THEY TOOK A taxi to Mariana’s hotel; although it was within walking distance, clearly Angelo was worried about his grandfather getting overtired.
Once they’d ordered lunch, she said, ‘Leo, please forgive me for asking, but do you know exactly what’s in your paperwork?’
He spread his hands. ‘What can I say? I never liked filing. Just as well I never actually had to work at the bank.’
‘Bank?’ she asked.
‘Yes. My great-grandfather had a bank. All the men in my family worked there, until me. My father expected me to do it, too, but I knew I wasn’t suited. I liked art.’
‘Nothing wrong with that,’ Mariana said.
Angelo smiled. ‘And isn’t there a tradition in Florence of bankers collecting art? The city is rich beyond measure, thanks to the Medici collectors.’
‘Yes,’ Leo said. ‘When my father died, I sold the bank.’ He looked at Angelo. ‘What you said about the Medici—I want our family name remembered for our art collection, too.’
‘Angelo told me you went to art school,’ Mariana said. ‘Did you think of becoming a painter rather than a collector?’
Leo shook his head. ‘I was a competent draughtsman, but I knew I would never be more than that. But I have a good eye. I bought sketches and watercolours in flea markets and at fairs.’
‘Did you keep the receipts?’ she asked.
‘I am the son of a banker. I know better than to throw away a receipt,’ he said.
It was exactly what she’d hoped to hear. And there was one more thing that would really help. ‘Did you ever keep a journal about your collecting?’ she asked.
‘Sì. Every year I had a new diary.’ He smiled. ‘Always the colour of good Tuscan wine.’
She went very still. Diaries. These could be really important. ‘Are they all in your office?’
‘Somewhere, in the boxes, yes,’ he said.
She exchanged a glance with Angelo. If Leo had said in the diary exactly where and when he’d bought something, and maybe added in the details, it could really help with the paper trail. Especially as he might not be able to remember all the details now.
‘That would really help me to know what to look out for,’ she said.
‘Mariana and I have been talking,’ Angelo said. ‘If she takes photographs on her computer, then you can sit down together, she can ask you questions about the paintings and you can tell her everything you remember. I’ll translate for both of you.’
Leo patted his hand. ‘That sounds like a good plan.’
‘And we’ll ship your paperwork back to London.’
‘No,’ Leo said. ‘My papers stay in Florence.’
‘Nonno, Mariana’s studies are in London. We can’t expect her to stay here for however long it takes to sort out the paperwork,’ Angelo said gently. ‘The papers will be at my house. That’s almost the same as being yours.’
‘No,’ Leo said again.
Angelo glanced at Mariana. His expression said, Leave it for now and I’ll talk to him.
‘I can use online records as well,’ Mariana said.
‘What sort of records?’ Angelo asked.
‘Sales catalogues, inventories of artwork in private hands, diaries that mention paintings, mentions in wills, and a catalogue raisonné,’ Mariana said, ticking them off on her fingers.
‘I’ve never heard of a catalogue raisonné,’ Angelo said.
‘It’s a list of all known artwork by a single artist. The one for Carulli might list sketches which are preparatory studies for Leo’s paintings; or Leo’s collection might have preparatory sketches for paintings that are listed in another collection,’ she said. ‘And sometimes there are historic photographs; they can show if a painting’s been restored, altered or cut down.’ She looked at Leo. ‘Did you take photographs before your painting was restored?’
‘Yes. I took photographs when I found the painting, too. They’ll be in the boxes.’
‘In colour?’ she asked hopefully.
Leo smiled. ‘I always liked my gadgets, so some will be in colour. Maybe there is cine film, too. Film of my Frederica.’
‘My grandmother,’ Angelo added softly for Mariana’s benefit.
‘Did she like art, too?’
‘She was my model at art school,’ Leo said. ‘My father didn’t approve. He wanted me to marry a banker’s daughter, I guess to make up for the fact that I was never going to be a banker myself. But we married anyway. My father was angry for a while, but then Lucrezia came along and he fell in love with her. She followed him everywhere. And he was the one who discovered your mother could sing, right from when she was tiny. He found her the best singing tutor in Florence. And he had a seat right in the middle of the front row, every time she was on stage, until the day he died.’
‘I’ve never heard that story before, Nonno,’ Angelo said.
‘We were so happy, Frederica and me. Angelo, I wish you and St—’
‘Let’s order coffee, Nonno,’ Angelo cut in.
