‘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.’<
br />
‘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...’
‘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.’
‘Just for a holiday. I will pay your airfare...’ But Ella stopped then. She was just repeating herself and, given it was her mother’s birthday, Ella didn’t pursue it further. She didn’t want to upset her today. ‘I’ll go and visit everyone soon and give them all your love.’
‘Let me know when you go, so I can ring them and tell them to expect you.’
‘Okay.’ Ella could not manage upbeat even a single second longer. ‘I really do have to get to work now. I love you, Mum.’
‘I love you too, Ella. Do you want to speak with your—’
It was Ella who hung up.
She was actually shaking with anger as she did so. That her mother could even suggest that she speak with her father after all that had gone on, that still she was supposed to pretend that terrible day had never happened.
Yet it had.
She could not break down again, but she could no longer pretend to forget either. She looked into the mirror, lifted her hair and saw the pink scar. The scar was proof that that day had happened. It was even there when she smiled. Those lovely white teeth had come at the most terrible price. Ella could still remember spitting her own teeth into her hand, but worse than that was the memory of the betrayal—that her mother could have forgiven him and stayed.
That she could watch as her own daughter was beaten and, instead of calling the police, had stood there sobbing and screaming. Instead of calling for an ambulance, she had handed Ella ice packs and told the story to give to the dentist, to the doctor. Had told Ella that if she didn’t want to make it worse for her mother, then she must tell everyone that she fell.
Ella needed to get out, to walk, to run. It was the reason she opened her door, for she would never have opened the door to Santo in this state. She wasn’t crying, but she was still shaking in anger, still holding in a scream that wanted to come out.
‘Ella?’
She brushed past him, but he caught her wrist.
‘Please, Santo.’ She was having great trouble keeping her voice from shouting. ‘I was just about to go for a walk.’
‘Later...’ He simply could not let her walk off like this. He could see how upset she was.
‘I just need to get out for a while.’
‘Of course you do.’ Santo was very practical. ‘We all go a bit stir-crazy in the hotel after a few days. I’ll take you for a drive. I could use one too.’ He was not going to argue about this. He had come to visit Ella for rather more pressing reasons than a drive, but for once, work could wait.
They drove, in silence at first, around the winding streets, but Santo drove the powerful car with far more finesse than Ella and it was actually nice to sit back and stare at the scenery.
‘It’s beautiful.’ Ella looked at the dotted beige buildings built into the hills and then they turned into a village. Another one, Santo explained, that was run-down and in much need of the new lease of life the redevelopment might bring.
‘There is only one café now,’ he explained, slowing the car down. Ella peered up a long set of steps. ‘Do you want to stop for a drink?’
Ella shook her head.
‘There are only a couple of shops....’ She was starting to understand more and more the difference this movie could make. It was such a stunning part of the country. There were just picture-perfect views everywhere. Yet so many, like her mother, had left. She blinked and turned her head as she passed vaguely familiar buildings, recognising some of them from the photos her mother spent a long time reminiscing over.
‘This is my mother’s village.’
‘I know.’ Santo turned and smiled. ‘You could drop in on your aunts now.’
‘I don’t think so.’ Ella gave a tight smile.
‘Probably a good call,’ Santo said. ‘Your mother would never hear the last of it if you arrived with a Corretti in tow.’
‘Slow down a moment.’ He did so. ‘I think that’s the baker’s that my mother used to work at before she moved.’
‘Does she work now?’
‘No,’ Ella said. ‘She worked in a factory till she had me, then gave it up to help out in my father’s shop.’ She peered into the window as Santo slowly passed. ‘It’s nice to see it.’ It really was. There were a few people walking, and some women sitting in the front of their gardens talking. And it was actually nice to see it for the first time with Santo rather than alone. She took a breath. ‘Could we get that coffee?’
‘Sure.’ He turned the car around on a very narrow road with a very steep descent on one side. Only that wasn’t what had the sweat beading on Ella’s forehead. She should take a moment to touch up her make-up. She was supposed to look nice at all times, but she wasn’t actually working, Ella realised.
This was very personal indeed.
They walked along the narrow pavement. Even the street was cobbled
—it was like stepping back in history. They stopped outside a tiny church.
‘My mum gets so upset when anyone gets married. She’s told me all about the church. She says the parties afterwards are amazing....’
‘The whole street comes out,’ Santo said. ‘Tables are set up for the reception.’
‘It’s just so different from anything I’m used to,’ Ella said. ‘Not just here, the whole of Italy. Everything’s so much newer in Australia, even the old buildings aren’t comparatively old.’ She looked around at the relatively unchanged architecture, could completely understand how her mother missed it, how Gabriella could still picture it so well, because it was just as it appeared in the photos. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ Ella said.
‘Of course it has,’ Santo responded. ‘The changes just don’t show.’
They climbed the narrow steps to a café and certainly they turned heads when they walked in. Ella was quite sure it was because Santo was a Corretti, and that it had nothing to do with the fact he was possibly the most beautiful man in the world.
The whole place fell silent and they were shepherded to a seat.
‘Are they scared of you?’ Ella asked in a low voice. ‘Or angry?’
‘Both,’ Santo said. ‘I hope soon they will be neither.’
He ordered—coffee and crêpes that were filled with gelato. It was just so nice to be away from set. The locals were starting to talk amongst themselves again, and yes, the gelato was as good as her mother described.
‘It’s nice to be out, thanks for this.’
‘No problem.’
‘How come you’re not on set?’
He just shrugged—those reasons could wait. For now Santo just wanted to talk about her. ‘Your mother’s never been back?’
‘Nope.’
‘One day, maybe?’
Ella didn’t answer.
Even when they were back in the car, when he tried to work out just what it was that had upset her so much today, still Ella spoke about work.
‘I spoke with Paulo and arranged his interview and I left a message for Marianna. Paulo sounds really good, he’s just not able to start yet.’
‘Which is a problem,’ Santo admitted. ‘I need someone who can start as soon as possible.’ He had, Ella realised, stopped trying to dissuade her from leaving. ‘What about Marianna?’
Scandals Of The Powerful: Uncovering the Correttis / A Legacy of Secrets (Sicily's Corretti Dynasty) / An Invitation to Sin (Sicily's Corretti Dynasty) (Mills & Boon M&B) Page 14
