Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  Marian’s face was pale as she looked out over the darkening valley and she thought again how sinister those hills were at night.

  Matthew reached for her hand. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but for your own sake I had to make you see it. We could, again, be blowing this out of all proportion, but I’d never forgive myself if anything happened to you.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say,’ she murmured. ‘I know you’re right, it makes sense. If he is eliminating people from her life, then of course he’s going to want to be rid of me. But short of killing me . . .’ She turned her wide grey eyes to his, and as he nodded she felt the bottom drop from her stomach.

  ‘The book,’ he said, voicing her thoughts. ‘He’s looking for a victim.’

  ‘I know, but he’d have to go to prison, so it wouldn’t end up just him and Madeleine then, would it?’

  ‘I know, but I still don’t trust him. He’s got an extremely devious mind, Marian, as well you know, and I wouldn’t consider it beyond him to work something out. Now, I’d like to meet Enrico. Tonight, if possible. Does he live far?’

  She shook her head. ‘Just outside a village called Galleno, about half an hour from here in the car, so Madeleine said. And you’re right, we should go to talk to him because he – at least, his grandmother – knows something about Paul. I haven’t got a clue what it is, she was speaking in Italian so I couldn’t understand, but she did say something about me looking after Madeleine.’

  ‘OK. You go and call Enrico and I’ll meet you back here in ten minutes.’

  After she had gone Matthew sat alone on the piazza, listening to the crew who were beginning to gather inside the bar; but his mind was on Paul O’Connell, Enrico Tarallo and Sergio Rambaldi – three men who, as far as he was aware, didn’t know one another. Yet they all knew Marian; and for a reason he couldn’t even begin to explain to himself, he was certain that wasn’t the only connection between them.

  ‘Hello.’

  He looked up, and in the dwindling light saw Stephanie, wrapped in an anorak and a paisley shawl, walking towards him. ‘Hello,’ he smiled. ‘Good day?’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned it’s all going extremely well,’ she answered as she sat down on the chair Marian had vacated. ‘How about you? Are you happy with the way things are going?’

  He pulled a face. ‘I’d feel better if we were seeing rushes every night. Has anything been sorted out about that yet?’

  ‘Hazel’s arranged a viewing in the town hall at Camaiore on Saturday evening.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘I was wondering,’ she said, after a pause, ‘if you might like to go out somewhere for dinner tonight. We could take one of the hire cars, maybe drive into Lucca.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Steph,’ he groaned, ‘but I don’t think I can.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said, shrugging, ‘I just thought it might be a nice idea, that was all. Maybe another night.’

  ‘Tomorrow,’ he said.

  ‘We’ll see.’

  ‘Steph,’ he said, as she started to get up.

  She looked down at him, her hands stuffed inside her jacket and her shoulders hunched as if from the cold.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

  ‘So am I,’ she said, and giving him a sad smile she turned and walked into the bar.

  An hour later Matthew and Marian were being shown into the dining-room of the Tuscan palazzo which was the main residence of the Tarallo family. Matching candelabras lit the table, and a vast crystal chandelier glittered over the magnificent room. At one end a fire crackled in the hearth, and at the other, immense uncurtained windows were blackened by night.

  ‘This is very kind of you,’ Marian was saying as she walked slowly across the room, keeping pace with Sylvestra who was holding onto her arm. ‘We only wanted to talk, we weren’t expecting dinner.’

  ‘But I must eat,’ Sylvestra answered, ‘I am hungry. Besides, it is nothing very special we have tonight, the family are at the opera in Florence. It is just Enrico and me.’

  ‘I suppose you were going to the opera as well, before we called,’ Matthew muttered to Enrico.

  ‘It is no matter, my friend,’ Enrico smiled. ‘It is one I have seen many times before.’

  The table was set only at one end, nearest the fire, and Sylvestra smiled gratefully at Marian as she sank into one of the stately baroque chairs. ‘We are four,’ she said, ‘so we sit each side of the table – no one at the head. Marian, you sit facing me, beside Enrico, and Matthew, you sit beside me. You will have a little wine? It is from the Tarallo vineyards.’

