by Penny Jordan
They’d gone to Roxanne’s on the Sunday—Helen to plead with Cheryl to please come and visit now and then. Caitlyn and Roxanne had left them to it, taken a bottle of champagne upstairs and attempted a girls’ night in.
Attempted—as they had since they’d been little girls—to pretend they were friends.
‘What’s this?’ Roxanne’s eyes had lit up as Caitlyn’s bag had tipped off the bed, the photo of Lazzaro she’d torn out of a magazine falling on the floor. ‘You’ve got a crush on him, haven’t you?’
‘No!’ Caitlyn had snatched back the picture, her face burning. But an excuse to talk about Lazzaro had been just too impossible to pass up. ‘But you should see how he runs the place—he’s pretty amazing.’
‘He’s hot…’ Roxanne had grinned. ‘I’ll give you that.’
Brave or foolish, Caitlyn hadn’t been able to help but show off a little bit to her cousin. ‘He gave me a lift home last night.’
‘You?’ Roxanne scoffed. ‘He’s ferrying the staff home now, is he? Things must be getting tight!’ Roxanne stared down at her newly painted toenails. ‘I’m sick of the Ranaldis. I thought I was on to a good thing with Luca, and it turns out the guy’s a complete loser.’
‘Hardly a loser,’ Caitlyn countered. ‘And if he’s anything like his twin then he must be stunning.’
‘He’s broke,’ Roxanne groaned. ‘Luca Ranaldi’s a drunk, and he’s broke.’
‘Broke?’ Caitlyn frowned. The words ‘broke’ and ‘Ranaldi’ didn’t exactly belong in the same sentence, but Roxanne just giggled, opening her wardrobe and pulling out dress after dress, then pulling out a box and smiling at Caitlyn’s shocked expression over the glittering array of jewels. ‘He’s bought you all this? But I thought you just said he was broke.’
‘What salesperson would even think to check his credit rating? He’s living off his reputation—though not for much longer,’ Roxanne said darkly. ‘Lazzaro’s covering all his rapidly bouncing cheques.’
‘So what the hell are you doing, accepting these things?’ Caitlyn said hotly. ‘Roxanne, if the guy’s going under…’
‘Then he might as well go under in style. Anyway, a few piddly dresses and some jewels are a drop in the ocean compared to his problems. I was actually going to dump him today, but he said that he’d take me car-shopping on Monday.’ She tossed over a few brochures. ‘I’m thinking I might go for red.’
‘Roxanne!’
‘Oh, get a life,’ Roxanne snapped. ‘Once I’ve got rid of Luca I intend to.’
‘How are you doing? I’ve got some luggage for you to—’ The shop assistant whipped back the curtain, her painted smile wavering as Caitlyn looked up. ‘Are you feeling all right?’
‘I’m fine.’ Caitlyn ran a tongue over dry lips and stood up. ‘Just fine.’
They were so in love.
The words taunted her as she stared in the mirror. Aunty Cheryl had said them over and over, her mother too—it had even been in the newspapers, with a photo of Roxanne having to be held up as she walked behind Luca’s coffin.
But Caitlyn knew the truth—and it would seem that Malvolio did too.
‘What’s happening?’ Lazzaro frowned as, not only was the phone picked up at his sister’s home, but Antonia herself answered.
‘Nothing. Why?’
‘I thought you had pains? That you were—’
‘Hardly…’ Antonia sighed. ‘I don’t think this baby’s ever going to come out. What are you doing?’
‘Driving…Is Malvolio there?’
‘He’s just outside. I’ll get him—’
‘Don’t worry.’ Lazzaro interrupted his sister. ‘I’ll call over—I’m just a few minutes away.’
‘Well, stay for dinner. I could—’ Antonia started cheerfully, then stopped mid-sentence as the phone cut out—not that she gave it much thought. Her brother Lazzaro wasn’t exactly known for his small talk.
Putting down her book and trying to heave herself off the couch, Antonia smiled as the housekeeper opened the front door and her brother strode into the lounge. ‘I was just asking if you wanted to stay for dinner before you hung up on me.’
