Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  He waved a hand as if to say it was nothing, and led her into the drawing-room. ‘I am very sorry to hear about your mother,’ he said. ‘When did it happen?’

  ‘Just over two weeks ago. It was a heart-attack.’

  ‘It must have been a very difficult time for you,’ he said, handing her a small balloon glass and gesturing for her to sit down.

  ‘It wasn’t easy, I loved her very much, so did Madeleine’ – she laughed without mirth – ‘as you have seen. But I had someone to help me, someone who came over from New York with me, and then a . . . a friend came down to Devon to take me back to London.’

  ‘You work in London? Ah, here is my grandmother returned,’ he said, before she could answer. ‘Sylvestra, Marian and Madeleine are still here, I am afraid Madeleine has had a shock.’

  ‘A shock?’ Sylvestra repeated. ‘But the girl has already had one. Surely not another?’

  ‘I am afraid so,’ Enrico answered, and Marian was touched by the way he explained what had happened in English so that she would not feel excluded.

  ‘But this is terrible,’ Sylvestra declared, sitting down on the sofa next to Marian and taking her hand. ‘To have lost your mother, you poor child. But how did Madeleine not know?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Marian answered. ‘Matthew – he’s the director on the film we’re making – Matthew rang her after I’d left New York, but she wasn’t there so he spoke to Paul. Now it would seem that for some reason Paul didn’t tell Madeleine.’

  Sylvestra’s face was suddenly filled with distaste. ‘This is Paul O’Connell that we speak of, is it not?’

  ‘Yes.’ And Marian frowned as Sylvestra started to mutter under her breath in Italian.

  ‘What’s the matter? What is it?’ Marian said, looking from Sylvestra to Enrico. She saw that Enrico’s face had turned white. ‘What’s she saying?’ Marian cried. ‘Please, Sylvestra, what is it?’

  Sylvestra got up, and when she put her hand on Enrico’s arm Marian saw that it was shaking. ‘It is a wicked thing he has done to keep this from Madeleine,’ Sylvestra croaked. ‘You must take care of her, Marian, you must be there for her . . .’

  ‘Sylvestra, I think you’ve said enough,’ Enrico interrupted. He had fully understood what his grandmother had told him, and the shock was still so great that he had no idea yet what should be done about it, except that he saw no reason to alarm Marian when she had already suffered enough for one day.

  In the end he decided to let Marian and Madeleine return to England in ignorance – it was a mistake for which they were all to pay a bitter price.

  – 25 –

  Sergio was in his study at the Accademia. Outside in the corridors the pandemonium of students returning after the summer break rose to an almost intolerable pitch, and as he paced up and down his room his hands were clasped over his ears in an effort to block out the din and keep in his temper. With each footstep he swore violently under his breath, and each time he turned he threw a virulent look at the newspapers strewn across his desk.

  At last the phone rang, and in his haste to snatch it up he sent a miniature bust crashing to the floor. ‘Pronto!’ he snapped, kicking the marble fragments under the desk.

  ‘You sound angry,’ Deidre told him.

  ‘Why have you taken so long to call?’

  ‘I spoke to you last night, Sergio, there wasn’t much point in ringing you again until I had some news.’

  ‘And have you?’

  ‘Yes. She arrived back in England about an hour ago.’

  ‘Where is she now?’

  ‘At home, with her cousin.’

  ‘Her cousin? Do you mean Marian Deacon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Deidre answered, sounding surprised. ‘She flew out to Sardinia to bring Madeleine home.’

  ‘What! Why did you not tell me this before?’

  ‘I didn’t think it was important. All you wanted was that Madeleine should be got away from Tarallo. Besides, I didn’t know you even knew about Marian.’

  ‘Of course I know about Marian,’ he spat, ‘do you think I am an idiot? How long was she there?’

  ‘Just one night. Why? Why does it matter?’

  ‘Did she speak with Sylvestra?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Deidre answered, quite bewildered by this sudden turn in the conversation, ‘I didn’t ask her. I was more concerned about Madeleine.’

  ‘Then you must find out if she has told Sylvestra what she is doing.’

  ‘Why? What is she doing?’

  ‘She is working on the film about the life of Olivia.’

