~
The weekend flies by. On Saturday we pick up my new car and I wave a tearful goodbye to the old one. There are a lot of memories attached to it. The girls can’t understand my sentimentality, too excited to have something much newer in which to be driven around.
Aside from Friday night, when we did laze around, we didn’t stop the entire time. We took the girls swimming, had two meals out and visited a car boot sale. Oh, and on Saturday night Rosie’s best friend came for a sleepover.
Josh was very relaxed the whole time, except for when he went up to Hettie’s room for the talk. I made her tell him the whole thing, because he needed to hear it first-hand and in her own words. Alex, Rosie’s boyfriend, had nothing to do with it. It was simply two girls winding Hettie up by suggesting Alex was going out with someone else. One of the two girls admitted that in front of the headteacher, Hettie had confirmed. When Hettie had told the girls she didn’t believe it, that’s when the punch came her way. I think they were hoping to put doubt in her mind, and that Hettie would storm off and have a row with Alex. But she stuck with what she believed to be the truth and I was quite proud of her for that. There are times in life when you have to go with your gut instinct. Unfortunately, though, she retaliated in the same manner and then all hell broke loose.
It’s Sunday night and Josh and I lie side by side in bed, aimlessly chatting about nothing in particular.
‘It’s working, this new arrangement, isn’t it?’
He sounds positive and accepting. It can’t be easy for him and he must get lonely and miss the general hubbub of family life.
‘It is and it’s another mountain we’ve successfully climbed. The thing with Hettie served to confirm that you never really know what’s around the corner, do you? Life is full of surprises.’
He snuggles closer as his hands start exploring my body in a familiar yet still exciting way.
‘That’s why we have to live in the moment, Ellie,’ he whispers into my ear, before moving his mouth softly across my cheek. As we kiss passionately, all of my worries melt away.
~
Eduardo and his wife, Cristina, are showing Max around Piero’s little bungalow and I’m trailing around behind them. The pride in their eyes makes me well up. Next they escort us back to the compound to look at the new extension to the workshop.
‘This is incredible. What a superb job you’ve done here and now you have room for Piero’s masterpieces.’
Max translates and Educardo and his wife bow their heads, smiling.
As Max escorts me back to the car I look down at my feet. Am I really here?
‘Is this real, Max?’ I ask, the lightness of my body making me feel that something isn’t quite right.
He nods, closing the door, but the next moment we seem to be walking through one of the olive groves. Max stops every few paces to inspect the ripening fruit.
‘Lean forward and smell this, the fruit is almost ready.’
Taking a slow breath in, the slightly bitter, pungent smell that has a fruity quality to it, is very real. I reach out to Max and he takes my hand, holding it in his. The feel of his skin, the warmth of his body and the smell of his cologne fill my senses. He pulls me close and I let myself relax into him. This isn’t an alien feeling; my body knows his in an intimate way.
Then as solid as the picture around me is, it suddenly begins to dissipate. Two hands touching begin to fade away until once more the image inside my head is simply one of darkness, and a deep sleep.
~
I open my eyes and an amazing feeling of complete and utter well-being washes over me. The aftermath of a peaceful night’s sleep sends a warm rush of energy around my body, the endorphins acting as a happy drug. It gently and pleasantly kicks my senses into touch. Even though I’m still sleepy, the enticing warmth of the sunlight filtering in through the open window promises a bright new day ahead and I feel energised.
Without warning, my lazy thoughts are suddenly replaced by an unwelcome, and rather frightening, wave of rising panic. I’m not sure where I am. My heart begins to pound and my chest tightens; my breathing becomes rapid and shallow as I fight to take in air. I try to ignore the stifling wave of fear that threatens to overwhelm me and focus on regaining control. Stay calm, Ellie, stay calm.
Then reality comes flooding back in a rush. My first thought is what time is it? The second is where is Josh? I look at his pillow and there’s a note pinned to it.