‘No…’ Lazzaro shook his head.
‘Stay,’ Antonia insisted, but still he shook his head.
‘Zio!’ Marianna’s squeal was delighted as she padded into the living room, dressed in pink pyjamas and a dressing gown, her dark curls bobbing as she ran delightedly towards him. Normally he scooped her up, rained her fat baby face with kisses—only he couldn’t today. He felt sick with indecision as he looked from his sister to his niece, not wanting to be the one to burst their bubble.
‘Hey…’ Lazzaro ruffled Marianna’s hair, tried not to notice the disappointment in the little girl’s eyes at his cool greeting. ‘It’s good to see you, Marianna.’ He turned his attention back to his sister. ‘I just wanted to have a word with Malvolio—about work…’ he added, completely unable to look at her now.
But Antonia wasn’t having it, and called to the housekeeper, asking her to take Marianna for a play, before talking to her brother.
‘Is everything okay, Lazzaro?’ Antonia checked. She hadn’t seen Lazzaro as bad as this for ages. Tense, distracted, he was like a coiled spring. ‘You seem…’
‘I’m just tired,’ Lazzaro answered, forcing a smile of his own. ‘It’s been a busy week. You heard about Jenna leaving?’
‘Poor you. Let’s hope you get someone soon.’
‘I already have.’
‘Already? That’s quick. Normally it takes you for ever to find someone suitable.’
‘Not this time.’
‘So stay for dinner,’ Antonia pleaded. ‘Marianna would be delighted, and so would I—it would help me take my mind off this little one.’ She ran a hand over her swollen stomach. ‘I’m getting more nervous by the minute.’
‘You’re going to be fine,’ Lazzaro said, and even tried to smile as he did so. ‘You’re both going to be fine. What are you reading?’
‘A baby name book—I’m down to about thirty names for a girl, but if it’s a boy…’ She paused for a second, watching as Lazzaro swallowed, pain flickering across his usually impassive features. ‘I want to call him Luca.’
‘That’s good.’ Lazzaro nodded. ‘That’s how it should be—it is the right thing to do.’
‘You’re sure? I mean, I know…’ She didn’t finish her sentence, waited for Lazzaro to fill in the impossible gap. Only he didn’t, instead running a hand over his forehead, then squeezing the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger for a second.
‘Talk to me, Lazzaro.’
‘There’s nothing to say. I just…’He couldn’t even think it, let alone say it, and Antonia tried to help him.
‘You think you’ll never be able to say that name again without remembering…?’
‘I’ll always remember,’ Lazzaro countered, because he always did. His late brother was a constant and was always on his mind.
‘Without feeling pain, then?’ Antonia suggested, but still she didn’t get it—the pain too was always there.
‘Without regret,’ Luca said finally. ‘I don’t think I will ever be able to think about Luca without feeling regret.’
‘Please don’t say that…’ Antonia’s eyes filled with tears—not for her dead brother, but for the agony that remained with the living one. The agony that could never, had never been fully discussed. And from the shuttering of his eyes, from the shake of his head, Antonia knew that this was as far as Lazzaro was prepared to go. Only it didn’t stop her from trying. ‘Lazzaro, if Luca’s safe, if he’s still with us somehow, then he understands why you had to say what you did—and something had to be said, Lazzaro. He was out of control.’
‘I know that.’ Lazzaro nodded, only they both knew it wasn’t the point.
Bravely, Antonia continued. ‘And I’m sure he’s forgiven you for what you did…’ She walked over to him, her voice thick with tears as she pleaded for him to listen. ‘If
it’s any help at all, I forgave you too—a long time ago…’ She put up her hand to his cheek, to touch the scar there, but he couldn’t let her, pushed her hand away. His sister’s forgiveness was not what he needed. ‘Lazzaro, you have to let it go…’
‘I have let it go.’
‘Oh, but you haven’t, Lazzaro. You’re hardly here, and you’ve hardly been in the same room with our mother since it happened.’ Her voice was rising, as if she was anticipating him talking over her, anticipating him terminating the conversation, as he always did. ‘We have to talk about it.’ There was an almost begging note to Antonia’s tone. ‘This is killing you—I can see that.’