  There was a long silence at the other end which only increased Sergio’s rage. ‘Deidre, are you still there?’ he shouted.

  ‘What does Sylvestra Tarallo have to do with it?’ Deidre asked finally. ‘Come to that, why were you so keen that Madeleine should be got away from Enrico? What are these people to you, Sergio?’

  ‘They are people I care about, Deidre, people I do not want to become involved. They have suffered a great deal . . .’

  ‘Suffered? What do you mean, suffered?’

  He thought quickly. ‘Tarallo has lost his wife, you must have read it in the papers.’

  ‘Yes, I have,’ she said, ‘but there’s more to it than that, Sergio, I can tell by your voice.’

  ‘Do not ask any more questions. Just make certain that Madeleine and Marian are kept away from the Tarallo family. Have you spoken with Paul?’

  ‘Last night. He’s waiting to hear from me so that I can let him know when she gets back. But he’ll probably have heard it on the radio by now.’

  ‘What does he plan to do?’

  ‘Come back to London when she does, I believe. He wants to see her, in fact he’s asked me to . . .’

  ‘You must make certain that he does. Speak with Madeleine, tell her she must see him. Then speak with Marian, ask her if . . .’ He stopped, realising that if Sylvestra had told Marian about the bottega, it was already too late.

  ‘Ask her what?’ Deidre prompted.

  ‘Ask her nothing. Do not speak to her of her visit, it is not important.’

  ‘But only a moment ago . . .’

  ‘It is not important, I tell you. Now, you are to see to it that Madeleine has no further contact with Tarallo, that she is reunited with Paul as soon as possible.’

  ‘And if she doesn’t want to be?’

  ‘It will not change the fact that I want her here in two weeks, but I also want him to be with her.’ Suddenly his voice softened. ‘Try your best, cara. I know it is difficult for you, but I love you, and after this is done we will be together, as man and wife. Now I must go, but I am sorry, my love, for the way I have shouted at you these last few days. You do so much for me, and one day you will see that it was worth it.’

  ‘I hope so,’ Deidre mumbled, and she was just on the point of ringing off when something occurred to her. ‘Sergio?’ she said.

  ‘Sì?’

  ‘If Marian is involved in the film about Olivia’s life, well . . . have you met her?’

  ‘Yes. She came here to Florence and spoke to me.’

  ‘I see,’ Deidre said.

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I just wondered how you knew her, that was all. I’ll speak to you again once I’ve some more news of Madeleine and Paul. But you’re no longer interested in Marian, is that right?’

  ‘That is correct,’ he lied, and he waited only until the line had been disconnected before dialling Rubin Meyer’s number in New York.

  He had a long wait while the maid went to rouse Meyer from his bed, which, as it turned out, was a good thing; it gave him time to calm down, to think things through a little more rationally than he had with Deidre. He pressed a hand to his forehead in an effort to ease the throbbing in his temples. Now that Madeleine was away from Tarallo, he would sleep easier, because whatever happened in the next few weeks, he wanted at all costs to avoid the Tarallo family being involved again. He had caused them so much pain and anguish in the past tha
t he shrank from the idea of doing it again; his remorse for what had happened to Arsenio was greater than Sylvestra would ever know. As for Marian, if Sylvestra had told her about the bottega, then the police would almost certainly have been here by now. But he could only find out for certain from Rubin Meyer and the men he had following Marian. If she knew, and was keeping the information to herself for the sake of her film, she would be bound to do something to give herself away – and if she did, well, he would have to take her before he was ready. And if Sylvestra had informed Marian of his connection with Paul O’Connell . . . He closed his mind to the possibility, because if she had, then everything, but everything, would be at an end.

  Almost immediately after Deidre had finished her call to Sergio, the phone rang again.

  ‘I don’t care who it is,’ she told Anne, ‘I’m not in.’

  ‘It’s Paul O’Connell,’ Anne said in her usual flat voice, and knowing it was a call Deidre would take, she flicked the buttons and put him through.

  Deidre waited, holding the receiver away from her ear as Paul yelled down the line. ‘Why didn’t you tell me she was back in the country?’ he demanded. ‘And why the hell didn’t you tell me that Marian was with her?’

