Читать книгу A Legacy of Secrets - Carol Marinelli - Страница 8

‘YOU DON’T REMEMBER?’ Santo asked, once they were in the car and Alessandro had asked Ella to drive him to his home.

‘I am trying not to.’

They were speaking in Italian, but Ella could pretty much make out all that was being said.

‘I spent the whole night trying to contact you,’ Santo said.

‘Clearly, not the whole night,’ came Alessandro’s terse response. ‘Who the hell did you let loose on your neck?’

Santo just laughed and offered no explanation. ‘I must have rung you fifty times.’

‘And forty-nine times I chose not to answer.’ Alessandro withdrew into silence and Ella didn’t blame him. Santo, it would seem, had not a care in the world. He just scrolled through the endless ream of texts on his phone as they talked, ignoring the constant buzzes to alert him to a call.

Ella drove them to the Corretti Media tower, where Alessandro had a luxurious penthouse, but the paparazzi were still clamouring for their shot of the jilted groom.

‘Lie down in the back if you want,’ Ella suggested. ‘I brought a coat for you. I’ll try to get in the back way.’ But Alessandro refused her suggestion to lie down, told her to just drop him at the front and sat there stony faced as the cameras flashed and reporters shouted their questions.

‘I’ll come in with you,’ Santo said.

‘I don’t need a handhold,’ came Alessandro’s terse response, but Santo ignored him and when she stopped the car both the brothers got out.

The gathered press went into a frenzy. Both were, Ella knew, more than used to dealing with them. There were always questions and scandal where this family was concerned. But though there were questions that would certainly need to be answered, interviews that would have to be given and the press to be faced, clearly, for Alessandro, it was all just a little too soon. Ella watched as a rather personal question was asked and Alessandro’s shoulders stiffened, his hands balling into two fists. Perhaps Santo realised that his brother was very close to losing his temper again, because for once, Santo made a very sensible choice and turned his brother back towards the vehicle. Ella reached out and opened the door and Santo shoved his fuming brother into the back of the car before climbing into the front.

‘Drive on,’ Santo said. ‘Get around the corner, and then I will drive.’ He was clearly impatient by Ella’s rather tentative speed and once around the corner Santo reminded her that he had asked her to pull over.

‘Fine, but if you’re driving I’m getting out. I can smell the whisky from here.’

For once he didn’t offer a smart retort, just gestured for her to carry on, and turning the car around at the first opportunity, she drove the trio back into town.

‘We can go to the hotel you are staying at,’ Ella suggested to Santo. ‘We can enter via the basement.’

‘No,’ Alessandro said. ‘I’m not going to be holed up somewhere by the press. I just want away from them.’

‘We could go to mine.’ Ella tried to think how best to give Alessandro privacy for a few days, though she could hardly imagine him staying at her cheap rental place. ‘It’s just a small villa, but it’s pretty tucked away, so I’m sure that they’d never think to look for you there.’

Ella glanced in the mirror as she awaited his response, but instead of answering her, Alessandro spoke briefly to his brother, who argued with him for a moment.

But then Santo spoke. ‘Take him to the harbour at Cala Marina.’ Santo gave her directions. ‘Alessandro wants to go to his yacht.’

Ella did as she was told, heading to the harbour where Alessandro’s yacht was docked. But despite her resolve to refuse to ask for details and despite reminding herself that it was none of her business as the car ate up the miles, on this, Ella couldn’t stay silent. ‘Do you really think that’s such a good idea?’ She turned worried eyes to Santo. Ella really didn’t like the idea of Alessandro alone on a yacht, given all that had happened.

‘I have just been reminded that I am the younger brother.’ Santo scratched at his neck and then pulled at his unbuttoned collar as if it was a little too tight. ‘He insists that we take him or he shall arrange his own transport there.’

Which gave them no choice—they were hardly going to let Alessandro out on the street to make his own way. So they drove, pretty much in silence, till they neared the pretty harbour. Ella almost willed one of the brothers to start talking so she could find out just a little of what had taken place last night, but perhaps because she was there, neither spoke about family matters.

‘Dove Alessia?’ For the first time Alessandro initiated conversation, asking where his ex-fiancée was, and Ella held her breath as they pulled into the harbour.

‘Puttana,’ came Santo’s crude and dismissive response, but Alessandro was insistent.

‘Where is she?’

And Ella was still holding her breath when Santo answered his brother, telling him the truth in a very dismissive voice—that it would seem that Alessia and their cousin Matteo had run off together.

The expletive that came from Alessandro was perhaps merited, and unlike Santo, he was nice enough to give a brief apology to Ella for his language before leaving the car and staggering off towards his yacht.

Santo sat for a moment and watched his brother and then climbed out of the car, trying, Ella presumed, to persuade Alessandro to come back with them.

She watched them argue for a moment but the bond between the two brothers was clear. It mattered not that Alessandro had thrown a few punches at Santo last night. It didn’t change anything between them. Not for the first time Ella wondered what it would be like to have a sibling, how it might feel to have someone in your corner—for how it hurt to deal with her parents alone.

But whatever Santo said to his brother, it didn’t work. Alessandro shrugged him off and she watched as Santo stood for a moment, then turned around. But instead of a roll of the eyes and the slightly cocky smile Santo often wore, his face was grey as he walked back towards the car and climbed in.

