Raphael walked over to where she stood and spent a moment making a fuss of Bianca and then he, too, noticed the paintings.
‘Ah,’ he said, ‘these must be Étienne’s ancestors.’ He moved away from her side, stepping closer to examine each one and read their names out loud. Finally he was standing in front of the picture that had aroused her interest. ‘And now, as you English say,’ he said with an accompanying flourish, ‘the last but not the least … Étienne’s grandfather, Stefano Di Marco.’
‘His grandfather?’ she echoed. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. Read for yourself.’ He moved back to allow her to take a closer look.
‘So it is.’ She forced a smile, confused and shocked as she clung to Bianca, unable to take her eyes off the portrait. This onewas a head and shoulders, depicting Stefano in evening dress: tuxedo, snowy white shirt and black bow tie.
‘Very good looking, no?’ Raphael gave her a mischievous wink.
‘Very.’ Cat nodded in agreement, her gaze still fixed on the portrait.
‘And now I think it is better we leave this room,’ he said, stepping towards the door. ‘I know for Étienne this is a very private place and we should not be here. Come.’
Cat followed him back out into the wide marble-floored corridor and watched as he closed the door.
‘He must never know we were in there,’ he said softly. ‘He is very protective of his room. The only one who might tell on us luckily cannot speak,’ he joked, nodding towards Bianca, who had made herself comfortable in Cat’s arms, pink tongue frantically trying to bestow loving doggie kisses on her cheek. ‘But you and I, we can keep this secret, yes?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘Ah,’ he put his palm to his forehead, ‘I nearly forgot the reason I came here so early to see you. Étienne has called to say he has been delayed in Garda and to move dinner to nine thirty. Can we meet in the bar at nine for a drink?’
‘Of course, no problem.’
Raphael’s pager chose that moment to buzz. ‘Sorry,’ he said as he checked it, ‘I am needed downstairs. See you at nine.’
Taking Bianca out to the kitchen, Cat found her bowls and refilled them. Having an extra half hour to get ready meant the luxury of an uninterrupted and relaxing bath. Candles, wine, the works, she promised herself. But first she had to go back to make sure her eyes had not been deceiving her. Although the shutters were open, the voiles had shrouded the window to keep out the day’s heat, leaving the room in partial darkness and cloaking the painting in shadow. Closing the kitchen door to make sureBianca didn’t follow, she headed back to Étienne’s room. Once inside she turned on the light and walked over to where Stefano Di Marco’s portrait hung. She stood for a moment gazing up at the figure. Whoever the artist was, he had created an almost photo-like painting, capturing the essence of his subject in every minute detail. As Raphael had commented, Stefano was a handsome man and at the time of the sitting for this portrait she guessed him to be in his mid-thirties. His hair, the only common feature he appeared to have with Étienne, was jet-black and curly. Cut short, it still managed to have a life of its own, a stray curl falling lazily onto his forehead. His strong jawline shadowed by a dark growth of beard couldn’t conceal the way the corners of his mouth rose in an enigmatic half smile so familiar to her. But it was the smoke-grey eyes that sealed his fate proving beyond doubt she was looking at Luke Carrack’s great grandfather. So Étienne had a secret. One for whatever reason he still hid from the world. Now it appeared quite by accident she had become guardian of it too.
A week later, Cat, Étienne and Raphael were having lunch out on the side terrace of Fiore del Lago under the shade of a pale canvas awning. The lake was still, the day hot with a brilliant blue sky and only a hint of cloud. Distracted from her lunch, Cat watched a ferry leave the nearby terminal, white froth coating its bows as it sliced through the dark water towards Sirmione.
Étienne was in a particularly good mood today. The work on the hotel in the Dolomites was within a month of being finished and they were busy discussing the grand opening in October. Raphael was busy refilling their wine glasses when Étienne’s PA, Gabriella, stepped out from the shadowed interior of the dining room. Scanning the tables, she eventually spotted them, smiled, and headed in their direction. She hovered for a moment, apologising for interrupting their meal as she handedhim two cream envelopes. ‘You asked to have these as soon as they arrived,’ she said.
‘Yes I did, thank you.’ Étienne took them from her. He was smiling.
‘Don’t tell me, another invitation to a party somewhere on the lake,’ Cat said as she eyed the envelopes curiously. She’d been to a few of these wonderful social events with Étienne and Raphael; warm magical evenings with delicious food, wine and dancing while the lights of neighbouring towns shimmered across the water.
‘Not even close.’ He handed her one. ‘Go on, open it.’
Cat ran a nail under the flap, lifted it and pulled out the small embossed card inside. She didn’t say a word; she simply stared at the gold lettering, requesting her presence at Emelia Trevelyan’s seventy-fifth birthday on the seventeenth of September at the Tarwin House Hotel.
‘Cat …’ Étienne touched her arm. ‘Are you okay?’
She jumped as his fingers brushed her skin. ‘What? Oh, yes, of course I am. It’s just … well, I had no idea she was that age.’
‘You are a terrible liar,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You do not want to go home, do you?’
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged as she slipped the invitation back into the envelope and set it next to her plate. ‘Living here, it’s very easy to forget the past. To believe I’ve moved on. But going back, well that’s the acid test, isn’t it? I’m not sure what I’ll find there. Does that make me a coward?’
‘No, it is natural for you to be apprehensive, but I know your father misses you and Em would be very upset if you declined the invitation. Besides, you won’t be alone; you will have me … and Raphael.’
‘Raphael? Has he received an invitation?’
‘No, but I think we can take him with us,’ he said, glancing at him across the table. ‘I am sure Em won’t mind.’
Raphael smiled. Obviously the opportunity of a trip to England pleased him.
In some ways Raphael had made up for the loss of Nathan in Cat’s life. At twenty-seven he became a surrogate older brother. Sometimes he teased, sometimes he made her laugh. Always he was kind and caring and she envied Sara, his fiancée, currently studying at the University of Milan. Once she’d had that; a soulmate, the other half of her. Someone she might have spent the rest of her life with. Quickly she brushed away the memory of what had been lost. She was a Trevelyan. It was her great-aunt’s birthday. No excuses, she had to be there.