  ‘Good afternoon, Paul,’ she said mildly. ‘I was about to ring you, but you beat me to it. Yes, she’s back, and yes, Marian’s with her. Are you still in the north?’

  ‘Yes. But I’m coming back to London tomorrow. Did you find out what the delay was? Why didn’t she come back yesterday?’

  ‘Apparently Marian broke the news of her aunt’s death to her and she took it badly. She had to be put under sedation, so Tarallo tells me.’

  ‘If you hadn’t had the damned ridiculous idea of sending Marian out there, that wouldn’t have happened. For Christ’s sake, Deidre, what the hell were you thinking of, asking her of all people to . . .’

  ‘Now look here,’ Deidre yelled back, ‘I’ve had just about enough of your bloody tantrums. In the first place it wasn’t my idea to send Marian out there, it was Tarallo’s. In the second, I was no happier with the delay than you were, but I’m not the one who drove her away. You have caused me more trouble than you’ll ever know this past week, Paul O’Connell. I don’t know what your game is, but I’d say you’re sick! You say you’re in love with her; well, I say you’ve got a funny way of showing it. And why the hell is everyone panicking about Marian?’

  ‘What do you mean, everyone?’

  She sighed, realising that she had chosen her words badly. ‘Oh, I don’t mean anything, I’ve just had a rough day that’s all, so I can do without you yelling at me as though it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Have you asked Madeleine if she’ll see me?’ he asked, making the effort to sound a little calmer.

  ‘No. I left it to Marian.’

  ‘Oh, that’s just great!’ he fumed. ‘You do know about our history, don’t you, Deidre? How Marian and I had a thing going, how I practically asked her to marry me, then dumped her for Madeleine?’

  ‘No, Paul, I didn’t know, but it doesn’t surprise me. After all, you’ve just proved what a bastard you are with that stroke you pulled in the south of France. Shamir and Madeleine were best friends, so what the hell did you think you were doing?’

  ‘I don’t have to explain anything to you, Deidre. I just want Madeleine back where she belongs, with me. And if you’re as keen as you say you are to see that happen, you’d better get Marian out of the way.’

  ‘Impossible! Madeleine would never hear of it. Besides, you flatter yourself if you think Marian still cares about you, because I have it on the best authority that she doesn’t.’

  ‘And whose might that be?’

  ‘Marian herself. She told me, before she left here to go to Sardinia, that if Madeleine was still in love with you she would do nothing to stand in the way of your getting back together. But it doesn’t stop her seeing you for the despicable shit you are.’

  ‘Ease up, Deidre,’ he laughed. ‘I had my reasons for doing what I did, and though they weren’t particularly honourable, in time you’ll see why I had to do it.’

  ‘For your damned book, I suppose?’

  ‘In this case, no. But I still have one stage further to go with the book, so remember, Deidre, that I’m looking for a “murder” victim.’

  ‘Is that some kind of threat?’ she demanded.

  ‘Take it as you like. But I’d say Marian fitted the bill rather nicely, wouldn’t you?’ He laughed. ‘In the meantime, as I said, I’m returning to London tomorrow, so until Madeleine agrees to take me back I’ll need somewhere to stay. How about with you?’

  ‘Forget it. I’ll talk to Roy, you can stay with him. Have you spoken to anyone from the press, by the way?’

  ‘No, I’m keeping a low profile. How about you?’

  ‘Same here.’

  ‘Before you go, Deidre, when you spoke to Marian this morning did she tell you anything . . . anything unusual?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Anything about the Tarallo family, or people they know?’

  Deidre was immediately wary. ‘Not that I can think of. Why do you ask?’

  ‘No reason, other than that the family intrigues me.’

  ‘Why? They’re just a family like any other, aren’t they?’

  ‘I don’t know, Deidre. You tell me.’

  Deidre closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. ‘For God’s sake!’ she seethed, clenching her fist and only just managing to refrain from banging the desk. ‘Why the hell is everyone talking in riddles today? Why can’t you just come straight out and ask the question?’

  ‘What question?’

  At that, the last strand of her control snapped. ‘That’s it!’ she declared. ‘I can’t take any more.’ And before he could even so much as laugh at her confusion, she hung up.