Mariana wondered what Leo had been about to say. Had it been the beginning of someone’s name? Angelo hadn’t mentioned a partner, though surely as it was the weekend his partner would’ve joined them to visit Leo? The thinning of Angelo’s lips warned her not to ask, which made her guess that it was a painful story. She didn’t want to add to that hurt by asking personal and inappropriate questions, so she brought the conversation back to art. ‘There is one other thing,’ she said. ‘If there are any gaps in ownership between 1933 and 1945, or there is a red-flag name in the list of previous owners, the art might need to be restored to its rightful owner.’
Leo’s expression told her he knew exactly what she was alluding to. ‘I bought The Girl in the Window in England,’ he said. ‘In 1963. It had been in the attic for years, which was how the mice got to it.’
After lunch, Mariana went back to her room to pick up her equipment, and called Nigel to fill him in on the situation and cancel their meeting on Monday. Back at the palazzo, she took a quick snap of each painting with her laptop, then sat down with Leo and Angelo at the dining room table.
‘I’m going to record everything on my laptop so I can refer back to it, and then type up the notes,’ she told Leo. ‘I don’t want to miss anything or forget anything.’
Leo patted her hand. ‘At my age, dear child, you forget much. I can barely remember what we had for lunch just now. But I remember the past more clearly.’
‘Good.’ She smiled at him. ‘Any time you want to stop for a rest, that’s absolutely fine. We can take all the time you need.’
Angelo discovered that Mariana was as good as her word, making sure that Leo took breaks. And she was methodical as she went through each painting, letting Leo talk and reminisce but also making sure she got all the relevant bits of information so she could cross-check them at a later date with a paper trail. Clearly she’d interviewed a lot of people for her show and was experienced at making them relax while she got the information she needed.
Although Angelo was kept busy translating between them, he still had time to notice little details about Mariana. The way she sat with head tilted slightly to one side as she listened; the way the sunlight through the window made her hair look the colour of a ripe cornfield; the way her lower lip was as full and lush and sensual as one of the models in his grandfather’s paintings; the way the whole room felt as if it was filled with sunshine when she smiled.
He shook himself.
This was about Leo, not about his inappropriate attraction to Mariana Thackeray. He needed to keep his mind strictly on the job. Especially as he knew her past relationship had been so unhappy; she hadn’t mentioned a partner who might resent her spending so much time with work, so he was guessing that she was single. Trusting someone after you’d been so badly let down was hard. And he came with baggage that she didn’t need. Nothing could happen between them—except maybe a fling, and that felt unfair.
After dinner, Angelo walked her back to the hotel. ‘I know you’re perfectly capable of going on your own, but my grandfather has old-fashioned views and he’d be happier if I accompanied you,’ he said.
He didn’t say it, but Mariana guessed that he also wanted to talk to her without his grandfather overhearing.
Her suspicions were confirmed when he said, ‘Thank you for being patient with Nonno. He’s a bit intractable about his paperwork.’
‘I like your grandfather very much,’ she said. ‘But we’ll have a huge problem if he won’t let you take the paperwork, because without that I can’t sort out the provenance.’
‘I’ll talk him round. But it’s a question of how we get it all to England. A courier won’t touch it without an exact list of contents, and taking one box at a time as cabin baggage will take way too long.’
‘So what are you thinking?’ she asked. Angelo Beresford struck her as the kind of person who didn’t bring up subjects without thinking about them deeply first.
‘I’ll hire a van and drive all the boxes back to London.’
‘From Florence? But... Surely that’ll take a couple of days?’
‘I looked it up. The online travel guides say seventeen hours.’
‘You can’t drive for seventeen hours in a row!’
‘Technically, I can,’ he said. ‘The legal time limits only apply to commercial vehicles.’
‘In real terms, you’d be crazy. You’d be tired and you’d be a danger to other road users,’ she pointed out.
‘There might be an alternative,’ he said, looking thoughtful. ‘Do you have a driving licence?’
‘Yes, but I’ve never driven abroad,’ she said.
‘Or driven a big van, I’m guessing?’
‘No,’ she confirmed.
‘Then I won’t ask you to drive. And you’re right about tiredness. So we’ll need to split the journey.’ He took out his phone and flicked into the Internet. ‘The halfway point is Dijon. If we leave on Friday morning, we’ll be back in London on Saturday afternoon.’
‘Angelo...’
‘I know. It’s longer than I asked you to be here. But I think you’re going to be the key to Nonno agreeing to let me take his papers. He knows you love art.’
‘He knows you would take great care of his possessions.’
‘But I don’t feel the same way that he does about those paintings, and you do. That matters more to him. Please, Mariana. I need your help.’
Eric would have demanded.
Angelo had asked.
Politely.
