The Sicilian's Proposition (10 page)

Joanne shivered as she lugged her suitcase out of the cab. It was dark and dismal on the empty street, so different from Sicily with its bittersweet memories and its bright colors, sensual fragrances, and sounds. If Sicily was the healing place Dante had claimed it was, it was also a place of heartbreak, at least in her eyes.

She scrambled for her wallet and paid the driver. As the cab pulled away, she looked at the apartment block all in darkness before her. It looked so forlorn under the streetlight. She’d been close to tears when she waited for the plane this morning, half hoping Dante would turn up at the final hour, begging her not to get on that flight. To stay with him and never, ever, leave again. But that hadn’t happened. Instead, the flight took off on time, and no one showed up to prevent her going home. There hadn’t even been a phone call or text from him, either. No “
ciao
,
amore mio
,” no more “I love you,” no more Sicily, no more Dante Alphonso. A pang of grief engulfed her. Maybe she’d never find someone else who made her feel the way he had or heightened her senses and brought her emotions to life again.

The pain deep inside was like a microcosm of manacled emotion that twisted, turned, and was triggered by a sight, a sound, a word, even a song playing in the background. Everything appeared magnified. Someone had once told her pleasure and pain were two sides of the same coin. At last she understood that saying.

As soon as the plane had landed at Gatwick, she checked her phone for messages, but there were none and disappointment clenched her gut. An emptiness ensued that promised to permeate her every pore, dragging her down to the depths of despair. She couldn’t allow that to happen to her. Wouldn’t. No man was worth that.

She got inside her apartment, switched on the light, put down her case, and picked up the stack of mail from the doormat. Most were bills. She left them on the hall table and went to fill the kettle.

There wasn’t much in the cupboards or refrigerator, but she had some long-life milk she hadn’t opened, so that would suffice for a couple of cups of coffee and to cover her breakfast cereal in the morning until she could get to the shops.

Tomorrow she was going to the office to discuss things with Polly, and if her editor didn’t mind, she was going to take a couple of days leave and go back to Wales. To the comfort of home.

***

Dante arrived at the hotel. It was late morning. He’d spoken to his lawyer, who assured him something could be done to prevent further damage. Joanne’s editor had also asked to speak to him, but he’d been unavailable and would return her call later. There was just one question.
Why did you do that to me, Joanne?

He took the elevator to her room and knocked on her door, only to discover it ajar. He heard a rustling sound and female voices speaking Italian, and was about to call out when he saw it was two maids, one leaving some towels, the other pushing a cleaning trolley.

He asked the one holding the towels where the occupant was, but she just shrugged. Joanne had gone. There was no sign of her bits and pieces strewn around the room. It was all set for the next occupant to book in. So clean and tidy as if she had never been here. Joanne wasn’t in Sicily anymore, he just knew it. She had gone home.

You told her to go, didn’t you? You told her you wanted her out of the hotel and off the island.

He had driven her away, but if she was so devious, then maybe it was for the best, even without an explanation. He returned to reception and found Giovanni, who appeared to know nothing about her departure. Giovanni asked one of the receptionists, who checked the computer, and then he returned to his brother’s side.

“She checked out early this morning, Dante. She took a flight back to the U.K. Didn’t you know?”

Dante shook his head. He fought against ringing her; he had his pride and that had taken a battering. Tears sprung to his eyes. Even going for a walk was no use as everywhere reminded him of Joanne and the time they’d spent together. He needed to get out on the boat. Even though that would trigger memories, he often did when upset. After all, that’s why he bought the boat in the first place, to honor a woman, his mother, and then when Carla left, he went out on the ocean at regular intervals to assuage his pain. Now there was another woman he needed to do it for. Joanne.

Why did women have to hurt him so much? His mother’s death had hit him hard, and Carla’s abandonment had sent him to hell and back, but Joanne’s betrayal cut the deepest of all.

“I can’t believe she would have gone so soon, though…”

“What did you say to her? Did you argue?”

“Not exactly…”

Giovanni frowned. “Dante, this is me you’re talking to now, your older brother. What did you say to her?”

“She wrote a damning article about me in a magazine, sold me out.”

Giovanni stood there open-mouthed. “Joanne is a good person, Dante, she would never do something like that. You must have got it wrong.”

Dante shook his head. “No. She betrayed me. I told her to get out of your hotel and off this island.”

“But you had no right to do that, speak on my behalf. I didn’t want her to go. In any case, I’m sure you were wrong about that article. She showed me what she wrote, and it’s a very good profile of you.”

Dante unfolded the magazine he had tucked under his arm. “Then how do you explain this?”

Giovanni blinked several times as he digested the offending article. “Well if you believe Joanne would ever write something like that about you, you are a fool.” His hands were now balled into fists at his side.

“No, I’ve had enough of cutthroat journalists to last a lifetime. I came here to have it out with her and now she’s gone. That speaks volumes to me.”

Giovanni glared, showing the whites of his eyes. “But you drove her away, my dear brother!”

“I’m beginning to think you have designs on her yourself, Giovanni!” Dante’s mouth set in a fine line.

Giovanni shrugged and then lashed out at Dante. They grappled around the empty foyer, the receptionist trying to pretend she hadn’t seen anything by shuffling a sheaf of papers and walking toward the office.

Giovanni tried to push Dante across the reception desk, but Dante sidestepped out of the way and put his brother in an arm lock.

“I know what I think, and just because you are older doesn’t mean you are any wiser.” He released his grip, and Giovanni turned and threw a punch at Dante’s jaw, causing him to recoil backward into a marble pillar.

“I’m sorry,” Giovanni said, rushing to his brother’s side. “I shouldn’t have done that to you.”

Dante stood and massaged his jaw. “You always did have a good right hook, even though you are smaller than me.”

