A Legacy of Secrets

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘I’ve got some things that need to be done….’

  ‘Nothing that cannot wait. Do them tomorrow and then drive down—maybe get there in the evening. There won’t be much action on set for a couple of days. It will all be setting up and getting to know the others.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Ella checked, because Santo was a pretty demanding boss, but she really was exhausted.

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ Santo said. He watched her face closely when he spoke next. ‘Unless you need to keep your phone on in case your family ring…’

  ‘No.’

  He took another sip of his coffee. She really gave nothing at all away.

  ‘Your mother’s Italian?’ he checked. ‘From where?’ Santo asked, though he knew already from her dialect, but he wondered if she would share.

  ‘Sicilian.’

  ‘And your father?’

  ‘He’s Australian.’

  And her eyes warned him that she would tell him no more than that, but he chose to ignore. ‘Are they still together?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I just wondered…’ Santo said. ‘I was just asking about your family in the same way you asked about mine.’

  And yes, Ella realised, she was being brittle and defensive when there was absolutely no need to be. It was a simple question after all. ‘Yes—’ she gave a tight smile ‘—they’re still together.’

  ‘Now,’ Santo said, noticing her breathe out in relief as he changed the subject. But that soon faded when she found out to what he was changing it to. ‘We need to speak about this job that you are considering taking….’

  ‘No.’ Firmly Ella shook her head. ‘We’ve just spent the day and night in bed.’

  ‘Which makes it a perfect time for talking.’

  ‘For you, perhaps’ was Ella’s swift retort. ‘I’ll speak to you about this at work.’

  ‘Ella, I don’t want you taking that job.’

  He didn’t know how thin the ice was that he was skating on, because so many times her own father had used those very words to her mother.

  ‘I choose where I work.’

  ‘If you could just listen—’

  ‘I mean it, Santo,’ she interrupted. ‘We will talk about this at work. You have a say in my career when we’re there and that’s the only place that you do.’

  ‘You’re being ridiculous.’

  Not to Ella. Her mother had worked in a factory until Ella was born, but had given it up to help out in her father’s shop.

  Occasionally Ella could remember her mother asking her father if she could take an outside job—heaven knows they had needed the money—but her father had liked his wife close by, liked that she could speak little English, liked the lack of friends in her life.

  ‘I don’t care if you think I’m being ridiculous. I’ll talk to you about this on Tuesday.’

  ‘Can you hold off from responding to him till we’ve spoken though?’

  ‘Santo!’ Ella warned.

  ‘Okay!’ He wasn’t at all used to being told no to anything but he conceded and gave her a very nice kiss on her mouth. ‘Thank you—I never thought it possible, but you made yesterday a good one.’

  ‘And you.’ She smiled back at him, conflicted. She wanted him gone, yet she did not want to let him go, did not want him heading off to the film set without her. She could feel little snaps of doubt biting at her, because, really, Ella wasn’t so sure that she could handle this. Santo was big league—no matter how much she told herself that this wasn’t going to hurt, there was the sensible part that was starting to realise that it was.

  Any day soon.

  She looked into his eyes, perhaps for the last time like this, because with Santo’s track records he could be in Taylor’s arms tonight.

  ‘Good luck with the first day of shooting.’

  ‘I’ll need it…’ Santo rolled his eyes.

  ‘What are you going to say to Taylor about the photos?’

  ‘What’s the point saying anything?’ Santo shrugged. ‘I told her to behave. I told her how much the film was relying on her to stay out of trouble. Really, it might be easier to just stitch her knees together.’

  Ella laughed as she said goodbye to him, but her heart wasn’t in it—because even with her knees stitched together Taylor was still breathtakingly beautiful, and Ella wouldn’t put it past Santo to be ringing her at midnight with an urgent call for scissors!

  Except, Ella remembered, she was turning off her phone.

  It was bliss to climb into bed and to know that nothing would disturb her, except she hadn’t counted on her thoughts. The panic that had gripped her in the hotel bathroom was back now.

