She shook her head. ‘I still don’t know what happened, Matthew.’ She pulled him closer. ‘There was nothing electrical in there. All the furniture, marquees, the posters . . . What went wrong?’
‘I don’t know.’ He soothingly caressed the back of her neck, noting how she shivered from the shock.
‘What are we going to do?’ Sarah pulled back and caught his eye contact. ‘All that work. Months of organising. What’s Emanuela going to say?’
‘Let’s not worry about that right now,’ Matthew said, wiping a tear from her cheek. ‘God, I hate seeing you cry.’
Matthew coaxed her into his lap as he took a seat at the outdoor dining setting. They could just make out the faint bleating of Dante and Beatrice in the stables over the sound of cracking and dripping fire waste in the distance. Sarah curled into a ball in Matthew’s arms, and eventually found enough comfort to fall asleep.
There was nothing Matthew could do but wait for the engineer. In his mind, he prepared a list of all that needed to happen: call Alberto; call Emanuela; arrange for Petunia and her men to come take a look at the building and garden for immediate cleaning and repair; and then there was the smouldering wreck of the barn, which needed to be cleared.
Just as he was about to close his eyes to get some rest, something caught Matthew’s attention. On the courtyard pavers a few metres ahead of them, he spotted the unmistakable butt of a cigar. He blinked to clear his stinging eyes, only to find it still there.
He had swept the courtyard the morning before, right before Sarah whisked him away to Assisi. And Angelo, Margherita and Riccardo weren’t smokers.
A pit suddenly opened in his stomach.
Meanwhile, before heading home, Riccardo and Margherita drove to Angelo’s to check up on him. Riccardo had gone ahead momentarily to open up, assuming Angelo would be asleep and still none the wiser about the fire. This left Margherita to quickly tidy the mess of Sarah and Matthew’s things rattling around in the car boot.
Seeing Sarah’s Grammy’s book, Matthew’s family tree, their passports, laptops and Sarah’s iPad brought her some relief. If the worst had have happened, at least their special items would have been safe. Margherita tried to make sense of the clutter, as a bundle of papers she also found in the safe had come loose from their elastic band. She did her best to shuffle them back into some order when the title of one caught her attention:Certificate of Marriage.It was attached to a thick contract entitled:Agreement to marriage and prenuptial agreement: Mr Matteo D’Adamo and Ms Sarah Browne.
She knew it was none of her business, but curiosity got the better of her. Leaning against the back of the car, her eyes suddenly widened as she turned the first page. Her brows furrowed, and the hairs on the back of her neck raised. She turned the second page. Then another. And another.
Margherita was immediately filled with anger and her fingers gripped the papers to the point of creasing beyond repair.
‘What’s wrong?’ Riccardo asked, reappearing, noting her cold hard eyes and flushed cheeks.
She held out the documents for him to see. ‘They’re frauds.’
trentasette
Several hours later, with the building cleared by the structural engineer, Matthew and Sarah were finally able to return inside La Viola.
Just as they were sitting down to a light supper, Margherita entered the kitchen through the rear door, carrying a box. Riccardo followed.
Sarah immediately got up from her chair to offer her a hug, but was met with steely eyes and a raised hand.
‘What’s wrong?’ Sarah asked.
Margherita dropped the box containing their possessions on the kitchen bench. The noise it made as it smashed against the stainless-steel top reverberated through the kitchen, causing both Matthew and Sarah to look concerned.
‘Marghe?’ Sarah coaxed again. ‘Are you ok?’
Margherita drew in a long, pensive breath. ‘Sarah. During our lessons I have neglected to teach you one of the most important Italian words, as I felt it too crude. But here it is.Che cazzo sono questi?’ She emphasisedcazzo. She withdrew the contracts from the box and threw them onto the bench between Matthew and Sarah.
Suddenly, it clicked. Neither Matthew nor Sarah could hide their fear from their faces.
‘Marghe . . .’ Matthew attempted to start.
‘Youliedto us.’ Margherita erupted, banging her fist on the steel. ‘You have made fools of us!’
Riccardo was far more composed, stood a foot or two behind her. He simply shook his head in disbelief.
Sarah tried to grab Margherita’s hand to encourage her to sit down, but Margherita pulled away.
‘Explain this. Immediately!’ The veins in her neck and forehead dilated, and her cheeks flushed red from her fury.
Sarah looked at Matthew. This was his call to make. He stood to lose much more than she did.
