by Douglas, Michelle; Gordon, Lucy; Pembroke, Sophie; Hardy, Kate
Damiano had mentioned a younger brother, and from their similar features Sally guessed this must be him. The two men embraced and exchanged greetings in Italian.
‘You’ll have to speak English for a while,’ Damiano said, bringing him to her. ‘We have an English guest. Sally, this is my brother, Mario. Mario, this is Signorina Sally Franklin. She’s Pietro’s new best friend.’ A wuff from below made him add, ‘And Toby’s.’
Mario chuckled and shook Sally’s hand vigorously. ‘I’m honoured, signorina.’ His eyes looked her up and down and his smile was full of appreciation.
‘How come you’re here so soon?’ Damiano asked.
‘The job ended a few days early,’ Mario said, speaking in a cautious way that showed he was choosing the words carefully. ‘So I seized the chance to dump myself on you.’
‘Get settled in and then we can talk.’
While Mario went upstairs Damiano explained, ‘He’s a journalist. He lives in Rome but he travels around a lot and his latest job brought him near here. So we planned for him to visit me. Nice to see him early. Now, let me have your laptop.’
He connected her quickly and skilfully, then vanished to give her privacy. She spent an hour in touch with England, but there was no sign of news about the job. After a while a delicious odour coming from the kitchen made her go down to investigate.
‘You must teach me how to make that,’ she told Nora.
‘And you must teach me some English recipes. Oh, dear!’
‘What is it?’
Nora pointed to a table where Sally could see a typed envelope.
‘Signor Ferrone was here a few minutes ago. He had that in his hand and must have forgotten it.’
‘Give it to me.’
Taking the letter, Sally crossed the hall and went down the short corridor to Damiano’s room, which the open door revealed to be empty. She entered and went to his desk, meaning to leave the envelope there.
Then something made her stop and stare.
Everything in this room spoke of reserve, calm, unemotional efficiency. Except for one thing.
There on the desk was a photograph of a woman whom Sally recognised from one of the pictures she’d seen in Pietro’s room. It was the same person but a different photograph. Pietro’s had been laughing and cheerful. This woman’s face was almost melancholy, but beautiful, tender. Somewhere deep in those large eyes was a hint of promise.
Damiano had married her for that promise, Sally thought. But she had been snatched from him before it could be more than partly fulfilled. She’d given him their child, then abandoned him to loneliness, There was no memento of his second wife. Only this picture, positioned so that the man sitting at the desk could see it whenever he happened to glance up.
‘Can I help you?’
Damiano’s voice from the door made her jump.
‘I’m sorry, I only came in to give you this.’ She waved the envelope. ‘I wasn’t trying to pry.’
He took the envelope and glanced at the photograph.
‘That’s Pietro’s mother,’ he said.
‘She was beautiful.’
‘Yes, she was. Before she married me she had ambitions to be a model in England. She never made it big but it was looking hopeful. Then she gave it up for me.’
There was a softening in his voice that she’d heard once before when he spoke of Pietro, the son he shared with this woman. His face too was altered, so much more gentle than before that he might have been another man. Or wearing another mask.
How sad, she thought, that Gina hadn’t survived to enjoy life with this man. He would have adored her, treated her with generosity and self-sacrifice. She would have been the luckiest woman in the world.
‘Poor Pietro,’ she said. ‘Never to have known her at all. And poor Gina, to have had such a wonderful son and not have known him.’
She heard a sound like the soft drawing of breath, and looked up to find Damiano gazing at her as though something had struck him.
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Yes. You say it so perfectly. Her loss was as great as his.’
‘And yours. All those years of happy marriage you would have had, that were taken from you. But also taken from her. She had such a gorgeous little boy, and she’ll never know.’
‘She does know,’ Damiano said quietly. ‘I tell her all the time.’
‘You—?’
