2008 - Recipes for Cherubs (39 page)

Kizzy was breathing deeply. That hadn’t exactly been a lie, had it?

Ella wrung her hands in anxiety. The truth had to come out, and any minute now Catrin would know who her father was, and God knows how that would make her feel.

“It wasn’t very easy for me, either, you know,” Kizzy wheedled, stepping towards Catrin.

Catrin edged closer to Ella, who put a hand on her tremulous shoulders.

“I want to know who my father is.”

The three of them stood in awkward silence, unaware that the door had opened and someone had come quietly into the room.

“It’s not a difficult question, is it?” Catrin said in a barely audible voice.

“I think you should tell the child his name.” Ella’s gaze was resolute.

There was an expectant silence.

As Kizzy opened her mouth to speak, someone said, “I’m her father.”

The three of them turned to see Tony Agosti standing white-faced in the doorway.

O
ver in the library Dan Gwartney was sitting in his usual chair opposite Meredith Evans when Ella came hurrying in.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

“Sit down, Ella, and join us in a drink.”

She sat down heavily and said, “You heard the news, then?”

Dan and Meredith nodded.

“Nonna’s over the moon,” Dan said. “She thinks the world of that little girl in the short time she’s been here.”

“That was a turn-up for the books,” Meredith said. “How did Catrin take it?”

“Shocked but delighted, I’d say. I’ve just been up to check on her and she’s sleeping like a baby.”

“We were worried it might set her back.”

“It seems, though, that I have an apology to make to Kizzy, and that will stick in my craw.”

“You thought the father was Arthur Campbell?”

“I was convinced of it, especially after seeing the photographs you sent Alice of Kizzy and him together.”

“I didn’t send any photographs,” he protested.

“Come on, Meredith. It’s been a day for uncovering the truth, so why don’t you own up and clear the air?”

Dan coughed and Ella turned to him.

“It was me who sent the photographs and the note to Alice,” he said sheepishly.

“You what?”

“I sent the photographs and the note.”

“But why?”

“I knew what was going on between Kizzy and Campbell – I’d seen them in Gwartney’s Wood together – and I thought Alice should know.”

“Didn’t you think of telling me first?”

“I sent them, Ella, because I thought…I know it was wrong of me, but I knew he was a rotter and I thought if Alice didn’t marry him she’d stay at Shrimp’s and that would keep you here, too.”

Ella fell silent, and Meredith looked away in embarrassment.

“There, I’ve said it. Bloody old fool that I am, I never gave up on you.”

“Christ, I need to apologise to you, Meredith, as well,” Ella said, running her hands through her hair in agitation.

Meredith smiled wryly. “If it’s any help, Alice had decided to cancel the wedding before she saw the photographs.”

“Why?”

“Arthur Campbell wanted something desperately from Alice, and he couldn’t get it unless he married her.”

“What was it?” Ella asked.

“He wanted her book of recipes and paintings and she’d said they would be part of her dowry and be given to him on her wedding night.”

“Why on earth would he want that old thing?”

“Because that book is worth a fortune,” Meredith said patiently.

“It’s a child’s colouring book.”

“No, it’s a book of paintings by Piero di Bardi.”

Dan blew a breath in disbelief, and Ella gasped.

“The book my mother wanted burnt, the one Catrin’s been copying her recipes from?”

“That’s the one. Whatever your mother burnt, it wasn’t that. Anyway, Alice had shown Campbell the book. There were some loose paintings in the back and Alice had given him one, and then she found out he’d sold it for a fortune.”

“I’m completely lost now,” Ella groaned.

“She gave him a picture of a cherub. She thought it was worthless, but later she saw a postcard of the very same picture, the
Napoli Cherub
.”

“Good God!”

“I did some research for her and found out that it had been sold by an anonymous seller – Campbell, obviously –  and she realised he’d betrayed her.”

“The bastard!” exclaimed Ella.

“So you see, he would have done anything to get his hands on that book, and when she didn’t turn up for the wedding he must have been furious. He went through the castle like a dose of salts looking for it.”

