Читать книгу The Correttis (Books 1-8) - Эбби Грин, Кейт Хьюит - Страница 16

IT WASN’T ALL about Santo.

Ella had been telling the truth.

Today was the day she had been dreading for weeks now.

Calling home had always proven difficult, but in the past six months it had become almost impossible.

She put it off for as long as she could. Ella completed some of Santo’s banking, rang and arranged the interview with Paulo and left a message for Marianna to call her. When she could put it off no longer, Ella dialled her parents’ number and prayed that she’d get the answer machine.

She didn’t.

‘Hi, Mum.’ Ella attempted upbeat. ‘Happy birthday.’

‘Ella!’ She could hear the strain and discomfort in her mother’s voice. No doubt she had been dreading this phone call too. There was just so little they had to say to each other. ‘It’s so lovely to hear from you–where are you?’

‘We’re on location, filming.’ Ella did her best to be vague, but when her mother pressed for more information about her beloved homeland, Ella told her where she was.

‘Oh!’ There was silence for a moment. ‘That is close to where I grew up.’

‘I know.’

‘Have you been to have a look at my village?’

‘Not yet,’ Ella said. ‘I’ve been so busy with work and everything and the shooting is falling way behind.’

‘Your aunts will be so excited to finally meet you,’ Gabriella said. ‘I told them so much about you, about your work in the film industry.’

‘I’m not working in the film industry.’ It was a very sore point. ‘I’m a PA.’

‘For now,’ Gabriella said. ‘But you don’t need to tell your aunts that. You tell them how well you’re doing, how good things are….’ Ella could hear the veiled warning, the call to keep up the pretence, to carry on with the hopeless charade that everything was perfect. ‘Or maybe it would be better for you to say nothing about work. I don’t think it will be good if they know you are working for a Corretti.’

‘I’m not going to lie.’

‘I never ask you to lie. I just don’t think they need to know everything. The Corretti name has a long history—it might not go down too well. You know how shocked I was when I found out who you were working for. That name is one that strikes fear into a lot of people and especially in my village.’

And finally, finally, there was something to talk about, a common ground they could share. Maybe her trip to Italy was worth it, because at last there was a mutual link. ‘That family is dangerous,’ her mother warned.

‘I think things are very different now.’

‘There are no changes. I saw on the news that the wedding between the Corretti and Battaglia families didn’t go ahead.’ Ella smiled, because since she had been a little girl her mother always had the Italian radio on. The one thing Ella had been able to do for her mother, to make her life a little more pleasurable, was to get satellite television so that she could watch the Italian news, which Gabriella did, all of the time. ‘I remember only too well Salvatore’s sons…’

‘Carlo and Benito?’

‘Morto!’ her mum said. ‘I still remember the night they died. My sister rang and I turned on the news….Don’t you remember?’ And a memory unfurled then. Ella would have been about twenty. She could see her mother standing by the television screen, shouting, a huge warehouse fire being shown on the news. It had meant nothing to Ella at the time, but it meant so much more now. She listened more carefully than she had back then as her mother spoke of that night. ‘It was no accident, whatever anyone says.’

‘They were killed?’ Ella felt a shiver run down her spine.

‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said. ‘They have a lot of enemies. Some people said it could have been an insurance scam that went wrong. These are the people you are dealing with—you should remember that at all times.’

‘Santo is nothing like that,’ Ella said.

‘Please,’ her mother scoffed. ‘He is Carlo’s son. He could be no other way. Carlo was obsessed with power, with money, with women—he could not stay faithful to his wife for even five minutes. Oh, but he was a charmer too.’ Maybe Santo did take after his father after all. ‘Salvatore was the worst.’

‘Did he cheat too?’

‘Who knows?’ Gabriella said again. ‘He was just pure bad—the Battaglia family too. How they ever slept at night with their consciences…’ Gabriella said. ‘Their wives were as bad too. Lording over everyone as if they were royalty, holding their fancy dinner parties. Your aunt worked in the kitchen of Salvatore’s wife, Teresa, once for a dinner party. Their money was filthy—you ask your aunts. They will tell you—oh, the stories you will hear….’ Then her voice cracked as a huge pang of homesickness hit. Gabriella missed her sisters so very much, but it wasn’t just them. She missed her home, her village and her history too. ‘I wish I could speak with them. I mean, I know we speak on the phone but I want to see them. I wish I could be there when you all meet. I want to show you my village… .’

