A Legacy of Secrets

by Carol Marinelli

  But trying to arrange an interview proved a little difficult. ‘What about next Sunday?’ Ella peered at the diary, then changed her mind. If they changed the shipping dates, it would be the final day of filming and there would be three hundred extras milling around and the set would be crazy. ‘Let me sort out things this end and then I’ll get back to you.’

  ‘No problem.’ He was just so funny and nice and keen to work for Santo, and he told Ella that he was happy now to take just one week off between jobs. ‘Even no time off, but don’t tell him that yet—I would love to work for Santo,’ Paulo said. ‘I have heard so many good things.’ He laughed then and so did Ella. ‘Lots of terrible things too—the whole family, really. They’re a PR nightmare. I assume you’ve seen the papers this morning?’

  ‘You really don’t expect me to discuss that!’ Ella smiled, because there were tales of infidelity and missing grooms and illegitimacies. It was Santo’s mother, Carmela, who was taking up the news today. She was an exceptionally cold woman, one who had been more interested, the newspaper article read, in her designer suits than being a mother to her children. Even if Santo knew that already, he was surely reeling from the news that had just broken of his mother’s most illicit affair.

  She turned her attention back to Paulo. They really weren’t gossiping. Ella had asked him questions about his employer, liking the fact that though Paulo chatted away, he told her nothing. ‘There is an awful lot of discretion required for this role.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Even with Santo—though you work alongside him, really, you won’t have a clue half the time what is going on. He especially doesn’t discuss his family.’

  ‘I would never expect a Corretti to,’ Paulo said. ‘I am Sicilian, I know.’

  Marianna was nowhere near as accommodating or as pleasant to speak to as Paulo.

  Most annoyingly, Marianna insisted on speaking in English. God, the Italians were so good at delivering a snub when they wanted to, but Ella took it nowhere near as well as she did when it was Santo. It was even harder to pin her for an interview time than it had been with Paulo.

  ‘I’ll arrange transport for you if you can just give me a suitable date.’ Ella did her best to keep her voice even. ‘Santo really would like to get this organised as soon as possible, so if you could let me know when you’re available, I’ll try to sort things out with him.’

  ‘I’ll arrange my own transport,’ Marianna said. ‘You can reimburse.’ Ella held on to her breath. Really, she felt rather more as if she were the one being interviewed, as if she was Marianna’s assistant. She tried to remember that this was the sort of person best for the job—someone brash and confident, someone who would be able to reschedule a ship at five minutes’ notice and deal with all the drama Santo generated. There was certainly no off-the-record chats with Marianna. In fact, she wanted to speak only with the man himself.

  ‘I will look in my diary and see when I am available. Perhaps if I speak directly with Santo…’

  ‘Santo is busy with filming at the moment,’ Ella said. ‘I arrange his diary.’ And she heard the note of possession in her own voice and tried to stifle it. ‘If we can organise a mutual time that would be great, but there are several applicants and Santo is very busy.’

  ‘I’ll be in touch.’ It was Marianna who rang off.

  Still, it was a minor triviality and not one she would worry Santo with, because the filming was going from bad to worse and, as the days progressed and the filming didn’t, his mood darkened. The crew were putting in incredibly long hours but it was seemingly all going backwards. Still, Ella had more on her mind than Santo. It was the day she had been dreading for weeks—her mother’s birthday—and later she needed to ring her.

  And say what?

  Ella tried not to think about it. Instead she responded to a couple of texts from Santo, who was already on set, and then sorted out some of his overnight correspondence.

  The second it was 9:00 a.m., she started on the endless phone calls to sort out the extras and ship, and then it was time to head for the set.

  She could feel the tension on set as she approached.

  Santo had been right to reschedule the ship scene. There was no way they would have been ready otherwise.

  ‘Where’s Vince?’ someone called.

  ‘Sulking in his trailer.’ Santo scowled back.

  She looked to where Rafaele was placing all the actors, and then glanced over to Santo. There was a muscle jumping in his cheek as he watched the placement. ‘What the hell is he doing?’