  ‘Then we can’t say no,’ Matthew answered, his eyes dancing with amusement at the powerful, frail old woman.

  ‘So,’ Enrico said, after the antipasto had been laid out and the servants had left the room, ‘you said on the phone, Marian, that there was something you would like to ask me.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, throwing a quick glance at Matthew. ‘It’s about Paul O’Connell.’

  Enrico’s eyes met his grandmother’s and after a few seconds she gave an almost imperceptible nod.

  ‘We had guessed that it was,’ Enrico said, turning back to Marian. ‘What is it you would like to know?’

  Again she looked at Matthew, for a moment at a loss as to how to begin.

  ‘Basically, what you know,’ Matthew answered. ‘That is assuming you know more about him than his involvement in recent events.’

  ‘We do,’ Sylvestra answered. ‘I have read the letter you sent to Enrico, and that is why I have agreed to speak with you. You are right to think Madeleine is in danger from him, and so too are you, Marian.’

  ‘In what way are they in danger?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘That, I am afraid, is a question only he can answer. You see, I have no understanding of the working of such a mind as his. But this I can tell you, Paul O’Connell is matto – insane.’

  Marian’s fork clanged against her plate as she dropped it.

  ‘I know this,’ Sylvestra went on, ‘because once I know his mother. She too was insane, but she was not dangerous. And now I shall tell you why Paul is dangerous, how it is that I know this.’

  Marian’s face was strained and pale as she stared at the old lady, but Sylvestra was looking at Enrico. It was as if there was a silent communication between them before Sylvestra turned back to Marian – and suddenly Marian was afraid.

  ‘Paul O’Connell killed his mother and father,’ Sylvestra said, fixing her with her pale, shrewd eyes.

  Marian felt as though the room was spinning, and for a moment she thought she was going to pass out, then Enrico’s hand closed over hers and he was holding a glass of water to her lips.

  ‘It was during a hunt,’ Sylvestra was now addressing herself to Matthew. ‘The details are now vague, I am an old lady, you understand. But I do remember that everyone was to think it was Helen, Paul’s mother, who had shot her husband and then herself. Everyone knew she was unwell in her mind, but I knew Helen, I had seen her only one week before she died. She would not have killed herself then, because of what she was planning to do. Paul knew what she planned, and that was why he killed her. It is my belief that his father saw him do it, and that was why Paul killed his father too. It was a scandal, but no one believed that a boy of eleven would kill his parents, so everyone believed it was Helen.’

  ‘But what was Helen going to do?’ Matthew asked, when this had had time to sink in.

  ‘She was planning to leave them, to come here to Italy.’

  ‘He killed her for that?’

  ‘He is insane, you remember. His reasoning is not like yours.’

  ‘I remember Paul telling me that his mother loved Italy,’ Marian murmured, ‘Florence in particular. They used to come every year.’

  ‘Yes, they did. But Helen came more often. She had a reason to, but that reason is maybe better to die with her. Now only I know, my son Enrico, and Paul. And one other person, the person she wanted to be with. Paul loved his mother a great
deal, he did not want her to go, and now he is afraid that one day someone he loves will leave him again. That is why he is doing this to Madeleine. He wants to keep her with him, away from everyone but him. He wants her to love no one else, even you, Marian.’

  ‘So you think he’s likely to kill Marian to achieve this?’ Matthew asked.

  ‘I do not know. As I say, it is difficult to understand the mind of the insane, and I do not wish to alarm you.’

  ‘I can’t see any way round this,’ Marian said, looking at Matthew with wide, frightened eyes. ‘Even if we told Madeleine, and even if she believed us, Paul’s not going to let her go, is he?’

  ‘No,’ Sylvestra answered flatly. ‘There is nothing you can do, and I cannot advise you. All I can do is tell you what I know.’

  It was approaching midnight when Marian and Matthew finally left the palazzo, by which time they had talked over and over what they could do to get Madeleine away from Paul. But there was no solution; as Marian had pointed out, even if they could persuade Madeleine to leave him, there was no knowing what lengths he would go to to get her back, and God only knew what revenge he would seek on those who had interfered.

