Ten

Somehow, when she opened her eyes, Posie knew it was already the end of the day. The blues and hazels and that lush olive-green muddiness of the countryside were rolling together into a twilight of Tuscan evening promise.

Posie picked up her folding travel clock from the bedside table.

‘Six-thirty! How is that even possible? It’s almost time for drinks and dinner!’

Posie swung her legs over the side of the bed, rubbed sleep from her eyes. She didn’t feel refreshed, despite her long sleep.

She became aware of the slight noises of the Guesthouse around her; the low murmur of two male voices nearby, but not close enough to hear specific words. Perhaps two men out on the terrace?

She heard Jacinta’s laugh from somewhere: that was something, anyhow. Jacinta was happy.

A man’s low, pleasant rumble of conversation and a braying, English laugh came from above.

There was shouting in Italian from the kitchens below, the clanging of metal pots and pans, and a rising scent of cooking – something heavy, a stew perhaps? – and of wine, all shot through with something sweet and artificial as a top note. A smell like ice-cream.

Posie looked over hastily to the row of pegs on the wall, observing that Richard’s black dinner jacket and shirt and starched collar were still hanging there. So he wasn’t back yet. Or else, he had been and gone while Posie slept, not wanting to disturb her.

Posie cast a brief glance over at her own diaphanous evening gown, a floor-length shimmer of gold-net and spangles, with tiny golden daisies embroidered all over the top as if they had been thrown on haphazardly, in a meadow. There was a peach silk slip the size of a bally great tent underneath.

Posie sighed. Not long now like this .

She knew she was supposed to be feeling blooming, but actually she hated it. She was selfish, she knew, but Posie wanted her body back for herself now, and vaguely how it had been before.

She lit the Parma Violet travel candle she had brought with her from home, and headed towards the bathroom, but then Posie stopped in her tracks. There had been an urgent-sounding knock on her door.

She opened it to a blaze of red and gold outside.

Lady Tony Harewood.

‘I do hope I’m not disturbing you, Miss Parker?’

‘I…oh, er…no. Of course not. Come in. And call me Posie, please. Can I help you?’

‘I rather think you can, actually.’

Tony Harewood stepped into the huge room. Her tightly coiled gold plaits had been re-done in honour of the evening ahead, and she wore a washed-silk evening dress, the colour of crushed raspberries. It was hemmed with a tiny border of gold-and-red sequins. She carried a small fancy sequinned bag in the shape of a heart, in matching red-and-gold hues. Her square, serious face was newly-powdered with a colour a little too chalky for her complexion, and she had applied pan stick to her scar, but when she smiled it only served to make the imperfection even more prominent.

Her newly-applied lipstick matched the red dress perfectly. Nothing had been left to chance. The scent of heavy, velvety roses about the girl was strong.

By contrast, Posie felt her own lack of preparation keenly.

‘How enchanting you look, Lady Harewood.’

‘Call me Tony, please.’

‘You suit red, if you don’t mind my saying so. Do you always wear that colour?’

‘Er, yes actually. It cheers me.’

‘Even last night? At the San Martin Vineyard?’

‘Yes, there too.’ Tony was looking about the unlit room with a keen interest. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘No matter. Just curious.’

Just ruling you out from being Lorenzo’s lover, more like , thought Posie to herself.

Because sometimes an impossibility is not quite that.

There are spaces in the storyline from last night, for example , she felt like saying, reasoning it out.

Everything seems to have been blurry on returning from the San Martin vineyard, in those hours before dawn: people drunk; drinking limoncello here at the Guesthouse; people staggering off to bed at different times, without others noticing; the front door opening and closing.

You could have hurried off to meet Lorenzo after your row with Jacinta? After your bombshell about Nella…

Perhaps the hostility towards you on Lorenzo’s part which Roberta described was just a fabrication, an act, hiding something deeper?

More dangerous?

But the girl I saw was wearing blue.

Not red.

Lady Tony smiled. ‘It’s your job to be curious, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, yes. My husband would say I was slightly too good at it.’

Posie flicked on one of the electric switches and the main light buzzed on overhead, illuminating the bed with its mussed covers.

‘I say!’ exclaimed Tony Harewood. ‘What a jolly lovely room. I’ve never seen it before; it’s always booked out. I think Jacqs is wanting to turn this room into their main living area when she and Lorenzo turn it back into a house. I can see why.’

‘Quite.’

Tony Harewood only then seemed to take in Posie’s crumpled, unprepared state. ‘I won’t take up more than a couple of minutes. I’ll come to the point. I’m here because I’m scared, Posie.’