“He wasn’t the only one looking for Piero di Bardi paintings, though. Do you remember Benito, Ella?”

She nodded.

“I think Alice showed him the book, too, but swore him to secrecy.”

“And then he was accused of – ”

“Trying to steal something from Arthur Campbell’s sister, which was all very convenient, looking back.”

“But he escaped from the tower and ran off.”

“Never to be heard of again?”

“Tony had a postcard from him a few weeks later from Italy,” Dan said. “I saw it a few weeks ago but there was something odd about it which got me thinking. You see, I don’t think it was Benito’s handwriting.”

“So someone else sent the postcard,” Meredith ventured.

“Exactly. I’d seen Benito’s handwriting when he came into the library to study. The writing on the card was a good likeness, but it wasn’t his.”

“Why would someone send Tony a postcard?”

“To put people off the scent,” Dan said.

“What do you think happened to him?”

“I don’t know, Ella, but my guess is that Campbell wanted him out of the way. Whether he used blackmail or something worse we’ll never know, but the thing is, Ella, if Campbell knows Catrin has the book she could be in danger. That man would stop at nothing.”

“I thought I saw him the other week, up at Shrimp’s,” Dan said.

“So if he’s been snooping about, he could well have found out that Catrin has the book,” Meredith said.

Ella shivered. “You know, sometimes I fancied I could hear people walking about upstairs.”

“I used to sneak in sometimes, just to check that you were still alive,” Dan said.

“Me too,” Meredith added sheepishly.

“Well, if Campbell does come here, we’ll be waiting for him,” Ella said.

“Oh, he’ll come,” Dan said with certainty.

T
he cart pulled up outside the Convent of Santa Lucia in the middle of the night, stirring up a cloud of dust. Someone climbed down from the cart, ran to the door and tugged the bell-pull. The sound of the bell echoed through the gloomy corridors and Sister Annunziata hurried to see who was there before they woke the whole convent up. She opened the grille and saw three tense faces, then a fourth as Bindo was lifted to eye level
.

“
What do you want at this time of the night?
”

“
To see Ismelda,” Bindo said emphatically
.

“
Don’t be absurd. You know she’s allowed no visitors
.”

“
You must tell her, then, that we are leaving but we will be back for her
.”

“
You’re going somewhere?
”

“
Out of the country,” the woman said. “We’re leaving as soon as we can, but you must let her know that we haven’t deserted her
.”

“
Be sure to tell her it may be a while before I can come again, but I will never desert her,” Bindo said. “There’s a basket here with some food for her,” he went on. “Will you make sure that she gets it?
”

Sister Annunziata nodded and replied, “Now you must go before any of the other sisters come to see what’s going on
.”

When she was sure they had gone she unlocked the door and took in the basket
.

Standing at the window of her cell, looking out into the night, Ismelda had heard her friends’ voices. She heard the bell clang, and she danced up and down as she waited for someone to come for her, to usher her down to the visitors’ room. The door would open and the four of them would be standing there, their faces breaking into smiles, the distinctive smell of their skin bringing warmth into the cold confines of the convent
.

But no one came. Through a veil of tears she watched the cart drive away, listening until the sound of the rough wheels on the rutted road died away
.

Later, Sister Annunziata brought her the news from her friends, and she tried to tempt her with some
focaccia,
some dainty little cheeses wrapped in olive leaves, some
brutti ma buoni
wrapped in a linen cloth, but Ismelda pushed the food aside, slumped down on to her straw mattress and stared up at the ceiling in despair
.

Sister Annunziata was packing the food back when she saw a book in the bottom of the basket
.

She took Ismelda in her arms and together they turned the pages of
Recipes for Cherubs.
As the wind grew stronger, whistling feverishly around the convent, Ismelda’s eyes grew bright with a fierce intensity Sister Annunziata had never seen before
.

K
izzy waited in the Fisherman’s Snug, sitting on the threadbare old sofa, smoking a cigarette while she waited for Tony. She had almost given up hope of him coming when the door opened and he came in, shutting the door quickly behind him.

