It looked good on paper.
Rico had already given her the answer, Catherine realised. On paper she had everything, but it counted for nothing. Hovering behind the curtains, watching the endless camera lenses still mercilessly trained on the house, she was scarcely able to believe that after two weeks public interest hadn’t waned.
But then why would it? Catherine thought with a wry smile. She was as guilty as anyone of devouring the glossies, and the Mancinis certainly made for a good centre spread; the upcoming legal battle, and Antonia, grim and determined, giving endless interviews which Rico read without comment then promptly deposited in the bin.
Naturally, after he’d left for work, Catherine retrieved them.
She was desperate for some insight, frantically trying to join together the jumble of dots that made up Rico. Her heart just melted at the sight of a photo of him, dark and brooding, climbing into his car, his lips set in a grim line, eyes hidden behind dark glasses, the proverbial no comment all he had to say on the matter.
All he had to say full stop.
Since their first night back at the house enemy lines had been drawn, and night after lonely night she chided herself for her part in it. Day after day Catherine berated herself for her handling of things. Time and again she attempted to talk to him, to somehow fashion a path out of the stalemate they’d locked themselves into.
Time and again he pushed her away.
‘Lily’s grandparents are at the front door.’ Jessica’s nervous voice broke into her thoughts. ‘I didn’t know if I should let them in or not.’
Her first instinct was to say no, to let the staff sort it out, even to ring Rico and ask him what she should do. But Catherine reminded herself she was made of sterner stuff than that, and perhaps if she was ever to make an informed opinion she should listen to what they had to say—stop relying on magazines and find out the real story.
‘Show them through.’
The sight that confronted her was one she hadn’t expected. Bracing herself for the garish, overdressed woman she had seen at the funeral, she was somewhat shocked to see Antonia Mancini dressed in casual trousers and a pale jumper. Her make-up was minimal and her smile seemed genuine.
‘Catherine.’ She swept across the room in a moment and pulled her into an embrace as Catherine stood awkward and unsure. ‘I’m sorry—too tactile for my own good sometimes. I’m just so pleased that you let us in.’
‘I don’t want to keep Lily from her family.’ Catherine smiled at the baby on the floor as Carlos and Antonia knelt down beside her and tickled her toes. ‘Tactile’ wasn’t the word that sprung to mind after Rico’s stern description of Antonia, but the effusive woman playing with Lily now seemed a world away from the person who had greeted her with such distaste at the funeral.
‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ Antonia was positively crooning, and she flashed an embarrassed smile as Catherine stood there rigid.
Picking up the infant, Antonia waited patiently as Carlos sat himself down and then held his hands out, and nothing Rico could say would ever convince Catherine that the love that blazed in the elderly man’s eyes as he took his granddaughter wasn’t genuine.
‘I think I’ve got a competitor for Carlos’s affections.’ Antonia smiled. ‘Can I see the nursery?’
It was an obvious request, Catherine told herself, the sort of thing any doting grandparent would ask, and after only a brief hesitation she nodded. But Lily’s grizzles halted the women at the door.
‘Here.’ Handing Carlos a book of nursery rhymes, she gave an embarrassed smile. ‘She’s due a bottle, but I’ve found if I read a few of these to her I can generally hold her off for a little while.’
Carlos took the book and eyed it distastefully before depositing it beside him on the couch.
‘We will manage.’
‘Of course.’ Catherine frowned, taken aback by the abruptness of his gesture when she had only been trying to help.
‘Carlos will be fine,’ Antonia soothed as they made their way up the stairs. ‘No doubt he’ll be singing some Sicilian lullaby to her by the time we go back down. He’s been so looking forward to seeing her. Me too,’ Antonia added as they walked into the nursery. ‘I love babies—girls especially.’
‘Did you have any? I mean…’ Catherine was flustered. ‘Do you have any children of your own?’
Antonia shook her head. ‘My first husband and I weren’t blessed, unfortunately. When Carlos and I married I thought…’ Her voice trailed off for a moment, and there was a wistful gleam in her eye as she looked around the nursery. Her hands lingered a moment on the heavy wooden cot, and she stared at the picture of Janey and Marco Catherine had placed on a small table by the night-light. ‘I was naamp2;¨ve, I suppose. I assumed I could step right in and take over, but Bella Mancini was rather a hard act to follow—at least in her children’s eyes.’
‘It must have been hard for you,’ Catherine ventured, her mind working nineteen to the dozen. She didn’t want to be taken in, but as she sat down in the rocking chair and listened as Antonia told her tale she found herself slowly warming to the older woman.
‘It was,’ Antonia agreed. ‘Oh, not that I’m complaining. Carlos was marvellous, and once Marco went to…’ She gave a helpless shrug and Catherine jumped in.
‘Why did you send Marco to boarding school?’ It sounded like an accusation, but Catherine deliberately didn’t apologise watching Antonia’s reaction closely, determined to hear the facts, to make up her own mind.
‘Marco was out of control.’ Antonia’s eyes fixed on hers. ‘Bella, their mother, had let them run wild—she was a working mum.’ Watching Catherine’s shoulders stiffen slightly, Antonia changed tack. ‘I’m not against working mums, you understand, but Bella spent her whole time in the office and made up for it with her chequebook. Anything the children wanted they had—except thei
r mother. Rico was an insular young man; there was no reaching him. He was eighteen years old by the time Carlos and I got married. Oh, I tried to get close. But—well, I’m sure I don’t have to explain to you how guarded he is…’