Stolen Beginnings

by Susan Lewis

  Hazel nodded. ‘Later today. Are you going to give her her job back?’

  ‘What else can I do? If I don’t he’ll accuse me of victimising her because of my jealousy. He’d be right, of course, but I can’t help it, I’d do anything to get her out of our lives.’

  ‘But that isn’t the solution, I know.’

  Stephanie looked up into Hazel’s solemn face. ‘When did he speak to you, Haze? I mean, about going to Devon. And why didn’t he call me?’

  ‘Last night. I don’t know why he didn’t call you, he just asked me to pass the message on. Were you in?’

  Stephanie nodded. ‘But we rowed on the way from the airport. About his damned daughter, would you believe? He’s still refusing to let me meet her.’

  The intercom buzzed and Stephanie flicked the switch. It was Josey, downstairs.

  ‘Is Hazel with you, Steph?’

  ‘Yeah, go ahead.’

  ‘Adrian’s just rung in. There’s some problem with blocking the traffic in the Gloucester Road tomorrow.’

  ‘OK,’ Hazel answered. ‘I’ll be right down.’ She stood up and walked slowly to the door.

  ‘Haze,’ Stephanie said. ‘Why do you suppose he didn’t sack Rory in the end?’

  ‘I guess events just went beyond it, you know, with her mother dying and everything. I know the two of them talked, but Rory never let on what was said.’

  ‘Do you think Marian and Rory might fall for one another?’

  Hazel shrugged. ‘Who knows.’

  Stephanie closed her eyes. ‘I’m going to pray every day that they will, because if I lose him this time I think I’ll go under.’

  Since he’d arrived the night before, Marian had been longing for him to hold her the way he had in New York, but he hadn’t. They’d sat up the whole night, talking, mainly about her mother and Madeleine. Matthew had told her about his family too. Neither of them mentioned Stephanie, but Marian felt her presence as if she were there with them, in that little room that used to be cluttered with the bric-à-brac and trinkets her mother had collected over the years.

  Grace had organised everything when they arrived. She had even contacted the council about putting her mother’s things into storage until Marian decided what to do with them. The house was being taken over by a young couple and their little boy the following week, but that was something Marian couldn’t bring herself to think about.

  After Grace had flown back to New York, leaving Frank’s men to watch over her, Marian had roamed about the house, steeping herself in memories of her childhood and wondering why Madeleine didn’t come. But now Madeleine had gone missing – Paul had jilted her publicly and she had run away.

  ‘If only she had come to me,’ she sighed. ‘She needs me now. Just as much as I need her.’

  Matthew smiled and ruffled her hair. ‘You’ve always got me,’ he laughed, but he turned away as her eyes asked him the question he couldn’t answer – have I?

  ‘I’ll take you to Christie’s,’ he said, as they were locking up the house. ‘You can spend the money you saved up to repay your mother on a painting. Then you’ll always have something to remember her by. How does that sound? Have you ever been to an auction?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Neither have I, so it’ll be a first for us both.’

  Four hours later, as they drove into London, Matthew stopped at a news-stand in Earls Court. Again Madeleine’s picture was across the front page, but this time it showed her in a brawl she and Enrico Tarallo had become involved in in Sardinia.

  ‘Well, at least we know where she is,’ Marian said.

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Matthew answered. ‘Read that bit there.’

  Marian read it. Then suddenly she started to giggle. When Matthew looked startled, she laughed again – and again, until she was laughing so hard that tears streamed down her face. ‘She always said she wanted adventure,’ she gasped. ‘Well, she’s really got it this time. Kidnapped by someone in a big black limousine. I’m sorry, I know it’s not funny but I can’t help it. Do you think it’s serious?’

  ‘God only knows,’ he answered, and then he laughed too.

  Wearing the loose yellow skirt and white gypsy blouse that had mysteriously appeared on her bed that morning, Madeleine was sitting in a nook of the hillside that sloped down from the Tarallo family’s villa in Sardinia to their private beach below. As she gazed sightlessly from the golden cupped flowers around her, moving her eyes slowly across the rich turquoise waves to where the sea and sky blended in a hazy, colourless horizon, the sun’s warmth on her skin was like a comforting embrace and she smiled listlessly as she thought about the events of the past twelve hours.