‘Mum…’ Ella’s voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘Why don’t you come over?’

‘Please, Ella, you know it is not possible.’

‘Just for a holiday. I will pay your airfare…’ But Ella stopped then. She was just repeating herself and, given it was her mother’s birthday, Ella didn’t pursue it further. She didn’t want to upset her today. ‘I’ll go and visit everyone soon and give them all your love.’

‘Let me know when you go, so I can ring them and tell them to expect you.’

‘Okay.’ Ella could not manage upbeat even a single second longer. ‘I really do have to get to work now. I love you, Mum.’

‘I love you too, Ella. Do you want to speak with your—’

It was Ella who hung up.

She was actually shaking with anger as she did so. That her mother could even suggest that she speak with her father after all that had gone on, that still she was supposed to pretend that terrible day had never happened.

Yet it had.

She could not break down again, but she could no longer pretend to forget either. She looked into the mirror, lifted her hair and saw the pink scar. The scar was proof that that day had happened. It was even there when she smiled. Those lovely white teeth had come at the most terrible price. Ella could still remember spitting her own teeth into her hand, but worse than that was the memory of the betrayal—that her mother could have forgiven him and stayed.

That she could watch as her own daughter was beaten and, instead of calling the police, had stood there sobbing and screaming. Instead of calling for an ambulance, she had handed Ella ice packs and told the story to give to the dentist, to the doctor. Had told Ella that if she didn’t want to make it worse for her mother, then she must tell everyone that she fell.

Ella needed to get out, to walk, to run. It was the reason she opened her door, for she would never have opened the door to Santo in this state. She wasn’t crying, but she was still shaking in anger, still holding in a scream that wanted to come out.

‘Ella?’

She brushed past him, but he caught her wrist.

‘Please, Santo.’ She was having great trouble keeping her voice from shouting. ‘I was just about to go for a walk.’

‘Later…’ He simply could not let her walk off like this. He could see how upset she was.

‘I just need to get out for a while.’

‘Of course you do.’ Santo was very practical. ‘We all go a bit stir-crazy in the hotel after a few days. I’ll take you for a drive. I could use one too.’ He was not going to argue about this. He had come to visit Ella for rather more pressing reasons than a drive, but for once, work could wait.

They drove, in silence at first, around the winding streets, but Santo drove the powerful car with far more finesse than Ella and it was actually nice to sit back and stare at the scenery.

‘It’s beautiful.’ Ella looked at the dotted beige buildings built into the hills and then they turned into a village. Another one, Santo explained, that was run-down and in much need of the new lease of life the redevelopment might bring.

‘There is only one café now,’ he explained, slowing the car down. Ella peered up a long set of steps. ‘Do you want to stop for a drink?’

Ella shook her head.

‘There are only a couple of shops….’ She was starting to understand more and more the difference this movie could make. It was such a stunning part of the country. There were just picture-perfect views everywhere. Yet so many, like her mother, had left. She blinked and turned her head as she passed vaguely familiar buildings, recognising some of them from the photos her mother spent a long time reminiscing over.

‘This is my mother’s village.’

‘I know.’ Santo turned and smiled. ‘You could drop in on your aunts now.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Ella gave a tight smile.

‘Probably a good call,’ Santo said. ‘Your mother would never hear the last of it if you arrived with a Corretti in tow.’

‘Slow down a moment.’ He did so. ‘I think that’s the baker’s that my mother used to work at before she moved.’

‘Does she work now?’

‘No,’ Ella said. ‘She worked in a factory till she had me, then gave it up to help out in my father’s shop.’ She peered into the window as Santo slowly passed. ‘It’s nice to see it.’ It really was. There were a few people walking, and some women sitting in the front of their gardens talking. And it was actually nice to see it for the first time with Santo rather than alone. She took a breath. ‘Could we get that coffee?’

‘Sure.’ He turned the car around on a very narrow road with a very steep descent on one side. Only that wasn’t what had the sweat beading on Ella’s forehead. She should take a moment to touch up her make-up. She was supposed to look nice at all times, but she wasn’t actually working, Ella realised.

This was very personal indeed.

They walked along the narrow pavement. Even the street was cobbled—it was like stepping back in history. They stopped outside a tiny church.

