‘Brava! You’re absolutely right.’
After tea Romina showed Fiyona around the palazzo, explaining all the rooms and what she and Bill had done to them. Fiyona was suitably impressed, but seemed more interested in the human story. ‘Do you know in which room the murder took place?’
‘No, I’m hoping you’re going to find out and tell me!’
‘I’ll do my best. Someone, somewhere knows and I’ll find him. I’m good at that. I did a piece recently on Eva Peron. You wouldn’t believe the people who crawled out of the woodwork for that story. It was sensational.’
‘How do you extract the information?’
‘There are many ways. Some just want to tell their story, others are flattered I’m interested. There are those who need to offload and those who have just never been asked. Half the battle is finding the right people, the ones that history has swallowed with no trace, those who were right there during world historic events, of whom there are no records. Men without trace. Those are the ones I’m interested in.’
After the house they went to the folly. ‘If you’re interested in the history, this will enchant you,’ Romina said proudly. ‘Though I cannot boast any artistic input at all. I left it as I found it.’ She turned the key and pushed open the door. Dennis had reported no evidence of ghosts or ghouls but she swept her eyes swiftly over the bed all the same. It was a great relief to find it as smooth as if she had made it herself.
Fiyona took in every detail with her acute powers of observation. ‘This was built for Valentina?’ she asked, lightly touching the silver brush and crystal pot of face cream in front of the Queen Anne mirror on the dressing-table. ‘She was playing a dangerous game. As she sat here brushing her hair, I can’t imagine she ever thought she’d be murdered by her lover. It’s a room dedicated to sensual pleasure. Can you feel it?’
Romina looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, running her hand down the silk curtains of the four-poster bed.
‘That’s what it is. The magic one feels in here is sex.’ Fiyona grew more animated. ‘I love it!’
‘I should probably have changed it. What am I going to do with a house dedicated to the perverse desires of an old marquis?’
‘No, you must leave it as it is. It’s a museum. Don’t touch a thing.’
Romina thought of telling her about the intruder, but the folly had remained untouched for some days now. There was every chance the trespasser had gone.
That night Luca took the key to the folly and met Cosima outside the church as arranged. She still felt superstitious about their relationship; that it would only survive if she lit daily candles to Francesco to reassure him that her love would never diminish. Her happiness was an uneasy condition, anchored so firmly in grief. Only when she was in Luca’s arms could she let herself go. When they made love she stole her pleasure like a thief unworthy of such riches. When they were apart she nurtured her joy like a precious diamond, afraid of letting it show, as if it might shine through the darkness to give her away. Even though the darkness was comfortable, and it was what she felt she deserved, she was so tempted by the light.
It was a relief to see Luca standing in the shade of a plane tree, hands in pockets, patiently waiting for her. She ran up and threw her arms around his neck, allowing his strength to envelop her.
‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine. I’m just pleased to see you.’
‘Where are we going?’
‘Up the coast?’
‘Wherever you want.’
‘Somewhere we can be private.’ Remembering where she was and the danger of being seen, she moved away and folded her arms. ‘Where’s your car?’
They drove up the coast, holding hands over the gear stick, the warm wind blowing in through the open windows and across their faces. They found a little restaurant in a small medieval town Cosima had never been to. It was picturesque with whitewashed houses with pink-tiled roofs and a small church with a pretty bell tower rising into the magenta sky. They sat under the awning on straw chairs, a candle lamp flickering in the centre of the table surrounded by a ring of scarlet flowers. They drank crisp white wine and held hands across the table. After they had eaten, Luca pulled a velvet pouch from his jacket pocket and handed it to her. ‘I couldn’t resist,’ he explained. ‘I was in Naples today and saw these in the window. I know we’ve only known each other a short time, but I want you to know how serious I am about you. I’ve played with the hearts of many women, but you’re different. You’re breaking through to a part of my heart I never knew was there. So, this is for you. Because you’re different.’