Giancarlo handed me a flute full of orchid-colored bubbles. “Prosecco with a dollop of elderberry wine from one of my vineyards. Let me introduce you to my very important visitor. Commander Thomas Curtis, from Scotland Yard. Commander, this is my dear friend, Mrs. Priscilla Pennington.”
Thomas and I greeted each other as though we were actually meeting for the first time.
“Commander,” I said. I looked straight into his eyes, as bold as brass.
“Mrs. Pennington,” he said. “I’m so pleased to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”
“Really,” I said. “Well, ditto, Commander. I’ve heard a lot about you, as well.”
We each smiled winningly
“Who’s your friend?” I asked.
He paused before replying, probably because he wanted to say something like, Speaking of friends, what’s with you and Romeo?
“This is Giovanna McDougal,” he finally answered. “From SkyWord.”
“Of course. I’m sorry I didn’t recognize you,” I smiled and took her hand. She had a good, firm grip and a direct, intelligent gaze. This girl was no bubblehead. “I always enjoy watching your reports.”
“Thank you.” Her tone was moderately gracious but not forthcoming. She was obviously accustomed to praise, and had no interest in a middle-aged woman who could not possibly have any effect on her life one way or another.
“Are you vacationing in Portofino or do you live here?” Thomas asked me.
“I would love to live in Portofino but, actually, I live in Buckinghamshire.”
“Buckinghamshire,” he said, drawing the word out. “I see. Well, isn’t that interesting. It’s very beautiful there, as well.”
I nodded. “My husband and I have lived there for years on his family manor, but now he’s dead and I’m here to recoup myself.” I tried not to put too much emphasis on the word “dead,” but I couldn’t help putting some, and I was rewarded with a flinch.
“Aren’t we fortunate she chose Portofino?” Giancarlo said. His gushiness was starting to irritate me.
“Very,” Thomas replied. “I’m sorry about your husband, though.”
“That makes two of us, Commander. He simply dropped where he stood. No indication. No warning. Just … dead.”
“It happens that way sometimes. People just steal away. I’m sure he’s sorry he’s gone.”
“One hopes but I’ll never know.”
“What I hope”—Giancarlo put his arm around my shoulder and gave me a little squeeze—“is that you will stay as long as you want, Bella.”
Thomas looked perturbed.
The six of us chatted convivially about the gala for another twenty minutes until Lucia arrived. She swept in, as only a six-foot-tall princess can, wearing a beautiful cerise silk blouse and slacks, and a gold necklace and bracelet.
She accepted a kiss and a champagne cocktail from her father and as she took the glass, I saw it. She was wearing my ring. The ring I’d fabricated myself with one of my Kashmir sapphires. The ring that was stolen out of my living-room safe at home. The ring I’d accused Thomas of taking. How on earth did Lucia get it? Conversation was going on all around me but I felt as though I were observing it from the sky as the pieces began to fall into place. I thought back to the charity picnic at the farm. So many people came, they’d been in the garden, the orchard, and in and out of the house. Sissy McNally had been there but she was too hopped-up to be an effective thief. Was it possible Lucia had been there as well? Of course it was. Just as it was possible, even likely, we hadn’t even laid eyes on each other. And how easy it would have been for an accomplished thief to find and open the little wall safe in the living room. There was nothing special about it, if you knew what you were doing.
I looked at her and I knew without a doubt that Lucia was my impersonator. Not her father. Not Alesandro. I studied her as she visited with Sissy, oblivious to the fact that she’d been found out. I looked at Thomas to see if he’d made the connection, noticed the ring. But I could tell he hadn’t, and he wouldn’t, because he wasn’t looking for it. He didn’t know it was missing. And besides, he was busy chatting up Giovanna and Marjorie. I wanted to pull him aside and say, Get the stars out of your eyes, old boy—the burglar is right in front of you. But I didn’t because I wanted to be sure, and also, because I didn’t want Lucia to end up in jail. She needed a chance to redeem herself.