My darling, the alarm didn’t wake you and I didn’t have the heart to disturb your peaceful sleep. I kissed your cheek and you didn’t even stir, so I hope when you wake up you will forgive me.
I’ll text you when I arrive at work and speak to you this evening. Thank you for a wonderful weekend and some lovely memories.
See you later, alligator. xxx
Ah, my darling husband has reset the alarm for seven and it’s almost a quarter to now. I snuggle up close to his pillow, where a trace of the smell of him still lingers. All thoughts of my dream have disappeared and I’m back in the present again, grateful for the blessings life has bestowed upon me.
Chapter 31
Driving to work my phone starts to ring and almost before I have a chance to think about it, the radio switches from a rock song to a ring tone. I press the button on the dash as Josh had shown me, and Bella’s voice fills the car.
‘Morning, Ellie. Are you good to talk?’
‘Morning. I’m driving, but I now have the technology to talk on the phone too. It’s all hands-free. I still miss the old car, though.’
‘Nothing lasts forever. I didn’t call over the weekend as I thought it might be awkward and it’s your quality time with Josh. I might have a lead on Aletta. You were right about the hotel staff; most of the people in reception had been there less than a year. However, I passed this little old lady pushing a laundry trolley. Turns out she’s the housekeeper and has been there as long as anyone can remember. She says it’s nearly thirty years.
‘She looked at the photo and it didn’t seem to mean anything at first, so I described Aletta. I said that at the time she might have been a little upset, or nervous; not behaving like the usual tourist, or visiting business woman. Mostly, I imagine, guests get up and have breakfast, then don’t return to their rooms until late afternoon.
‘Aletta may have spent most of her stay actually in the room and maybe, even, put up a do not disturb sign. I followed the housekeeper around the hotel, talking to her as she dropped off towels and toiletries ready for the maids who were working on each floor. Something I said did the trick, because eventually she took me to the actual room. She remembered Aletta, of that I was sure. It was, as you would expect, one of the most expensive rooms. I didn’t give any background, just implied it was someone with whom I had lost touch. One thing that I immediately noticed when I entered was that there was an adjoining door to another room. I asked her if she could remember whether the door remained locked when Aletta was there. She shook her head without even having to think about it; it had never been locked, although the man in the adjoining room had had a different surname.’
‘Wow. That’s almost unbelievable. How could she remember his name?’
‘It was David Lancing. He’s an internationally known artist, who lives in London. And I was right, Aletta spent the entire time in her room. The man gave the housekeeper a big tip when he left, which might have accounted for her temporary amnesia. I checked with reception and they both signed out on the same day. The day Aletta was due to fly home. I thanked her, gave her a twenty-pound note, saying it would mean a lot to reconnect with my friend. If anyone asks about me, hopefully she’ll remember the friend bit. Then I made my way out of there as quickly as I could. Not quite as big a tip as the one David Lancing gave her, I suspect, but she seemed pleased. I’m texting you a link to this guy’s website. I haven’t even had time to take a look myself.’
‘This is big, Bella. I mean, I’m not sure what you are going to do next, but it’s a real lea
d. Just to let you know that I haven’t found anything online. All of her old social media haunts drew a blank; she stopped posting the day she arrived in London. But I have a cousin who is brilliant at investigating family trees. I gave her a little information and a timeline, stressing how sensitive this is and she’s going to look at the birth and marriage records in and around London. What if the baby is Aletta’s and this artist guy is the father?’
‘Well, that would make sense with the connecting door. Maybe she’d been having an affair with this man for a long time, hence any excuse to fly off somewhere and use one of her vague business trip excuses. Getting pregnant changed everything for her.’
‘Look, I’m about to arrive at work and I can’t do anything at all while I’m there. Can you ring me tonight, after eight o’clock?’
‘Will do. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if we could find her, Ellie? Max’s nightmare would finally be over.’
‘I know. Well done, Bella. I’m proud of you!’
