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Joseph laughed at the timings. ‘And that old geezer, dressed like it was about to snow. I thought he was about to expire on me. I nearly painted him into the picture.’
‘You kept painting and I kept taking photographs. Aren’t we stubborn?’ We weren’t the only ones. It was time to reveal what I knew about Loretta’s twinned projects.
He listened without interrupting, occasionally when I stuttered nervously, he stroked my bare arm with his fingertips. Even at the point that I revealed my patron was in fact a woman, not a man, he absorbed the news with only a small groan. He too had assumed the situation was being controlled by a man and neither of us had questioned it. It was when, after holding the detail back, I spoke Medici’s real name that Joseph jerked and sat upright, his back facing away from me.
‘Joseph?’
‘Lora. Lora Di Matteo. Tony’s mother,’ he said. ‘I stayed with them when I travelled back and forth to Greece.’
My suspicions were confirmed: the connection between us made concrete. ‘Loretta. Lora. All the same person. My great-aunt, half a great-aunt, Loretta. How did you meet her?’ I knelt next to him and, in the darkness, found his hands.
‘An advertisement. They rent out this converted barn to visiting artists. But I didn’t have enough money to stay long the first time. The second time, they invited me back for nothing.’
‘Why?’
‘Because Lora liked me, and Tony is kind.’ He sighed.
‘Can you tell me about Loretta?’ I cupped his hands between mine and they stilled.
‘It’s a shame your grandmother never met her. Her sister has this wonderful laugh. Really deep like from here.’ Joseph touched my belly. ‘And though she isn’t always easy to understand, because of her speech impediment, her English is excellent.’
Has. Is. I realised I hadn’t told Joseph what David had said in his message: Loretta was dead.
Appropriate words escaped me, so I procrastinated. ‘Why castles? Did she share the same passions as me?’ I asked.
Joseph shrugged. ‘I saw no evidence of an interest in English ones. But she is a historian of architecture. She worked, before she retired, as a celebrated academic. She writes books now.’
David and Loretta both historians and writers of books. Of course, it made sense. Now I knew the purpose of my photographs.
‘I wonder why she didn’t tell us.’
He reached over and switched on the bedside lamp. I blinked several times before focusing on his pensive face.
‘What?’ I said, alarmed.
‘I told her everything, Robyn. All about me. My family. She’s easy to talk to, and Tony would wheel her around to the barn to watch me paint. They both said I had extraordinary talent. But I didn’t believe them because where was my focus? I just moved from place to place, running away from my past.’
‘So you told her about Jake and Ben?’
‘Yes, especially how my father hadn’t coped with them. They were wild, Robyn. Terrifying. When the police took them away, I knew they wouldn’t be forgiven, even though they were kids. I blamed myself so much, especially because I knew Ben wasn’t like normal kids. Jake, well, once he was fostered, he righted himself, and lived to regret that day. He’s somewhere far away now, which is for the best, and he doesn’t visit Dad. They adopted him, his new family.’
‘And Ben?’
‘In and out of prison. I nearly followed him what with all the harassment from vigilantes. Plus the press, documentary makers. I got close to going there. Drugs and gangs are very appealing when you don’t belong. But Dad, to his credit, kept moving me, and I was never anywhere long enough to be tempted until we finally got a proper house.’
‘With a garage.’
His smile broke through the melancholy, and he waved his arms around. ‘And now I have this place.’
‘And Loretta helped you by giving you a space to paint.’ I wiped the lone tear from his cheek. ‘Do you think she meant for us to meet?’
‘Yes. I do now. I wasn’t sure when you first told me about Medici’s role, but now we know the links in the chain, it’s plausible. I wish I knew what she’s done with my paintings.’
‘Mm. Camilla and David were sworn to secrecy.’ I inhaled deeply. I couldn’t hold back any longer. ‘I’m sorry. I have to tell you bad news. David contacted me when I got back. He said Medici, Lora, had died very recently.’
Joseph’s cheeks and shoulders sagged. But there were no more tears; he’d expected this news. He fingered the gold chain around his neck, the little pendant of a man carrying a small boy on his shoulders, taking him to a place of safety. I could ask him if Loretta had given him the St Christopher’s charm, but I knew the answer lay in the caress of his fingers.
‘She had this disability,’ he said. ‘I suppose it shortened her life.’
