The Sicilian's Proposition (15 page)

“Yes. It’s Ponti, he’s getting buried today.”

“But how? Why? He was young.”

“Look, I don’t know if I should be telling you this as maybe too many shocks are not good for you until you recover your memory.”

“Well, if you don’t tell me, I will ask Carla.”

“No, don’t ask her,” Giovanni said, raising his voice an octave. “Whatever you do, do not ask Carla.”

What was his brother keeping from him? He needed to know.

Dante watched Carla toweling her hair dry, her body now draped in a large towel as rivulets of water pooled on the tiled floor at her feet. “Where are you going?” he asked, gauging her response.

She looked at him and then glanced toward the open door. He knew she was avoiding the question; she couldn’t look him in the eye. “I have business to attend to. I shall only be a couple of hours. The nurse will see to you.”

The nurse indeed
. She was up to something she didn’t want him knowing about, that much was evident. The trouble was he didn’t have the strength to get out of the bed and follow her without assistance. When she had left the house without returning to his bedside, he called the nurse over.

“Please, did you see the lady who went out from here?”

“Yes,
Signor
Alphonso…”

“What was she wearing?”

If the nurse was surprised at his question, she wasn’t showing it, and she tucked in the corners of his bed sheet before answering, “She wore a black hat and dress,
signore
.”

He knew it. Come to think of it, she’d been wearing a lot of black of late when for her, pastels were the norm. If she wore black, she would complement the outfit with something bright like a scarf or a wrap, not dress in black from head to toe. So why might she be going to Ponti’s funeral? Giovanni had assured him Angelina and the children were taken care of, so why were people acting so cagey around him? He had to find out. Bruno, his chauffeur, wasn’t around today and following Carla was the best way to find out what was going on.

“Please nurse, help me get dressed and take me to a funeral. Do you know whose it is?”

The nurse nodded. Of course she would know; everyone had known Ponti and feared him. He had warned Angelina not to get involved with the man in the first place. “I don’t think the doctor wants you to get out of bed yet,
signore
.”

“I am sorry about that, but I am paying you, the doctor isn’t. Now please help me get dressed and take me in your car.”

The nurse muttered something under her breath but did as she was told. She helped him slip into his black trousers and black short-sleeved shirt. His legs seemed boneless, but he needed to do this to see what all the fuss was about; he sensed it was the key to everything.

“Now
signore
, I do not want you to walk to the car, you must get into this chair,” she said, pinning him with a look. He nodded. He was placing her in a compromising situation. She wheeled the chair to the side of the bed and helped him to get in. Then she pushed it outside to the car, and he placed his arm on her shoulder as she helped him inside.

The streets were lined with people, and armed police were situated on every corner. No doubt there would be undercover policemen, too, due to the links Ponti had with organized crime. Although most people hated the double-dealing of exhortation and racketeering on the island and supported politicians who were against it, the
Cosa Nostra
had left an indelible mark.

He watched the funeral procession leave the church and drive the small distance to the graveyard. His heart went out to Angelina and her children, who stood at the head of the grave plot as the white-robed priest stood beside them, swaying an incense burner on a chain over the grave, back and forth. Next to them were Giovanni and their father, heads lowered, hands clasped in front of them. Then he spotted her. Carla was leaning against a wall, almost collapsing with grief, a man taking her by the arm to support her. Why was she so upset about Ponti? He didn’t quite get it. Not unless…

A flash of memory came back to him.
London.
A conversation.
It had been hard for her to find the words at first. At the hotel she had told him that she and Ponti had been lovers for years. She had left him for Ponti; their relationship had been a total lie.

A sharp pain hit him in the gut and he recoiled, repulsed and shocked at the same time.

Although he felt for his sister and the children, he was sick to the pit of his stomach. “Please take me back home, I don’t feel well,” he implored.

The nurse shot him a glance as if to say,
I told you so.

Half an hour later he was undressed and back in his bed. Although it might have been wrong to have defied doctor’s orders, he had done the right thing to get to the truth.

Carla had been in love with Ponti. How could he ever trust her again? And even if she was trying to make amends, he had seen with his own eyes the level of grief she expressed for the man. He would never be able to compete with that.

***

Joanne was right about one thing. Yorkshire was freezing; it chilled her to the bone. She switched the tape recorder off and, thanking the gamekeeper next to her, turned to the female photographer and asked, “Have you snapped enough photographs, Marsha?”

The woman nodded. “Yes. I’m pleased with these. I got some lovely ones of the estate. Time to get over to the pub for some lunch?”

“Yes, I could do with something warm inside me.” Her appetite was coming back. Work was the best thing for her right now. Tomorrow she had a few more people to interview and a photo shoot of the village, and then back to London.

The thing was, although her thoughts were occupied being in a new location, once she got back to London, all the thoughts of Dante would return with a vengeance. There was no running away from things. If she could, she would. Was there a cure for a broken heart?

***

“Dante, you look dreadful.”

Dante opened his eyes and looked up to see Giovanni’s eyes gazing at him. Blinking, he asked, “What time is it?”

“It’s a quarter past six.”

He had been asleep for hours. It was all he seemed to do these days since this head injury. Squinting, he asked, “What are you doing here?”

Giovanni shrugged. “But you asked me to call on you.”

Of course. He wanted to know what relationship he’d had with Joanne and also more about Carla and Ponti’s relationship.

Giovanni drew up a chair by the side of the bed, and Dante summoned a maid to fetch drinks.

“Sorry, I’m still half asleep.” He yawned and ran his fingers through his messed up hair.

Giovanni’s eyes showed concern. “So what do you want to know?”

