“Did Falcone tell you about the Madonna?” she asked. “The one that Dante had given me?”
I shook my head, measuring tea into a pot.
“I gave it to Falcone,” she said. “It wasn’t mine to keep and I wanted nothing to do with it. He discovered a bug attached to the back of it. A listening device that meant Dante had been able to hear all of my conversations in my apartment.”
“That would explain how he knew that Ethan had found the Della Pittura in your father’s safety deposit box.” I looked at her in horror. “Good grief, that’s awful.”
“It made me physically sick. To think he was eavesdropping on me for weeks, listening to me talking to my dad, my brother, my friends. And to you, when you came with the key. He knew everything, at least until you and I left the apartment. That messed things up for him.”
I put a mug of tea down in front of her and sat down.
“What about your ghost?” I asked to change the subject. “Did you see him again in the Vasari Corridor?”
A smile lit up her face. “He’s gone. I believe he was waiting for his portrait to be discovered and made public. I’m glad they found it, although we may never understand the whole story of who he was or how he came to have his portrait painted.”
We’d both listened to Falcone and his art expert, Pedretti, debating how long the Botticelli portrait had been stored in the vault. Given that there was no mention of the painting in any historical records, Pedretti believed that it had been acquired and hidden by the Custodians not long after being completed in the late 1490s. But we’d never know for sure.
The doorbell rang and I went to answer it, expecting it to be Valeria, who planned to join us for dinner. Instead, wrapped in the Stewart tartan scarf I’d given him for Christmas, was Josh. His eyes were the color of the Mediterranean sea in the spring and, when he leaned forward to kiss me, I smelled the faint and familiar scent of wool and aftershave. He dropped his briefcase and overnight bag on to the step and flung his arms around me. “God, I’ve missed you,” he said.
“It’s been twenty hours. I only left yesterday evening,” I said with a laugh. “But I missed you too.”
I’d got a late night flight with Leo, Olivia and the boys while Josh had paid a fleeting visit to his parents’ house to celebrate his mum’s birthday. But now we’d have the rest of the long holiday weekend together. He lifted me in the air and hugged me tight. Then he set me down carefully and picked up his bags.
“Who’s here?” he asked.
“Almost everyone. Valeria will be here soon. And Patrizia is coming. She got out of the hospital a few days ago.
“Quite a gathering. But it’s you I really want to see.” He raised an eyebrow. “Do I get to sleep in your room like last time I was here?”
“Yes, but we’re sharing it,” I said, and laughed at his crestfallen expression. “Bianca’s moved in. Last night she slept on the bed with me.”
We stepped into the hall, where he hung his jacket and scarf on the coat-rack before giving me another hug. This time I felt the warmth of his skin through his shirt.
He and Alan had got back from Shanghai on Monday, four days after I’d arrived back in London. I’d been sitting at my desk when Alan walked in, looking as though he’d trekked back from China on foot, with a crumpled suit, spiky hair and a distinct droop to his shoulders. “Bloody British Air,” he’d muttered.
I’d told him it was lovely having him back, but my sarcasm was totally lost on him. I’d rather hoped that he would have a life-changing experience in China, some enlightening encounter with the Buddha perhaps. But that was too much to ask for. The good news at least was that he’d been too jet-lagged that morning to bring up the subject of my missing days. By the time he’d got around to it, I’d completely caught up with all my work by staying until midnight three days in a row.
There had been other good news in the last week. Detective Lake had cleared Ethan of all involvement in Ben’s death and no longer regarded me as a person of interest. Falcone and Lake had worked together to identify and charge the killer, one of Dante’s men.
Dante remained in custody, awaiting formal charges to be made against him. Falcone said the list of charges was long, and the Italian legal system works slowly. Dante was calling in all sorts of favors from friends in high places, including the police department and the judiciary. I hoped he’d go to prison for a long time, but Falcone wasn’t so confident. The contents of the warehouse had been impounded, though, and the provenance of every piece was being verified. Falcone was optimistic that many of the missing artworks he’d been tracking down for years would turn up in the collection.
I thought back to my phone conversation with Colin Butler, my journalist friend who’d researched Dante for me and only found that he was a bona fide art dealer. He’d be devastated when I told him what Dante had really been up to. I still owed him a drink— I’d buy him extra beer and crisps to soften the blow.
Josh gave me a long, slow kiss. “You taste of sugar and spice,” he said.
“I’m making an Easter cake,” I told him before kissing him back, leaning into him, running my fingers through his dark hair.
He glanced at his watch over my shoulder. “I think the rugby’s started,” he said.
“Why don’t you watch with Ethan and Leo while I finish baking,” I suggested. He didn’t need a second invitation. He couldn’t miss watching a Scotland match if he tried.
