Carol Marinelli - Tall, Dark and Italian

Ignoring the suspicion that Raphael di Castelli’s visit the previous day was influencing her, she chose a cream chemise dress that was spotted with sprigs of lavender. It was long, as her skirt had been, but she chose canvas loafers instead of the boots she’d worn the day before.

Her hair had dried in the sunshine and she surveyed its wisps and curls with a resigned eye. Some women might appreciate its youthful ingenuousness, but she didn’t. She should have left it long, she thought gloomily. At least then she could have swept it up on top of her head.

Shrugging off these thoughts, she rinsed her coffee mug, left it on the drainer, and exited the apartment. Three flights of stone stairs led down to the ground floor and she emerged into the warm air with a growing feeling of well-being. She wasn’t going to let Ashley—or Castelli—spoil her holiday, she decided. She had a good mind to shut the gallery early and spend the latter half of the afternoon on the beach.

Ashley’s little Renault was parked a few metres down from the apartment building and it took some patience to extricate it from between a badly parked Fiat and a bulky van. It didn’t help that she had to keep control of the vehicle by using the handbrake, the steep slope of the road making any kind of manoeuvre an act of faith.

She managed to regain her composure driving down to the gallery. Tumbling blossoms on sun-baked walls, red-and ochre-tiled roofs dropping away towards the waterfront, buildings that seemed to be crammed so closely together, there didn’t seem to be room for anything between. But there were gardens lush with greenery, fruit trees espaliered against crumbling brickwork. And the sensual fragrance of lilies and roses and jasmine, mingling with the aromas from the bakery on the corner.

The phone was ringing when she let herself into the gallery. Ashley, she thought eagerly, hurriedly turning off the alarm as she went to answer it. ‘Hello?’

‘Teresa?’ Her spirits dropped. She should have known. It was Ashley’s mother again. ‘Teresa, where have you been? I’ve been trying the apartment but you weren’t there.’

‘I expect I was on my way down here,’ said Tess, adopting a pleasant tone even though she felt like screaming. Then, with sudden optimism, ‘Have you heard from Ashley?’

‘No.’ The clipped word conveyed it all, both distress and impatience. ‘Have you?’

‘If I had I’d have let you know,’ said Tess flatly, and heard Andrea inhale a sharp breath.

‘As would I, Teresa,’ she said. ‘And there is no need for you to take that tone with me. If you don’t know where your sister is, I consider that’s your mistake, not mine.’

Tess bit back the indignant retort that sprang to her lips. It was no use falling out with Ashley’s mother. She was upset, and who could blame her? Her daughter had gone missing and she was over a thousand miles away.

‘I suppose I assumed she’d keep in touch,’ she said at last, deciding she didn’t deserve to shoulder all the blame. ‘And I did speak to her a few days ago.’

Andrea snorted. ‘You didn’t tell me that yesterday.’

Tess sighed. ‘I forgot.’

‘Or you kept it from me, just to worry me,’ Ashley’s mother said accusingly. ‘Didn’t you ask her where she was?’

No. Why should she? But Tess kept that question to herself.

‘I never thought of it,’ she said, which was true enough. ‘Anyway, she’ll be in touch again, I know, when she finds the time.’

‘Well, I think it’s a very unsatisfactory state of affairs,’ declared Andrea tersely. ‘And if it wasn’t for this customer of Ashley’s wanting to speak to her, I’d have heard nothing about it.’

Nor would she, thought Tess ruefully. But that was another story.

There was an awkward silence then, and before Tess could think of anything to fill it Ashley’s mother spoke again. ‘You know,’ she said, ‘I’m getting the distinct impression that you know more about this than you’re letting on. And if Ashley was forced to ask you to stand in for her, she must have been desperate.’

Gee, thanks!

Tess refused to respond to that and Andrea continued doggedly, ‘Well, all I can do is leave it with you for the present. But if you haven’t heard from her by the end of the week, I intend to come out to Italy and see what’s going on for myself.’

Tess stifled an inward groan. ‘That’s your decision, of course.’

‘Yes, it is.’ Andrea had obviously expected an argument and Tess’s answer had left her with little more to say. ‘All right, then. So, the minute you hear from Ashley, you’ll ring me? You promise?’

‘Of course.’

Somehow Tess got off the phone without telling the other woman exactly what she really thought of Ashley’s behaviour. And then, after hanging up, she spent several minutes staring gloomily into space. She no longer felt like closing the gallery early and spending the rest of the day on the beach. This so-called holiday had suddenly become a trial of innocence and she was the accused.

It wasn’t fair, she thought bitterly. It wasn’t her fault Ashley had disappeared; it wasn’t her fault that she had taken Castelli’s son with her. So why was she beginning to feel that it was?

SOMEHOW Tess got through the rest of the day. For once, she had several would-be customers in the gallery, and she spent some time talking to a couple from Manchester, England, who were visiting Italy for the first time.

Nevertheless, she was enormously relieved when it was time to close up. She returned to the apartment and another lonely evening feeling as if she were the only person in Porto San Michele who wasn’t having any fun.

The next morning she felt marginally brighter. She’d slept reasonably well and, refusing to consider what would happen if Ashley didn’t turn up, she dressed in pink cotton shorts and a sleeveless top that exposed her belly button. Why should she care what anyone thought of her appearance? she thought, slipping her feet into sandals that strapped around her ankle. This was her holiday and she meant to enjoy it.

With this in mind, she decided to give the car a miss this morning. A walk down to the gallery would enable her to pick up a warm, custard-filled pastry at the bakery, and the exercise would do her good. Italian food was delicious, but it was also very rich.

It was another beautiful morning. Outside the sun was shining, which couldn’t help but make her feel optimistic. Whatever else Ashley had done, she had introduced her to this almost untouched corner of Tuscany, and she had to remember that.

Several people called a greeting as she made her way down the steep slope into town. She didn’t always understand what they said, but she usually managed an adequate response. Her Italian was improving in leaps and bounds, and before all this business with Ashley had erupted she’d been happily planning a return to the country, maybe taking in Florence and Venice next time.

The pastry she’d bought at the small pasticceria was oozing custard onto her fingers as she let herself into the gallery. The alarm started its usual whine and she hurried to deactivate it before opening up the office and setting her backpack down on the desk. Then, before she had time to fill the coffee-pot, the telephone rang again.

Dammit, she thought, she couldn’t get through the door before someone wanted to speak to her. Depositing the sticky pastry onto the notepad beside the phone, she picked up the receiver. ‘Medici Galleria,’ she said, expecting the worst.

‘Miss Daniels?’

Tess swallowed. She would have recognised his distinctive voice anywhere. ‘Signor di Castelli,’ she said politely. ‘What can I do for you?’ Her heart skipped a beat. ‘Have you heard from your son?’