“I’ve lost weight, but I won’t break, Brandan.”
“Of course you won’t. Love the wig!” He recovered quickly, reaching out to touch it. “Ooh, and it’s real. Nothing but the best for you.”
He’d brought takeout from their old favorite bistro where they’d first met all those years ago.
“A tuna melt and fries for the lady.”
“You remembered.” She batted her eyes coquettishly.
“How could I forget? It was all we could afford.” He laughed as he produced a second lunch. “Only today we don’t have to share.”
He kept her amused while bringing her up to speed on all the gossip at Brandan Kane Creations.
“How is Amber doing?” she asked of her assistant.
“You’ve trained her well.”
“She’ll make a good replacement.”
“Nonsense. Merely a placeholder until you come back.” He squeezed her hand. “She misses you. Everyone misses you.”
She held a hand to her heart. “Give them all my love.” Her work family had become an important part of her life.
After they’d finished lunch, Renée suggested a walk.
“Should you be out among the masses and all those germs?” Brandan was unsure.
“To the post office, just a few blocks away.” It was the perfect opportunity to send her response to Isabella.
“I can mail something for you,” he offered.
“I need some air,” she insisted. “Please?”
“You are queen for a day, and your wish is my command.” He bowed dramatically, making her laugh.
As they exited the apartment building, Renée breathed in deeply. “You can’t imagine what it’s like being cooped up inside all day.”
“You’re right. I can’t.” He tucked her hand through the crook of his arm. “And I wish you didn’t have to be. But it’s not forever.”
Brandan was right. It wouldn’t be forever, but likely not to a good end. For now, she would live in the present, breathe in real air, and walk with her best friend among the streets of Manhattan. It had become her city.
“Here we are,” Brandan said as they arrived at the local post office. “Can you handle all these steps?”
She’d never before given a second thought to the entrance steps, but today she was already a bit winded from the short stroll.
As she hesitated, Brandan slipped the letter from her grasp and said, “Be right back.” He trotted up the stairs and down again.
“Using me to do your dirty work?” he scolded good-naturedly, having obviously checked the addressee. Brandan knew about Isabella, which brought pangs of guilt that Michael knew nothing of her past.
“What’s the point in keeping this from him now? Michael adores you. He’ll understand.” It was a mild rebuke.
Will he? She said nothing, though, and Brandan dropped it. As they made their way back, a headline caught her eye at a local newsstand.
Phillip Welles New Ambassador to the UK. She had to steady herself as she picked up that day’s edition of The Boston Globe. How long had it been since she’d thought of Phillip and the Welles family?
“What is it?” Brandan took hold of Renée’s arm again.
“Nothing,” she said, handing him the paper. “Buy this for me?”
He fished in his pockets and withdrew a few loose dollar bills to make the purchase.
Renée was shaking now as the unexpected tidal wave of emotions overtook her. Thank goodness Brandan was there to guide her, for she could barely see the sidewalk through the tears as they walked back to the apartment.
* * *
Boston ~ Late 1960s
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Renata said to Catherine Ferris after Mrs. Welles had invited her and Antonio to lunch at their home.
“What could it hurt?” Her friend was a practical woman and trusting in her nature. “Even if she’s figured out that Antonio is Phillip’s child, what do you think she’d do?”
Renata shrugged uncertainly.
“Don’t worry. There are laws protecting your rights. Besides, Marjorie Welles fears scandal more than death. You should go. There could be some advantages for Antonio.”
Renata was still concerned but put her faith in Catherine’s wisdom and accepted the invitation. She should have trusted her own intuition. The afternoon turned into an ambush.
It began pleasantly enough, with her former employer doing everything possible to make Antonio feel comfortable.
“Let’s have lunch outdoors where Anthony can play with some toys I brought down from the old nursery.”
“It’s Antonio,” Renata corrected her.
“Of course, my dear.” Mrs. Welles patted her hand. “Let’s just enjoy this delicious luncheon Meg made for us.”
Renata had stopped in for a quick hello to her former coworker, though the reception was rather chilly. She blushed to think that Meg might possibly have known about Phillip sneaking up to her room back in her nanny days.
When the ice cream sundaes were served, Mrs. Welles turned her full attention to Antonio and asked, “Are you in kindergarten yet?”
“He will start in the fall,” Renata answered for her son.
“Are you having fun, Anthony?”
The child nodded eagerly as ice cream dripped down his chin, and the woman reached across and playfully wiped away the stickiness.
“How would you like to come back and visit again?”
“Yeah!”
“Yes, thank you,” Renata corrected.
“Yes, thank you,” the small voice echoed.
When Antonio went off to play with a toy airplane in the large enclosed yard, Renata told their hostess, “Thank you so much for a lovely afternoon, but we should be on our way.”
Ignoring Renata’s attempt to depart, Marjorie Welles bluntly asked, “Did you ever hear from Anthony’s father?”
Why on earth won’t the woman call him Antonio? She tried to keep the annoyance out of her tone when answering, “Antonio’s father was never in the picture.”
“But you do know who the father is.”