  After she had been dragged out of the restaurant in Porto Cervo, then bundled into the limousine, her assailant had kept her head covered as they sped round the semi-circular harbour road until they reached the dark labyrinth of back-streets. Then the car had stopped; Enrico, together with another man, had leapt in, and they had roared off into the night.

  There was a great deal of shouting, all in Italian, and Madeleine had stared uncomprehendingly at Enrico, terror rendering her speechless. When finally he turned to look at her and saw her stricken face, he laughed. ‘There is no need to be afraid, cara,’ he said softly. ‘It is only my grandmother, come to take us home.’

  At that moment Madeleine heard a deep, croaky voice and gaped into the dark corner of the car that it had come from. Then, as if someone had lifted a veil, a white face emerged from the shadows of the seat opposite.

  Enrico took Madeleine’s hand. ‘Madeleine,’ he said. ‘Please meet Sylvestra Tarallo, my grandmother. She has her spies everywhere, and they were watching from outside when the fight started. Sylvestra, this is . . .’

  ‘I know who she is,’ Sylvestra rasped. Her English was heavily accented, her breathing laboured. She spoke rapidly to Enrico, using her mother-tongue, then turned again to Madeleine. ‘I tell him you bring disgrace on my family. I see your pictures, you are no good.’

  ‘Sylvestra!’ Enrico continued in Italian and Madeleine shrank back in her seat.

  When they reached the villa, Madeleine and Enrico followed Sylvestra’s frail figure up the steps and into the magnificent grey marble hall. Two servants were waiting; Sylvestra gave them instructions, then turned to Madeleine. ‘They make a room for you. You follow Orsola, she show you. You have luggage, no?’

  Madeleine shook her head and Sylvestra made an impatient sound as she tucked her arm through Enrico’s. Looking back over his shoulder, Enrico winked, then nodded for Madeleine to go after Orsola, who was waiting on the balcony at the top of the stairs.

  She was woken the next morning by children playing outside, but after the reception she had received from Sylvestra the night before, she didn’t dare to leave her room. She had found the clothes neatly folded across the foot of the bed, and as neither her dress nor Enrico’s shorts and shirt were anywhere to be seen, she assumed that the skirt and blouse had been left for her to wear. Eventually Enrico came in, followed by a maid carrying a large breakfast tray which she set up on the terrace outside the room. When she’d gone, Enrico spread out the morning newspapers, all of which had the previous night’s brawl on the cover, and made her laugh as he translated the dramatic story of her kidnap.

  ‘Kidnapped,’ she said gleefully as she broke the crust of a hard roll. ‘If this is what it’s like being kidnapped, I don’t know why people make such a fuss about it.’

  Giving her a sardonic look, he said, ‘Nevertheless we must put matters straight. I will speak to the press and hope that they do not turn the story into one of elopement.’

  ‘It gets more romantic all the time,’ she laughed, then suddenly she thought of Paul and her face fell.

  ‘You are letting the ghosts haunt you, and Lara our cook will not be pleased if you do not drink her tea. She made it especially for you because you are English.’

  Madeleine smiled. ‘Then even though I never normally drink
tea, this morning I will, just for Lara.’

  After breakfast he took her downstairs and out into the garden. ‘You take a walk, maybe down to the beach, and I will come to find you later,’ he said, as she gazed appreciatively at the carefully pruned trees, neat flowerbeds and sprawling lawns.

  ‘You can’t come with me now?’ she said, for some reason afraid that he was going to go away and leave her there.

  ‘I must speak with Sylvestra,’ he explained, then pulling a face, he added, ‘and to the press.’

  Now she looked up as a shadow fell across her, and seeing him standing there beside her, she moved over to make room for him to sit down.

  ‘I quite like being kidnapped by you,’ she said, lifting her face to the sun and shaking out her hair.

  He rolled his eyes, but smiled as he said: ‘If you say that again I shall be forced to send out a ransom note.’