‘There is no point going over and over—’
‘We haven’t been over it once!’ Antonia sobbed, her every feature, every movement exhausted—not just from her pregnancy, but from the strain of the past two years. ‘Since that day at the hospital it has never been discussed, and we need to do that, Lazzaro—with Mamma too. We need to talk. I need to hear—’
‘No, Antonia, you don’t!’ Lazzaro snapped the words out, watched her recoil at his harshness and hated himself for it. But he consoled himself with the truth: Antonia didn’t need to know more of what had happened that day, just as she didn’t need to know what had happened this day. If somehow he could carry it alone, somehow he could deal with it, keep it from her, then surely it was the right thing to do? But his voice was a touch softer when he spoke next. ‘Is talking going to bring him back?’
‘You know it’s not.’
‘Is talking going to change what happened that day? Change what Luca saw?’ He watched her shake her head in regret. ‘Then how the hell can it help?’
‘Lazzaro, please…’ Antonia begged, but she knew it was useless—knew there was no getting through to him tonight—knew that she had no choice other than to let it go.
‘Where’s Malvolio?’
‘He took his drink outside…’ Antonia’s voice was flat with weary resignation as she wiped her cheek with the back of her hand and tried to resume normality—whatever the hell that was in this family. ‘I’ll tell him you’re here.’
‘I’ll go and talk to him out there. You rest up.’ He waited till she’d lowered herself back onto the sofa, tried to keep his voice normal, to not betray the bile that was churning in his stomach, the fury that was straining to break free, to look, to sound, to act as if he’d just popped over to see his family.
Family!
In a couple of weeks Malvolio and Antonia would have another baby—a brother or sister for Marianna…What was that bastard doing to his sister, to his niece, to the baby that wasn’t even born yet?
As he strode out through the French windows, his mind involuntarily went one step further. What had that bastard done to Caitlyn?
Lazzaro didn’t plan things—that was what he paid his staff to do. His busy life was a well-oiled machine that left him free to walk into to any meeting, any boardroom, and instinctively take over—no preparation required for his brilliant mind to assess any situation. But he wished he had prepared for now.
He saw his brother-in-law, his colleague, and to this point his friend standing leaning against the stone wall, a sticking plaster on the hand that was holding his glass. Malvolio’s eyes were completely unable to meet his, and for a second Lazzaro truly didn’t know what to say.
The truth was so damning, so utterly reprehensible, so loaded with consequence, he wanted to dispute it.
Wanted Caitlyn to be wrong—almost wanted her to be lying.
Only—sick to the stomach—he was sure that she wasn’t.
‘What did she say?’ Malvolio’s face was as white as chalk, a muscle pulsing in his cheek. ‘What did that little bitch have to say—?’
He never got to finish. He was yanked forward by his jacket a generous few inches, then slammed back hard against the wall.
‘Shut it,’ Lazzaro snarled, his face inches away from Malvolio’s. ‘You make me sick.’
‘You believe her?’ Malvolio gave a nervous but mocking laugh. ‘You believe her against your own family?’
‘You are married to my sister,’ Lazzaro snarled. ‘You are not my blood. What the hell are you doing, messing around?’
‘I wasn’t. She’s the one who was coming on to me. She’s the one who set me up.’
‘Rubbish,’ Lazzaro snarled. ‘Don’t try and lie your way out of this. You go near her again and I will not be responsible for my actions.’ Lazzaro’s hands were still pushing him up against the wall, his voice low and menacing. ‘You stay well away from her.’
‘You mean you haven’t got rid of her?’ Malvolio’s voice was aghast.
‘Why would I get rid of her when it was your mistake? She is my personal assistant now—and one wrong move from you and don’t think I won’t tell my sister.’
‘She set me up.’ Malvolio had rallied. ‘She’s set you up too.’
‘What are you talking about? You were the one trying to lure her with talk of a promotion, watching her all the time—and that’s not from Caitlyn; that’s from another staff member.’