  It wasn’t just sex.

  She lay staring up at the ceiling, still trying to tell herself that it was, that she could do this. Ella had long since guarded her heart well, so she certainly wasn’t going to start holding out hope for Santo. She smiled at the very thought of him reformed, but then it faded, because even if the reformed Santo came tied up with a bow she’d never be able to trust him.

  Ella slept well into late afternoon, but of course as soon as she woke she checked her phone—presuming, because she knew how he operated, there would be an awful lot of calls and endless texts from Santo. To be in his spotlight was intense.

  Nothing.

  She checked and checked again, trying to batten down her disappointment before it properly took hold. Surely she should be pleased he hadn’t bombarded her, except…yes, the high she had been floating on was starting to disperse. Without her propping Santo up, there were no flowers arriving at her door bearing cards filled with overused sentiments. Ella even managed a wry smile as she recalled one of their recent conversations.

  ‘What should I put?’ She’d checked when he’d told her to send some flowers.

  ‘You decide.’

  He’d clearly had second thoughts about leaving this particular note to Ella, because he’d buzzed her a few minutes later. ‘What did you put?’

  Ella had sighed before replying. “I enjoyed our weekend. You were amazing. Santo.”

  ‘No, that’s the flowers she should be sending me.’ He thought for a moment. ‘Don’t worry about flowers, just some jewellery, sapphire.’

  ‘She’s got blue eyes then, has she?’

  Yes, she knew him too well.

  Stop it, Ella, she told herself as she set about packing for the shoot, reminding herself that she wasn’t going to let Santo upset her, that she had gone into this with her eyes wide open. Then, refusing to heed Santo’s advice on her career, she replied to Luigi and accepted the job and then wrote out her resignation—because whatever happened now between her and Santo, she wouldn’t be working for him for much longer.

  She got through the night without a single word from Santo and long into the next day, running the million errands a wild weekend in Santo Corretti’s life generated. It was actually late evening by the time she finally pulled up at the boutique hotel, close to where filming would take place. The drive should have been a pleasant one—the scenery was stunning after all, the traffic light—but she passed a few signs for her mother’s village, and though the area where they were filming wasn’t where her mother had come from, it was closer than Ella felt comfortable with. Stepping out of her car, there was a knot of unease in her stomach. It was her mum’s birthday in a few days and she’d have no choice but to ring her. If her mother found out just how close she was to her village, it would be terribly awkward not to visit her aunts.

  Rude, in fact.

  There were certain rules in all families, but none more so than a Sicilian one, Ella thought as she walked through the glass revolving doors.

  There was a faded beauty to the hotel, a quiet elegance to it, and the staff were formal but friendly. Once checked in, Ella headed to the gated lifts, blinking as Taylor Carmichael stepped out. She was wearing huge dark glasses, and Ella gave a shy smile of greeting, but of course, Taylor had no idea she worked for Santo and natural
ly she was ignored.

  Still, it was so exciting to glimpse such a celebrity, and to think that tomorrow she might get a chance to watch her acting and the movie Ella loved start to unfold.

  Ella found her room and swiped the card but frowned as the door opened. The hotel was gorgeous, but this room was seriously stunning. Ella stood a moment. The French windows were open to a large private terrace, taking every advantage of the aquamarine sea, and surely she would ask for the rich heavy drapes to be left open at night, just to drink it all in. Ella looked at the antique furniture and huge gilded mirrors and wondered if she’d been upgraded. There were vases of fresh flowers, even champagne chilling in a bucket, and she blushed at the memory of the other night, a smile playing on her lips as she did so. Realising now that this was the work of Santo, she was touched that he had been so thoughtful. But it faded as she heard Santo talking from the bedroom and, realising the mistake, she walked over and picked up the internal phone.

  ‘Ella…’ Santo came out then. ‘At last, you’re here.’