Also, and this might sound strange for me to say, but I was proud of her. I had a secret protégé. With more experience, she could really be good. She could be as good as I was. But she wasn’t there, yet.
I took a sip of my champagne. Something about the jolt of the bubbles and the elderberry went down the wrong way and gave me a coughing attack.
“Do you need a Heimlich, Mrs. Pennington?” Thomas asked. He stepped toward me with his arms spread.
I shook my head, unable to speak.
T H I R T Y - S I X
“Come,” Giancarlo said shortly, directing us to the table.
He ran his hand over my bottom as I passed him and when I turned to look at him, he winked.
“Mangia!Chef has prepared a beautiful luncheon for us. Priscilla, you sit here by me.” He held out a chair, and then seated the rest of his guests, putting Sissy next to me, then Giovanna, Thomas, Marjorie, and finally Lucia on his left.
One of the main keys to being successful, at anything really, but especially a criminal activity, is nerves of steel. I had been in situations in the past where my detainment might have been imminent, but I was able to move my way through it unscathed because I didn’t blink. Lucia was cool as a cucumber, calm as an angel, not a feather out of place. But she’d made a fatal slip—worn her loot in public—and she’d fallen into my lap. What a silly mistake. She was obviously a very talented thief. I could picture her pulling off all these robberies, perfectly. But why? Why would Principessa Lucia Giolitti want or need to steal? Why risk everything? I’d stolen because I needed the money and it was the only way I could see to make the sort of living I envisioned for myself. But for Lucia? I assumed she did it because she was bored or it was a test of her abilities to manipulate her world and her father. Or perhaps in spite of outward appearances to the contrary, they were like much of the world’s aristocracy, they needed the money.
“This gavi is from my vineyards in Gavi,” Giancarlo announced, halting all conversation at the table. The butler filled our glasses with a beautiful pale gold white wine. ”Gavi di Gavi!To my old and new friends.” He raised his glass and looked at me.
We all sipped. The wine was crisp and flinty, the perfect complement to the first course of crisp, garlicky crostini and grilled fresh sardines.
“Tell me, Commander,” I said, “aren’t you the one we’ve been seeing on television who’s in charge of finding the Bean Sprout Burglar?”
“Shamrock,” Thomas said. His eyes sparkled across the table at me. He wanted to laugh as badly as I did.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Shamrock,” he repeated. “It’s the Shamrock Burglar.”
“Oh, of course. Shamrock. I knew it was something like that. Watercress or something.”
Everyone laughed. Ha. Ha. Ha. Glasses clinked to the Bean Sprout Burglar. The butler opened another bottle.
“And yes,” Thomas said. “I am in charge of that investigation.”
“That’s what I thought I’d heard you and Gina talking about on television.”
“Giovanna,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“Giovanna. Her name’s Giovanna.”
I looked at the girl. “I am so sorry I knew that. I don’t know why I said Gina.”
She smiled, tightly, as though she’d just bit into a lemon. She really was very, very attractive. And cold as ice.
“Do you expect the burglar to be at the gala?” I asked.
Thomas nodded. “I do. I’m certain of it.” His expression was portentous—a subtle warning obviously meant for me.
Ooo
oh, everyone chorused.
“This is just like one of those murder stories, isn’t it?” Sissy drawled. “I love those stories. Do you think the crook could be sitting right here at this table and during the afternoon and evening we’ll all get bumped off one by one except for the actual killer? And then you’ll grab him.”
“I certainly hope not.” Thomas laughed. “In the first place, this is a burglar we’re dealing with, not a murderer.”
“Well,” Sissy said. “You know what I mean.”
“But it is exciting, Commander.” I rallied to Sissy’s side. “Do you think one of us could be the Shamrock Burglar?”
“Well … ” he began.
“Don’t say such a thing.” Lucia frowned. “Don’t even think it. We want no robberies at Villa Giolitti. We’ve never had a robbery here.”
“We don’t want any robberies, either,” Thomas answered. “That’s why I’m here, to prevent one. And to answer your question, Mrs. Pennington: I don’t know if the burglar is here at this table. If I did, then I’d make an arrest and the entire affair would be over.”
