The Italian Matchmaker(95)
Alba stared at Fiyona with such vitriol that the younger woman shrank. When Alba spoke she did so in English in order to make herself absolutely clear. ‘You inveigle your way into my home, take my hospitality, drink my prosecco and eat my crostini, knowing all along that my mother was Valentina Fiorelli, murdered by the Marchese who lived in that palazzo you call glorious, with the intention of finding out as much as you can so that you can lift the lid on secrets kept for over fifty years?’ She turned on her daughter. ‘Oh, Rosa, you are naïve if you think this woman courted you for your friendship. Well, don’t let me stop you all enjoying yourselves. Stay, have another drink why don’t you? But if you’ll excuse me, I’d rather not socialise with someone who’s going to hurt the members of my family who were there when my mother was murdered and who, for the last fifty-six years, have tried to forget.’
She stalked into the house. Panfilo shook his head regretfully. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said politely, ‘but I think you should leave.’
‘Of course,’ said Fiyona, rising unsteadily to her feet. ‘Come on, Nanni.’
Nanni shook his head. ‘My sister will be mortified that we have offended you.’
‘Don’t forget that Valentina was Alba’s mother,’ said Panfilo to Fiyona. ‘And her father is still alive. If you have to write an article about the palazzo, write it with sensitivity for those still living.’
Fiyona swallowed hard. ‘Of course.’
‘I’ll drive you back,’ Eugenio volunteered.
‘Don’t worry, we’ll walk,’ said Nanni. ‘I know the way.’
‘Are you sure?’ Rosa was furious that her mother had humiliated her in front of everyone.
Fiyona took Rosa’s hand. Her lipstick had leaked into the lines around her mouth and bled on to her teeth. She had clearly drunk too much. ‘I’m sorry, Rosa. But don’t worry, two million people will read about you.’
Nanni led Fiyona up the hill. ‘What a disaster!’ he exclaimed, mortified.
‘My fault. I pushed too hard.’
‘What did you want to find out?’
‘I like to have all the facts.’
‘Don’t you already have them?’
‘I’m sure Falco wasn’t alone when he murdered the Marchese.’
‘So what?’
‘I bet it was Thomas, Alba’s father, who was with him.’
‘And you thought Alba would tell you that?’
‘I don’t know what I thought. I forgot where I was.’
‘You shamed us all!’
‘I’m sorry. I feel dreadful. They’re nice people.’
‘Then drop it, Fiyona. Let it go.’
‘But it would make such a good story.’
‘Not if you hurt people.’
‘I’m used to that.’
They walked through the woods. The trees towered above them, leaves shimmering in the breeze, parting to allow a luminous kaleidoscope of light to scatter on the path before them. Fiyona felt drunk and dizzy. It was very hot. ‘I have to lie down a moment.’
Nanni was irritated, but he had no choice. He certainly couldn’t carry her home.
She lay on her back and threw an arm across her eyes. ‘That’s better.’ Then she began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ he asked, lying down beside her.
‘I don’t know. Us, this, now. There’s something very funny about it.’
‘I see nothing funny at all. It’s okay for you. You will go home but we have to live in this place. My sister will kill you if Panfilo refuses to take the photographs tomorrow.’
‘Bugger. What can I do?’
‘I don’t know,’ he sighed, closing his eyes.
‘I suppose a fuck’s out of the question?’
27
Panfilo found Alba fuming in their bedroom. ‘Don’t even try to persuade me that you photographing the palazzo is a good thing! What was that woman doing here anyway?’
‘Rosa invited her,’ Panfilo replied calmly.
‘Rosa’s a liability!’
‘She’s young and naïve.’
‘Those people up there are nothing but trouble.’
Panfilo sat on the bed. ‘You’re irresistible when you’re angry.’
‘Don’t try to appease me that way, I’m immune.’
‘Look, they’re going to photograph the place whether you like it or not. If it’s not me, it’ll be someone else.’
‘I can’t bear that bloody woman sniffing around the past like a detective. We’re talking about my mother . . . and Daddy. What if she finds out that Daddy killed the Marchese?’