Count Valieri's Prisoner Page 14

  Maddie frowned. ‘Yes—once. Jeremy was saying that Sylvesters used to have foreign directors on the board. I’m sure that was one of the names.’

  He nodded unsmilingly. ‘It was. The last to serve was Benito Marchetti, but his poor health did not allow him to play an active part. That role was taken by his son Tommaso. He had spent much of his boyhood in England, and had even been to school with Nigel Sylvester, with whom he had become friends. Great things were expected of him. Accordingly, when he was told there were problems with the branch in Milano, he decided to investigate personally.’

  He paused again. ‘While he was there, he met a girl, a young soprano who was also making a name for herself, and who had come to the city for some specialised coaching by a Maestro Benzano before returning to Rome to sing the role of Gilda in “Rigoletto”.

  ‘We fell in love,’ said Floria Valieri. The harshness had gone. Her gaze was remote, tender. ‘It should not have happened. It was madness. We were too young, just starting our careers. Yet suddenly nothing mattered but each other. We were overwhelmed by our feelings, our need for each other.

  She shook her head. ‘I had never realised that sometimes it can be like that. That in a moment two lives can change forever.’

  She smiled faintly. ‘We told no-one, but Tommaso’s great friend who had introduced us guessed somehow, and promised to keep our secret. He did so his whole life long.’

  Maddie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘You mean—Count Valieri?’

  ‘Sì.’ Andrea took up the story. ‘They decided that when her season in Rome was over, they would be married. But Tommaso returned to London in order to make enquiries into some of the things he had learned in Milano.’

  ‘What kind of things?’ Maddie’s heart was beating an alarm.

  ‘Sums of money,’ he said. ‘Lost in a labyrinth of transactions that led nowhere. Currency deals that could not be traced. Other apparent irregularities. All the evidence suggested that one person was responsible, but Tommaso could not—did not want to believe it.’

  He sighed. ‘He told Cesare Valieri, who warned him to be careful. But it was too late. Soon after his return to London he himself was arrested and charged with embezzlement. All those strange elusive deals he had discovered were suddenly being traced back to him.’

  ‘How much was he supposed to have stolen?’ Maddie’s mouth was dry.

  He shrugged. ‘In the region of half a million pounds. At his first hearing, bail was refused and he had to await trial in prison. While he was there, he wrote a letter to his fidanzata, telling her that he had been framed and promising he would prove his innocence very soon. He told her that she must not go to England or become involved in any way, that she must continue with “Rigoletto” and write to him only through his lawyer.

  ‘He also wrote to Cesare, imposing the same sanctions and begging him to take care of his beloved, if the worst happened.

  ‘He told them both that he had no doubt that the case against him would be dismissed and the real embezzler brought to justice. He also told them the culprit’s name.’

  Maddie stared at the Contessa. She said thickly, ‘I know what you’re going to say, and I can’t—I won’t believe it.’

  ‘Nor did Tommaso—at first.’ The Contessa sipped some lemonade. ‘The man had been his friend. It seemed impossible that he should steal and lay a trail to a false bank account so my Tommaso would be blamed. Tuttavia, it was the truth.’

  She looked back at Maddie, her gaze unwavering. ‘Understand this, signorina. Nigel Sylvester is a criminal. A thief—and, in the eyes of God, a murderer too.’

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  ‘NO.’ MADDIE WAS on her feet, her glass overturned and the remains of her lemonade dripping on to the flagstones of the terrace. ‘No, that I will never believe. Not even he...’ She stopped with a gasp as she realised what she was saying.

  ‘I said a murderer in the eyes of God.’ The Contessa’s tone was austere. ‘No, he did not do the deed himself or hire someone for the purpose. I acquit him of that. But it was Nigel Sylvester’s plotting to cover his own crime that caused my Tommaso to be in jail, and in that way he was responsible for his death.’

  ‘There was a fight in the prison,’ Andrea explained bleakly. ‘Two men attacking someone smaller—weaker. Tommaso went to the victim’s aid, but one of the assailants had a piece of sharpened metal, and, in the struggle, my father was stabbed in the throat, it seems accidentally. He bled to death before help could come.’