‘Thank you for bringing me the letter,’ he said, speaking with the fierce energy of a man determined to change the subject. ‘It was careless of me to leave it behind. Now, about plans for this evening—’
She went along with his suggestions, speaking mechanically while she tried to come to terms with what she’d just learned. Gina was so real to Damiano, so much still a part of his life, that he talked to her.
How lucky to have won the love of such a man, she thought. How unlucky to have been torn from him so soon.
‘So what do you think of that idea?’ Damiano asked.
‘I—what?’
‘We spend tonight in. I want to get Mario talking, to find out why he’s arrived early. What mischief has he been up to?’
‘You told me your brother often made you tear you hair out. Is he—?’
‘Yes, he’s the one. He’s a bit of a madcap, and it’s hard for me to blame him because he says he’s just following in my footsteps.’
‘I remember you saying you weren’t a saint when you were younger.’ She added lightly, ‘But then, what man is? And think how boring if you were!’
‘Ah! A woman of great understanding. Yes, Mario, what is it?’ His brother had appeared in the doorway.
‘Supper’s ready. Nora’s about to serve and I’m dying of hunger.’
‘Fine. Let’s go.’
Was she only imagining his relief at bringing this scene to an end? He had told her something she guessed he’d told few people. She sensed that one part of him wanted to confide in her, but another part backed off. And he was torn between the two.
She had to admit that she too was undecided whether she would have liked to remain here for a while, to see which side of him won. But that could never be. She would be gone soon, and the question would always tease her.
Mario’s arrival was a gain. Pietro liked his cheery uncle, and Charlie, perhaps sensing a fellow madman, was instantly at home with him. They were both ardent soccer followers, and spent most of the meal comparing English and Italian teams.
But when supper was over and everyone had settled in the next room, Mario contrived to take the seat beside her on the sofa, saying cheekily, ‘You don’t mind if I force myself on you, do you?’
‘I think I can just about bear it,’ she said.
‘Good, because I need you to tell me something. Why is my brother so suspicious of me? Just because I turned up a few days early, does he have to think the worst?’
‘Shouldn’t he?’
‘Well, I must admit I fouled up a little. I opened my big mouth once too often. But now I’m here, I’m glad. Otherwise we might not have met.’ His glance was admiring.
‘Yes, I’m glad we met, too,’ she said.
‘You are?’ he murmured hopefully.
‘You’re just the kind of friend Charlie needs.’
‘Ah, yes, Charlie. Nice lad.’
‘Why did you assume that Damiano disapproves of you?’
‘Because he always has. I suppose I can’t blame him. It’s part of being an older brother, and he’s made such a big success of his life that he expects the same of me. But he conducts his business hell for leather. Everything has to be the way he wants, and I can’t match that.’
‘Are hotels his only business?’
‘Hotels and other property. He inherited a small fortune from his mother and he turned it into a h
uge fortune very fast.’
‘By buying and selling property in Venice?’
‘And Rome, Florence, Milan. I can’t complain. The fact is we’re only half-brothers. We had the same father but different mothers. That’s why he inherited and I didn’t. But he was decent. He gave me a share. Then he invested it for me and I profited. I’m not rolling in it but I can afford to be stupid.’
‘Lucky you,’ she said, laughing. ‘That sounds like one of the definitions of happiness. To be stupid without having to fear the consequences.’
‘Right. You said it. Damiano’s a great guy, and I like his properties, especially the hotels.’
‘Yes, I’ve seen the Billioni. We were staying there.’
‘That’s one of his minor properties. The main one is the Palazzo Leonese next door.’
So he was an even more notable man than she’d suspected, Sally mused.
She became aware of a nose sniffing at her knee.
‘Toby’s come to say goodnight to you,’ Pietro said. ‘He’s hurt because you haven’t made a fuss of him tonight. That’s Uncle Mario’s fault.’
‘Well, I don’t want Toby to be hurt,’ she said, enfolding the dog in a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Toby. Can you forgive me?’