  Ella said nothing—it wasn’t her place to—but how she would have loved to get in and change things. Rafaele had Vince walking along the docklands where he would come across Taylor crying and stand watching her for a long moment before making his way over.

  It didn’t work.

  The characters weren’t supposed to even like each other and it just made Vince look opportunistic, especially when Rafaele asked him to put more purpose in his stride.

  ‘Yep…’ Santo gritted. ‘March over there, why don’t you…’ He turned his head to Ella. ‘Is Rafaele reading the same script as you and me?’ Ella said nothing, just watched in silence as, yet again, the make-up team were called on to touch up Taylor’s make-up.

  ‘This is a disaster,’ hissed Santo.

  Again Ella said nothing.

  But absolutely he was right.

  Over and over they watched as Taylor cried on cue, and then, over and over, Rafaele called for her to do it again.

  ‘It’s too much,’ Santo said, and Ella stayed silent, knowing Santo wasn’t stressing about the pressure on Taylor. It was that there was far too much going on in the scene that was the problem. This particular scene was to be combined with a flashback of her receiving the news that her lover had died. It was supposed to portray the devastated heroine staring out to sea and breaking down as she realised her lover would never return.

  ‘Action,’ Rafaele called, and Ella watched as again Taylor broke down. Vince was being filmed too, from the rear first, watching her from a distance, then walking across the docklands towards her. It was at the end of this scene their grief and passion would ignite.

  ‘First her face—’ Santo was incensed ‘—then the beach, then back to her face, and now Vince.’

  Santo was right. Vince was just bombarding the scene. Ella could see what was needed, could actually see it before her eyes. Taylor was acting beautifully. It was an Italian shot that was needed—an extreme close-up of her eyes with the ocean reflected in them and then turning as Vince joined her side.

  God, she could see it.

  ‘It’s going to be like watching tennis,’ Santo moaned.

  Still Ella said nothing, just watched as a very tense Taylor flounced off. Finally Rafaele told everyone to break for lunch.

  ‘What do you think?’

  An ironic smile twisted her lips, that he had the audacity to ask her.

  ‘Come on, Ella, say what you’re thinking.’

  ‘That I need your signature to transfer some funds for the extras….’

  ‘I meant about this scene.’

  ‘I’m your PA,’ Ella said. ‘You declined directing advice from me.’

  He looked over, his expression somewhat incredulous. ‘Are you still sulking about that?’

  ‘I’m not sulking.’

  ‘Absolutely you are.’

  ‘Do you know what?’ Ella muttered. ‘Not everything goes back to you, Santo.’

  ‘Of course it does.’ It was the first smile she’d seen on him today, but it faded when he turned and saw her expression. ‘That was a joke,’ he said. ‘So what’s wrong?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It does to me.’

  Sometimes he could be so nice, just so damned nice, which was why he charmed so many, why he was so brilliant with women, Ella reminded herself.

  ‘Are you having second thoughts about working for Luigi?’ he asked as he added his signature
to the paper she had brought for him to sign.

  ‘No.’ Which was an outright lie, since Ella had accepted the job she’d had five emails from her soon-to-be-boss, each one a touch more familiar. ‘We need to sort out a time for your interviews with my replacement.’

  ‘And when you no longer work for me, can we celebrate in bed?’ He watched her eyes close for a second. ‘Get used to it, Ella. If you think I’m a lech, you wait till you start your new job.’

  ‘I never said you were a lech.’

  ‘What then?’

  ‘Let’s just concentrate on work for now. Paulo can’t come till next Sunday.’

  ‘It will be the final day of filming.’

  ‘If I can rearrange the ship.’

  ‘You have to,’ Santo said. ‘We’re getting nowhere.’

  ‘Okay.’ Ella sighed. ‘I’m doing my best. I’ll arrange for Paulo to come about four. You can do a brief interview in your trailer and then I’ll take him out to dinner, while you lot all party.’ She gave a tight smile, because the parties Santo threw at the end of filming were legendary, though the way this movie was going it might end up being more of a wake.