“I thought I was never going to get a chance to speak to you on your own,” she said, planting a kiss on his cheek. To her dismay, he backed away from her. He’d always been putty in her hands when they were teenagers, and she’d liked the feeling of power.

“I haven’t got long, Kizzy, so get to the point.” He was edgy and stood by the window keeping an eye out in case anybody came past.

“I wanted to thank you for what you did,” Kizzy said, smiling up at him.

“There’s no need to thank me,” he said coolly, surprising her.

“But it was chivalrous of you to rescue me like that.”

“Whatever you like to think, I didn’t do it for you.”

She was covered in confusion and stepped closer to him, but he turned away again.

“Then why did you admit to being Catrin’s father?” she retaliated.

“I did it for Catrin, because I couldn’t bear for her to be hurt by what you were going to say.”

“Oh, and what was I going to say? That I didn’t know who her father was?”

“I don’t know,” he said.

“And you stood there and lied through your teeth. Do you think that will make her feel any better when she finds out?”

“It was foolish of me, but I’m fond of her. She was in a terrible state when she came here, and I’d hate her to be hurt any more.”

“You used to be fond of me,” Kizzy said, pouting.

“Only as a friend.”

“I remember getting up to a little more than what friends do, here in the Snug,” she said provocatively.

“That was a mistake. We were just children.”

“So who do you think is Catrin’s father, then?”

“I haven’t a clue.”

“Three guesses?”

“Don’t be so bloody childish.”

“Benito,” she blurted out.

Tony took a step backwards, ran his fingers across his dry lips.

“How shocking is that?”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Just look at her, Tony, look at her closely. You don’t want to believe me, that’s the problem. He led you a merry dance, didn’t he?”

“I’m not going to listen to any more of this.”

Kizzy sidestepped him and stood with her back to the door.

“Either you listen to me or I tell my daughter, Miss Goody Two Shoes, that you’re a liar.”

He turned to look out of the window.

“Benito and I met when I was on a school trip to Italy. That’s why he came over here that summer, to be near me.”

“You never told me that. You pretended you’d met him for the first time that summer.”

“I’m a good liar, Tony. We used to meet up at Blind Man’s Lookout; sometimes I even smuggled him into Shrimp’s for our nights of passion.”

Tony bit his thumb to stop himself cursing her.

“Of course, by that time I was already pregnant and he’d promised to marry me.”

Tony didn’t respond.

“Quite a Lothario, wasn’t he? And he had the measure of you, all right.”

“What do you mean by that?” His voice was barely audible.

“I expect he told you he loved you, promised to open the restaurant of your dreams somewhere. Am I right?”

Tony turned to face her, his face taut with emotion. “You knew all that? You knew he was stringing me along?”

“Oh yes. He’d left a trail of people all over Europe with broken dreams. I expect you gave him money?”

Tony nodded and looked closely at her; she was enjoying this. “And you, Kizzy, did you give him money?”

She nodded. “Oh yes, almost everything I’d been left by my mother. And I gave him a child he didn’t hang around long enough to see.”

“And what did he promise you?”

“Undying love.”

“Me too,” Tony said in barely a whisper.

“Then we were both duped. I expect he’s still out there making men and women fall in love with him,” Kizzy said. “He never minded which sex he went for, as long as there was money behind it.”

“Do you ever hear from him?” Tony asked hopefully.

“Not a word until recently,” she replied, and his heart missed a beat.

She told him about the postcard and the trip to Italy.

“Do you think the postcard was from him?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I think someone wanted me out of the way, because while I was in Italy my house was burgled.”

“Did you lose much?”

“I’ve got precious little left to lose – I’m in a bad way financially.”

“But you’ve got the house.”

She shook her head. “It belongs to Arthur Campbell. He’s looked after Catrin and me since, er, since I was dumped by our Italian friend. And before you ask, no, he doesn’t think he’s Catrin’s father.”

“He didn’t strike me as the type to play Mr Bountiful.”

“Well, he’s seen us right. Without him I wouldn’t be able to pay Catrin’s school fees.”

“Maybe she won’t need to go back to boarding school.”