“I just want the truth about the sort of relationship I had with Joanne?”

Giovanni exhaled. “Well from what I could tell, you were very close to one another.”

“We were?”

“Yes, you seemed sort of intimate. You looked as if you cared about her. I’ve never seen you look as happy as you did when you were with her.”

Dante rubbed his stubbled chin. “I just don’t remember it, though.”

“You took her on your boat to Lipari and spent the night there.”

Of course, she was the woman he’d seen in his mind, so that meant she was the one in the red bikini. She was the one he remembered in the hotel bedroom in Lipari. She was the one who gave him such wild imaginings. Why couldn’t he connect those images filtering through his brain with her?

“Did something bad happen there?”

Giovanni nodded, his face taking on a grave look. “Yes. You told me you encountered Ponti at the hotel and there was an exchange of words between you. The following day he was found dead.”

“Oh no. Did I do something wrong?” He put his head in his hands.

He feared he had killed the man. After all, he would have known Carla and Ponti were lovers at that point and most likely furious at Carla’s deceit and betrayal.

Giovanni shook his head. “No, you told me there was an altercation between you. The hotel had footage of it on their security camera. The police found the men concerned, and they’re in custody.”

Relief flooded through him as he removed his hands from his face. “Ponti and Carla were lovers?”

Giovanni raised a brow. “You remember that?”

“Yes, Carla told me in London. I remembered this morning and got my nurse to drive me to his funeral. Carla was there sobbing inconsolably.”

Giovanni frowned. “I didn’t see either of you.”

“No, you wouldn’t have. I was at a discreet distance in the car, and Carla was well away from the mourners. Maybe she didn’t want to be seen out of respect for Angelina and the children.”

“You shouldn’t have got out of bed like that. Your nurse should have…”

“Believe me, she didn’t want to take me. I demanded she take me.”

Giovanni laughed. “Good old Dante. Always could command obedience.”

“I suppose. How is Papa coping with things?”

“He’s bearing up, it’s not easy for him. All of this after what he went through last year, but we pull together as family, don’t we?”

“Yes, we do. What other choice do we have? I hate this memory loss thing, though. I want to remember.”

Giovanni nodded.

Dante had asked the doctor about his condition before he left the hospital and was informed he had retrograde amnesia, which meant he couldn’t remember things just before the accident. It could have been worse, but he feared the things he couldn’t remember. What had he said and done?

Poor Joanne, no wonder she had left. It must have been hard on her. He liked her. The more time he had spent with her, the more comfortable he felt, but until he connected with his emotions toward her, he couldn’t get into a relationship.

He heard the front door of the villa open and slam shut and glanced at his brother.

Giovanni rose from his chair. “I’ll leave now, Dante. If there’s anything you need, just let me know. You and Carla will have things to talk about.”

Dante nodded and smiled.

Carla brushed past Giovanni on his way out without acknowledging him. She sat on the bed next to Dante, her wide eyes blinking. “I’ve been thinking,” she began animatedly, “when you are well, we could go away together for a while, maybe New York or Paris.”

Dante looked into her eyes; he had to do it and do it right now. “I’m sorry, Carla. I’ve remembered.”

She frowned. “Remembered what?”

“That you and Ponti conducted an affair throughout the course of our relationship. You were living a lie.”

“But I explained all that to you; he seduced me when I was just sixteen.”

“That may be so, but I followed you today. You hid it from me you would be attending his funeral. What kind of a relationship is that?”

She tossed back her dark tresses. “I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to hurt you, Dante.”

“Nevertheless, you hurt me more by hiding it from me, and it hurt me even more when I saw how upset you were. How in love you must have been with the man. For that reason, I am breaking things off with you. I want you out of this villa right now.”

“But you can’t do that to me. After all we have been through.” Her eyes were shining now. Did she think no one would ever dump her? There was no guilt about this; she had cheated on him with Ponti all the way through their relationship and hurt him when she left him for the man.

“I can and I have.”

“But please. I’m sorry for all I have done to you, Dante. Please forgive me.”

“I’m sorry, Carla, I don’t love you anymore.”

She collapsed in a heap and sobbed on the pillow next to him, and deep down inside he realized her tears were for another man, not him.

He caressed her back gently. “Believe me, Carla, this is for the best. You will love again.”

She might love again, but he realized she would never love another man the way she’d loved Ponti. Within the hour, she had packed her belongings and was out of his home and his life.

***

The leaves on the trees were turning the most beautiful colors of russet, amber, and burnished gold. They crunched beneath Joanne’s feet as she walked along the street. She was off to interview Kel Matthewson’s housekeeper at her little cottage next door to the village pub. Autumn in Sicily was as warm as a British summer, except it had been laden with the fruits of harvest time, the heavy vines ready to make the most exceptional wines. The colors and the fragrances of the island had permeated her senses. If she closed her eyes, she was still there.

Giovanni had called her last night to check how she was. She asked after Dante, but all he said was he was now back home and recuperating. No mention of his memory, so maybe he was happy with Carla. Perhaps it was all for the best. All she had to remember him by were a few snapshots of their time together at the vineyard, on the boat, and at Lipari. They’d asked a passerby to take a couple of photographs on her mobile phone as they stood near the quay at Lipari. They both looked so happy, it was hard to believe things had turned around in such a short time.

All her life she’d remember that night at the hotel.

She took a deep breath and knocked on the cottage door. Time to push all thoughts aside and get on with work.

By the time she’d finished the interview, it was time to head back to her hotel. Although work was a great placebo for her, as soon as she knocked off for the day, it was back to being on her own and her thoughts once more. Marsha had already gone back to London as Polly needed her for another assignment.