idea about sucking up to her? My dad? Ludo the goody-goody? I don’t believe you, Caitlin – I thought you were on my side.’
‘I am, and no one put me up to it,’ Caitlin retorted. ‘I do have a brain of my own you know, and if you used yours, you might see what I’m getting at.’
‘Go on,’ Summer muttered.
‘I don’t want to upset you,’ Caitlin began, ‘but what if your dad wanted to get rid of all her pictures because – well, because . . .’
‘Get on with it!’
‘Because he didn’t want to be reminded that he’d already got rid of her?’
Summer stared at her.
‘You mean . . .?’
‘If Gabriella and your dad were an item, then perhaps––’
‘Shut up! Shut up! SHUT THE HELL UP!’
Caitlin froze. Summer had picked up a book from her bedside table and hurled it across the room, hitting the make-up bottles on her dressing table and sending them flying.
‘Summer, don’t!’ Caitlin gasped. ‘I might not be right, it was just a thought, and you did ask . . .’
‘So go on, say it,’ Summer shouted at her. ‘Say what you’re really thinking.’
‘I just did,’ Caitlin ventured nervously.
‘And the rest,’ Summer urged, her voice rising in anger. ‘Say that it’s my fault, that if I hadn’t begged and begged to go to America that Easter, Mum would be alive and . . .’
The rest of her words were lost in choking sobs.
‘Summer, that’s crazy – of course it wasn’t your fault! That’s not what I meant. It was just that when Ludo said about Gabriella moving in––’
‘Oh, so you’ve been talking to Ludo as well, have you? So much for keeping confidences!’
‘Summer, listen! He started talking to me, right?’
‘And said that Gabriella moved in because I couldn’t look after Mum properly, right? Because Dad said things were falling apart? That I was just a kid and couldn’t cope? That so wasn’t true – just because none of them understood her artistic temperament . . .’
‘Why should you have to look after her?’ Caitlin burst out. ‘Was she sick?’
‘You are so unreal! Get out of my room – get out! Now!’
Summer of Secrets Page 11
