names.’
He nodded unsmilingly. ‘It was. The last to serve was Benito Marchetti, but his poor health did not allow him to play an active part. That role was taken by his son Tommaso. He had spent much of his boyhood in England, and had even been to school with Nigel Sylvester, with whom he had become friends. Great things were expected of him. Accordingly, when he was told there were problems with the branch in Milano, he decided to investigate personally.’
He paused again. ‘While he was there, he met a girl, a young soprano who was also making a name for herself, and who had come to the city for some specialised coaching by a Maestro Benzano before returning to Rome to sing the role of Gilda in “Rigoletto”.
‘We fell in love,’ said Floria Valieri. The harshness had gone. Her gaze was remote, tender. ‘It should not have happened. It was madness. We were too young, just starting our careers. Yet suddenly nothing mattered but each other. We were overwhelmed by our feelings, our need for each other.
She shook her head. ‘I had never realised that sometimes it can be like that. That in a moment two lives can change forever.’
She smiled faintly. ‘We told no-one, but Tommaso’s great friend who had introduced us guessed somehow, and promised to keep our secret. He did so his whole life long.’
Maddie’s voice was barely more than a whisper. ‘You mean—Count Valieri?’
‘Sì.’ Andrea took up the story. ‘They decided that when her season in Rome was over, they would be married. But Tommaso returned to London in order to make enquiries into some of the things he had learned in Milano.’
‘What kind of things?’ Maddie’s heart was beating an alarm.
‘Sums of money,’ he said. ‘Lost in a labyrinth of transactions that led nowhere. Currency deals that could not be traced. Other apparent irregularities. All the evidence suggested that one person was responsible, but Tommaso could not—did not want to believe it.’
He sighed. ‘He told Cesare Valieri, who warned him to be careful. But it was too late. Soon after his return to London he himself was arrested and charged with embezzlement. All those strange elusive deals he had discovered were suddenly being traced back to him.’
‘How much was he supposed to have stolen?’ Maddie’s mouth was dry.
He shrugged. ‘In the region of half a million pounds. At his first hearing, bail was refused and he had to await trial in prison. While he was there, he wrote a letter to his fidanzata, telling her that he had been framed and promising he would prove his innocence very soon. He told her that she must not go to England or become involved in any way, that she must continue with “Rigoletto” and write to him only through his lawyer.
‘He also wrote to Cesare, imposing the same sanctions and begging him to take care of his beloved, if the worst happened.
‘He told them both that he had no doubt that the case against him would be dismissed and the real embezzler brought to justice. He also told them the culprit’s name.’
Maddie stared at the Contessa. She said thickly, ‘I know what you’re going to say, and I can’t—I won’t believe it.’
‘Nor did Tommaso—at first.’ The Contessa sipped some lemonade. ‘The man had been his friend. It seemed impossible that he should steal and lay a trail to a false bank account so my Tommaso would be blamed. Tuttavia, it was the truth.’
She looked back at Maddie, her gaze unwavering. ‘Understand this, signorina. Nigel Sylvester is a criminal. A thief—and, in the eyes of God, a murderer too.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘NO.’ MADDIE WAS on her feet, her glass overturned and the remains of her lemonade dripping on to the flagstones of the terrace. ‘No, that I will never believe. Not even he...’ She stopped with a gasp as she realised what she was saying.
‘I said a murderer in the eyes of God.’ The Contessa’s tone was austere. ‘No, he did not do the deed himself or hire someone for the purpose. I acquit him of that. But it was Nigel Sylvester’s plotting to cover his own crime that caused my Tommaso to be in jail, and in that way he was responsible for his death.’
‘There was a fight in the prison,’ Andrea explained bleakly. ‘Two men attacking someone smaller—weaker. Tommaso went to the victim’s aid, but one of the assailants had a piece of sharpened metal, and, in the struggle, my father was stabbed in the throat, it