Parking and walking into the offices I feel it’s like a jigsaw puzzle. Without that photo this is an option that would never have cropped up. Why did Trista hide it? The only conclusion I can come to is that it was to make sure Max remained at the villa. If he’d known Aletta was cheating on him, then he might have simply walked away; the memories alone would have been hard to bear. Being able to think about her being alive for the first time since I heard the sorry tale, makes me feel lighter and brighter. If I feel this way, then how would Max react? This isn’t good news, it’s great news and if Michelle can find proof that a child exists linked to Aletta, under whatever name she’s now using, this could all be resolved very quickly.
Although my working day is busy, I keep Max in my thoughts. I want him to know help is coming and to hang on a little longer. If life has a way of sharing one’s thoughts and positive karma, then it’s worth the effort. I can’t be there for him in person, so this is all I can do.
~
As soon as the girls are in bed I jump online. Bella hasn’t phoned and I try ringing her, but the phone is switched off. Clicking on the link she sent, my heart sinks a little. I was expecting to see a young artist whose work was perhaps a little too avant garde for my taste. Instead there’s a head shot of a much older man, with greying hair around the temples. I’d say David Lancing is in his very late forties. He’s clearly extremely successful, the website boasting that his paintings hang on the walls of some of the richest celebrities around the world. It’s not my taste, but then art appreciation is very subjective.
For me, it’s like comparing jazz to my preference for soul music. His style is referred to as hyper-realism. As I click through the pages, I would describe the paintings as having an unreal quality to them. A very talented artist, without a doubt, and I’m sure he could paint a portrait as well as any old master. But his style, while executed faultlessly, is to turn whatever he’s painting into a sort of surreal version of the real. That’s the only way I can describe it. It grates on my eye and I find myself slightly irritated by the simple changes that turn it from a mirror image of reality into a slightly dream-enhanced, or worse, computer-generated look.
But this man has enough money, and resources, to help someone disappear. He can control his online and media exposure quite easily and avoid Aletta being photographed with him. Aletta obviously prefers older men and there is a slight resemblance between the artist and Max. Tall, sophisticated air, slightly greying hair, although less noticeable in Max’s case, being a good few years’ younger than David. For Aletta I could see this working as it would also give her total freedom. And David acquires a trophy wife with no strings. Just one who prefers to stay out of the limelight, but would shine like a star in small social gatherings.
My phone pings. It’s a text from Bella.
Sorry, battery ran out. Have to be quick. I tracked down David Lancing’s home, which is in Knightsbridge. He and his wife are away. They have a second home in Plan de la Tour, a 12th-century village near St. Tropez and aren’t due back until the end of August, by the sound of it. I couldn’t find out much, just that his wife is quite a bit younger than him. But the guy was a contract gardener, so I wasn’t surprised he didn’t know much. We’ll speak tomorrow. B x
I immediately email Michelle and say that Aletta might be using the name Lancing and could be living in Knightsbridge.
It was beginning to look promising that this might come together quite quickly, but August means we will have to be patient. Even if Michelle comes up with something, we still have to establish that it really is Aletta. If Bella takes this to the police, it might not turn out to be any quicker. I presume the Italian police would have to liaise with the English police force, which is bound to require a lot of administration.
Hold on, Max. Just keep going.
Chapter 32
We’re halfway through July before the pace at work begins to even out. Poor Eve is stressed as the orders keep piling up on her desk, faster than she can clear them.
The pressure is on as our celebrity chef rang again yesterday to say that the prestigious Celebrity Style magazine want to do an in-depth interview. It’s going to be an at home with the star feature and the deadline is only five weeks away.
Livvie took the call, replaced the receiver very calmly and then let out one almighty groan.
I ran into her office, wondering what was going on.
‘The man is insane. I seriously doubt there is another interior design team out there who could have pulled everything together as quickly as we have. There are containers being air-freighted in from Italy and Germany, and I’ve called in a lot of favours for some of our orders to jump the queue. But this is beyond ridiculous!’