‘Oh?’

Posie indicated to a pair of rattan armchairs over by the balcony to the Cisterna Square. Posie went first, pulling open the curtains, opening the French doors, too. She poured water from a carafe left by Gloria into two glasses, and moved the already-lit candle onto the table.

For all the world it looked as if they were about to have some womanly cosy chat in a glitteringly candle-lit café.

‘What’s up?’

‘This .’

Tony had drawn out of her bag a small piece of standard-issue foolscap paper, cut down into the rough size and shape of a postcard.

The top of the paper was pierced with a cut of about an inch long, running diagonally.

Posie took the paper. Read the thing twice over.

It was a short, perfectly evil note, typed.

DEATH IS NOT ONLY ANNOUNCED WITH FANCY TAROT CARDS, YOU KNOW.

CONSIDER THIS A WARNING.

YOUR TIME IS UP.

Posie blew out her cheeks and pointed at the rip. ‘What’s this mark, Lady Tony?’

‘A knife. A bally sharp kitchen knife, actually. From downstairs. The note was speared to my room door this evening, when I went up to dress, about half an hour ago. I pulled the knife out and I returned it to the kitchen just now.’

‘I see.’

Posie acted calmly, although she didn’t feel calm.

‘A warning, eh? Have there been any other “warnings” at all?’

The woman made a moue of distaste as if remembering a very bad meal, best forgotten. ‘Yes. This is actually the second note. There was one other. It must have been delivered last night. I got it at dawn, today, when I returned to my room after the vineyard trip.’

‘Can I see it?’ Posie’s thoughts were scrambling, even as she spoke, mentally stringing times and suspects and all the possibilities together.

She was actually picturing Charlie Seego, walking across the Cisterna Square at lunchtime today, with that smart little travel Remington. He could have typed this second note, couldn’t he? He’d have had plenty of time this afternoon. And he had arrived in odd circumstances the evening before. So, he could have typed and delivered the first note last night, too.

But what, if it was him, did he want from Lady Tony? There was no request for money here, just this shivery reference to those wretched cards of Jacinta’s. How would Charlie Seego, if he was the perfect stranger he claimed to be, have known about the tarot cards? Either Jacinta’s, or, at a stretch, those received by Giulia last year?

Who on earth was the man?

And here was the first note.

Tony placed it on the table now, and the candlelight flickered over the ugly rip, the same knife-stab at the top. Same paper, same typewritten characters.

I KNOW YOUR GAME AND YOUR TIME IS UP.

No mention of tarot cards here, or death. Less threatening, certainly, but creepy all the same.

‘Do you know what this first message refers to, Lady Tony? What might “your game” be?’

‘Haven’t a clue.’ Lady Harewood shook her golden head. She’d taken out her cigarette tin, shaken out a Turkish gasper. She lit it from the travel candle and inhaled deeply, closing her eyes.

‘Some crackpot seems to have it in for me, eh?’

Posie swallowed. Your time is up . Twice in two notes; over two evenings.

She stared from one note to the other. ‘There’s no mention of wanting money from you. The main thrust seems to be to frighten you.’

‘Well, that’s worked perfectly then.’

‘Has anything else happened? Anything strange?’

‘No.’

Posie watched the closed, immaculate face of Lady Harewood, a woman used to being discreet. Posie would go as far as saying buttoned-up . So far Tony Harewood hadn’t mentioned Neville Coleman to her once.

Not outright.

She had to ask .

Posie coughed gently. ‘I’m sorry to pry, but I must… Do you think someone may have it in for you – maybe they are jealous of you – for your, er, inheritance prospects? I understand you were Neville Coleman’s girlfriend, that you are his heiress? That is correct, isn’t it?’

Tony had stood up abruptly, flung back the doors onto the balcony, and stepped out.

Posie joined her, manoeuvring her bulk onto the tiny balcony. She watched as Tony Harewood gripped the iron railing, the knuckles on her jewellery-free hand completely white.

She’s like a china doll , Posie thought to herself suddenly. The pressure inside her is likely to make her break .

‘Yes,’ Tony Harewood said softly. ‘I was Neville’s partner. We were going to get married this summer.’

‘Please accept my condolences.’

‘Thank you. I know you must have some idea. That explorer fella of yours… I read about it, years back.’

Posie touched the girl’s hand briefly in the twilight by way of answer. A beat of an understanding.