Wuff!
‘And tomorrow we’ll play games together.’
Wuff! Wuff!
‘And maybe I can play too,’ Mario said.
Wuff! Wuff! Wuff!
A spirit of mischief made her wag her finger at the dog and exclaim, ‘You mustn’t say things like that about Uncle Mario.’
‘It wouldn’t be the first time,’ Mario said. ‘Toby doesn’t approve of me.’
‘Does anybody?’ Damiano called ironically from the other side of the room.
They all laughed and Sally saw that Damiano was enjoying the scene. His smile spoke of pleasure, contentment, satisfaction. She met his eyes, and could almost have sworn that he nodded before glancing at Pietro and saying, ‘Bedtime.’
‘Papa!’
‘Bedtime.’
‘No argument,’ Sally teased. ‘You should always obey your papa without question, as I’m sure you do.’
‘That’ll be the day.’ Damiano grinned. ‘Off you go.’
Sally went upstairs with him to say goodnight. On returning she found Charlie and Mario deep in a ‘lads’ conversation. Clearly she wasn’t needed in that budding friendship. Right now she wanted to have another talk with Damiano. But once in the hall she could hear him talking on the phone in his office.
She suppressed an irrational feeling of disappointment that he’d forgotten her so soon. She was curious to know more about him, but if she couldn’t talk there was another way. She returned to her room, opened her laptop, went online to a research tool, and typed in Damiano Ferrone.
The photograph showed him standing with arms folded, glaring into the camera. The text described the man of property, determined, uncompromising.
There was a list of the places he owned, including the Palazzo Leonese. Logging into its website, she found that it really was a palace, having once belonged to a duke who’d fallen on hard times and been forced to sell it. Now it was a hotel of luxury and magnificence, with its own theatre, ballroom, and a great hall that was licensed for weddings. Every year the Leonese hosted an extensive list of carnival celebrations, including several masked balls.
The sound of laughter floating up from below made her look out of her window in time to see Charlie and Mario walking away along the alley.
Kindred spirits, she thought. At least Charlie will have a friend there to keep an eye on him. This could be a good place for both of us.
CHAPTER FIVE
SALLY SOON FOUND that Mario was a practised flirt, handsome, charming, not lost for words, as his approach to her demonstrated.
‘How come I was lucky enough to meet you here?’ he asked as he seated himself next to her at breakfast.
‘Charlie and I had an accident and your brother was kind enough to invite us here for a few days.’
‘A few weeks, I hope,’ he said, regarding her significantly.
‘Sally is teaching me better English,’ Pietro said. ‘I know lots and lots of long words.’
‘I’ll bet you don’t know any,’ Mario teased.
At once Pietro pointed a finger at him, declaring, ‘You are pestiferous.’
Mario roared with laughter. ‘How on earth did you teach him that?’ he asked Sally.
‘Through Toby,’ she replied. ‘He was bouncing around all over me, so I called him pestiferous, but I think the short version might be better.’
‘Short version?’ Pietro asked instantly.
‘Pesky. It suits Toby.’ She pointed to where the dog was curled up under the table. ‘You are a pesky pup.’
‘But he’s not a pup,’ Pietro protested. ‘He’s ten years old.’
‘Only on the outside,’ Sally said. ‘Inside he’s as daft as he was when he was a baby. Some men are like that too.’
‘Pesky, pesky,’ Pietro yelled in delight. ‘Toby, you are pesky!’
‘So are you,’ Mario said, rubbing his ears. ‘Sally, I can see Pietro is going to learn a great deal from you.’
‘Yes, she’s got the soul of a school mistress.’ Charlie sighed theatrically. ‘You should hear how often she calls me a twerp.’
‘Twerp?’ Pietro echoed. ‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a word they won’t teach you at school,’ Mario said, grinning. ‘I’ve only heard it once before, and that was from a lady who was annoyed because I—yes, well, never mind.’