  As they drove away Enrico stood at the door with Sylvestra, watching the tail lights disappear through the gates. ‘Why did you not tell them everything?’ he asked.

  ‘Because it is a very tangled web, this fate that has brought them here,’ Sylvestra answered, ‘and I am not clear in my mind what is the right thing to do.’

  ‘But still I think you should have told them.’

  ‘Maybe,’ she answered, ‘but maybe they have no need to know everything. So many years have passed, Enrico, so many tears have been spilled and so much blood. I do not want to see it happen again. I must think, I must think what is the best thing to do to avoid it . . .’

  ‘I wonder,’ Marian was saying, as Matthew drove them through the darkened village of Galleno, ‘who it was Paul’s mother wanted to be with.’

  Matthew was silent for a moment. ‘I have a horrible feeling in my gut,’ he said, ‘that it has something to do with Sergio Rambaldi. I know it sounds crazy, and I know I’ve got nothing to found it on, but . . .’

  ‘That’s what I was thinking, too,’ Marian said quietly. Then, a long time later, she turned to look at him. ‘I’m frightened, Matthew,’ she whispered. ‘This has all gone so far beyond me now that I don’t know what to do any more. I can’t even begin to make any sense of it. Maybe I should take Maddy back to London, back to Bristol even, but how can I even begin to explain to her . . .? Oh, if only we could go back to the beginning, back to our little flat in Clifton, before we knew Paul. God, Matthew, how has this happened? How have we become involved in such a nightmare?’

  ‘I don’t know, my darling, but what I do know is that you’ve got to carry on as though Sylvestra never told you any of this. It’ll be difficult, impossible almost – but for your own sake you have to try.’

  ‘It won’t be easy sleeping under the same roof as Paul now, knowing what I do.’

  ‘And if it weren’t for the fact that it would cause unwelcome speculation, not to mention insurmountable problems, I’d insist that you stayed in my cottage with me. As it is, I think you’ll be all right as long as you don’t tell anyone where we went tonight.’

  She turned to look out of the window, then closed her eyes, not wanting to see the great black mass of the mountains as they passed.

  A few minutes later he chuckled quietly.

  ‘What are you laughing at?’ she asked.

  ‘Has it struck you yet that there’s a damn sight more drama going on behind the camera than there is in front of it? And what’s more, you, Marian Deacon, are the star.’

  ‘God give me anonymity,’ she muttered. Then she laughed, too, as he reached out for her hand and brought it to his lips.

  The following morning Marian and Madeleine were standing at the edge of the set, watching the action. The camera was tracking slowly round the piazza as Christina Hancock, who was playing Olivia, read aloud from a letter she was writing to her father. A hush hung over the valley, even the birds were quiet for once. The air was still and every member of the crew was holding his breath. Then suddenly the sound of bells crashed into the silence, resounding through the valley and echoing from one mountain to the next.

  ‘Cut!’ Matthew walked into the middle of the set. ‘Woody! Woody! Where are you?’

  Woody rushed in, almost knocking Beanie from her picnic stool. ‘Here, guv.’

  ‘Get one of your damned assistants, give him a gun and tell him to go down there and shoot that bloody bell ringer.’

  ‘Yes, guv.’ Woody saluted, then yelled for Colin, the runner.

  ‘He’s not really going to give him a gun, is he?’ Madeleine asked Marian, her eyes wide with alarm.

  ‘God save me from religion, especially at eleven thirty on a Thursday morning,’ Matthew muttered.

  ‘You had the perfect opportunity last night,’ Madeleine hissed as they watched him walk over to Christina. ‘You could have told him then how you felt about him. For Christ’s sake, he took you out to dinner, didn’t he? What more do you want?’

  Marian shivered and pulled her jacket tighter. ‘I thought we’d agreed that he knows how I feel.’

  ‘Marian.’

  Marian turned round, and her face drained as she saw Stephanie standing behind her.

