‘Really?’ Polly raised her eyebrows. ‘I don’t need to ask who was doing the leading.’
‘You are right, of course.’ Emilio Corzi sighed. ‘Poor Antonia Barsoli. She has never recovered from the death of that unfortunate girl, Bianca. It must be hard for her to see someone set in her place, especially when Alessandro swore after the accident that he would never marry.’ He paused. ‘Although she has less reason to be bitter than I have.’
‘Ah.’ Polly gave him a level look. ‘You mean the loss of your inheritance.’
He sighed elaborately. ‘It is unfortunately true. His late father had two brothers and a sister, my mother, who produced ten children between them, all girls except for myself, and I was the youngest of three. Alessandro, of course, was an only child, and I dare say too much was expected of him, at too early an age.’
Polly knew she should walk away, but against her better instincts, she lingered.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘Relations between him and his father were always strained.’ Emilio drew reflectively on his cigar. ‘And became worse once his mother was no longer there to act as mediator. As you know, she died when he was twelve.’ He looked at her, brows raised. ‘Or did you know?’
‘Of course.’ Polly lifted her chin.
‘I could not be certain,’ he said. ‘There are so many areas of his life about which he is silent. Although I am sure he has his reasons.’
‘Probably because he doesn’t want the details splashed all over your magazines,’ Polly suggested shortly.
‘But he wrongs me, my dear cousin.’ Emilio’s tone was plaintive. ‘I have not made capital out of his forbidden affair with you—or his secret love-child. I am treating it as a romantic story with a happy ending. My family loyalty is real.’ He paused. ‘I have not even expressed my doubts in public over the mystery of Bianca DiMario’s death. Or not yet anyway.’
‘Mystery?’ Polly repeated. ‘What are you talking about? It was a tragic accident.’
‘That was the decision of the inquiry, certainly. But I am fascinated by the reticence of the only witness who was called—Giacomo Raboni.’ He smiled at her. ‘But after all, his family have served the Valessi faithfully for generations. Who knows what someone less partisan might have said?’
Polly stiffened. ‘That is—a disgusting implication. There was a burst tyre on the car. These things happen.’
‘But the inquiry was held so quickly,’ Emilio countered. ‘While Alessandro was still seriously ill in hospital, and unable to give evidence. But perhaps they thought he never would,’ he added swiftly. ‘It was still possible that he would end his days in a wheelchair, and that there might be permanent brain damage.’
He shrugged. ‘But in the end he suffered only some temporary amnesia, and he made a full recovery—to everyone’s enormous relief,’ he added piously.
‘Yes,’ Polly said stonily. ‘I bet you were thrilled to bits.’ She was leaning back against the balustrade, shaking like a leaf, her stomach churning, as she thought of Sandro trapped, perhaps, in a helpless body. Unable even to understand, maybe, that he had fathered a child, let alone hold him or love him.
‘But even when he was well again, he was never questioned about that afternoon in the mountains,’ Emilio said softly. ‘The advantage, I suppose, of being the son of a rich and influential man. And there was much sympathy, too, for my uncle Domenico, who had lost a young girl he cherished as a daughter. So, many questions were left unanswered.’
‘Such as?’ she demanded curtly.
‘What did Giacomo Raboni know, but not speak about? I know he was well rewarded at the time by my uncle. And now, I find, his granddaughter has been given a position of prestige as your personal maid.’
She said hoarsely, ‘But gratitude is quite natural. Sandro told me that Giacomo had saved his life. That’s quite a service.’
He shrugged. ‘I think his silence has been a greater one. And they say too that generosity is often prompted by a guilty conscience.’ He lowered his voice conspiratorially. ‘Have you ever wondered whether the scar on your husband’s cheek might be the mark of Cain?’
‘I think you’ve said enough.’ Her tone was ice. ‘You’re supposed to be Sandro’s guest. It would be better if you left.’
He tutted reproachfully. ‘You are harsh, my dear Paola. And your loyalty to Alessandro is misplaced, believe me. I am simply trying to be your friend, and one day you may need me.’
‘I can’t imagine that,’ she returned curtly.
‘But then did you foresee finding yourself Marchesa Valessi, with Alessandro’s diamonds on your hand and circling your throat? I note he has not given you the jewels that have been in the Valessi family for centuries, but these trinkets are valuable enough.’
‘Thank you,’ Polly said grittily. ‘I’ll tell him you approve.’
‘Oh, no,’ he said. ‘I do not think you will discuss our conversation with him at all.’ He paused. ‘So, what will you do when the little Carlo becomes his legal heir, and Alessandro tires of playing husband, and wants you out of his life a second time?’
Shock was like bile in her throat. ‘What the hell do you mean?’
He sighed. ‘I hoped you would be honest at least. Your days and nights with my cousin are numbered, and you know it. He has never wished to be married. Not to the unfortunate Bianca. Not to you. No one woman will ever fill his need for variety.’ His lip curled. ‘Do you wish to know the name of his mistress in Rome?’
‘That,’ she said huskily, ‘is it. Go, please. Just pack and—get out.’
There was sudden venom in his voice. ‘Did you make him sign a pre-nuptial agreement, or will he make you settle for the same paltry sum as last time’s parting price before he sends you home? If so, you may be glad to turn to me. I would pay you well for a personal view of your association with him.’
‘You,’ Polly said, steadying her voice, ‘are completely vile.’
‘And he, Paola cara, is totally ruthless, as you must know, else why are you here?’ He made her a little bow. ‘I will leave you to your solitary contemplation. We shall meet again—once you have learned sense.’
He turned and walked along the terrace, disappearing from view into the darkness.
Polly found she was gasping for breath. She stood, a hand pressed to her throat as she fought for self-control.
She could not stay out here on the terrace forever. Soon, now, she would have to go back inside, and she needed at least the appearance of serenity to fool the sharp eyes that would be watching her.
All the vicious things Emilio had said to her were tumbling around in her head. She might tell herself they were ludicrous, vindictive lies of a disappointed man, but in some ways they seemed like the confirmation of all her worst nightmares.
What had really happened the day Sandro’s car went into the ravine? Rafaella had told her that her grandfather refused to speak about it. What had he seen—or heard—that prompted him to silence?
Somehow or other, she thought, I’m going to have to ask him—and make him tell me the truth. Because I need to know.
As for Emilio’s comments about her marriage … A little shiver ran through her. He was probably right about that. After all, it was only a means to an end, as Sandro had made clear. And once he had Charlie established as his heir, why would he bother to keep her around? Especially when he had other interests?
Do you wish to know the name of his mistress in Rome?
The