  ‘Your father?’ Maddie asked hoarsely. ‘You’re saying he was your father? But I thought...’

  The Contessa lifted a hand. She said heavily, ‘I had told Tommaso that I was to have his child before he went back to London. And I was glad I had done so, telling myself I had given him a reason to fight to prove his innocence. As he would have done, if he had lived,’ she added, pressing a lace-edged handkerchief to her lips. ‘But the case died with him, leaving this unjust—this unforgivable stain on his name—his character.’

  Maddie sank back on her chair, her legs trembling.

  She said, ‘But what can you do?’

  The Contessa’s eyes flashed. ‘I can make Nigel Sylvester pay for what he did. A poet once wrote that the mills of God grind slowly, and that one has only to wait in patience for vengeance to be accomplished.’

  ‘But you can’t actually prove anything,’ Maddie argued. The man’s going to be my father-in-law, for God’s sake. I have to defend him. ‘Besides Signor Marchetti might have been mistaken and blamed the wrong man. It’s quite possible.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘You loved him. You want to believe the best of him, and I understand that. But his innocence doesn’t necessarily make Nigel Sylvester guilty.’

  ‘But there is proof,’ said the Contessa. ‘Tommaso wrote down every detail of his investigation, and hid the papers under the floorboards in his London apartment.’

  ‘He told only Cesare what he had done,’ Andrea said quietly. ‘And his friend found the files while he was settling my father’s affairs, even though the flat had been searched by the police and later ransacked again—by someone else.’

  Maddie swallowed. ‘But if the Count had this evidence, why didn’t he use it then and there?’

  ‘Because the case was officially closed. And also he knew that my father had not trusted the policeman leading the investigation. He feared the files might simply—vanish.’

  ‘But above all he was thinking of me,’ said the Contessa. ‘Because when I heard the news, I was suddenly in this dark place where I could not think—where I could barely speak. I could certainly not sing. Not then. Not since. For a while, I even thought I would lose my baby.’

  Maddie felt the breath catch in her throat.

  Involuntarily, her eyes turned to Andrea—to the cool, proud face, its austerity contradicted by the golden glow of his eyes. The firm mouth that could curve into a smile to wrench at her heart, and bring her to the edge of surrender with its beguiling warmth. The potent sensual promise of the lean, muscular body, once so briefly yet unforgettably close to hers.

  A cold hand seemed to touch her, turning her blood to ice as she thought, ‘You might never have been born. I might never have seen you. Never been held in your arms. And I can’t bear to think about it. I can’t...’

  ‘Cesare had been asked to protect me,’ the older woman continued. ‘A promise he took most seriously. He felt that I needed peace and a safe sanctuary in which to recover, to regain my strength and my sanity. And somehow find acceptance.’

  Her sudden smile was unexpectedly tender. ‘All these things he gave me and more. Finally, he offered his name to me and to the child I was expecting, asking for nothing in return. We were married in secret at a church in the hills above Trimontano and went back to live at Casa Lupo, where Andrea was born and raised as Cesare’s own child.’

  ‘But surely people must have been looking for you,’ Maddie protested. ‘You were already famous and you jus
t—disappeared.’

  The Contessa shrugged. ‘But no-one knew where to look.’ She added coolly, ‘You would not have done so either, signorina, had you not been led here.’

  Maddie bit her lip. ‘I need no reminder of that.’ She paused. ‘But you had the most beautiful voice. How could you bear to give up singing?’

  ‘For a long while, I felt as if I was drowning in my unhappiness. But as time passed, and my son was born, my life changed for the better. I became a wife to the husband who loved me and in this new contentment, my voice began to return a little.

  ‘But I made a solemn vow that I would never sing publicly again until Nigel Sylvester had paid for what he did. Nor will I, although I am now hoping my return in concert will not be too long delayed.’

  ‘Which was how you tempted me.’ Maddie sighed. ‘What would you have done if the company had sent someone else?’

  ‘It was not our only plan. We would simply have begun again.’ The Contessa gave her a thin smile. ‘Perhaps in the Maldives.’