The conversation was entering dangerous territory, so Renata reached for her purse and said, “I don’t see that this is anything to interest you.”
“Don’t be upset. I only want to help.”
“Help? With what?”
“I hear your son has a genetic disorder that causes abnormal bleeding.”
“Antonio,” Renata called to her son, but this did not stop Mrs. Welles.
“Our Phillip has something similar. It’s called Von Willebrand disease.” The woman’s expression was morphing into Snow White’s evil queen. “You remember Phillip from when you worked here, don’t you?”
Renata dabbed away the perspiration forming on her forehead.
“Of course you do.”
At that moment, Phillip and his father entered the courtyard.
“I don’t think we need introductions,” Mrs. Welles said as the men joined them at the table.
Still handsome, Phillip nodded curtly while Renata folded her hands in her lap to hide the trembling.
“Antonio!” she called to her son again, and this time he came running. “It’s time for us to go home now.”
She thanked God he didn’t protest. But as she tried to stand, Mr. Welles took hold of her arm, forcing her to remain seated.
“Mamma.” Antonio tugged at her sleeve. “I thought we were going.”
“In a minute, darling.” She pulled her son close to her.
“You should have told us,” Mrs. Welles said, seemingly oblivious to how a child might react to this conversation.
“Antonio, give Mamma five more minutes of grown-up time and go play with the airplane.”
And away he went, squealing with delight.
“There was nothing to tell you.”
“One only need look at Anthony to know that Phillip is his father. And he’s admitted to having relations with you at the time you became pregnan
t.”
Renata looked at Phillip, who kept his eyes averted. She swallowed back the bile that was rising in her throat before saying, “You cannot prove anything.”
“We wish to do right by the child.” Mr. Welles spoke in a kind but firm tone. “He is, after all, our grandson.”
“And what of the medical attention he will need?” asked Mrs. Welles.
“I have taken good care of Antonio.”
“Of course you have,” Mr. Welles agreed. “But you must see that we are in a much more advantageous position to give Anthony a good life filled with opportunities.”
“He will have opportunities. What is most important is that he is loved, and he knows he is loved.”
“Was there a reason you decided to keep this from Phillip?” Mrs. Welles blurted out, seeming almost hurt. “From us?”
“Phillip left for England without a word of goodbye to me. He never wrote to me. It was apparent he had no interest in anything beyond what he sweet-talked me into doing in my room.”
Phillip remained silent but finally turned those icy blue eyes on Renata, his face filled with contempt.
Mrs. Welles’s color rose. “We are not proud of Phillip taking advantage of you.”
“I had no intentions of forcing him into an unwanted marriage or fatherhood.”
Mr. Welles cleared his throat. “Well now, as you can imagine, marriage at this point is not an option. Phillip is engaged. No matter how reckless his past actions, we cannot expect him to give up his future.”
“But we would like to bring Anthony here to live with us. Gregory is just nine now and Lisa is twelve. They’d love to have a little brother.”
Renata was confused. At first, she’d thought they just wanted to be involved in Antonio’s life, which was bad enough.
Now it was Mrs. Welles who would not look at her as she said, “You will be well provided for, and we could make arrangements for visitation.”
“Antonio is my child.” She stood and collected her things and called out to her son. When he ran up to her, she cupped his face in her hand and smiled at him.
“Ti amo, Mamma.”
“Ti amo, Tonio.” She then took her son’s hand and said, “Thank you for lunch, but now we must be going.”
“I’ll see you out.” Phillip finally spoke and followed them to the car.
After Renata secured Antonio into his seat, Phillip took her roughly by the arm. “You can do it this way, or we can simply take him from you.”
“You are hurting me.” She pulled free and rubbed where surely a bruise was forming. “If you cared at all about the best interests of this child, you’d leave us be.”
“He’s a Welles and my family has deep pockets. You will lose him one way or the other. You might as well take the money.”
“I would rather die.” She spit out the words, not knowing what had come over her.
She was shaking so badly she could barely insert the key into the ignition. If she hadn’t borrowed Catherine’s car, she wouldn’t even return to the Ferris’s house. Fortunately, nobody was home when she arrived. She quickly packed two bags, one with Antonio’s clothes and toys and the other with her own possessions.
She jotted a quick note to her friend. A family emergency requires us to return to Italy. Sorry I couldn’t wait to say goodbye. Thank you for everything, especially your trust and your friendship. Love, Renata and Antonio
Renata was a complete wreck by the time she showed up on her brother’s doorstep later that day.
“Hey, hey, my little Tonio.” Vito picked up the child and tossed him into the air, catching him just in time, provoking shrieks of panicked glee. But one look at his sister and he knew there was something seriously wrong. “What is it?”
“He’s going to try and take Antonio from me.”
“Who is?”
“Il diavolo.” [“The Devil.”]
* * *
New York ~ Six months ago
Renée was breathless from her foray out into the world.
“Let me put the kettle on. What you need is a nice cup of English Teatime.”
While Brandon tended to the tea, Renée spread the newspaper out on the breakfast table and read through the article. She would add it to the envelope Vito had given her, the one she kept stashed away in the secret jewelry box compartment.