He valued her knowledge. And he’d listened to her about the risk of driving from Florence to London in one go and changed his plan, rather than being pig-headed and sticking to his original intentions. She appreciated that.
‘All right,’ she said.
‘Thank you.’
When they reached her hotel, Mariana paused in the lobby. ‘Thank you for walking me back. I would invite you to have a drink with me, but I guess you need to get back to your grandfather.’
That gave them both a convenient excuse. Even though she’d seen his professional accreditations and his protectiveness towards Leo showed that Angelo Moretti was one of the good guys, her experience with Eric had still left her wary. Eric had seemed so perfect at first; and her judgement couldn’t have been more wrong. How could she be sure she’d get it right next time? Plus this was business. The attraction she felt towards Angelo had to be ignored. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow. What time would be best for Leo?’
‘Half past eight?’ he suggested.
‘I’ll be there. And thank you for translating today.’
‘Any time.’ He paused. ‘If those journals are in his paperwork, then they’ll be in Italian. I could translate them for you, which will help with speed, and then help you work your way through the rest of the papers.’
‘Don’t you have to be at the office?’
‘I can delegate some work and do as much of the rest as possible from home. Right now Nonno is my priority.’ He paused. ‘While you’re doing the photographs, I need to go up to Rome for the afternoon and see my sister. Is it OK to leave you with Nonno?’
‘If he doesn’t mind, it’s fine.’
‘Thank you.’ He patted her shoulder. ‘You’re a kind woman. And my family appreciates what you’re doing for us.’
Even though the touch of his hand was light and momentary, it sent a spark of desire through her and she found herself staring at his mouth. Wondering how it would feel against her skin. How it would feel if he wrapped his arms around her. Then she shook herself. No. This wasn’t being professional. She needed to get a grip.
‘See you tomorrow,’ she said, cross at feeling so flustered. He was the first man to make her feel this way in a long time, and she really didn’t know how to deal with it.
‘Tomorrow,’ he said.
Angelo was thoughtful all the way back to the palazzo.
Putting a hand momentarily on her shoulder had been a mistake. He was more aware of her then he had been of any woman since Stephanie, which was utterly ridiculous. His relationship with her should be strictly professional, simply to make his grandfather’s dreams come true. Even though he knew she wasn’t Stephanie, he also knew she’d been badly hurt in the past. And he was barely in the right place to deal with his own feelings, let alone anyone else’s. He needed to back off.
Sunday was another day with Mariana listening to Leo telling her about the paintings; and on Monday morning she made a start on the more formal photography.
On Tuesday, Angelo headed to Rome. While on the train, he organised their return journey to London and emailed the details to Mariana, adding:
Send me a list of any stationery you need for London and I’ll get it delivered.
Then he concentrated on catching up with emails from work and reassuring a couple of his clients before he arrived in Rome.
It didn’t take long to reach the townhouse where his sister lived.
Eduardo, his brother-in-law, was at work—though, as it wasn’t the end of the financial year, Angelo rather thought Ed might be trying to get some peace and quiet and using the excuse of being snowed under at the office. But his mother and sister greeted him warmly.
‘Your favourites from London, Mamma,’ he said, giving his mother a distinctive duck-egg-blue bag. She peered inside to discover a large box of her favourite tea and a jar of honey.
‘Grazie.’ She hugged him. ‘You do spoil me.’
‘And something for a new mother,’ he said, handing Camilla a beautifully wrapped parcel. She opened it and beamed as she discovered luxury bubble bath, a scented candle and a box of chocolates.
‘And I have something for my beautiful niece, too,’ he said.
‘She’s asleep right now,’ Camilla said, ‘but I promise I’ll wake her in an hour, when she’s due a feed.’
‘OK.’ Giving him another hour to make sure his bravest face was in place, so his sister wouldn’t be able to guess how much his heart ached. Because he absolutely wasn’t going to let his personal pain spill over and hurt his family. ‘I bought Ed some single malt to toast the baby, too.’
‘You are so lovely.’ Camilla hugged him. ‘How’s Nonno?’
‘Very bright. Right now he’s very happy, talking art all day to someone who actually appreciates it,’ Angelo said.
‘This art expert—she really knows her stuff?’ Lucrezia demanded.
‘Yes. She’s currently taking professional photographs of all the paintings, and then she’s going to work on Nonno’s papers in London and sort them out properly.’
‘He’s letting you put them in order? But you and Cammie couldn’t talk him into even touching them before, let alone taking them out of the palazzo.’ Lucrezia looked surprised.