‘Lure her!’ Malvolio let out an incredulous snort. ‘She was the one coming on to me, Lazzaro. Now she’s got her fancy qualifications she thinks she’s entitled to the top job—she wanted to know if, with Jenna gone, I could find an opening for her. She’s always after favours—wanting her payslips fiddled. You should have seen her…’
Malvolio raked a hand through his hair, his breathless voice growing stronger with every word as Lazzaro stepped back, shaking his head, refuting it and yet hearing it—hearing and starting to if not believe it, then…His already loosened tie seemed to be choking him, and Lazzaro pulled at his collar, the open-and-shut case that had assured his tirade wavering at the final summing up as Malvolio continued.
‘She was all over me. I didn’t know what to do—I told her you were interviewing, that I couldn’t do her any favours, and the next thing she bit me, screaming that I’d come on to her—’
‘You’re lying.’ Lazzaro snarled the words out. ‘Lying to save yourself—because without my family, without your job, without us, you are nothing. Without me propping you up you would be the nothing you were before you met my sister.’ He hissed out a curse. ‘Why am I protecting you? She would be better off without you…better off knowing the truth…’
‘No!’ Malvolio shouted the word. ‘I love Antonia—as if I’d jeopardise things with a tart like that. As if I’d mess up the kids’ lives like that,’ Malvolio went on. ‘She was so upset by me that she had to leave, was she?’ He gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Only she wasn’t so upset when you upped her salary. It would seem she can stomach staying if the price is right. She can’t be that distressed by me…’
Lazzaro could hear the blood pounding in his temples, a drench of relief flooding him. Because if Malvolio was telling the truth then his sister was okay, the kids were okay. And as for Caitlyn…The shot of relief was temporary. He knew the pain in her eyes had been real. He was sure. He’d felt her heart fluttering in her chest when he’d held her. Lazzaro knew women—knew when he was being lied to—she couldn’t have played him that well.
‘You know who she is, don’t you?’
Malvolio’s voice seemed to be coming from a long way off, but he didn’t get to finish. The French doors were opening and Antonia was stepping out. Thankfully though, Lazzaro was saved from faking casual in front of his sister—as his mobile trilled he left it to Malvolio to make the small talk and tell her they’d be in soon. It took a moment to tune his brain into the conversation, as the clipped voice introduced herself as a saleswoman from a downtown department store.
‘Just to confirm some spending on a new signatory. I need to run through the purchases, if I may?’ And he listened—listened as designer suits, coats, shoes and boots were reeled off, listened as he heard how the woman who had insisted she could manage smart, had actually in less than an hour managed to pretty much top Jenna’s annual clothing budget. �
��And a full set of Oroton luggage. You’re aware of all these purchases?’
‘I am.’ Lazzaro nodded, more to himself than to the woman on the other end of the line. Jenna had cost a fortune to kit out initially, he recalled. Of course Caitlyn would need coats and boots for Italy. He’d never questioned a bill like that in his life, and he wasn’t about to start because of Malvolio.
Turning off the phone, he smiled to his sister as Malvolio assured her they’d be inside in just a moment.
‘Everything’s okay, isn’t it?’ Antonia checked nervously.
‘Of course.’ Lazzaro smiled, but it faded the second his sister was back inside, and the conversation resumed exactly where it had left off, the whole sordid mess of this afternoon taking a darker, sicker twist.
‘She’s Roxanne’s cousin.’ Malvolio sneered the words and Lazzaro’s face visibly paled.
Caitlyn Bell was Roxanne’s cousin.
Roxanne Martin was the person he hated most in the world.
The woman who had pitched brother against brother.
The woman who had so much blood on her hands she might as well have killed Luca with her own bare ones.
‘You’re the one talking about family,’ Malvolio carried on savagely. ‘You’re the one talking about blood relations. Well, your new personal assistant comes from the same gene pool as Roxanne Martin.’
No!
Lazzaro’s brain tightened in denial, the word on the tip of his taut lips. The woman he had spoken to this evening, the woman he had held in his arms for a short while, was nothing, nothing like Roxanne.
But just as he was about to refute it, sense took over. Denial was dangerous.