They sat for a moment and watched Alessandro board his yacht.

‘Do you think he’ll be all right?’ Ella was loath to leave.

‘Of course,’ Santo said. ‘He’s tough.’

He’d need to be tough—being jilted at the altar with the world’s cameras aimed on him, Ella thought. ‘Santo, I don’t know that it’s right to leave him.’

‘Just drive.’ Again Santo dismissed her worries. ‘He’ll be fine.’

She couldn’t believe his lack of concern, but that was Santo. He dealt with stuff as it cropped up and then moved easily on to the next thing, never worrying about the chaos he was leaving behind.

Ella rang ahead and asked housekeeping to sort out his suite and run a bath and asked for some breakfast and a lot of coffee to be sent up.

‘Assuming that your company won’t mind,’ Ella checked, telling herself that she wasn’t fishing for answers.

‘She’s gone.’

‘Just the one?’ Ella glanced over, thinking she’d get a glimpse of a smile, but Santo was just staring out of his window.

The press were still waiting but Santo didn’t duck. He just sat there as they got their shots. As Ella went to indicate, to enter the hotel via the more secure route of the basement, Santo stopped her.

‘The foyer will be fine—I don’t need the basement.’ In fact, he took off his dark glasses and pocketed them before he got out, hurling a filthy look straight in the direction of the cameras before stalking into the hotel with his head held high. Ella threw the car keys to the valet and caught up with him at the lift. As the doors closed behind them, Santo slumped against the wall for a moment, his eyes closed, and Ella was no longer just worried about Alessandro—no, she was more than a little concerned for Santo too. He was incredibly pale. Assuming that it was Alessandro who had hit him last night, then it was one very angry fist Santo would have found himself at the end of—maybe he’d been knocked out?

‘Are you hurt anywhere else?’

He didn’t open his eyes, just shook his head.

‘Were you knocked out?’ Ella checked.

‘Unfortunately, no.’ Green eyes opened and he gave a thin smile and she found herself staring back to a different Santo. It was as if all the arrogance had left him, as if, for once, she was seeing the man he really was and it was mesmerising. She simply could not stop staring—even as the lift doors opened—and for a moment the two of them just stood.

‘What happened?’ She had sworn not to ask, yet she did.

‘Why?’

‘I just…’ She flailed for words. ‘I’m concerned.’

‘Sure you are!’ There was an edge to his words that told her he considered her a liar. For a moment she was confused, but now wasn’t the time to dwell on it. Instead they walked to his suite. Of course, he couldn’t find his swipe card but, of course, she carried a spare.

As they stepped into the suite it was scandal rather than breakfast that awaited. Santo thumbed through the papers and Ella gave in and picked up one. Perhaps, she consoled herself, it was better that Alessandro was on a boat and escaping all this, for the photos and write-ups were brutal.

‘Oh!’ Ella let out a small crow of shock at one particular photo. There was Taylor Carmichael, the woman Santo should have been policing yesterday, the actress who he was relying on to behave, running true to form despite promises that she had changed.

‘Is it any surprise?’ Santo shrugged.

Probably not, Ella conceded. In fact, her only surprise was that the man in the image wasn’t Santo. But did he care about nothing? Filming started tomorrow and there had been a lot of fireworks about the casting of the leading female role. Taylor’s comeback after a spectacular unravelling was risky at best—a disaster for the film at worst.

And this looked like it was turning into a complete disaster.

Still, problems with the film would have to wait till tomorrow. Right now Ella had more pressing things to sort out—like six-foot-three of beaten-up, hungover male. ‘Go and have a bath,’ Ella said. ‘I’ll chase breakfast.’

‘I don’t want breakfast’ was his inevitable response. ‘I’m just going to go to bed. Thanks for all your help.’

‘You have to eat something,’ Ella started, and then shut up. After all, she wasn’t his mother. Not that his own mother would be worrying too much—Carmela Corretti’s only concerns were fashion and manicures.

‘Just have a bath.’ Ella settled for, ‘I don’t care whether or not you eat. I for one happen to be starving, so I’m chasing them.’

‘Sure.’

He headed to the bathroom and after a few minutes there was a knock at the door and Ella stood as the maid set up the table.

‘Thank you,’ Ella said, pouring herself a coffee and trying not to overthink who he’d been with last night. It was none of her business what Santo got up to.

She flicked through the papers, reading some of the more salacious details that had come out. They were the most complicated of families and for a while she was lost in the gossip. But later, glancing at the bedside clock, Ella realised he’d been in there ages. She thought maybe he had fallen asleep and she tried to ignore the knot of worry in her stomach, but after a moment or two she knocked.

‘Breakfast is here.’

Ella stood at the door and all she could hear was silence.

‘Santo…’ She knocked again. ‘Answer me.’

Nothing.

‘Santo!’ Ella tried to keep the note of panic from her voice as she thought of head injuries and hangovers and the fact that the newspaper headlines could be far worse tomorrow than they were now. She was actually terrified for him.

‘Santo!’ She rapped loudly. ‘If you don’t answer then I’m going to have to come in.’

Still nothing.

Ella tried the handle, but of course it was locked.

Heart in her mouth she ran to her bag, rummaging through it and then through her purse to find a coin. With shaking fingers, she fitted it into the slot and turned the lock.

‘Santo!’ she shouted and when still there was no response, Ella knew she had no choice but to go in.