  ‘How much do you think I’m worth?’

  ‘In lire or sterling?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t have any money, so it doesn’t really matter, does it? Did you speak to Sylvestra?’

  He nodded gravely. ‘She is a formidable woman, my grandmother. You are afraid of her, no?’

  Madeleine nodded, then shuddered at the memory of her first meeting with the old lady.

  ‘She would like to speak with you,’ he said, then laughed at the look that came over her face. ‘There is no need to be afraid. I have explained everything and she would like to apologise for her, how you say, brusqueness?’

  Madeleine would have liked to call it something else, but refrained from doing so and gave him a winsome smile instead.

  ‘Oh, by the way,’ he went on, still chuckling at her reaction, ‘I have issued a statement to the newspapers, informing them that you have not been abducted. Does that disappoint you, cara?’ he asked, when she lowered her head.

  She nodded. ‘I know it’s silly, but I wanted Paul to worry about me.’

  ‘I think, if I am any judge of a man, he will be much more worried to learn that you are in the clutches of the infamous Enrico Tarallo.’

  ‘Infamous?’

  ‘I tease. Oh, come, no more of the sad face. Maybe it is better this way. If he can wound you so, and in public, then he cannot be such a good man. Nor Shamir such a good friend.’ He sighed. ‘But that does not make the love or the hurt go away, I know.’

  Madeleine lay back in the grass and gazed up at the sky. Shamir and Paul – their betrayal and deceit were stalking her like the preying phantoms of a nightmare, yet somehow, while she lay here with Enrico, it was as if they were afraid to touch her. But in the night the nightmare had smothered her, denying her the release of sleep and forcing her to remember and accept what had happened. In those dark, lonely hours she had thought about Paul, recalling the way he had asked her to trust him, the way he had promised there would be no more trickery, while all the time he had known what he was going to do. Had he ripped her heart from her body and wrung it with his bare hands, he could not have hurt her more, and the final twist of the knife had come when she realised that he had known that, and that was why he had done it. And yet, if he were to walk over the brow of the hill now and hold out his arms, she knew she would run to him.

  She turned her head to look at Enrico and smiled at the far-away look in his eyes as he stared out to sea. This island was so peaceful and Enrico was so kind, she wanted to stay here forever.

  ‘I wish I didn’t have to go,’ she said.

  ‘But what would your public do without you?’ he teased. She didn’t know why that made her want to cry, but her vision was blurred as she whispered: ‘Don’t. Please don’t say that.’

  He smiled. ‘Beautiful, sad Madeleine. The girl who has captivated the world by revealing her charms.’ He was quoting from the morning paper. ‘May I say what I think?’ he added.

  She nodded.

  ‘I think it is difficult for a child to lose its parents, and that maybe the recognition you seek comes from that. Everyone needs approval and admiration and love. You have envied Marian because she had it from her mother and father. You were what you English call, the poor cousin. So you have shown the world all your beauty, hoping from them you will gain what you seek. But you will not find it out there, cara. You will find it where it has always been, with your cousin and your aunt – the family you have tried not to love.’

  She turned her head in the grass and watched a butterfly as it flitted between the flowers. Tried not to love. Had she really tried not to love them? Was he right, had she done it all out of envy and a childhood need for approval and admiration? She longed to be able to answer those questions, but she realised now that she knew too little about herself, too little about what really happened deep down inside her. Then suddenly she remembered what Marian had said that day at the Plaza. ‘I know you better than anyone ever will, and that is why I am so, so sorry it has to be like this.’ Had Marian been trying to say what Enrico had just said? Did she really understand her so well? Madeleine swallowed hard on the lump in her throat, and closed her eyes, as if to block out the painful memory of that day in New York. She couldn’t think about Marian now, the need for her was too great.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, after a while. ‘About Paul. He might have done this for his book. He used to shock me sometimes, to see how I would react. Then he wrote about it.’

  When she looked up she saw that Enrico’s thick brows were drawn in a frown. ‘But like this?’ he said. ‘It is too horrible, cara.’ He smiled. ‘But if what you say is true, and you still love him, then you will forgive him. But I think it will be hard.’

