Читать книгу Serpent Song - Toni Grant - Страница 8

The tiny ensuite bathroom, on the same mezzanine level as her bedroom and walk-through wardrobe, carried a black and white theme. Francesca had tempered the classic combination with the soft colours of the Italian Riviera, adding scented candles and subtle lighting to create the lush feel of an urban day spa.

In the steady, steaming water, Francesca gazed at the foamy water swirling around painted toes. This was not the time to become absorbed in a future that did not belong to her and a past she couldn’t change. Regardless, she stood, in the middle of the thinking box, letting random thoughts control the conversation. For just a moment. And she turned her attention to that dream.

It was her eighteenth year. Two friends enjoyed the compulsory three-month backpack tour around Europe. Francesca and Mel visited all the must-see places, indulging in the culture and pleasures to be found in each. Italy was their last stop. The Delarno summer residence in the little township of Rapallo, the final destination.

Not as touristy as other stops on the Italian Riviera, Rapallo rhymed with old-fashioned glamour. Its lovely boardwalk flirted with the protected harbour; rows of pastel-coloured terraces leaning against the harsh hillside. The town trimmed with bright floral displays and towering palm trees with long, slender necks.

At one end, an emerald parkland complete with marina hosted a dazzling array of yachts dancing in the waters of the Ligurian Sea. At the other, rugged and handsome, a jutting outcrop was home to the Castello del Mare, Rapallo’s symbol.

Perhaps its lure could be likened to the backdrop of a classic movie set. At any moment Francesca expected Audrey Hepburn to take to the crowded streets on a Vespa. In that sense of innocent surprise, it appealed to Francesca. Not to mention, the town’s romantic atmosphere created the perfect stage for her teenage crush.

Ten years ago, Francesca was a very different person. Shy and protected, she was enchanted by the storybook glamour of the Delarno family; the special relationship she shared with them aided by Cristiana. Encouraged by the matriarch’s warmth and thoughtfulness, Francesca learnt the traditional ways of a dutiful wife and mother. It was a role that Cristiana paid particular attention to, the tuition of Francesca Salucci.

It was Cristiana’s eldest son that now held Francesca’s attention. Nicholas Delarno.

Even as a boy, he knew what he wanted and how to get it. Blessed with devastating looks and a boisterous personality, his self-assurance could only be assumed.

Five years her senior, he would become Francesca’s childhood protector, dispelling her worries and influencing her choices. During the dark months following the loss of her own mother, it was his security and compassion the girl would seek.

He had kept this part of him hidden from friends and family; moments of gentleness he shared only with her. To reveal himself to her in this way would have lifelong implications. It bound Francesca to him, still.

She stood for a moment, dripping in the small shower recess, wondering. Hoping. Francesca shook a heavy head. Time to shift focus. Distraction was a tool that walked a well-trodden path and Francesca stepped gingerly through the process. The detective reminded herself gently: forget the past.

Wrapped in a soft towel, she chose the clothes that now defined her detective status, and threw them on the bed. The contents of her antique armoire caught her attention and prompted a slight smile. The restoration of that particular piece had taken months.

Thick layers of colour from bright red to the obligatory shades of white celebrated the creativity of previous owners, but her own efforts had been rewarded upon the discovery of the beautiful wood patina. Francesca decided it was time the timber took centre stage, laid bare in a coat of clear varnish.

One particular door of the piece refused to stay shut, opening itself regularly to reveal quilts and cushions, pillows and throws and various collections of odds and ends she couldn’t part with. In the bright moonlight that streamed through the bedroom’s French doors, Francesca considered it, tut-tutting at its cheekiness. Tonight the cupboard door had again mysteriously opened during her slumber.

Absently twisting her unruly hair into a tight knot at the base of her neck, she pushed the door shut and turned to go. A small hall table neatly arranged with a collection of photographs, her mother’s silver mirror and an intricate jewellery box butted against the iron balustrade and half-wall of the mezzanine. Here, her eyes rested. That box stowed some of Francesca’s most valuable and cherished items. The most special being a prized photograph.

With a defeated sigh, Francesca gave way to the yearning that taunted her again tonight. She sifted through the contents until she found the faded yellow picture. Once again she was lost in him. The detective gazed at the treasure, her finger tracing the outline of two people, their heads close together, searching for the next puzzle piece. In that captured instant, two smiling faces, relaxed and happy in youth.

Under the colonnade veranda of the Italian home, a small timber table held court. The area offered a cool respite from the afternoon heat. Here, as the sea breezes gently nudged, a daily ritual took place as two childhood friends took turns to talk, laugh and test their logic. Cherished moments together wrapped in a changing friendship. That precious time before life becomes complicated by sex. And secrets.

During that last night, after the water fight, Nicholas had been different. Possessive. Confident. Francesca knew she would belong to him by sunrise. The stolen moments of intimacy that had dotted her life since her sixteenth birthday would be replaced with an honest relationship.

As the three-month tour of Europe ended, an impromptu farewell party had turned the grassy straights between silver-leaved olive trees into a dancefloor. Under fairy lights strung from heavy boughs, the sweet, damp air shimmered with romance.

She’d been wrong, and it hurt. Francesca returned home, used and betrayed, and swore she’d never see him again.

Six months later Francesca found herself wrapped in his arms and bed sheets after an alcohol-fuelled venture. And so the cycle began. For the next five years Francesca vowed to never see him again, only to find herself back in his arms at the end of every failed relationship.

Finally, her mind and heart determined to rid him from her system. Francesca removed herself once and for all from his reach, building a formidable reputation in the back blocks of western Queensland. She’d worked every celebration, stacked up her leave and buried herself in law textbooks. The sacrifice had been worth it.

Last year Detective Sergeant Francesca Salucci was seconded to one of the most revolutionary organised crime investigative teams in the country and settled into a new life in Sydney.

Working beside the NSW Police Organised Crime Squad, this specialist team focused on infiltrating and investigating international organised crime syndicates. It possessed enhanced statutory support and was well funded.

The work was stimulating and dangerous. Its heady combination determined Francesca’s life. She lived for her work, relished the intensity and most of all, the long hours.

In this investigative role, Francesca had a family and the focus she needed. Francesca dragged her thoughts back to the present. I need to forget you. She nodded to herself. Yes. This obsession with him had to end. In every other way she was strong. But him. A secret kept hidden from their families and pushed deep inside herself underneath the many layers of her success.