“Grazie, Commander.” Lucia gave him one of those calm, transforming smiles. “We are in your care.”
“Marjorie,” I said, “are you really going to wear the Millennium Star to the gala?”
She looked sensational in a tight black T-shirt and a broad- brimmed straw hat with a red band. Her skin glowed with youthful good health and I could tell her makeup had been applied by a member of her entourage. “I am. I got to see it this morning. It’s as big as a baseball. And so beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like it. And”—she paused and turned to Thomas; she put her hand on his arm—“the commander is going to be my personal bodyguard.”
Patches of red bloomed at the comers of Thomas’s eyes.
Ooooh, we raised our glasses in a toast.
“He’s not going to leave my side all evening. Are you, Commander?”
Thomas laughed and shook his head. “Not for one second.”
Ooooh, we all raised our glasses again.
“The commander, as well as a number of policemen, are staying here at the villa,” Giancarlo said. “So I would say we are all in very good hands. Ladies, you and your jewelry could not be more well protected anywhere on earth. There’s more security here for the next few days than even at the Vatican.”
“Good,” I said. But I didn’t mean it.
Thomas gave me a look but I ignored him.
As the butler cleared the table, Giancarlo leaned close. “You look so beautiful, Bella,” he whispered. “I can’t take my eyes off of you.” And then, he put his hand on my knee and ran it up under my dress much, much, much higher than he should have.
T H I R T Y - S E V E N
This simply wouldn’t do.
Giancarlo’s hand was warm. And completely disconcerting. I was glad no one could see what was going on under the table. But, still. It wouldn’t do.
I put my hand on top of his, lifted it off my thigh, and placed it on the table.
“Giancarlo.” I looked into his eyes.
Why did he have to be so handsome? All my life I’d wished Cary Grant would make a pass at me, and now someone who looked just like him was. But there were a couple of flies in this ointment: He might have looked like the late actor but as lunch had progressed, I’d begun to find him a little too much of a braggart and bon vivant for my taste, especially in direct comparison with my husband. Thomas had more than good looks. He had class, presence, and elegance. He had restraint. Well, he was British, of course. Giancarlo was Italian. He was all hands. There it was.
Also, I’d been down this sort of road before with a man who was much more worldly than I. A handsome, vigorous, youthful man who lived in the fast lane and spent his evenings with world famous models but who was then, inexplicably, all of a sudden smitten with me. Consumed with me. And for quite a while, I fell for it. He turned out to be a man with an agenda in which I was a mere cog, a stepping-stone, a means to his end. He had no compunctions about my humiliation, just as I knew Giancarlo had no real feeling for me.
Look, I know I am a beautiful, wealthy, charming woman—but who’s kidding whom? Count Giancarlo Giolitti—a well-known Italian aristocrat and playboy, a jet-setter of the first order, a vintner of the finest Italian wines, who had a chef and a villa and a shiny black Lamborghini Testarosa, and a string of polo ponies—didn’t suddenly take one look at me and decide I was the woman for him. No. Giancarlo had a plan, although I couldn’t imagine what I would be able to offer that he would want. Unless he and Lucia were in it together.
I scanned the table. Was there anybody here who didn’t have a plan?
“You can keep your eyes on me all you want,” I said very quietly so only he could hear. “But you simply must keep your hands to yourself.”
He put my fingers to his lips. “Priscilla, you are magnifica.”
Everyone had been glued to our private tête-à-tête even though they couldn’t hear what we were saying. “Oooooh.” They all giggled and clinked their glasses. ”Amore.”
Thank God the arrival of the primi piattidistracted us. Fresh green pea agnolotti—tiny raviolis filled with green pea puree in pasta so fine it was almost transparent and dressed with curls of shaved Parmigiano. I think we were all getting a little tipsy, myself included.
“This Barbaresco is from my vineyards in Barbaresco,” Giancarlo bragged as our glasses were filled with the beautiful translucent ruby-colored wine from Piemonte. “It is one of the finest wines in Italy.”