  ‘I am!’ She was suddenly awkward, embarrassed that she had thought he’d ordered flowers and champagne for her room. ‘There’s been a mistake at reception. I think they thought I was sharing with you.’ She rolled her eyes. ‘I spoke in Italian when I made the booking. I must remember not to in future.’

  ‘There’s no mistake.’ Santo smiled. ‘I asked them to send you to here. I thought we could have dinner, talk—there has been so much happening….’

  ‘You can’t just move me in.’

  ‘I am not just moving you in,’ Santo said.

  ‘So where’s my room?’ Ella asked.

  ‘Ella, we will be working fifteen-hour days…or at least I hope that we will.’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘The director quit.’

  Ella’s mouth gaped open, her living arrangements temporarily forgotten.

  ‘He quit?’

  ‘He gave ultimatums. I do not like ultimatums.’

  Ella had seen him clash with directors now and then, but to lose one on the first day of filming…it must have been a pretty spectacular row. She asked him what had happened.

  ‘It’s finished with now.’ Santo shrugged. He was never one to go over the past, as always he moved easily on. ‘I have been chasing around trying to think of who would be best to direct the movie, and who is available too, but I think that finally it is sorted.’ He was pouring champagne and there was a small flurry in Ella’s stomach as he handed her the glass that had bubbles rising in it, like the sudden hope that for Ella flared. ‘I have found someone good, someone who I think shares my vision, who really is keen to bring out the very best in Taylor.’ He smiled at Ella and she gave a tentative one back. ‘Tomorrow we have a new director starting, Rafaele Beninato.’

  ‘Rafaele Beninato?’ He must have heard the disappointment in her voice. She simply was too upset to hide it. Because of the champagne, the smile, the conversations they had had about the movie, the visions they had shared, Ella really had, for a blind, stupid moment, thought that Santo was going to give the role to her.

  ‘Ella…’ Not only did Santo hear her disappointment, he saw the burn of her cheeks. ‘You didn’t think—’

  ‘No.’ She was embarrassed to admit that yes, she had thought he might consider her. After all, this was a major movie they were talking about, as if he was going to trust it to her. But then Ella was suddenly angry too, that he hadn’t. ‘It’s that you didn’t think! That you didn’t even consider me for the role.’

  ‘How could I?’ He was incredulous. ‘Ella, you have no experience whatsoever.’

  ‘No!’ She was beyond hurt now. They had lain in bed just yesterday, acting it out, going over scenes. But clearly, not once had it entered his head that she might make a good director.

  Yes, it hurt.

  ‘Santo, I love that movie. I have gone over and over the script. I know it inside out. I know exactly what’s needed.’ She put down her glass, missing the coaster, her feelings raw, because while his words made perfect sense, were completely logical, Ella wasn’t thinking logically right now. ‘I’m going to change the booking….’ She just wanted away before she said too much, wanted to think, and she couldn’t with Santo so close. Ella, who never cried, was dangerously close to doing so as she picked up the phone and asked that the booking be reverted back to the one she had made. She told the receptionist that she’d come down and get the key now.

  ‘So you’re storming out because you didn’t get the part?’

  ‘No!’ Ella snapped. ‘I was leaving already. That’s the whole point of separate rooms, Santo—there’s somewhere to go when you row!’

  Ella’s bags arrived then and she quickly diverted them, but there was her room key to collect and it took forever until she was finally alone. Ella attempted to gather her thoughts, but even that didn’t last for long, because in no time at all, Santo was rapping on her door, refusing to budge till she let him in.

  ‘You want it both ways.’ It was Santo who was angry and aggrieved now. ‘You insist that we keep work separate—you make this great song and dance as to how we cannot work and sleep together, that we are to keep things professional at work, yet when it suits you want all the favours of being my lover.’

  ‘That’s not true.’