  ‘Can I have a word, please?’ Stephanie said, and without waiting for an answer she walked down the lane. Marian and Madeleine exchanged wide-eyed glances, then with her heart thudding, Marian went to catch up.

  ‘God, I’m not that alarming, am I?’ Stephanie smiled, when she saw Marian’s face. ‘Look, I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for the way I told you about the credits you’re receiving on the film. I shouldn’t have given you the news in such a hostile manner, and I wanted you to know that it’s something you deserve for all the hard work you’ve put in, and that Bronwen and I appreciate everything you’ve done to make this film work. But of course, the credit isn’t enough, so after discussing this with Frank we’ve decided we’re going to pay you as a story editor, plus half the fee Deborah Foreman received. All in all, it should amount to something in the region of fifty thousand pounds. It’ll be paid into your bank account as soon as we get back to London. Is that all right with you?’

  Marian was too stunned to do anything more than nod.

  ‘Good,’ Stephanie smiled. ‘Well, that was all.’ And shrugging, she turned back up the lane, feeling the tension beginning to ebb from her body. It hadn’t been as difficult as she’d expected, and already she was glad she had done it. She had done it to prove to herself and to Matthew that, no matter what was going on in her heart, her professionalism remained intact.

  ‘We can cover it on wild track,’ the sound man was telling Matthew, as Marian walked back to Madeleine. ‘Or better still, post-sync it.’

  ‘What did she want?’ Madeleine hissed.

  ‘You’ll never guess,’ Marian answered. Then she put her fingers over her lips as Woody yelled for everyone to stand by for another take.

  Ten minutes later the unit broke for an early lunch – it seemed the bell ringer had a job to do and he was going to do it despite any feature film. ‘OK, let it go,’ Woody said into his walkie-talkie, grinning sheepishly – he’d been in danger of forgetting his assistants, who were dotted around the valley playing traffic warden. Almost instantly the blast of car horns started up as vehicles that had been kept stationary further down the mountain were allowed to resume their journeys – each driver having pocketed several thousand lira in return for the favour of a forty-minute delay.

  As everyone else filed down the lane to the plateau where the caterers had set up lunch, Marian and Madeleine wandered over to the wall that ran round the piaoza.

  ‘Don’t knock it!’ Madeleine laughed, once Marian had told her Stephanie’s news. ‘Fifty thousand pounds, eh? Bit like winning the pools, isn’t it?’

>   ‘Not as good as a lottery, though,’ Marian said dryly.

  ‘Oh God, I fell right into that one, didn’t I?’

  ‘Head first. And I’m not going to play any games with you about how we’re going to spend it because this is all mine.’

  ‘You selfish old cow, you.’ Madeleine lifted Marian’s wrist to look at the time. ‘Hey, I’d better go and take Paul his sandwiches. I won’t tell you what we got up to in the woods yesterday, but I think I’ll take a blanket with me today. You don’t think there are any snakes in Tuscany, do you?’

  ‘As a matter of fact there are. So, why don’t you come and have some lunch down at the caterers with me?’

  ‘I can’t, I promised Paul.’

  Let her go, Marian was telling herself. Don’t make a fuss. She went yesterday and everything was all right, so there’s no reason why it shouldn’t be all right today. ‘Are you seeing Enrico later?’ she asked.

  ‘We’re going into Lucca to look at the sights. You know, I think it should be you keeping him company, he talked about you practically all the time I was with him yesterday, and you like buildings and all that stuff much more than me.’

  Marian smiled as Madeleine stood up, then turning to see how the queue was doing at the catering truck, she frowned as a familiar figure broke out of the crowd and marched up the lane towards them. ‘Maddy,’ she said, ‘isn’t that Deidre?’

  Madeleine turned round. ‘Yes,’ she said, mystified. ‘Yes, it is.’ Suddenly she whooped for joy and took off down the lane to meet her agent.

  ‘I’m staying with some friends in Florence,’ Deidre told her, once Madeleine had relinquished her stranglehold of an embrace, ‘so I thought I’d come along and see how it’s all going over here. I’m not in the way, am I?’ she said to Marian as she ambled up.