not the sexy blonde or the voluptuous brunette of Maddie’s imagination.
This woman was older, her dark hair, drawn back into a heavy chignon, streaked with silver. Her face was still beautiful because of its exquisite bone structure but at the same time it was strained, even haggard, her wide amber eyes fixed on Maddie with the same inimical expression used by Domenica.
She turned towards Andrea speaking rapidly in Italian, the sun creating sparks of fire from the diamonds on her slender hands as she gestured angrily.
He said gently, ‘Mammina, it had to be. You know this. Now speak English or Maddalena will not be able to understand.’ He looked down at Maddie standing like a statue beside him. ‘Carissima, I wish you to meet...’
‘But I know who it is,’ she said hoarsely. ‘It’s Floria Bartrando. The missing opera singer I came to Italy to interview. I—I can’t believe it.’
‘She is also my mother,’ he said. ‘The Contessa Valieri.’
Maddie felt as if she’d been winded. ‘How—how do you do,’ she managed.
But her greeting was not returned, and the Contessa did not offer a hand to be shaken.
‘I had no intention of ever speaking to you, signorina.’ It was a rich, lovely voice still, in spite of its overt hostility. ‘We meet now only at my son’s insistence. I do not willingly receive a young woman who openly allies herself with my enemies.’
Maddie’s stunned astonishment was fading fast to be replaced by indignation as she registered the contempt in the older woman’s tone.
‘Enemies?’ she repeated. ‘What do you mean? If you’re talking about my fiancé and his father, they knew exactly why I was coming here, and it was obvious they’d never heard of you.’
Yet, at the same time, hadn’t Jeremy told her that his father was violently opposed to the idea of her visiting Italy...
‘No,’ said the Contessa icily. ‘Andrea’s father took great care that they should not do so. He knew trouble was coming and he was afraid of how it might end, so he insisted our secret must wait for better times in order to protect me. To protect my reputation. My career.’
‘I don’t understand any of this,’ Maddie protested. ‘What trouble?’
‘Perhaps it would be better to start at the beginning,’ Andrea suggested quietly. ‘This is a time for explanation, not to create further misunderstandings.’ He took his mother’s hand and kissed it. ‘Mammina, please try to accept that Maddalena is innocent of all blame in this affair.’
‘All blame?’ The Contessa pursed her lips. ‘I wonder. But let us deal with the matter, figlio mio, as you suggest.’
She waved to a table and chairs set under a striped awning. ‘Shall we be seated?’
Maddie hesitated. She didn’t want to be here, she realised. She didn’t want to hear what they might be going to say. She felt suddenly scared, as if she was standing at a door which might lead to a bottomless abyss, where only one unwary step could lead to her destruction.
Turn back, an inner voice was prompting her. You don’t have to hear these things. You’re the innocent party in all this, as he’s just said. So, refuse to listen and turn back to safety.
Yet in her heart, she knew she had forfeited safety from the moment she’d decided to research the story of a lost soprano. From that moment on, she’d simply been a puppet, manipulated by forces she had never encountered before like hatred and revenge.
And, if she was to be wholly honest, haunted—torn apart by a sexual desire that was also totally outside her experience.
I have to know, she thought, a faint shiver running through her in spite of the sun’s warmth. I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering why this happened to me.
When they were seated, Domenica appeared carrying a tray with glasses and a tall jug of fresh lemonade, clanking with ice cubes.
She’s like a different person, Maddie thought, observing the warm smile that transformed the other’s features when she spoke to the Contessa. But not with me, she added ruefully, finding herself once more on the receiving end of another surly glare as Domenica retreated indoors.
Accepting the lemonade Andrea had poured for her, she said, ‘I’m ready to listen.’
He was silent for a moment. ‘I must begin with a question,’ he said at last. ‘During your time with the Sylvesters, have you ever heard the name Marchetti?’
Maddie frowned. ‘Yes—once. Jeremy was saying that Sylvesters used to have foreign directors on the board. I’m sure that was one of the