Tony took another drag on her cigarette. ‘It’s been simply dreadful, Posie. And as for being his heiress…well, that’s all been pretty dire. I’ve been stuck in London since Christmas, near enough: showing his snooty lawyers my papers and signing inventories about Nev’s estate, and agreeing to various sales. So much form-filling! I’ve been walking about London these last weeks like a half-dead thing; it’s like I’m still waiting to wake up from a terrible dream. I’m still waiting for Neville to come back from that bally mountain.’

Another drag, then a perfect smoke-ring. ‘He was so full of life. How can a man like that die ?’

‘It must be hard.’

‘It is. You asked me about the money. Yes, I’ll have a good deal. But I’d rather have him . And who can begrudge me the money? Nev had no other dependants. None! And goodness knows I’ve had pretty much nothing most of my life. Just a small monthly amount Nev paid me so I could travel to see him, you know? So we could be together.’

‘How long had you been engaged?’

‘Since last summer.’

Posie frowned. So far, the notes didn’t seem to make much sense in the context of Tony’s recent history. She changed tack, feeling her way, hoping to goodness she was right .

‘You invited your cousin to come here tonight, didn’t you?’

‘Nella?’

The girl sighed heavily. ‘Yes. I invited her. It’s all my fault. I wrote to Nella from London, actually, asking her to join me out here whenever she could. I was desperate to get back here as quickly as possible; I’ve come to think of it as a kind of home. And London’s bally expensive! Jacinta is so kind to me. The lawyers told me it was fine to leave town; it might take a while to settle Nev’s affairs. When I wrote to Nella I thought it would make a nice change for her. We’d spend a fun couple of weeks together out here in the sun. She’s been bored out of her brains since this whole divorce fiasco. Besides, the South of France isn’t that far from here, is it?’

Tony ground out the cigarette on the balcony rail.

‘There’s something else, too,’ Lady Tony said softly, rather uncomfortably. ‘I’ll be honest with you. My parents are dead and left me nothing but my name. I’ve always lived rather hand-to-mouth. It would have changed when Neville and I married. But since he died, my allowance from him has stopped and I’m living on next to nothing, and it could be months until I see a brass farthing. So I…’

She trailed off, embittered, embarrassed.

Posie shifted on her swollen feet. ‘You needed Nella to give you some ready money, is that it?’

‘Yes, to tide me over. I needed cash. I was sure she’d be happy to help.’

‘You didn’t intend to invite her to the wedding specifically?’

‘Golly, no! When I wrote to Nella from London I had no idea Jacqs was getting married. What a shock. I had no idea Jacinta and Lorenzo had even got engaged!’

‘No. It does seem a bit sudden. And odd.’

Tony shrugged. ‘When does love ever run predictably?’

‘True.’ Posie smiled. She was beginning to like Lady Tony.

Tony lit another smoke. ‘When I got back here it was all organised: Jacqs told me it would be a small wedding on the 20th March. Just a few guests. I didn’t tell her I’d invited Nella to stay, it didn’t seem important: I wasn’t sure if Nella would even come. But then I found out Jacqs had invited her Godfather, Nella’s ex-husband, Simon Deverine. I had no idea Jacqs was so close to Simon still! I’ve been living on a knife-edge ever since, hoping Nella wouldn’t want to come, or that she’d arrive much later this month. In fact, I only heard from Nella yesterday, telling me she would arrive today, and I didn’t know how to break it to Jacinta. I kept putting it off.’

‘My husband would call it a “can of worms”.’ Posie smiled. ‘But I’m hoping “storm in a teacup” might be better. Presumably both Simon Deverine and your cousin Nella have arrived by now? I didn’t hear any screams and shouts. So, I take it all is fine?’

Tony Harewood exhaled. ‘Amazingly, yes. They saw each other, downstairs, briefly. They acted like grown-ups, tight smiles to hide the surprise. They pretty much hate each other. But they probably realise they owe Jacqs their best behaviour on her special day. You know it was Jacinta who introduced Nella to her Godfather in the first place, a few years ago?’

‘Hopefully the peace will endure.’ Posie smiled. ‘Until after the wedding at least. Is it possible?’

Tony looked hopeful. ‘I think I was worrying unnecessarily. They are physically far apart: Nella’s up with me, in the attic, and Simon’s in a small room upstairs. He’ll leave right after the wedding tomorrow. He’s heading back to Florence.’

‘And you and Nella?’

Tony turned in surprise, raised a blonde eyebrow. The light was beginning to fail. ‘What do you mean, Posie?’