‘But what does it mean?’ Pietro demanded of Sally.
‘A twerp is someone who is not only foolish but insignificant,’ she said. ‘Is there an Italian word for insignificant?’
‘Insignificante,’ Damiano said, with a grin at his brother.
‘That’s right,’ Mario agreed. He raised his glass. ‘Here’s to pesky twerps.’
Raising her glass with the others, Sally caught Damiano’s eye. He was gazing right at her, and it seemed to her that he raised his glass higher in her direction, and mouthed, ‘Thank you.’
She smiled, saluting him back and mouthing, ‘My pleasure.’
After that the mood was merry. The talk turned to Carnival, due to start in a few days.
‘Then we have two weeks of fun,’ Mario said, ‘and it ends just before Lent.’
‘And Lent is when people are expected to be virtuous and restrained,’ Sally recalled.
‘Right. So people really let rip in Carnival, because it’ll be so long before they can let rip again.’
‘I want to go with Uncle Mario to buy some masks,’ Pietro said.
‘Ah, yes, you have so few, haven’t you?’ Damiano said.
‘I’ve worn them all before,’ Pietro protested. ‘I want to be somebody different, grown up. I’m tired of being just a kid.’
‘Why don’t you come with us?’ Mario asked Sally and Charlie. ‘You’ll have a great time.’
‘Sounds terrific,’ Charlie said. ‘Count me in.’
‘And me,’ Sally said at once.
‘Perhaps you should rest another day,’ Charlie said. ‘You don’t want to overdo it too soon.’
‘I’ll be fine,’ she assured him.
Her smile told Charlie that if he thought she was going to take her watchful eyes off him while he went on a spending spree, he was mistaken. He made a wry face, accepting the warning.
‘So, as soon as breakfast is over, off we go,’ Mario said teasingly.
‘Oh, no!’ Pietro protested. ‘I want to come too but I have to go to school.’
‘Then we can leave it until this afternoon,’ Sally said.
Everyone agreed and the meal finishe
d cheerfully. When it was over Damiano followed her out into the hall.
‘You’re planning something, aren’t you?’ he said.
‘Me being such a conniving character, you mean? Well, I will admit I have a secret motive. I’ll collect Pietro from school this afternoon and—well, it’ll give me a chance to form an impression about what’s going on.’
‘Shouldn’t I be there?’
‘What do you think?’
‘I’m waiting for you to tell me what to think,’ he said wryly.
‘Thus encouraging me to be more of a bossy woman than I am already,’ she suggested.
He laid his hand over hers. ‘I’ll take that risk.’
‘Then don’t come to the school. I’ll tell you what I find and we’ll work towards the next step.’
‘Whatever you say,’ he replied with an air of submission that didn’t fool her for a moment.
‘But you could still come to the shop with us,’ she said.
‘I don’t think so. I have enough different selves without confusing the issue with more.’ He added in a low voice, ‘But I’ll be intrigued to see yours.’
‘I doubt if I’ll buy anything. I’m sure I’ll enjoy Carnival, but I don’t think I need to dress up for it.’
He shook his head. ‘You won’t stick to that, Sally. You won’t be able to, once you’ve seen the range of disguises and all the new personalities they offer you.’
‘We’ll have to wait and see who’s right,’ she said.
‘I’m always right,’ he declared. But his teasing eyes robbed the words of bullying.
‘So am I,’ she said.
‘Good for you. We obviously have a lot in common. I recall you telling me, the first evening, that you didn’t really know yourself. Sometimes you thought you did, but you were always wrong.’
‘Yes. I feel as though I’m a lot of different people. It’s something to do with being an actress.’
‘I thought you said you were an accountant.’
‘I am. The acting is amateur. Just a hobby. I prize it because it gives me freedom.’
‘The freedom to be someone else,’ he said slowly.
‘That’s right. It can be boring being the same person all the time.’