at the bottom with his socks stuffed inside as if at any moment he were coming back to claim them. His toys and junior soccer trophies lined every available surface and, even more disturbingly, the urn with his ashes held pride of place on the mantel above the fireplace. Emma had found it a little creepy being in there. She felt as if the house wasn't quite ready to let Giovanni Fiorenza leave even though, according to the inscription on the urn, he had died twenty-three years ago.
She looked at the photograph hanging on the wall; Giovanni had been as dark as his brother with the same deep brown eyes, but there was a relaxed and friendly openness about his features that wasn't present in his brooding older brother's. The photograph portrayed Rafaele as a rather serious young boy who looked as if he were carrying the weight of the world upon his thin shoulders.
Even though Emma had been in every room in the villa by now she had seen not a single photograph of Rafaele in the years since his brother had died.
She couldn't help wondering why.
Emma was in the salon falling asleep over a book the following evening when Rafaele came into the room. She put the book to one side and got to her feet, suddenly feeling uncomfortable in case he somehow sensed where she had been mooching around earlier.
'That looks like a riveting read,' he remarked dryly.
She gave him a sheepish look. 'I guess I must be a little tired. I should have been in bed an hour ago.'
His brow creased slightly. 'I hope you are not overdoing things,' he said. 'I noticed you have taken all the covers off the furniture in the spare rooms. Surely that can wait until the new housekeeper starts in a day or so?'
'I thought the place needed airing,' Emma said. 'Some of those rooms look like they have been shut for years.'
He studied her for a moment. 'What are you up to, Emma? Making an inventory of all the valuables for when we finally divorce?'
'I am merely trying to make this place habitable,' she said, frowning at him crossly. 'It's a huge villa and too much work for one housekeeper. I don't know how Lucia had managed for as long as she has. No wonder she wanted a break.'
He held her fiery look for a tense moment. 'Were you waiting up for me, Emma?' he asked.
'No, of course I wasn't,' she said, annoyed with herself for the creep of colour she could feel staining her cheeks. He was so worldly and in control while she always felt so flustered and out of her depth in his presence.
'Actually, I am glad you are still up,' he said. 'Do you fancy a nightcap?'
'Um...OK...'
'What would you like to drink?' he asked, turning to the well-stocked drinks cabinet.
'A small sweet sherry...if you have it,' she said.
He poured himself a cognac after he'd handed her the sherry and came and sat beside her on the sofa, touching his glass briefly against hers. 'Salute.'
'Salute,' Emma said and took a tiny sip.
'I thought only grey-haired Sunday-school teachers drank that stuff,' he said with a crooked smile.
Emma felt a little stung at what she perceived was a criticism. 'I suppose I must seem terribly unsophisticated to someone like you.'
'On the contrary, I find you rather intriguing.'
'I thought you said I was a money-hungry slut who was intent on making herself a fortune, or words to that effect,' she returned with a tart edge to her tone.
'I may have been a little hasty in my judgement,' he acceded. 'Although I guess only time will tell.'
'You can't quite accept there are still people in the world who genuinely care about others, can you?' she asked.
'You were being paid to care, Emma,' he pointed out. 'My father obviously did not know the difference. He fooled himself into thinking you were worthy of half of his estate. How does it feel now you have achieved your goal?'
'I told you before I did absolutely nothing to encourage your father's decision,' she insisted.
'He only changed his will once you had come into his life,' he said. 'How did you do it, Emma? How many times did you have to crawl into his bed to sweeten him up a bit?'
'That's a disgusting thing to say,' she said.
His top lip curled. 'My father always had a thing for women young enough to be his daughter,' he said. 'He liked to show them off like a