Back in the kitchen, I was beating eggs and sugar together when Bianca started whining at the door. I rinsed my hands at the sink and went to let her out. The weather had improved, the rain replaced by soft sunshine, the air still cold but fresh and clear.
Dad’s garden glowed in the pale light. Blue iris bloomed, yellow daffodils nodded on tender stalks, and white crocus rose from the deep red earth. On the other side of the lawn, an arbor covered in wisteria sheltered a stone bench. It was my favorite place to read a book in the summer.
Bianca ran towards it, barking.
For a second, my skin prickled. But Dante and his henchmen were in custody. No one could do me harm, so I set off across the grass, my shoes sinking into the damp soil. When I reached the arbor, I saw a figure sitting on the bench, with Bianca panting at her feet. Stopping dead, I held my hand to my chest to quell the pounding of my heart. The woman wore a nun’s habit and sensible black shoes, her face turned up to the sun.
Sister Chiara. She was the one who’d first explained my aura-seeing gift to me almost two years ago. She’d died not long after our encounter, and I’d met her again once since then.
Looking over at me, she patted the bench. “Come sit with me for a moment,” she said. “How are you doing?”
I took a breath and sat down next to her. The stone was warmed by the sun, but I felt the chill emanating from Chiara’s skin.
“I’m fine,” I said. “How are you?” I laughed nervously. It was a silly question to ask someone who was dead.
She smiled back at me. “Surprisingly well. And how are the auras going?”
“I’m still seeing them,” I said. “But I’m managing better with them, most of the time anyway.”
“You are. You’re helping people, Kate. I hope you understand that.”
I turned on the bench to look at her. She appeared just as she had on the hillside when I’d first talked with her, her face lined with age, but her dark eyes still bright and alert.
“You’re aware of the latest… incident?” I asked. “Three people died, Ben, Simon and Santini.” Not that I cared about the cardinal, but I didn’t tell Chiara that. She was a nun after all. “And there was a boy on a train. He had hazel eyes and wild hair. I never even tried to save him. I couldn’t.”
“You can’t save everyone. But three people are alive, thanks to you.”
I gazed at her, biting my lips, remembering the boy and so many others that I hadn’t helped.
“Look at me,” Chiara said. “What matters, Kate, is your willingness to take risk
s to save others. There are some who might have been endowed with your gift who wouldn’t know how to use it. Or they would use it to benefit only themselves.”
The sound of fluttering wings caught my attention as two birds settled on the bird table to peck at the seed. Today there were no masked robber raccoons around to steal the food.
“I’ve always thought that the next time I saw you, it would be for you to tell me that I’ve seen enough auras,” I said to Chiara. “That my gift was being revoked.”
I patted Bianca on the head. Her brown eyes were directed straight at the nun. It was obvious she could see her as well as I could.
Chiara gazed into the distance. “Not yet, my dear. Not yet.”
I bowed my head and took a deep breath, letting her words sink in, acknowledging that I would see more auras, with all the fear and anxiety they brought with them. And I would do my best to thwart them.
A voice broke the silence. Claire strode across the lawn towards me, her red hair gleaming in the shimmering light.
“Are you and Bianca enjoying the sunshine?” she asked.
I looked up. The bench beside me was empty. Sister Chiara had gone.
<<<<>>>>
THE END
Dedication
For James, Madeleine, and Charlotte
With Love
Acknowledgements
To Cathy Feldman, Maryvonne Fent, and Lyn Mitchell, thank you for taking the time to be beta readers, and for your excellent feedback. The book is far better for your suggestions.
Effusive thanks to Susan Garzon, Maryvonne Fent, Diana Corbett, and Gillian Hobbs for your insight, comments and friendship. And a special thank you to Julie Smith and Mittie Staininger for your expert guidance. It’s always a pleasure working with you and I’m proud to be on your author roster.
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CARRIE BEDFORD grew up in London and has since lived in Switzerland, France, Spain, and Italy. An enthusiastic traveler, she draws on her experiences in her writing. She wrote her debut novel, Nobilissima, while living in Italy, where she researched the life and times of the Empress Placidia. The Kate Benedict Mysteries are set in England and Italy.
Carrie now lives in California with her husband, their two daughters, two yellow labs, and a calico cat who assists in edit cycles by taking random walks on the keyboard.
After winning a Greater London Essay Competition in her teens, Carrie has written for both pleasure and for business. Over the last twenty years, she’s published many articles in leading computer and technology magazines. She was editor for a small magazine publisher for several years, and more recently co-owned and managed a public relations and marketing firm in Silicon Valley. She has an Honors degree in English Language and Literature from Manchester University in England.
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The Florentine Cypher: Kate Benedict Paranormal Mystery #3 (The Kate Benedict Series) Page 31