‘My mum gets so upset when anyone gets married. She’s told me all about the church. She says the parties afterwards are amazing….’

‘The whole street comes out,’ Santo said. ‘Tables are set up for the reception.’

‘It’s just so different from anything I’m used to,’ Ella said. ‘Not just here, the whole of Italy. Everything’s so much newer in Australia, even the old buildings aren’t comparatively old.’ She looked around at the relatively unchanged architecture, could completely understand how her mother missed it, how Gabriella could still picture it so well, because it was just as it appeared in the photos. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ Ella said.

‘Of course it has,’ Santo responded. ‘The changes just don’t show.’

They climbed the narrow steps to a café and certainly they turned heads when they walked in. Ella was quite sure it was because Santo was a Corretti, and that it had nothing to do with the fact he was possibly the most beautiful man in the world.

The whole place fell silent and they were shepherded to a seat.

‘Are they scared of you?’ Ella asked in a low voice. ‘Or angry?’

‘Both,’ Santo said. ‘I hope soon they will be neither.’

He ordered—coffee and crêpes that were filled with gelato. It was just so nice to be away from set. The locals were starting to talk amongst themselves again, and yes, the gelato was as good as her mother described.

‘It’s nice to be out, thanks for this.’

‘No problem.’

‘How come you’re not on set?’

He just shrugged—those reasons could wait. For now Santo just wanted to talk about her. ‘Your mother’s never been back?’

‘Nope.’

‘One day, maybe?’

Ella didn’t answer.

Even when they were back in the car, when he tried to work out just what it was that had upset her so much today, still Ella spoke about work.

‘I spoke with Paulo and arranged his interview and I left a message for Marianna. Paulo sounds really good, he’s just not able to start yet.’

‘Which is a problem,’ Santo admitted. ‘I need someone who can start as soon as possible.’ He had, Ella realised, stopped trying to dissuade her from leaving. ‘What about Marianna?’

‘The truth?’ Ella checked. It was nice to be chatting, nice to be driving and away from everything, and just so very nice to be with Santo.

‘The truth,’ Santo confirmed.

‘She’s awful,’ Ella said. ‘She’s incredibly confident, treated me like I was her secretary, wanted to only deal directly with you. She refused to give an inch when I tried to pin her for a time to come in for an interview.’ Ella rolled her eyes. ‘To sum up, I think she’ll be perfect for the job.’

‘I thought I already had perfect.’

He glanced over and reluctantly she smiled. ‘No, we both know that you didn’t.’ Maybe it was because Santo was so open and honest, that in this, Ella found that she was able to be. ‘I’m not tough enough.’

‘I don’t always like tough.’

‘I’m not…’ She didn’t really know how to say it, how to admit just how much it all had hurt her. ‘I don’t think Marianna will sulk if you don’t send her flowers.’

‘So you were sulking.’

‘Yes.’

‘What else is Marianna good at?’

‘Multi-tasking apparently.’ She looked out of the window at the ocean and the beauty of the day and hated her melancholy, hated that she hadn’t been able to play by the rules and happily tumble in bed with him without adding her heart to the equation. ‘She’d probably be taking dictation now and giving you a quick hand-job as she did so.’ Ella turned to the sound of his laughter, realised she was smiling now too, because that was how he made her feel. Yes, it was so good to get out.

He pulled the car over and he just smiled as she sat there blushing, as the best lover in the world, as the man she had so foolishly thought she could bear to lose, cupped her face.

‘I walked into a storm that morning—I lost my director, I had stuff going on with my family, I had my brother out at sea.’

‘I know, I know.’

‘But when I knew you were arriving I did arrange flowers,’ Santo said. ‘I had them sent to the room, the same room that you took one look at and left. And I organised dinner—I really wanted to tell you how much our time together had meant, how I was looking forward to seeing you, how it killed not ring—’ He looked at her for the longest time. ‘Who hurt you?’ He saw her rapid blink. ‘Is there an ex-husband?’ He saw her frown.

‘Of course not.’

‘What do you mean “of course”?’ Santo said. ‘I know nothing about you, Ella. What I do know I could write on a Post-it note. I know your parents are together, that there are no brothers or sisters, that your mother is from here.’ He saw the well of tears in the bottom of her eyes. ‘That the sex was like nothing I have ever known, but I don’t know you….’

