Picture of Innocence(49)

‘That’s it,’ he snarled. ‘I will show you the evidence and that will be the end.’ And he almost frogmarched her back to the house.

Oblivious to the surprised looks from the dozens of people in the hall, he marched her to the rear of the house, pushed open a door, and led her into the study.

‘Sit,’ he instructed, and shoved her onto a well-worn black leather sofa. He walked over to a large desk and, opening a drawer, withdrew something, then walked back to stand towering over her.

‘You need proof of what an apology for a man your brother was?’ He flung a handful of photographs down on the low table in front of her. ‘These are pictures taken on the day of the so-called accident that killed Antonio. Look at them.’

He leant over and spread them out in front of her. The first he pointed to was of Antonio and Damien, their faces almost as red as the jackets they wore, laughing. Moisture glazed Lucy’s eyes as she stared at the picture. They both looked so young, so vibrant, so full of life—and now they were both dead.

‘That is the pair of them arriving at the base camp to prepare for the climb the next morning. Note the date and time on all of them.’

Lucy didn’t see the point. The date of the accident was imprinted on her mind for all time. But she did as he said. Three more were general shots the same day, and within the same hour. Only the fifth—a landscape shot—was of the following day, at two in the afternoon.

‘So they look happy?’ She brushed a tear from her eye. ‘What am I supposed to see?’

‘See the small figure in red on the landscape shot that is your brother. These photographs were given to me by a friend, Manuel, who is an expert climber. Damien and Antonio were not at his level, but were experienced climbers. They joined the climbing club together at university, climbed regularly in Britain, in the Alps, and on other continents when they toured the world.’ He looked down at her, his black eyes blazing with anger. ‘According to Manuel, from the position of your brother on the mountain at that time any reasonably experienced climber could have made it to the base camp in three hours—four at the very most. But it was dark when your brother called the rescue service—seven hours after that photograph was taken—too dark to start the search. A complete novice could have got down faster. He let Antonio die.’

Lucy looked up at him. For a second she thought she saw a glimmer of anguish in his eyes, and then it was gone, and he was watching her, waiting, supremely confident in his belief, his dark gaze challenging her to deny the evidence he was presenting her with.

Should she bother? Lucy asked herself. She knew Lorenzo. When he made up his mind about something nothing changed it. He was always right. He had decided she was a promiscuous woman the first time she went to bed with him for no other reason than that she had … He looked at a few photographs and decided they were proof her brother was a murderer, though he had not used that term.

‘You really believe that?’ Lucy said quietly.

‘Yes—the proof is in front of you. Antonio is dead. I lost a brother, and Damien cost my mother her son and devastated her life.’

Lucy’s eyes widened. She’d been devastated at Antonio’s death, maybe, but Anna still had Lorenzo—her life was hardly over. And she was fed up with being the bad guy—or girl, in her case.

‘It didn’t do a lot for my life, either, or I would not be sitting here listening to this,’ she said sarcastically. ‘I have finally realised everything is black and white with you, Lorenzo. Good or bad—no in between. You are always right. Does it ever occur to you not everyone is as strong as you are? Perhaps after hanging onto Antonio for over an hour Damien was weak? Perhaps he passed out and didn’t remember? Or maybe the clock was wrong? ‘ she ended facetiously.

‘No, there can be no other explanation, Lucy. The evidence is all there in the coroner’s report. Your brother said he thought it had taken him four hours to reach the camp, not seven. The coroner’s report states Antonio had died not of his injuries but of hypothermia, after spending the night on the mountain, only one or two hours before he was found. He could have lived if it wasn’t for your damned brother. So now you have seen the proof, and now you know why Steadman is a dirty word to me.’

Lucy thought of arguing and looked at him. His face was set hard and she shivered. What was the point? Lorenzo was a strong man—not the type to accept weakness in others.

‘Have you nothing to say?’ he asked, his dark gaze resting on her.

‘Thank you for showing me the photos.’ She stood up. ‘Can I go now?’