It was absolutely superb and I had to bite my tongue from saying, Thomas, can you believe how beautiful all this is?
“Commander,” Sissy said, “you’re almost as famous as Sherlock Holmes. I’ve read about you for years. What’s the hardest case you’ve ever done?”
Thomas considered for a moment. “I’d say it’s this one.”
“Oh, come on.” Sissy frowned. “These little podunk jewelry robberies? I’d think they’d be nothing to you compared to all the serial killers and so forth that you’ve caught. I think you just said you’d do this case so you and Giovanna could get a little vacation on the Riviera! And come to the gala.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Ooooooh,” I said. ”Amore.”
“Amore.” Everyone joined in.
Thomas gave me a dirty look.
Giovanna’s cheeks colored and she looked at him. A familiar sort of look, I thought.
Thomas didn’t crack a grin. I could tell he thought we were all idiots and Sissy was an empty-headed dope.
“Not at all. This is especially challenging because this particular burglar is so brilliant.”
“Really?” I took a bite of the agnolotti. It melted in my mouth.
“Brilliant, how?” Lucia asked.
“Somehow, the perpetrator is befriending the victims without their even being aware of it, and gaining their trust enough to get into their hotel rooms without causing any suspicion, which has led me to believe the robber is a woman.”
“A woman!” Sissy exclaimed. “I heard you say that on TV: Well, doesn’t that take all.”
“If they make a movie about her, I want the part!” Marjorie laughed.
“It would be a good one,” Thomas acknowledged. “If you really want to glorify crime.”
“Well, it could have a happy ending. She could get saved. Go straight. Live happily ever after.” Marjorie said.
“Yes, she could.” Thomas nodded.
Lucia kept her eyes on her plate and shook her head almost imperceptibly She looked incredibly sad, and alone.
“Tell me, Commander.” Sissy put her hand on Thomas’s arm and leaned close to him. “Is there a Mrs. Curtis?”
“Yes, there is.”
“Well, damn,” Sissy said. “All the good ones are always taken.”
Giovanna didn’t look any too pleased with this news flash. Was it possible Thomas hadn’t told her he was married? Or separated? Or whatever it was he was.
; “This chardonnay is not from one of my vineyards,” Giancarlo announced as the segundi piattiwas served, a filet of sole with lemons and capers. “It is from the vineyard of a friend who is married to one of my cousins. But the olive oil is my own and it is the finest in the world. Here’s what you must do.” He drizzled a healthy amount of the beautiful dark green oil over his plate and then raised his glass. “This fish was caught this morning by my chef’s assistant. Buon appetito.”
“Chin. Chin,” we all said and clinked our glasses for the millionth time.
Three more courses followed: grilled rack of lamb with fresh lavender and rosemary and la Massa Super Tuscan that was so huge it looked like blood in the glass. An arugula salad lightly dressed with oil, lemon, salt, and pepper. And a dessert of Panne i Pesche Caramello—a cinnamon bread pudding soaked in hot caramel sauce, covered with sliced fresh peaches, and sprinkled with pecans crisped in maple syrup. It was one of the most sinfully delicious desserts I’d ever had.
“I wish Mrs. Curtis would learn to cook like this,” Thomas said.
“And then perhaps you’d be here with her, instead?” I teased.
“I’m here on business, Mrs. Pennington,” he answered sternly.
Finally some espresso. But by then it was too late for any chance of sobriety. Everyone was ever so slightly, and politely, smashed. Thank God there was no limoncello or the whole day would have been lost.
Giancarlo didn’t put his hand on my leg again, but it did graze past my left breast a couple of times, accidentally on purpose, and linger there.
Italians. I can see them coming around corners.
T H I R T Y - E I G H T
“I hope it’s not too late for my tour,” I said to Lucia as we all stood up from the table.
“No, no. Not at all.” She’d been quiet for most of the lunch and now seemed relieved and flattered that I’d remembered. “Would anyone else like to join us? I’m taking Priscilla on a tour of our paintings collection.”
2 Priceless Page 14