  Maddie drew a shaken breath. ‘You actually knew where I’d be going on honeymoon?’

  ‘The Sylvester family has no secrets from us,’ the Contessa informed her calmly. ‘My late husband decided to have them watched, and over the past few years the surveillance has intensified.’

  Maddie bent her head. ‘I see.’

  ‘There was no personal enmity towards you,’ said Floria Valieri. ‘But we felt you could be useful. As it has proved.’ She paused. ‘If not altogether wise.’

  ‘I can promise you that,’ Maddie said coldly.

  ‘You can certainly hope.’ The Contessa shrugged again. ‘Tuttavia, it was the information that Nigel Sylvester was to become a member of your House of Lords that gave us the opportunity to take from him the very thing he has worked and schemed for. The supreme accolade for his life’s work. A career founded on greed, betrayal and deceit.’ She almost spat the words.

  ‘And you really think he will let that go?’ Maddie asked incredulously. She shook her head. ‘Never in this world.’

  ‘He has no choice.’ Andrea spoke. ‘Among my father’s papers is a letter in the man Sylvester’s own hand, begging him for the sake of their past friendship and the bank’s good name not to continue with his exposure of the fraud, and offering to put matters right. He must have assumed it would never be found.’

  ‘But if you have this evidence, why did you need me?’ Maddie spread her hands. ‘It makes no sense.’

  ‘Because we require more from him.’ Andrea’s tone hardened. ‘He must write another letter to us admitting his guilt, not just for the fraud, but for the betrayal which led to my father’s death.’ He paused. ‘In addition, he must refuse the life peerage that has been offered to him.’

  Maddie looked away. She said bleakly, ‘Then I’m not surprised he hasn’t replied. You—you’re really asking for your pound of flesh.’

  The Contessa’s brows lifted. ‘I would call it natural justice, signorina. You blame us for this?’

  ‘No,’ Maddie said dully. ‘In the circumstances, I don’t think I can.’ She swallowed. ‘But maybe you can also understand that I wish I’d never heard of you.’

  She rose and walked over to the balustrade, its stone warm under her hands as she looked down at the view—the tumble of houses among the vivid green of cypresses, cedars and palm trees leading down to Portofino’s horseshoe harbour lined with buildings in yellow, ochre and cream, and, beyond that, the restless azure glitter of the sea.

  She wondered how anything could be so beautiful, so brilliant, when everything in the safe world she had longed to return to had become so dark and so ugly.

  Be careful what you wish for, she thought, because it might come true. Isn’t that the old saying? Maybe I should have remembered that.

  And it occurred to her that a simple ransom demand would have been far easier to bear.

  And thought, I don’t know what to do...

  Behind her she heard a murmur of voices, and then the receding click of high heels across the flagstones, signalling that Floria Valieri had returned to the house.

  Andrea came to stand beside her. ‘Forgive me, Maddalena.’ His voice was gentle. ‘But it was time you heard the truth.’

  She went on staring down at a vista that had become strangely blurred.

  ‘Jeremy knows nothing about all this,’ she said, her voice trembling. ‘Nothing, I tell you.’

  ‘Naturalmente.’ His tone was wry.

  She turned on him. ‘You don’t believe that?’

  ‘It is what you believe,’ he said. ‘That is enough.’

  There was a note in his voice that troubled her, making her heartbeat quicken.

  Swiftly, she changed the subject. ‘So Domenica really works for your mother. Well that explains the hostility. And now I’ve met the Contessa, I can understand the devotion too.’

  She bit her lip. ‘I wish I could have known her under different circumstances.’

  ‘A desire that I share.’

  Heartbeat still hammering, Maddie hurried on. ‘And I’m glad she found happiness with your—stepfather.’

  He inclined his head gravely. ‘He was the best of men.’ He paused. ‘He loved her from the first, but when she met Tommaso, one look was enough to tell him he had lost her. He told himself then that a better man had won.’

  Maddie stared at the horizon. ‘Perhaps he should have spoken up anyway,’ she said. ‘Not been so noble.’

  ‘But how can we truly judge at this distance?’