I calmed her down, made a strong black coffee with two sugars and we set to work. Eve gave us an update on the containers and went away to ring the textile people to press for a delivery date.
‘The painters still have at least another week and if they over-run, it’s going to eat into an already tight timetable. And there’s another problem. He’s called for an emergency meeting at the house to deal with the latest issue. He’s still not happy with that huge wall in the entrance hall and we need to come up with a solution. My patience is running thin and I might need you, not just for any ideas you might have, but to restrain me if I lose the plot and start attacking him.’
I grimace. ‘Oh dear. Surely there can’t be many more changes he can make at this late stage? When are you thinking of going?’
‘I have to be there tomorrow at eleven. Chobham in Sussex is about a two-hour drive at least; you can add another hour onto that if the traffic is bad. I know that means you won’t be able to take the girls to school, but I’d really appreciate you coming along on this one. You always manage to find a solution that pleases the client and you’ll get to see how the other half lives.’
To be honest, I could do with a few hours away from everything and no doubt we’ll stop for a nice lunch on the way back.
‘I’ll ring Dawn and ask her to do both school runs tomorrow. I’m sure it will be fine. In the meantime, I’ll kick-start the thought processes. I’m sure I can come up with a few options, but whether or not he’ll like them is another matter. The problem he has is that the house is an old Victorian building, with various extensions from differing time periods and he’s throwing into the mix contemporary and country. That’s a big ask.
‘It could be a recipe for disaster. Sorry, couldn’t resist that one. But when you are dealing with bricks and mortar it’s too much going on. I know you jokingly refer to it as a twenty-first-century manor house, but there is a limit to how far you can go, unless you are starting from scratch. That’s why the entrance hall doesn’t work, but once you walk into the heart of the house I think we’ve given him everything he asked for, and more. Well, once all of the furniture and fittings arrive and they can be installed.’
‘We’ll talk about it on the way there tomorrow so we can go in ready to pre-empt his every mood. He’s
a wonderful man when he’s in the kitchen, but his divorce is getting messier by the day. No wonder he wants the new house finished quickly, as I can imagine their rows must be spectacular.’
A small smile creeps over my face as I, too, have leafed through the celebrity gossip magazines while I’ve been queuing in the supermarket.
~
‘How are all my girls this evening?’ Josh’s face appears on the screen and Hettie repositions the iPad on the corner of the table, so we can all see him.
‘We’re good. How was the drive up this morning?’
The picture pixelates for a few seconds and it reminds me of Star Trek when they teleport people. I wonder if Josh will suddenly rematerialise here, in front of our eyes. It’s a pity technology can’t keep up with the imagination of writers.
‘Fairly good. A stretch of motorway is down to fifty miles per hour because of roadworks, but it only added about fifteen minutes to the journey. What’s happening there?’
‘Nothing with me,’ Rosie throws into the conversation. ‘Oh, I did get an A minus on a geography test.’
‘Well done, that girl, I’m proud of you, Rosie.’
Hettie doesn’t look impressed. ‘Don’t all look at me. It’s Monday, for goodness’ sake. Nothing ever happens on a Monday.’
‘Ah, no, you’re right,’ Josh says, rather diplomatically.
‘Well, I have news. I’m off on a jolly tomorrow,’ I say.
All eyes are on me.
‘You aren’t going to Italy again, are you?’ Josh asks, his face dropping.
‘No, nothing like that. Just a day trip, so Dawn will be chauffeuring you tomorrow, girls. I’m off to Sussex to meet the dashing Richard Dale.’
Hettie is impressed. Oh well, two out of three isn’t bad.
‘Livvie and I are going to his new house to finalise a couple of design details. The house is going to feature in Celebrity Style magazine when we’ve finished fitting it out.’
The Secrets of Villa Rosso Page 19