Giovanni grinned. “Yes, but believe me, although I like Joanne, I would never make a move on her without your permission. In any case, I think that photographer had something against Joanne. He’s the one who left the magazine at reception for you. I think you’ve made a big mistake, Dante, in letting her go…”

“Maybe,” Dante said, turning and walking out of the hotel.

“Don’t go doing anything you might regret,” Giovanni shouted after him, but at that point the electronic reception doors had closed behind his brother.

By the time Dante got to the boat, his head was swirling with thoughts. A whirlpool of confusion. He motored out to sea and switched the engine off. Then he went below deck. He reached into the liquor cabinet and took a long swig from the brandy bottle, then another and another. The weather wasn’t as nice as the day he’d set off with Joanne, but it fit his mood as dark storm clouds gathered overhead and rain began to fall, tamping off the cabin roof, and somehow it comforted him.

He could get away from a woman, but from himself, never. He had no idea where he was going, but to be on the ocean was right for now. He wasn’t appropriately attired, dressed only in a thin cotton shirt and trousers. He took the bottle on deck and sat under cover at the helm. It was getting cold, and the wind whipped through him from all angles, causing him to shiver, so he took another swig from the bottle to warm himself, and then closed his eyes.

***

Polly Montgomery nibbled the end of her pen and peered at Joanne over the top of her glasses. “No, Byrne hasn’t been here and his phone is switched off. He’ll never darken this office again…”

Was this the right time to ask her editor for some time off, especially as she’d been away for the past few days? But that was on assignment and not on holiday, although it had felt very much like one.

She sat forward in her chair. “So the article was all right?”

“Yes. I already told you that. The problem has been getting the photographs.”

“You couldn’t get in touch with your contact in Italy?”

Polly shook her head. “No, it’s not that. It’s Mr. Alphonso. I haven’t been able to make contact with him. He’s not answering his phone. I rang the hotel you were staying at and spoke to his brother, but he said the family hasn’t seen him since yesterday.”

A sharp pain hit her like a thunderbolt. “That’s odd. I would have thought he would be available to family members, especially after his brother-in-law’s death. He said he had a funeral to arrange.”

“Well, we must not jump to any conclusions. Now, what did you want to ask me?”

Joanne’s editor seemed to second guess her every thought. “Well…” She shifted on her seat. “I know I’ve been away from the office for a few days, but I need to take some leave so I can go back home to see my mother. I’m a bit concerned in case anyone has told her about the publication of that article. It’s a small village, and as you can imagine, the gossips will have a field day with that story.” It wasn’t the real reason she wanted to go back home; there was a far more pressing reason than that.

Polly looked at the ceiling as if deep in thought and then sighed. “Yes, I think we can spare you for a couple of days, but when you come back, I might pile the work on you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Okay. I need you to look at the article layout to see if you like the look of it before it goes to print. We might have to scrap the photos from Sicily if I can’t contact Mr. Alphonso, and just use the ones taken over here.”

“That would be a shame, though.” Images of a time at the winery and the vineyard danced before her eyes. “It would have been nice to see the man at work.”

She needed to contact Byrne to get those photographs from him.

***

Dante opened his eyes. The sea was getting rough as the boat rocked back and forth, making him feel nauseous, while the sea spray splashing over the side made both himself and the deck wet. It was a mistake coming out here in this weather, especially without suitable clothing. So different to that calm day with Joanne.

He went below deck to fetch a blanket to wrap around himself as he steered the boat back to shore. He hadn’t sailed that far away, and it wouldn’t take long to get back. He stepped down from the helm and walked across the deck with the spray hitting his face. He rubbed his eyes to see where he was going but became blinded by the burning salt water. He began sliding, reaching out for something to hold onto, but his hands grasped at air. Then he was falling backward, desperate to keep himself upright, the cold spray hitting his body as he toppled. His head hit something solid and everything went black.

***

Joanne had taken a cab to Byrne’s house. She pressed the doorbell with her thumb as she gazed at the tree-lined street and waited. Through the frosted glass, she saw a figure coming to answer the door and hoped it was him. Disappointment reigned when she realized it was one of Byrne’s teenage sons, Joshua.

He looked her up and down.

“Oh hi, Josh, is your father around?”

He shook his head. “He’s nipped out for a few minutes.”

“What about your mother then?”

The boy turned to look and shouted, “Mum!”

He walked away, leaving her on the doorstep. A harassed looking woman arrived, wiping her floury hands on her apron. “Joanne, isn’t it?” She smiled in recognition. “Please excuse me. I’ve been baking; we’ve got a dinner party tonight. I’m afraid Jackson has popped out to pick up the wine, but he shouldn’t be long if you would like to come in and wait.”

She hadn’t intended to. She chewed her lip for a couple of seconds in deliberation, but as she was invited inside, what did she have to lose?

“Yes, that would be great, thanks. I shan’t stop long.”

She was shown into a room that looked like some sort of television lounge, all neat and tidy for tonight’s event. Off that was a conservatory where it appeared a dinner table had been laid, complete with red napkins, crystal wine glasses, and a large floral centerpiece. The table had been set for eight. Did Byrne have that many friends? No doubt it would be people the couple both knew.

“Please take a seat. Would you like coffee while you wait?”

“Yes, please.” Joanne seated herself and looked around the room at the framed prints. There was one of the couple with both boys, a striking family portrait taken a few years ago by the look of it. Another few Jackson himself had taken of celebrities. And one in the corner of the couple on their wedding day, both looking young and happy. Did Lorraine Byrne know her husband was such a cheat? Did she turn a blind eye to his misdemeanors, or hadn’t she a clue? Perhaps it was the latter, as to all intents and purposes they looked the ideal family with two children and a Scottie dog that was running all over the house and barking intermittently.