Those were the rooms he now avoided, with their pictures of final judgement and hellscapes. It was as if the building itself judged him, and Stefano didn’t need the stones and mortar here reminding him of how far he’d fallen. Anyhow, he didn’t want to talk about the castle’s many Renaissance wonders—although he could, for hours. He had more pressing things on his agenda.
‘What are you hoping to achieve in Varno? Your letter says your grandfather spoke of it and you mentioned your family history?’
He’d found her letter in his desk, bundled unceremoniously with other correspondence he didn’t have the stomach for. Most of what was in it she’d already told him—about her grandfather being shot down over Italy and that he’d recently passed away. Meaning she was all he had to solve this old mystery. But they were tantalising hints rather than anything explicit. The letter had been a polite request for a meeting. She’d made the trip sound almost like a kind of pilgrimage.
‘You found my letter? At least something’s gone right.’
Those words held a worn and tired quality to them. As if a lot had not gone right for her lately. Something niggled at him—a desire to ask why—but he had more important answers to seek, and her problems weren’t his to solve.
‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Whatever his thoughts on what her grandfather might have done, he had some humanity left. It was the tiniest shred, but for this moment he grasped it. ‘You said he passed away recently? He must have been a great age.’
‘He was. Ninety-nine. He lived a long and full life, but it’s never easy to lose someone you love.’
Lucy toyed with a stray piece of spaghetti on her plate, chasing it around with her fork. He allowed the silence to stretch uncomfortably. He found people often preferred filling it rather than saying nothing.
Lucy gave up her pursuit of the rogue pasta and set her cutlery down. She took a deep breath. Sighed. ‘My grandfather used to tell me stories about the great kindness of the people here—especially in the Varno province. I wanted to see for myself. Research my family history a bit. Maybe visit the places he did... see if the people were as kind and generous as he said.’
Desperate and gulliblewas a better description, for his family at least. With the enemy threatening, they’d hoped a man they’d thought honourable, with allied links to the underground movement, could save the one precious national heirloom they hadn’t been able to hide in time. Still, Stefano had never understood why his great-grandfather, Lasserno’s Crown Jeweller, had taken the rash action of trusting a random stranger.
‘Aren’t people in Salzburg friendly?’ he asked.
‘I made what I thought was a good life there.’
He well understood how what you believed your life to be and what it really was could turn out to be vastly different, though she didn’t elaborate. Everything about her seemed distant, cautious... But personal information such as this, whilst intriguing, was not what he sought from her.
‘Did your grandfather talk much of the war?’
‘No. It damaged him. I think he felt guilt, mainly, for those he’d lost...or couldn’t save.’
Nothing about a ring. That would be too easy.
‘My great-aunt was only a young woman when she died in the war. My family never spoke of it,’ Stefano said. ‘Lasserno suffered during its occupation. Sometimes recollections can be too painful.’
‘All I know is that my grandfather always remembered the people here. It seemed that he loved the place and had left a little piece of his heart behind from the way he talked about it. In his last weeks he mentioned someone. A woman.’
‘Not your grandmother?’
Lucy shook her head. ‘Much to my mother’s surprise. But in the end his memory was all over the place. He was pretty confused. Anyhow...when he talked about Lasserno he always told me if I loved something, orsomeone, to fight for it. Hold it close because life was short.’ She gave a huff of a laugh. Her jaw clenched hard, she stared straight ahead, her eyes distant.
‘You don’t agree?’
‘It sounds romantic, but it only works if a person wants to stay. How do you know if someone loves you as much as you think you love them, or loves you in the same way?’
She turned to him, her eyes tight, as if she was recalling fresh pain. He had nothing for her. Stefano had believed he and Celine would be married by now, yet all she’d wanted was his family name. The title and the position, not the man. More fool him. All she’d proved was that love was for the gullible.
There was no turning back now. His naivety was lost. And he couldn’t forget her parting words—was now asking the same question of himself, almost daily. Who was he if he was not working for the Prince? Because that was all he’d been in the end: Alessio’s private secretary. Yet he found he wanted to try and give Lucy an answer—one that wasn’t steeped in bitterness.
‘You can never know. You can only guess or hope.’
She smoothed the fabric of her dress. ‘That might be fine for some people, but it leaves the door open to a world of pain. Is that good enough for you?’
Pain was his constant companion now. He didn’t want to add more. All he craved was certainty. Not this sensation of life constantly shifting underneath him.
‘I’m not much for guessing or hoping.’
She raised her glass in a mocking kind of toast. ‘Here’s to us.’
With that hard glint in her eye he expected her to down the rest of the glass. Instead, she took a tiny sip. He decided to make up for her reticence. Even though his thoughtless mouthful was a crime committed against the magnificent wine.