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‘Of course not.’
‘What do you mean “of course”?’ Santo said. ‘I know nothing about you, Ella. What I do know I could write on a Post-it note. I know your parents are together, that there are no brothers or sisters, that your mother is from here.’ He saw the well of tears in the bottom of her eyes. ‘That the sex was like nothing I have ever known, but I don’t know you....’
‘You’re my boss, you don’t need—’
‘I’m your lover!’ He almost shouted it. ‘Get it into your head.’
‘For how long though...’ She hated the neediness, but it was the truth, because he was telling her to open up to him, to give him more than sex, and she was terrified to.
‘Who knows?’ He was completely honest. ‘But if we can’t talk, then not for much longer.’
‘You don’t talk about the stuff that troubles you.’
‘I’ve tried more than you,’ Santo said.
‘Santo, I don’t tell anyone...’ She was close to panic now. ‘I don’t share myself with anyone and I’m not going to start pouring my heart out to you.’
‘You will.’ The view was more stunning than the ocean behind him—his eyes so intense, the passion blazing—and she was there in his spotlight now. He would strip her bare and she was petrified, not just of it ending, but of the togetherness too. She could simply not envisage sharing herself so completely with another, of trusting another. ‘Tell and kiss.’ She could feel the warmth of his skin so close and she teased his translation, just as he did to her.
‘It’s kiss and tell.’
‘No.’ His eyes were open. Santo had made up his mind and he moved back and started the engine. ‘It’s tell and kiss.’ And as he drove off, as always he made her smile. He took her hand and placed it in his lap. ‘Though, of course, I don’t mind a woman who can multi-task.’
‘Ha, ha...’ She took back her hand.
They had been out for a couple of hours and he knew no more than he had when she had opened her hotel door.
‘What was it like?’ He turned to her question. ‘I mean, back there, in the café. People were nervous just to see you....’
‘That is because I would rarely go there, but here...’ He nodded ahead. ‘They are more used to us. This is where my nonna lives.’
‘But what was it like?’
It was Santo who couldn’t answer. He could see his grandparents’ house, huge and imposing and the keeper of so many secrets.
‘Have you seen today’s papers?’ He didn’t wait for her response, he knew that she had. ‘There is far more to come. Always it is about power—that is how it is, that is how you are taught—but sometimes you just want to walk in a café and have coffee.’ Ella nodded. ‘That is why I like being on set—I am just Santo there. Of course, there are a few awkward looks today, given what has been said in the newspapers about my mother. I just have to wear it. Battaglia is determined to crush us and will stop at nothing—so now he makes sure that every piece of filth he can find ends up in the papers.’ He looked at Ella. ‘There is a lot of filth.’
There was, Santo knew that, but there was a lot of good too, and somehow he wanted to show her that. But there was something he, too, had been putting off for a while, something that might be easier with Ella by his side.
‘Now,’ Santo said, ‘I take you where I have taken no woman before.’ He glanced over to see her wide-eyed reaction. ‘My nonna’s.’
‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘Probably not.’ Santo shrugged. ‘She will have us married off in her mind the moment we walk in there, but I really ought to visit her. She will be very upset with all that is going on in the family and she is worried about Alessandro too, as well as mourning her husband. She never really got over losing her sons....’ He was pensive for a moment. ‘You know, for all that the cousins do not get on, for all the arguments, the one thing that unites us is our love for her—she is a good woman.’ Perhaps Ella’s silence spoke volumes, for Santo turned his head in instant defence. ‘She is.’
‘Of course,’ came Ella guarded response. Salvatore Corretti’s reputation was legendary, and if Ella knew a little of what had gone on to get there, then absolutely his wife must have known a whole lot more.
‘Her family hated that she married him,’ Santo explained a little, ‘but she loved him, and turned a blind eye to all that he got up to.’
Ella bit down on her lip in an effort not to voice her thoughts.