‘He said no at first. But he realises that Mariana can’t move to Florence for however long it takes to sort everything out, and the fact that she really loves his paintings means that he’ll do it for her,’ Angelo said. His grandfather was definitely falling under Mariana’s spell—and Angelo had a nasty feeling that it would be very easy for him to do the same. ‘We’re driving them back to London on Friday.’
‘Driving? Are you insane?’ Camilla asked.
‘We worked it out. It’s the simplest way,’ Angelo said.
‘And she’s nice?’ Camilla asked.
Nice didn’t even begin to cover it. But he didn’t want to go there. Nothing could happen between them. He’d already learned the hard way that he wasn’t husband material, and he was pretty sure that Mariana’s own experiences had made her want to give relationships a wide berth, too. ‘She knows a lot about art. And she loves her subject.’ She glowed when she talked about the Macchiaioli painters, but how could he tell his mother and sister that without them getting the wrong idea? He knew they worried about him and wanted him to move on from Stephanie, but he just hadn’t been able to. He couldn’t face that kind of rejection again.
Mariana Thackeray wasn’t the one to make him move on, either. He was sticking firmly with his career. Where his heart was safe. ‘I think she’ll do a good job,’ he said. Best to keep it businesslike. And he really wanted to change the subject before his mother or his sister started asking awkward questions. ‘Any chance of some coffee?’ he asked plaintively.
Lucrezia made coffee, fussing over Camilla and insisting that she should put her feet up. And finally they heard a low cry.
The baby.
There was a huge difference between seeing a baby on a computer screen during a video call, and being in the same room as one. Mentally, Angelo locked away all the longing and the loneliness. This wasn’t about him; it was about his sister and being able to make her feel all was right with the world. He’d managed to cope so far with the babies of friends—friends who didn’t know exactly why Stephanie had divorced him.
But he wasn’t prepared for the feelings that flooded through him when Camilla shyly put her daughter—his niece, his own flesh and blood—in his arms. A surge of love and tenderness that he’d never experienced before. Something that made the longing and the loneliness burn; yet, at the same time, this was so precious and special.
‘Serafina Frederica,’ he whispered.
She was two weeks old. She’d been born a month premature, so her skin was still wrinkly rather than plump, and her fingers were oh, so tiny.
‘She’s so like you, Cammie,’ he said. ‘I can see Ed in her, too, but she’s the image of you. Just how I remember you being when I was five and Dad brought me to the hospital to meet you for the first time.’
Tears glittered in her eyes. ‘Angelo—’
‘She’s gorgeous,’ he said. ‘My niece. I never expected...’ He met his sister’s gaze. ‘I didn’t expect her to make me feel like this. Proud and protective.’ Even though it underlined what he’d never had, this was still something to be cherished. His niece. A baby whose life he’d be able to share, watch her grow up and love her more each day.
‘Ed and I—we wondered if you’d—I know it’s hard,’ Camilla said.
‘If I’d what?’
‘You don’t have to say yes, not if it’s too much.’ Camilla looked worried.
‘Cammie, you’re my baby sister and nothing is too much to ask,’ he said gently.
She squirmed. ‘Would you be her godfather?’
‘Yes. Definitely yes.’ He cradled his niece. He’d wanted a baby so much. He’d planned it all out in his head: he and Stephanie would have two or three children, a fluffy golden retriever, a garden full of laughter and sunshine at weekends. Stephanie had wanted that, too. It would’ve been perfect.
Except it hadn’t happened, thanks to the mumps.
He pushed the thought away. Not now. He needed to focus on how lucky he was to have a grandfather and sister he adored, a mother he loved deeply even though her theatricality drove him a little crazy, a brother-in-law he liked and respected, and now tiny little Serafina. Being a godfather was the next best thing to being a father. Let love drown the sorrow.
And he already loved his niece. He noticed that her eyes had already changed from a newborn blue to a deep brown.
‘So I’ll be her godfather as well as her uncle,’ he said. ‘That’s wonderful, Cammie. I’m so glad you asked me.’
‘Really?’
‘Really,’ he confirmed. ‘I’m not just saying it. I’m—’ His voice sounded slightly choked. ‘I’m honoured. Delighted. It’s... It’s the closest I’ll get to being a dad, and I... Thank you.’
There were tears in her eyes. ‘I don’t want to hurt you, Angelo.’
‘I’m not hurt,’ he fibbed, stuffing down the heartache. ‘I’m just so glad. I love you, Cammie. And I love my niece. My goddaughter-to-be.’
Unexpectedly, he found himself thinking of Mariana. Did she have any nieces or nephews? Was she close to them? Did she want children of her own?