  ‘Isn’t that exactly what you’re doing now?’ she asked stonily, and turned towards the house. ‘May we leave, please.’

  ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘We are to have lunch with my mother.’

  ‘I couldn’t eat.’

  ‘Starving yourself is not the way to deal with bad news.’ He took her arm. ‘Come.’

  The brush of his fingers scorched her to the bone. She shook him off. ‘Don’t touch me.’

  He stepped back, his mouth tightening. ‘As you wish, Maddalena. But my mother and the food are waiting. You will obey me in this at least.’

  She preceded him into the house where Domenica waited to conduct them into the cool dimness of a formal sala da pranzo. Long crimson drapes had been half-drawn to exclude the sunlight and, in the centre of the room, a large ceiling fan turned with silent efficiency.

  The circular table in some dark wood was set with silver, crystal and exquisite lace mats, and the long sideboard which matched it was almost groaning under the weight of several ornate silver candelabra, a heavily chased antique coffee service, and a range of elegant silver-topped decanters.

  It made the huge dining hall at Casa Lupo seem almost rustically simple, thought Maddie as she took the indicated high-backed chair.

  After the antipasti—a delicious selection of spiced meats, sausages and tiny platters of seafood—came linguine served simply with pesto, which, as Maddie had learned at Casa Lupo, had been invented in Genoa.

  The main course was fish, baked in a sizzling cheese and herb sauce, and this was followed by peaches in red wine.

  Domenica was waiting at table, and Maddie fully expected to find one of the courses being served straight into her lap, but the worst that came her way was the usual surly glance.

  She managed to eat some of everything put in front of her, although her usual appetite had deserted her.

  Conversation, unsurprisingly, was also fairly stilted. Andrea said little, lost in his thoughts, so it was left to the Contessa to ask civil questions about Maddie’s work at Athene and receive equally polite replies.

  ‘I hope your experiences here will not give you a distaste for Italian opera,’ the Contessa remarked at last as coffee was served. ‘I noticed that you seemed to enjoy “Rigoletto”.’

  Maddie stared at her, remembering the curtained box. ‘You—were there too?’

  ‘Certamente. I was as curious to see you, signorina, as you were to see me, although for very different re
asons. As for the performance, I thought Ernesto Brazzoni lacked that spark of the devil that makes the Duke so interesting—and so attractive to all those unfortunate women.’

  Maddie drank some of the rich fragrant brew in front of her. She said coolly, ‘Not a trait that holds any appeal for me, I’m afraid. I think a member of the aristocracy should show more discrimination.’

  Andrea roused himself from his introspection. He said softly, ‘But if he did, Maddalena, there would be no story.’

  She lifted her chin. ‘And the girl who truly loved him would be saved from misery and a wretched ending.’

  ‘Ah,’ he said, his mouth curling cynically. ‘True love. I bow to your greater experience in such a matter.’

  The breath caught in her throat. And you, she thought. How much would you have taught me about heartbreak if I’d given myself to you, body and soul? How long has that girl in Viareggio spent lately, wondering where you are? Waiting for you to call?

  At which point, Domenica came back into the room. She went straight to Andrea, speaking to him quietly, but Maddie caught the word ‘telefonata’ and realised her stomach was churning suddenly in mingled excitement and dread.

  Calm down, she told herself. It could be anything—some business matter—a problem at the house.

  Then watched him get to his feet and pause briefly to place a hand on his mother’s shoulder before striding from the room, and knew that it was not just—anything.

  The Contessa sat rigidly, staring in front of her, the tension in the room almost tangible as the minutes ticked endlessly by.

  Maddie looked down at her hands, clenched so tightly in her lap that her knuckles were white.

  This is the moment you’ve been waiting for, longing for, said a small stony voice in her head. You should be thinking of your reunion with Jeremy and smiling, bubbling with joy inside at the thought of seeing him again. Of returning to normal. Resuming the preparations for your wedding.

  But today has changed all that. Now you no longer know what to expect—except there’s bound to be confrontation—fallout. Because you’ve learned things you’d rather not have known. Stuff you have to try and live with.