‘I was under the impression things were moving very quickly here: that Lorenzo has forced Roberta out of their flat above the Gelateria in a hurry to rent it out, and he’s moving in here straightaway. So he and Jacinta will live here as their home? The Guesthouse will close.’

No more guests. No continued hangers-on, living indefinitely on Jacinta’s generosity .

Posie didn’t speak the words aloud, but she let their resonance hang in the air.

‘Oh!’ Tony ground out her cigarette. She was genuinely surprised. ‘Goodness! I hadn’t got that far ahead. Well, yes: I see your point. We’ll have to clear out, won’t we? But I’m sure they’ll give us a bit of time. What’s the hurry?’

Posie stayed silent, but looked doubtful. It came to her suddenly that those notes might have been typed by Lorenzo, although the English phrases were too perfect. Or perhaps by someone on his instructions, then?

Could it be that the odd Charlie Seego was here on Lorenzo’s instructions? To scare or frighten Tony away? It was far-fetched, but then Lorenzo seemed the sort of man for whom the presence of two single English women – both in the aftermaths of tragic love affairs gone wrong – in his new marital home would not be a welcome thing.

He seemed the sort of man whose home would most definitely be his castle. A place to be defended.

Tony had turned to look back into the room, where the overhead light was flickering strangely. It went out completely once, then fizzed back on.

‘But Posie, you know you’ve got the wrong end of the stick about Roberta leaving the flat above the Gelateria. She’s not being kicked out!’

‘No?’

‘She’s happy to go. Roberta’s been looking for an excuse to pant after Doctor Mozzato for ages. Years , probably. Well, she’s got her chance now. She’s taken a small studio in the same tower as him, on the same floor. What luck! She can try and ensnare him now to her heart’s content and when she does marry Doctor Mozzato I daresay she can quit being an ice-cream girl. Now that will be a loss for Lorenzo. Because it’s Roberta Grimaldi who knows everything in that place, back-to-front. Like her cousin, Giulia, did. Those cousins made fantastic concoctions together: lavender ice-cream, coconut, liquorice. They were quite experimental. Roberta knows every essential ingredient to the last drop. I helped her out in the shop when Giulia was sick – well, we all did, everyone was mucking in and lending a hand – and I was astounded. Really impressed. She’s a real talent.’

Posie took this all in. Doctor Mozzato must be the other ‘fish to fry’ Roberta had spoken of. Good for Roberta. Posie hoped it worked out.

Her mind was full with this new information, but she kept circling back to the strange typewritten notes Tony had received. She stared out across the square to the now-closed Lorenzo’s.

‘Forgive me, Lady Tony, but you just said you were here when Giulia Rosario was sick?’

‘That’s right.’ The aristocrat nodded. ‘She died on the 12th December. I’ll never forget it. It was my late mother’s birthday, so the date is special to me.’

‘But why were you here at all?’ Posie was confused. ‘Your fiancé went up that mountain – the Eiger, wasn’t it? – in the third week of November, and you were at the hotel there with him. But he went missing pretty quickly, didn’t he? By the time Giulia died he must have been missing three weeks. Why didn’t you stay out in Switzerland? Await news from the rescue parties? You must have been worried sick.’

The girl looked suddenly distraught. ‘I was . You can imagine. But it was always our way. I’d be there when Nev started these big climbs, and then I’d leave again. Straightaway. “No point hanging around” he always said. It was the same this time. I wasn’t to know it was to go wrong, was I? But yes, as the days passed and no news came, you can imagine my horror. I tried to stay as busy as possible, which was easy, as Jacinta had gone to England for your wedding. So I helped out here at the Guesthouse, tried to do my bit. But it was a dreadful time all round. Poor Giulia. Those wretched tarot cards.’

‘Ah.’ So Tony had known about them . ‘You saw them?’

‘Oh, yes. A few.’ The girl looked grim. ‘Giulia was so upset. What kind of madman sends “Death” cards, and in glitzy envelopes too?’

‘Quite.’

They walked together back into the room. The light flickered badly. Hearty male laughter could be heard coming from the terrace.

Instinctively they walked to the other balcony. The yard below was transformed. In the early evening light, strings of electric fairy lights illuminated the trailing vines which grew up the walls of the terrace. It was like something out of A Midsummer Night’s Dream .

Below, Lorenzo, dashing in black tie, was laughing with a slightly-built, tall blonde man, also in black, although his suit was shabby and too short in the arms. The blonde man had his back to the balcony.

He turned suddenly. Looked up at them directly.

And Posie’s heart missed a beat.

****