‘I wonder how,’ Raffano pointed out. ‘Antonio was in his sixties, not a teenager to obey your orders.’
‘I’d have stopped it, I promise you. There are ways.’
‘Legal ways? Civilised ways?’ Raffano asked, giving him a curious look.
‘Effective ways,’ Salvatore said with a harsh grin. ‘Trust me for that.’
‘To be sure. I would always trust you to do what was unscrupulous.’
‘How well you know me! However, the wedding took place. It must have been at the last minute, when she saw that he was near the end and moved fast to secure an inheritance.’
‘Are you sure there’s been a marriage at all?’
‘Yes, I’ve heard from her lawyers. The Signora Helena Veretti—as she now calls herself—is about to arrive and claim what she considers hers.’
The coldly sardonic edge in his voice startled even Raffano, who was used to it.
‘Of course you feel bad about it,’ he said. ‘The factory should never have been left to Antonio in the first place. It was always understood that it was to go to your father—’
‘But my father was busy getting into debt at the time and my great-aunt thought she was doing the sensible thing, leaving it to Antonio,’ Salvatore supplied. ‘That was all right. He was family. But this woman isn’t family, and I’ll be damned if I stand by and see Veretti property fall into her grasping hands.’
‘It’ll be hard for you to challenge the will if she’s his legal wife, however recent the marriage.’
A frightening smile came over Salvatore’s face.
‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘As you said, I know how to be unscrupulous.’
‘You make it sound almost like a virtue.’
‘It can be.’
‘Just the same, be a little careful, Salvatore. I know you’ve had to be ruthless ever since you were very young, to save your family from disaster. But sometimes I wonder if you’re going a little too far for your own good.’
‘My own good? How can being firm possibly harm me?’
‘By turning you into a tyrant, a man to be feared but never loved, and consequently a man who will end his days alone. I wouldn’t say this unless I was your friend.’
Salvatore’s face softened. ‘I know that,’ he said. ‘A better friend no man ever had. But don’t worry. I’m well-protected. Nothing can touch me.’
‘I know. That’s what worries me most.’
Everything was done. The funeral was over, the paperwork was in order, and all that was left was to check out of the hotel and head for Miami Airport.
Before starting the journey Helena went to the cemetery, to lay a final offering of flowers on her husband’s grave.
‘I guess this is goodbye,’ she said when she’d arranged them carefully. ‘I’ll come back and see you again, but I don’t know exactly when. It depends what I find when I get to Venice.’
A step on the path behind her made her turn far enough to see a group of people walking past, slowing so that they could see her better. She gave a faint smile.
‘It’s happening again,’ she whispered to Antonio. ‘Do you remember how we used to laugh when they stared at me?’
Her beauty had always drawn eyes, first in her years as a model then, after her retirement, the attention had continued. Her long hair was a luscious honey-colour, and her figure had remained perfect; five feet ten inches, slender but rounded.
Her face was remarkable, with large eyes and full lips that commanded attention. Those generous lips were her chief beauty for they made her smile impossible to ignore, and when held softly together they seemed to be on the verge of a kiss.
That, at least, was what one of her admirers had said. Helena had thanked him graciously, then turned away to hide her chuckles. She could never quite take her own achievements seriously, which was part of her charm. Photographers wanting to convey ‘voluptuous’ had always asked for her, and she was soon known in the trade as ‘Helen of Troy’, which made her laugh even more.
Antonio had enjoyed every moment of it.
‘They look at us and say, “What a lucky fellow to have won the heart of that beautiful woman!”’ he’d said with relish. ‘They think what a wonderful time we must have in bed, and they envy me.’
Then he’d sighed, for the wonderful time in bed had been an illusion. His heart had been too weak to risk physical exertion, and in their two years together they had never once made love. But he’d derived much innocent pleasure from the world’s speculation.
‘I’m going to miss you terribly,’ she told him now. ‘You were wonderful to me, always so kind, giving much and taking little. With most men it’s the other way around. For the first time in my life I felt loved and protected, and now suddenly I’m alone again.’
Tears streamed down her face as she touched the marble headstone.
‘Why did you have to die? We always knew it was going to happen but we thought, if we were careful, we could prolong your life. And we did. You had all those extra months and things were looking good, but then suddenly…’
She could still see him as he’d been then, laughing, then stopping suddenly, his face becoming strained, laughter turning to choking as he was enveloped by his final heart attack. And it was all over.
‘Goodbye,’ she whispered. ‘You’ll always be in my heart.’
They had been so close in spirit that she felt he was still with her as the cab conveyed her to Miami Airport and she boarded the flight. In the long dark hours crossing the ocean he was there again, reminding her how their strange marriage had come about.
She’d abandoned modelling at the height of her career, tired of the life, meaning to become a businesswoman. She’d built up a healthy fortune, and only needed a way to invest it.
She’d thought herself knowledgeable, but soon discovered her mistake when a con man persuaded her to invest in a dud company. Before she’d actually signed any cheques Antonio had come to her rescue, warning her of a friend who’d been tricked in just such a way. That was how they’d met, when he saved her from disaster.
They’d become close friends. He had been in his sixties and already knew that his life could not be long. When he’d asked her to stay with him until the end she agreed without hesitation, feeling that he would ease her loneliness for whatever time they had together, as she would ease his. Their marriage ceremony had been as quiet as they could arrange and she’d tended him lovingly until the day he died in her arms.
He’d talked quite frankly about the time to come, and the provision he’d made for her, excessive provision in her opinion. She’d known he owned a glass factory on the Venetian island of Murano.
‘When I’m no longer here Larezzo Glass will be yours,’ he said. ‘And you will go to Venice to claim it.’
‘But what would I do with a glass factory?’ she’d protested.
‘Sell it. My relative, Salvatore, will make you a good offer.’
‘How can you be so sure?’
‘Because I know how badly he wants it. He wasn’t pleased when it was left to me instead of him.’
‘But didn’t you tell me that he already has one of his own?’
‘Yes, Perroni Glass is his, and they’re the two best. When he owns Larezzo as well