‘You’re my boss, you don’t need—’

‘I’m your lover!’ He almost shouted it. ‘Get it into your head.’

‘For how long though…’ She hated the neediness, but it was the truth, because he was telling her to open up to him, to give him more than sex, and she was terrified to.

‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘But if we can’t talk, then not for much longer.’

‘You don’t talk about the stuff that troubles you.’

‘I’ve tried more than you,’ Santo said.

‘Santo, I don’t tell anyone…’ She was close to panic now. ‘I don’t share myself with anyone and I’m not going to start pouring my heart out to you.’

‘You will.’ The view was more stunning than the ocean behind him—his eyes so intense, the passion blazing—and she was there in his spotlight now. He would strip her bare and she was petrified, not just of it ending, but of the togetherness too. She could simply not envisage sharing herself so completely with another, of trusting another. ‘Tell and kiss.’ She could feel the warmth of his skin so close and she teased his translation, just as he did to her.

‘It’s kiss and tell.’

‘No.’ His eyes were open. Santo had made up his mind and he moved back and started the engine. ‘It’s tell and kiss.’ And as he drove off, as always he made her smile. He took her hand and placed it in his lap. ‘Though, of course, I don’t mind a woman who can multi-task.’

‘Ha, ha…’ She took back her hand.

They had been out for a couple of hours and he knew no more than he had when she had opened her hotel door.

‘What was it like?’ He turned to her question. ‘I mean, back there, in the café. People were nervous just to see you….’

‘That is because I would rarely go there, but here…’ He nodded ahead. ‘They are more used to us. This is where my nonna lives.’

‘But what was it like?’

It was Santo who couldn’t answer. He could see his grandparents’ house, huge and imposing and the keeper of so many secrets.

‘Have you seen today’s papers?’ He didn’t wait for her response, he knew that she had. ‘There is far more to come. Always it is about power—that is how it is, that is how you are taught—but sometimes you just want to walk in a café and have coffee.’ Ella nodded. ‘That is why I like being on set—I am just Santo there. Of course, there are a few awkward looks today, given what has been said in the newspapers about my mother. I just have to wear it. Battaglia is determined to crush us and will stop at nothing—so now he makes sure that every piece of filth he can find ends up in the papers.’ He looked at Ella. ‘There is a lot of filth.’

There was, Santo knew that, but there was a lot of good too, and somehow he wanted to show her that. But there was something he, too, had been putting off for a while, something that might be easier with Ella by his side.

‘Now,’ Santo said, ‘I take you where I have taken no woman before.’ He glanced over to see her wide-eyed reaction. ‘My nonna’s.’

‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘Probably not.’ Santo shrugged. ‘She will have us married off in her mind the moment we walk in there, but I really ought to visit her. She will be very upset with all that is going on in the family and she is worried about Alessandro too, as well as mourning her husband. She never really got over losing her sons….’ He was pensive for a moment. ‘You know, for all that the cousins do not get on, for all the arguments, the one thing that unites us is our love for her—she is a good woman.’ Perhaps Ella’s silence spoke volumes, for Santo turned his head in instant defence. ‘She is.’

‘Of course,’ came Ella guarded response. Salvatore Corretti’s reputation was legendary, and if Ella knew a little of what had gone on to get there, then absolutely his wife must have known a whole lot more.

‘Her family hated that she married him,’ Santo explained a little, ‘but she loved him, and turned a blind eye to all that he got up to.’

Ella bit down on her lip in an effort not to voice her thoughts.

‘Sometimes it is easier to, perhaps…’ Santo said.

‘Or simply more convenient.’ Ella could not stay silent on this. ‘I’m sorry, Santo. I’m trying not to judge your nonna—I haven’t met her after all—but I don’t buy that turn a blind eye excuse.’

‘And I am not asking you to.’ He saw her tense profile. ‘I’m just letting you know, before we go in there, that these past years have been very hard on her. These are exceptionally difficult times, so just…’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

As they approached Ella was both nervous and excited to be meeting such a legend. It was like being invited backstage and the chance to meet the matriarch of this family was just too good to pass up. But as they walked towards the house she could see Santo’s strained face.

‘I’m not going to say anything that might offend her.’

‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Santo said, or he would never have brought here.