“What’s that?” he asked, watching as she carefully clipped the article.
“A ghost from my past.” She studied the photo of Phillip Welles’s family and something caught her attention. Standing behind Phillip’s wife, children, and now grandchildren, was a middle-aged man who looked strikingly familiar. It could be a younger version of Vito.
“My God,” she whispered, her heart racing. “Antonio?”
“Who’s Antonio?”
Renée looked at her friend with sad eyes. “My son.”
Brandan fell dramatically into the chair across from her. “I am not leaving here until you tell me everything.”
24
Cassandra
The Bluffs ~ Present day
Before Christopher left with Daniel, he stopped by the house to give me a heads-up that Edgar might be stopping out to The Bluffs.
“He asked to borrow some materials I checked out from the library. They’re on the carriage house kitchen table.”
“I’ll make sure he gets them.”
He glanced down toward the ankle monitor before asking, “Could you walk Gypsy too?”
“Of course.” Then to ease the awkwardness, I said, “I know you’ll do what you can to help Nicholas.”
“I will try.” He smiled sadly and tipped his head, then walked off to join Daniel at the Land Rover.
Gypsy was getting used to me and greeted me sweetly. The call from the judge had summoned them quickly, leaving no time for Christopher to put things in order, but I found the place neat and tidy as usual. The pile of books was on the kitchen table, as promised.
When I returned from walking Gypsy and was bending down to fill her water bowl, I noticed the strap of something sticking out from the lower kitchen cabinets. I opened the cupboard to find Christopher’s messenger bag. I used my cell phone camera to take a shot of how it was placed in the cupboard before lifting it from its hiding place.
The cautioning scent of my great-grandparents now intensified when I opened the bag and sorted through the papers. On top was a brochure for the Lady Spirit. There was also a manila envelope with a handwritten note in a language I didn’t recognize. I unfolded a yellowed newsprint article I did recognize; it was the same article I’d seen before from The Cape Cod Times about the unclaimed boy who washed up on Whale Rock shores so many years ago.
What was Christopher Savage’s particular interest in Barnacle Boy?
I returned my attention to the manila envelope and gently opened the clasps to find letters in the same handwriting and unfamiliar language. I took out my phone to photograph the note and then began replacing the items, when a text came in from Edgar, telling me he would be there in ten minutes.
After carefully returning the messenger bag to the cupboard, I gave Gypsy a biscuit and said, “Promise not to tell?”
A few minutes later, Edgar and I were sitting at my kitchen table, Whistler nuzzling Edgar’s hand for another treat.
“I now carry a supply of these because of you.” He patted the dog’s head, then drank down a glass of ice water. “It’s cruel to have this heat wave while all those workers are still trying to clear away the mess left by Chantal.”
“Thank goodness power has finally been restored to the Cape.” Power lines had been repaired in a somewhat staggered order.
“Luckily your library was one of the first.”
“I hear you were working there late last night and caught a little action on the wild streets of Whale Rock.” I raised my eyebrows.
“Indeed.” He shook his head disapprovingly. “I don’t know that Creed fellow, but I was disappointed to see Christopher involved.”
�
��You’re sure it was him? I only ask because it does seem out of character.” I took a sip from my water glass while Edgar considered the question.
He gazed upward, forehead scrunched as if trying to resurrect the scene, then looked at me and said, “On a ten-point scale, I’d rank my certainty as a seven.”
“Very precise, Edgar.” I had to laugh.
“I wish I had thought to take a picture with my phone, but it was probably too dark anyhow.” He then turned his attention to the pile of books. “What have we got here?”
“These are what Christopher asked me to give you.”
Edgar flipped through one of the books, which automatically opened to some articles stuck between the pages. He unfolded a sheet of paper, read through it, and then passed it across to me. “Does this mean anything to you?”
“The Boston Globe, 1969?” I checked the upper corner first and then perused the short piece about two men arrested after stealing a boat for a joy ride. “I don’t recognize the names. I doubt these guys were Whale Rock locals.”
Edgar was scanning a second article.
“Is that one related?”
“Doesn’t seem to be.” He slid it across the table.
The second article was more recent, also from The Globe, about a prominent Boston family.
I shook my head. “Haven’t a clue who these people are either.” I glanced down at the two articles, lying side by side on the table. “The two stories don’t seem to be related in any way.”
“Other than the Boston connection.” Edgar began flipping through the other books but found no other articles. “Anyone could have left these in the book.”
“True,” I said, though the thick ashy scent that had enveloped me was evoking doubts. “Mind if I keep these?”
Edgar eyed me suspiciously over his half-glasses but didn’t question the request.
“Of course.” He gathered up the books. “I must be on my way. Jimmy’s waiting for me to collect him.”
“Did he go out with the search teams again?”
Edgar nodded. “He’s been hard hit by little Lucas’s disappearance, even though he’s never met the child.”
“You married a good, kind man.”
“That’s my Jimmy, all right.” He glanced furtively at the papers on the table. “Keep me posted if you learn anything.”
Storm of Secrets Page 17