‘Sometimes it is easier to, perhaps...’ Santo said.
‘Or simply more convenient.’ Ella could not stay silent on this. ‘I’m sorry, Santo. I’m trying not to judge your nonna—I haven’t met her after all—but I don’t buy that turn a blind eye excuse.’
‘And I am not asking you to.’ He saw her tense profile. ‘I’m just letting you know, before we go in there, that these past years have been very hard on her. These are exceptionally difficult times, so just...’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’
As they approached Ella was both nervous and excited to be meeting such a legend. It was like being invited backstage and the chance to meet the matriarch of this family was just too good to pass up. But as they walked towards the house she could see Santo’s strained face.
‘I’m not going to say anything that might offend her.’
‘I know you wouldn’t,’ Santo said, or he would never have brought here.
CHAPTER TEN
A MAID LET them in, but rather than standing and waiting in the hall, Santo took Ella’s hand and they walked straight through, Santo calling out to announce he was here.
‘Santo!’ There was a crow of surprise as Teresa heard them and they were in the large lounge before she was even standing. There was a flurry of kisses and introductions. Teresa was dressed from head to toe in black, and from the candle burning by a bible on a table, it was clear she was deep in mourning. But there was absolute pleasure on the old woman’s face as she greeted her grandson. There was no denying the bond was a genuine one and that Teresa was so pleased to see him.
‘It is lovely to meet you,’ Teresa said to Ella. ‘Such a nice surprise—you will forgive me if my English is not very good.’ She smiled. ‘And you are to correct me if I forget and speak in Italian,’ she added to Santo. ‘My mind is everywhere at the moment.’
‘Don’t worry,’ Santo said. ‘Anyway, Ella’s mother is from here, so she speaks a little Italian.’ He smiled and so, too, did Ella.
‘He is teasing you, yes?’ Teresa checked and then answered her own question. ‘Of course he is.’
Santo brought such a smile to her weary face. He was incredibly good with women—all women—because he didn’t mind a bit when she cried a little when they spoke of Salvatore. ‘The house, it is too quiet,’ she said, ‘but then I tell myself at least he is not dealing with all this, at least he died thinking that the families would unite.’
‘It will sort,’ Santo said, but Teresa shook her head.
‘I am not so sure that it will. Have you heard from Alessandro?’
‘He is okay.’ Santo was so gentle with her. ‘I saw him the morning after and he has texted me a couple of times. He just needs time.’
‘And the rest of the family? Have you seen Luca?’
‘I am staying out of it as much as I can for now.’ Santo was firm. He certainly didn’t want to discuss the scandals that were going on with his nonna. ‘The better we do with this film, the better it will be for the family, for everyone. The locals are watching the filming. The docklands are busy, for the first time in a long time. This is what I need to give my attention to now.’
‘But even that is having problems!’ Teresa kept her eyes on everything, Ella realised. ‘That actress...’ Teresa screwed up her nose. ‘I saw the photos—she should be ashamed.’
‘It does take two.’ Santo grinned.
‘So, how is she doing?’ Teresa asked and the smile wavered on Santo’s face.
‘Taylor’s a very good actress,’ Ella spoke then. ‘Well, she’s got a lot of potential, if she had the right person directing to bring it out.’
‘Ella thinks she should be directing.’ Santo’s voice was wry, but he was glad for the change in conversation, because it was clear Teresa was getting more and more upset. The challenges the family faced were not going to be easily fixed and he hated that she was sitting alone and fretting.
‘You have a problem with a female director?’ Teresa teased.
‘Oh, I have no issues with Ella being a woman.’ Santo grinned but then his phone went. ‘Excuse me, I have to take this.’
As he went outside to take the call, Teresa poured them two small glasses of limoncello. It was tart and lovely and tasted just like her mother made and she told Teresa the same.
‘There are many recipes, but this is the local one. Your mother would make it the same way. Have you been to visit where she lived yet?’