  Madeleine gave no answer. She didn’t know how she felt any more, about anything, and she didn’t want to think about it, either. All she knew was that somehow, this man, who was little more than a stranger, had struck a chord somewhere deep inside her and she didn’t want to leave him.

  ‘Now,’ Enrico said, jumping to his feet, then helping Madeleine to hers, ‘what have you done with those sons of mine? I promised them a trip in the Rosaria.’

  ‘They went back into the house,’ she answered. ‘I don’t think they liked me much.’

  ‘Ah, cara,’ he sighed, ‘you must try to understand more. They are only children and their mother is so soon dead. They think you have come to steal me away. Now I will put their minds at rest, and you shall go to Sylvestra.’ He laughed as she pulled a face, then draping an arm round her shoulders he walked with her through the gardens and back to the villa.

  During the afternoon Enrico’s mother arrived with her two daughters and their husbands. Sylvestra had told Madeleine to wait upstairs until she sent word; the family had come to demand an explanation for what had happened. As she waited in her room, listening to the raised voices and the doors slamming downstairs, Madeleine was filled with such trepidation that even Sylvestra’s apology and the kindness which had followed were not enough to quell her nerves. She felt so far from home, so lonely and so utterly helpless that by the time Enrico came to fetch her, her agitation was so great that for a moment it alarmed him.

  ‘Ssh,’ he whispered, taking her ashen face between his hands. ‘It is all right. Sylvestra and I, we are on your side. My mother, she does not always understand, but she will do you no harm.’

  ‘Do I have to meet her?’

  ‘But of course, what will she think if you do not? She will think that you are a coward, no?’

  ‘I am,’ Madeleine said, then despite herself, she laughed, because now that he was here nothing seemed quite so bad.

  ‘We are dining early this evening,’ he told her, as she quickly ran a brush through her hair, ‘so that the boys can see their grandmother before they go to bed. There will be all of us at the table, and you will not feel so conspicuous.’

  Madeleine gave him a dubious look, and grinning broadly, he took her hand and led her downstairs.

  Throughout the meal the atmosphere was strained – it was clear that neither Sylvestra nor Enrico had said
anything to pacify his mother’s strong disapproval of Madeleine’s presence in their home. She was an awesome, angry-looking woman, who with her thin, almost pinched face and ochre hair bore no resemblance to Enrico whatever, and the little conversation she forced herself to direct Madeleine’s way was delivered with such hostility that Enrico invariably found himself answering on Madeleine’s behalf. His sisters were at the other end of the table, and though they appeared engrossed in Enrico’s and their own children, Madeleine could sense that their resentment of her was as great as their mother’s.

  ‘I’m glad that’s over,’ she sighed, as Enrico walked her up to bed. ‘God, they really hated me.’

  ‘They showed bad manners and an unforgivable lack of sensitivity,’ he snapped, ‘and if you were not leaving tomorrow I would order them from the house tonight.’

  ‘Leaving tomorrow,’ Madeleine repeated, and the sudden stab of desperation was so acute that as they stopped outside her room, she turned to him with imploring eyes and whispered, ‘Do I have to?’

  Enrico opened the door for her to go in. ‘I’m afraid you must,’ he answered.

  Madeleine walked over to the window to close the shutters. He watched her, silhouetted in the moonlight, as she hesitated to shut out the night, and as his heart was filled with pity, so his arms ached to hold her.

  She spun round as she heard the door close, disappointed that he had not even said goodnight, but when she saw him standing there in the half light, his face hidden in shadow, her heart turned over.

  ‘Come,’ he said, holding out his arms, and she went to him. ‘Tonight,’ he whispered into her hair, ‘I will hold you close. I cannot make love, you understand, but maybe the comfort of my arms will help you.’

  ‘Yes,’ she breathed, ‘oh yes, please.’

  ‘Come then, we will ask Orsola for something you can wear. Maybe one of my sisters has a bed-gown.’

  ‘But I don’t usually sleep with anything . . .’