  ‘What about the other one?’

  ‘Marianna seems to think she should be discussing things directly with you.’

  Santo merely shrugged. ‘I’m a bit busy with other things to be sorting out interview times, Ella.’

  ‘I know that. I was just letting you know. Okay, if there’s nothing more you need me for here I’ll head back to the hotel.’

  ‘Stay,’ Santo suggested. ‘Rafaele is going to give the crying scene a rest, thank God, and work on the final kiss.’

  That, she did not want to see, because she remembered them acting it out. But more than that, she wanted to give in to him, to just give in to herself and say yes.

  ‘I have a ship to sort out.’

  ‘Ella…’ He could not stand this. He had never wanted someone so badly. He was turned on and pissed off and he did not understand why she was so reluctant to be with him, why she didn’t even seem to want to talk to him.

  Santo blew out a breath called frustration. He had been nothing but nice. The sex had been great and he had kept his distance. He didn’t know what he was doing wrong. Finally there was a woman his user guide manual couldn’t work out and he didn’t like it a bit. ‘I want to talk to you,’ Santo said. ‘Away from here. I am going to finish at seven tonight and then I am taking you out for dinner. No work—’ he made it very clear ‘—there is no need to bring my diary. We are going out for dinner.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’

  ‘It’s very necessary…’ he started, but he didn’t get to finish because his assistant came to tell him that Taylor was getting upset.

  ‘That’s all I need.’ Santo rolled his eyes and then turned to Ella. ‘Can you talk to her, maybe have lunch with her. You’re good with people. It might calm her down.’

  ‘That’s not my job, Santo.’ And she should say nothing, Ella knew it, should just walk off and be done, except she couldn’t resist. ‘And I don’t blame her for being upset—she’s done an amazing job this morning. If Rafaele didn’t get his shot, it has nothing to with Taylor. If I were directing we wouldn’t be wasting so much time on the crying scene. I’d zoom into an Italian shot of Taylor crying, which could be done back in the studio if it doesn’t work out here, and I wouldn’t have Vince walking over to her. I’d have a moment of him watching and then Taylor turning, just his hand moving towards her face….’ And she was sulking—oh, yes, she was—because it should be her directing this film, and with that she walked off.

  And Santo stood there, when he wanted to chase after her.

  Ella was affecting him in a way no woman ever had. Since their time together she was all he had thought about—and for what?

  He looked up and straight into the eyes of a pretty young actress who smiled straight back at him. If he just took her to his trailer he’d feel better in ten. He should just get over Ella in ways of old, but he was back to the wedding that never happened again—just utterly bored and unmoved by the usual temptations. He’d been working in the chocolate factory too long, perhaps, Santo realised, had possibly reached his fill, except he wasn’t sure he wanted it over.

  And for what?

  For someone who didn’t even want to talk to him?

  For woman who was heading for Roma and that sleaze Luigi?

  A moody, unreasonable, uptight woman who wasn’t even a very good PA, Santo told himself.

  So why had he hired her?

  You know why, a small voice told him.

  Because it wasn’t for her PA skills that he wanted her around, and no, he hadn’t been thinking with his head when, despite her terrible Italian, he’d kept her on.

  And then he stopped thinking about Ella. Santo had no choice but to, as suddenly, albeit not completely unexpectedly, all hell broke loose on the set.

  CHAPTER NINE

  IT WASN’T ALL about Santo.

  Ella had been telling the truth.

  Today was the day she had been dreading for weeks now.

  Calling home had always proven difficult, but in the past six months it had become almost impossible.

  She put it off for as long as she could. Ella completed some of Santo’s banking, rang and arranged the interview with Paulo and left a message for Marianna to call her. When she could put it off no longer, Ella dialled her parents’ number and prayed that she’d get the answer machine.

