‘Do you burn easily in the sun?’
‘Yes. Can’t go into it. I languish in the shade like an orchid.’
‘You are very pale.’
‘At least I don’t have to worry about tanning. There’s no point. Anyway, I think Nicole Kidman and Madonna have made it fashionable to be white.’
‘You will certainly look younger for longer,’ said Romina, determined to be kind.
‘Not with my lifestyle. It’s an uphill battle. I drink and I smoke and I like to stay up late. I’ll always look older than I am.’
‘So, how long have you written for the Sunday Times?’
‘I’ve been a freelance journalist for twenty years.’
‘Gracious, you must have started young!’
‘I suppose I did. I get turned on by facts.’ She narrowed her eyes. ‘I like mysteries.’
‘You’ll find plenty of those here.’
‘Oh, I already know about the Marchese, the girl he murdered, Valentina, and her long-suffering fiancé Thomas Arbuckle. Sadly, he won’t talk. He’s in his eighties now, bless! There’s only so much you can pester people and I draw the line at harassment.’
‘And you know that Valentina’s brother murdered the Marchese?’
‘No, that I didn’t know. An act of revenge. That’s logical.’
‘People don’t like to talk about the past. My son and the professor discovered that piece of information by talking to an old man in town.’
‘None of this has ever been written anywhere?’
‘Folklore.’
‘And the people who really know aren’t talking?’
‘They don’t want to dig up the past.’
‘But I do. Digging up pasts is what I do best!’
Romina felt her disappointment melt away. After all, she didn’t have to like the woman. The object was to write an article on the magnificence of the palazzo and its incredible transformation at the hands of two brilliantly talented people. The chances were that after she left, they’d never cross paths again.
‘The truth is, I’d rather focus my attention on the present. Who lives here now? What happened to the previous owners? How does one build on such grim foundations? Can one ever really escape the past?’
‘Please don’t tell me that you believe in ghosts?’
Fiyona revealed two long eye-teeth, like a wolf. ‘No, but hey, if there are any lurking around, I’d be only too delighted to meet them!’
Luca returned as the bridge game drew to a close with the four players going over the game in a heated post-mortem. Luca went over to introduce himself to the journalist.
‘So, you’re the famous Luca Chancellor. You’re not at all what I expected.’
‘Neither are you!’
‘You look like a man who’s been relaxing in the Italian sun for months.’
‘I assume that’s a good thing?’
‘For someone who isn’t intending to go back to the office.’
‘I have no intention of doing anything for the moment.’
‘Lucky you!’
He sat down and tapped a cigarette out of its packet. ‘Have you shown Fiyona around, yet?’ he asked his mother.
‘She’s only just arrived. How were the children?’
‘Sad to leave, I think. They adored their stay.’
Romina beamed. ‘I’m so pleased. I hope they’ll come back soon.’ She turned to Fiyona. ‘My granddaughters. Delightful little girls. As pretty as my son is handsome.’
Fiyona watched him light up. ‘I’m glad I’m not the only smoker.’
‘Everyone smokes in Europe. It’s only England and America where political correctness has gone crazy,’ said Romina. ‘Let’s all have one, then we can be politically incorrect together.’
When Ventura appeared with a tray of cakes and fresh tea, the bridge players were drawn to the table like hungry dogs. Nanni pulled out the chair beside Fiyona, catching a glimpse of her red fishnet tights. She glanced up at his beetroot face and grinned.
‘Fun, aren’t they? Not really appropriate for the Italian countryside, but I was in the city this morning.’
‘They’re very colourful,’ he said, the sweat gathering on his forehead as he recalled the racy paintings of Toulouse-Lautrec. ‘It is very hot today, don’t you think?’
‘I love the heat. As long as I’m not in direct sunlight.’
He noticed her pearly skin and ruby lips. ‘You’re born into the wrong century. Now brown is considered beautiful.’
She fixed him with her emerald eyes and blew a smoke-ring. ‘Beauty’s in the eyes of the beholder.’