  As the taxi drew to a halt outside the film production offices in Soho, the door flew open and Marian almost fell onto the pavement she was laughing so hard.

  ‘Quick! Quick!’ she said to Matthew, who was getting out behind her. ‘Look, he’s down there, just getting out of a taxi. No, don’t look, he’ll see you.’

  ‘Well, do I or don’t I look?’ Matthew laughed, as he delved into his pocket for the fare.

  ‘Don’t,’ Marian said, sidling round him and glancing shiftily out of the corner of her eye, ‘he’s watching. Oh look, he’s just ducked into a doorway.’ She collapsed into laughter again. ‘It’s like something out of an Agatha Christie movie,’ she gasped. ‘He must realise we know he’s there.’

  ‘Cheers,’ Matthew said, as the taxi driver handed him his change. Then turning to Marian, he said, ‘I expect he does, especially as you keep laughing at him.’

  ‘You can hardly blame me, can you?’ she said. ‘Oh! My painting!’ But as she started to make off after the taxi, Matthew caught her arm and dragged her back.

  ‘It’s here,’ he said, pointing to the brown paper parcel balanced between his legs.

  ‘Oh, thank goodness for that,’ she cried. ‘I would have taken it as a very bad omen to lose the painting I bought with my mother’s money.’

  ‘But you’re not too worried about him?’ Matthew said, nodding his head towards the sandy-haired man who was studiously not watching them further up the street.

  ‘Well, you have to admit, it’s difficult to take him seriously when he gets himself into such a pickle trying follow me. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that woman’s face as he hauled her out of her taxi when we left Christie’s. Thanks,’ she added, as he handed her the painting. ‘Do you know, I think life would seem extremely dull if he went away – I’ve become rather attached to him in a funny sort of way.’ And looking back up the street she gave Boris – as she now called him – a friendly wave.

  ‘I despair of you,’ Matthew chuckled, draping an arm round her shoulders and steering her towards the office.

  ‘Cup of tea?’ she offered, as they walked in through the door.

  ‘I’d love
one,’ Josey piped up.

  ‘Me too,’ Woody added.

  ‘I’ll give you a hand,’ Matthew said, laughing at the long-suffering look Marian gave them.

  ‘Stephanie’s looking for you, Matthew,’ Hazel said, as they started to walk out to the kitchen, and her tone was so sharp that Marian’s eyes flew to Matthew’s face.

  ‘Really?’ he said, quite unruffled by Hazel’s manner. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Upstairs, where do you think?’

  ‘In that case, once Marian and I have made the tea I’ll take her one up, OK?’ And treating Hazel to an exaggerated smile, he took Marian by the shoulders and pushed her into the kitchen.

  ‘Matthew,’ Marian began as he filled the kettle.

  ‘Don’t give it another thought.’

  ‘But you don’t know what I was going to say.’

  ‘I do, and there’s no point. If Hazel has a problem about you and me going to an auction, then let her sort it.’

  ‘I wasn’t thinking so much about Hazel, as a matter of fact, I was thinking about Stephanie.’

  ‘Were you? She’s probably only looking for me to find out if I’ve read the stuff Bronwen gave me last night.’

  ‘That’s not what I mean, and you know it.’

  ‘You’re right, I do, but this is hardly the time or the place to discuss it, is it? Now, if you’ll excuse me I’d like to get some cups out of the cupboard and you’re in my way.’ And taking her by the arms, he pulled her towards him.

  Marian giggled as he stuck his head under her arm to bend down to the cupboard, and was just about to give him a playful push when Stephanie appeared in the doorway.

  ‘I don’t wish to interrupt anything,’ she said acidly, ‘but I’d like to have a word with you, please, Matthew. When you can spare the time.’ And after fixing Marian with an inimical glare, she turned and walked out.

  ‘Oh God,’ Matthew groaned, getting up from the cupboard. ‘Women, they’re the bane of my life.’

  ‘Mine too. Especially when they make me feel so guilty.’ Marian laughed, but the tease didn’t quite reach her voice and there was a sudden pounding in her ears as she realised the implications of what she’d said. ‘You shouldn’t have come in to help me make the teas,’ she added hastily, succeeding only in compounding her discomfort.