But that question could open up his world of bleakness again. He needed to keep that locked away. Focus on what he could have, not what he couldn’t.
‘We’ll let your mamma feed you, mimma,’ he said softly, handing the baby back. ‘And then your mamma can open my present to you and I’ll read you the first story from it. When you’re older, you’ll love the pictures. Maybe you’ll be like your nonna and your bisnonno and appreciate art, unlike your Zio Angelo.’
Again, tears glistened in Camilla’s eyes. ‘Angelo, this means so m—’
‘I know,’ he cut in gently. ‘I was always going to love her, Cammie.’ Always. Even though his heart ached and wished that he, too, had a baby to share his family’s love. Focus on the good. Don’t focus on what they couldn’t have. Be grateful for the very, very good things they already had: their family.
‘Come and help me with the washing up, Angelo,’ Lucrezia directed when Camilla was settled on the sofa and feeding the baby.
Angelo followed his mother into the kitchen, but before she could say anything he gave her a hug. ‘I’m fine, Mamma. Don’t worry. I’m over it.’ It wasn’t true, but there was nothing to achieve by dwelling on it and going over and over things that couldn’t be changed. ‘I’m really happy for Cammie and Ed.’
Lucrezia hugged him back. ‘I know, but—’
‘But nothing, Mamma,’ he cut in gently. ‘Everything is just fine.’ And it would be. He’d make it happen.
He stayed for dinner so he had a chance to see his brother-in-law and congratulate him on the baby, too. And leaving Serafina was a real wrench. By the time Angelo got back to Florence, Mariana had gone back to her hotel and Leo had gone to bed. Angelo showered and went to bed, but it was a long time before he could sleep. Seeing his niece had unsettled him, awoken longings he’d have to fight to bury again. His growing attraction towards Mariana had unsettled him, too. But he needed to be careful with her. She’d had a horrible time with her ex. The last thing she needed was to get involved with him. If she wanted a family of her own—he couldn’t give her that, so it was better not to start anything in the first place.
He needed to keep his distance. Keep things professional. He’d managed that with every other relationship in the last couple of years, being charming at dinner parties when he’d been invited as the ‘eligible single’ while making it clear that his career kept him too busy to date anyone properly. Why was it so much more of a struggle to maintain that distance with Mariana? Why was he even thinking about finding out how she felt, if she might be prepared to take a chance on him? Why couldn’t he think of her as dispassionately as he had about every other woman he’d met since his marriage ended?
On Wednesday, the rest of the boxes arrived, and Angelo packed everything into them. About the only order he managed to restore to the chaos was to put the journals together, along with some reels of cine films that he planned to have transferred to a digital format once he was back in London. There was no clue as to the content of the films, just a couple of years written on the outside—years when his grandparents had been newlyweds and his mother had been a small child, and he thought both his grandfather and his mother would enjoy seeing them.
But then he found some preparatory sketches that looked vaguely familiar, and took them out to Mariana to see what she thought.
‘That’s absolutely incredible!’ she said, her eyes glittering as she inspected them. ‘They’re dated and signed, and, look, there’s a note in Carulli’s own handwriting about the location. This is fantastic!’
She threw her arms round him and hugged him.
For a second, Angelo froze and panic flooded through him. Distance, he reminded himself. Distance.
But his body wasn’t listening to his head, and he wrapped his arms round her. This felt so right. He closed his eyes and dipped his head slightly to press his cheek against hers, breathing in the clean vanilla scent of her hair. A warmth, a closeness he hadn’t felt since Stephanie had walked out on him.
Then reality washed back in.
This was the last thing he should be doing.
So much for keeping things professional.
He released her and took a step backwards.
And then she flushed. ‘Sorry, I got a bit carried away just then. The excitement of finding the artwork.’
‘Me, too,’ he lied. It hadn’t been the artwork. As far as he was concerned, the sketch was nothing special. It didn’t make his heart beat faster. That reaction had all been because of her.
Not that he was going to make the mistake of telling her that.
‘I know which painting it is.’ She flicked into the photos she’d downloaded to her laptop the previous day. ‘You can see the cottage here, and this group of trees. It ties up.’
‘So we’re getting somewhere,’ he said.
At least, as far as his grandfather’s paintings were concerned. Where his heart was concerned, he needed to get a grip. He hadn’t been enough for Stephanie and he had no intention of putting himself in a place where he discovered that he wasn’t enough for Mariana, either.
The fact that his heart felt as if it had done an anatomically impossible backflip every time she smiled or he looked into her blue, blue eyes—well, he’d have to learn to ignore it.