somehow reach Genoa, the airport and safety.
She knew now which were the real doors and which the false, and accepted that there was no opportunity for escape there. So, she started on the windows. The first two sets of shutters opened on to glorious oil-painted landscapes—one showing a sylvan lake overlooked by a rococo palace—the other depicting rolling meadows studded with poppies and edged by cypress trees.
The Italy I was expecting to find, she thought wryly, walking on to the next window, and catching her breath as she flung back the shutters.
Because there were the mountains as far as her eyes could see, confronting her, surrounding her like a cage of rock. And, in spite of the sunshine, as tall, harsh and inimical as her jailer, she thought, feeling suddenly cold.
While one gingerly downwards glance told her that below the window was a sheer drop to heaven knows where.
And there was no sign of Trimontano, or any other human habitation apart from the prison she was standing in.
She left the shutters open, and went back to lie on the bed, heaping the pillows up behind her as she began a serious attempt to evaluate her equally serious position.
Her only hope seemed to lie with Count Valieri himself, who surely could not know that an actual crime was being perpetrated in his name. Not unless the younger man had some hold on him too and was forcing him into it.
If this was the case, then maybe they could work together to stop things before they went too far. Unless of course the Count was older and feebler than his portrait at the theatre suggested.
But that couldn’t be true. His handwriting suggested a forceful and determined personality, so he might well be acting against his better judgement for some reason.
So, she would simply have to talk him round, she thought. Tell him frankly that Nigel Sylvester was also a forceful and determined man, and certainly not someone you would wish to have as an enemy, and to treat him as prey would undoubtedly have a dangerous backlash.
She could also warn the Count that she wasn’t Nigel Sylvester’s favourite person and, if it was left to him, he probably wouldn’t give a brass farthing to get her back.
Perhaps not in those exact words, she thought ruefully. But at least I can let him know that if this madness continues, he’ll have a fight on his hands that he can’t possibly win.
While I, she thought, her throat tightening nervously. I could end up caught helplessly in the middle. And what will happen to me then?
CHAPTER FOUR
SHE SEEMED TO have lost all track of time. But maybe that was a deliberate policy of disorientation on the part of her captors.
Eventually, of course, she had rung the bell, unable to ignore her stomach’s wistful rumblings any longer, and recognising, too, that she needed to keep her strength up.
A maid had appeared so promptly she might have been waiting outside the door, and carrying a small table which she placed beside the bed. She was followed by another girl in a starched white overall, her hair covered by a cap, and carrying a laden tray. After which they nodded, smiled, wished her ‘Buon appetito’ and left.
And this time, she actually heard the key turn in the lock.
And they’d behaved as if it was perfectly normal to serve a strange girl locked in a bedroom, wearing nothing but a nightdress in the middle of the day. A realisation which did nothing to lift her spirits.
Sighing, Maddie investigated the tray and found a tureen of vegetable soup, steaming and aromatic with herbs, a linen napkin containing freshly baked rolls, a plate of cold meats, and, in a covered glass dish, a scarily rich dessert that seemed to be composed from chocolate truffles. There was also a small jug of red wine, a bottle of mineral water and a pot of excellent black coffee.
It would have been more dignified to pick at the food, but Maddie fell on it as if she hadn’t eaten for a week.
Last night’s dinner was a long time ago, she told herself as she wiped out the few final delicious drops from her soup bowl with a crust, and tonight’s confrontation was unlikely to be relaxed or festive. So she’d make the most of what there was, although she was sparing with the wine, knowing that later she would need to keep her wits about her.
But it took a very long afternoon to get to