  ‘Yes.’ Santo stood firm. ‘It is true. You want it both ways,’ Santo said. ‘I want it only one. I am myself now and in the bedroom, but at work I make the best decisions for my movies.’ She heard the passion then, the absolute single-mindedness that made him so brilliant. ‘When I am at work I choose only the best for my films and I make decisions with my head only at all times, and if you think I am going to hand over a director’s role because we have good sex, then you are the one who has an issue, not me.’

  ‘I wanted that role long before yesterday.’

  ‘And I did not consider you for that role long before yesterday too, because the fact is, Ella, you have no experience.’

  ‘Because you won’t give me any.’

  ‘When a suitable vacancy comes up, it will be yours, but the world is not waiting for you to debut, Ella. You have to earn your stripes in the industry to be respected and not in the bedroom.’

  She wanted to slap him, his words burnt so, but instead Ella stood with her face scalding, because what he was saying was true and he hadn’t finished yet. ‘So, to reiterate, I enjoyed our time together. I hoped to take things further today. I hoped to share a meal, to talk, to make love. But instead, because you cannot manage to separate work from the bedroom, instead we sleep alone.’

  ‘I’m handing in my notice….’

  ‘More fool you,’ Santo said. ‘Go work for Luigi, go let him dangle you the promise, and you will find out I am not such a bastard after all. And at least you enjoy sleeping with me.’

  ‘Luigi is nothing like that,’ Ella flared. ‘He’s a brilliant director and he’s keen to have a willing assistant—’

  ‘Hey,’ Santo interrupted, ‘you know when people wait while their potential employers ring for references. I often wonder why don’t the potential employees do the same? Why don’t they take a little while to find out what they are getting into before they jump?’

  ‘I wish to hell I had.’

  ‘No.’ So swift was his retort. ‘You knew exactly what you were getting into. As I said, I don’t hide my supposed mistakes and I don’t expect favours and neither do I give them for sex.’ For a man who appeared to have no morals, he stood there and proved otherwise. ‘For all the bastard you seem to think I am, think carefully, Ella—because your job has never depended on sleeping with me and it still doesn’t. I know how to close the bedroom door and carry on with my work.’

  Her back was to the wall, and not just literally, because he was right.

  ‘How much notice are you giving?’

  ‘Four weeks.’

  ‘Fine,’ Santo said. ‘Ring the agency tomorrow for your replacement, see if you can get someone who can start
ASAP so that you can train them up. And, this time, can you tell them I want someone fully fluent in Italian, please?’

  How that stung but she refused to jump.

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘With a lot of experience.’

  ‘Good looking too?’ Ella jeered.

  ‘I would hope so,’ Santo said without contrition. ‘And preferably without too many hang-ups and issues.’

  ‘You can go on your own dating sites….’

  ‘I don’t go on dating sites,’ Santo said. ‘I don’t need to, and anyway, I don’t have time,’ he retorted. ‘I want someone who is good at their job, who is pleasing to the eye, and someone who doesn’t pin everything on what happens between the sheets.’ And with that he walked out and slammed the door.

  He was right.

  Ella sat shaking on the bed.

  Her disappointment was on a professional level but it was personal too.

  It was she who couldn’t separate things, but of course, with Santo, she’d never been able to.

  Ella admitted it herself then—every woman he’d dated, every time he’d crooned into the phone to his latest lover as she drove, she’d had bile black and hissing in her stomach and it had felt like a personal slight.

  She had known what she was getting into but had completely ignored it, just to have the refuge of work. Had chosen to keep her days busy when she should have lain on a beach and somehow healed from all that had happened with her father. When she should perhaps have curled up and hid for a while to process things, instead she’d insisted to herself she was fine and had looked for a job, had ignored what now she could not.

  A hotel room was not a nice place to be gripped by panic and unlike Santo’s there was no private terrace, just shuttered windows which Ella flung open and gulped in night air. She wanted to ring home, wanted to scream, wanted to run to Santo and batter down his door, for she could not stand to be alone with her thoughts.

  She could not bear to remember the feel of her father’s fist in her face and the screams and shouts from her mum and the feeling of being twenty-seven and feeling as if she were six.