  She didn’t.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’ Ella attempted upbeat. ‘Happy birthday.’

  ‘Ella!’ She could hear the strain and discomfort in her mother’s voice. No doubt she had been dreading this phone call too. There was just so little they had to say to each other. ‘It’s so lovely to hear from you–where are you?’

  ‘We’re on location, filming.’ Ella did her best to be vague, but when her mother pressed for more information about her beloved homeland, Ella told her where she was.

  ‘Oh!’ There was silence for a moment. ‘That is close to where I grew up.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘Have you been to have a look at my village?’

  ‘Not yet,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve been so busy with work and everything and the shooting is falling way behind.’

  ‘Your aunts will be so excited to finally meet you,’ Gabriella said. ‘I told them so much about you, about your work in the film industry.’

  ‘I’m not working in the film industry.’ It was a very sore point. ‘I’m a PA.’

  ‘For now,’ Gabriella said. ‘But you don’t need to tell your aunts that. You tell them how well you’re doing, how good things are….’ Ella could hear the veiled warning, the call to keep up the pretence, to carry on with the hopeless charade that everything was perfect. ‘Or maybe it would be better for you to say nothing about work. I don’t think it will be good if they know you are working for a Corretti.’

  ‘I’m not going to lie.’

  ‘I never ask you to lie. I just don’t think they need to know everything. The Corretti name has a long history—it might not go down too well. You know how shocked I was when I found out who you were working for. That name is one that strikes fear into a lot of people and especially in my village.’

  And finally, finally, there was something to talk about, a common ground they could share. Maybe her trip to Italy was worth it, because at last there was a mutual link. ‘That family is dangerous,’ her mother warned.

  ‘I think things are very different now.’

  ‘There are no changes. I saw on the news that the wedding between the Corretti and Battaglia families didn’t go ahead.’ Ella smiled, because since she had been a little girl her mother always had the Italian radio on. The one thing Ella had been able to do for her mother, to make her life a little more pleasurable, was to get satellite television so that she could watch the Italian news, which Gabriella did, all of the time. ‘I remember only too well Salvatore’s sons…�
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  ‘Carlo and Benito?’

  ‘Morto!’ her mum said. ‘I still remember the night they died. My sister rang and I turned on the news…. Don’t you remember?’ And a memory unfurled then. Ella would have been about twenty. She could see her mother standing by the television screen, shouting, a huge warehouse fire being shown on the news. It had meant nothing to Ella at the time, but it meant so much more now. She listened more carefully than she had back then as her mother spoke of that night. ‘It was no accident, whatever anyone says.’

  ‘They were killed?’ Ella felt a shiver run down her spine.

  ‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said. ‘They have a lot of enemies. Some people said it could have been an insurance scam that went wrong. These are the people you are dealing with—you should remember that at all times.’

  ‘Santo is nothing like that,’ Ella said.

  ‘Please,’ her mother scoffed. ‘He is Carlo’s son. He could be no other way. Carlo was obsessed with power, with money, with women—he could not stay faithful to his wife for even five minutes. Oh, but he was a charmer too.’ Maybe Santo did take after his father after all. ‘Salvatore was the worst.’

  ‘Did he cheat too?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said again. ‘He was just pure bad—the Battaglia family too. How they ever slept at night with their consciences…’ Gabriella said. ‘Their wives were as bad too. Lording over everyone as if they were royalty, holding their fancy dinner parties. Your aunt worked in the kitchen of Salvatore’s wife, Teresa, once for a dinner party. Their money was filthy—you ask your aunts. They will tell you—oh, the stories you will hear….’ Then her voice cracked as a huge pang of homesickness hit. Gabriella missed her sisters so very much, but it wasn’t just them. She missed her home, her village and her history too. ‘I wish I could speak with them. I mean, I know we speak on the phone but I want to see them. I wish I could be there when you all meet. I want to show you my village….’

  ‘Mum…’ Ella’s voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘Why don’t you come over?’

  ‘Please, Ella, you know it is not possible.’