The Rich Shall Inherit (44 page)

“I’ll never believe it,” he cried, storming back and forth across the newly opulent salon of the Palazzo Rinardi. “You’re not talking about the Poppy I know, you’re talking about someone else.”

“That’s exactly right, Greg,” Felipe said from the doorway. “Poor Poppy, I’m afraid she was completely taken in by this blackguard, but”—he shrugged—“you know how easily a young girl can be swayed into believing a man loves her when”—he threw a sly glance at Angel—“when her emotions are involved.
And with Poppy’s unstable history, well, it’s not too unexpected, my friend, is it? If you ask me, you’re better off without her!”

“I
did not ask you,”
Greg retorted angrily. “I believe that for some reason you and Angel have invented this … this charade. But I intend to find out why—and I’ll find Poppy if it takes me a lifetime.”

“Poor darling Greg,” Angel wept as he stalked from the room, “and poor,
poor
Poppy, it’s better if he doesn’t find her.”

“Don’t worry,” Felipe said icily, “he never will. I hope you realize the impossible position you have placed us in, Angel. If you hadn’t taken the child when I had forbidden it and then tricked the priest into baptizing both of them in her name, we could have simply washed our hands of the whole affair. Poppy was not our responsibility.”

“Poppy was …
is
my sister!” she screamed. “I don’t care what she’s done … and it wasn’t her fault, she promised me she’d told me the truth.”

“Then why didn’t she tell you the name of her so-called seducer?” he asked, gripping her angrily by the shoulders. “I’ll tell you why, because she was having an affair with another woman’s husband! I told you the stories I’d heard about her afternoon activities. And after the way she behaved at that school in San Francisco, doesn’t it all make sense? Poppy has bad blood, it’s as simple as that. Your father said the Mallorys have caused enough grief. We must forget her and pray that she has reached a merciful death.”

“No,” Angel wept, “no, please, no …”

But she lay awake that night, remembering the cold, calm expression on Poppy’s face when she had last seen her four months ago in Bellagio; she had known then it was the calm of absolute despair. There was no future for Poppy and she wondered now if she was dead.

She thought of the two small babies, sleeping in the nursery down the hall, both blond pretty children, neither of whom resembled her but both of whom, oddly, had a look of Felipe. Not even her own mother would ever be able to guess that one was not her own. She had been stunned by the bitterness of Rosalia’s reaction to Felipe’s story. “We tried, Angel,” her mother had cried angrily, through her tears, “we gave Poppy everything we could, the love of a family, a proper home, everything you had, she had too. But the blood of Jeb Mallory was too strong.” Rosalia had crossed herself devoutly. “Poppy must pay for her
sins,” she’d said quietly, “and we shall pray for God to forgive her.”

The family had gathered for the baptism, but Nik had refused even to talk about Poppy. By then, even Angel had begun to doubt Poppy’s story because Felipe was so convincing. Nevertheless, she’d kept her promise to name the child after her, even though she’d had to be devious to do it, and it had shocked them all. But she’d also made sure that Poppy would never know which child was hers, by giving
both
children her name.

She had gone to the priest the day before, and telling him that there was to be a change, she’d handed him a slip of paper with each child’s new name on it. At the church she had stared steadily in front of her as the priest had lifted first one child and then the other saying, “Maria-Cristina Poppy, I baptize thee in the name of God, the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost … and Helena Maria Mallory, I baptize thee in the name of God the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” She’d heard Felipe’s shocked gasp next to her.

“Stop!” he’d thundered, white-faced with anger. “You cannot give our children that woman’s name!”

“And why not, Felipe?” Angel had asked innocently. “Are we not supposed to forgive the sins of others, the way our Lord does? It’s only right that my children should commemorate my poor sister’s name.”

Felipe had glanced questioningly at Nik, and after a moment’s hesitation, Nik had nodded. “If that’s what Angel wants,” he’d agreed quietly.

So there it was. No one but she and Felipe knew which child was which. If Poppy were not dead and should ever return to reclaim her child, there would be no way for her to tell. The child’s secret was safe, and the “twin” babies were hers and hers alone. Everyone said that Poppy must pay for her sins, but Angel had made sure her child would not bear that stigma. Poppy could never claim her daughter back now.

Aria collected her ticket at the barrier and drove thankfully into the car park at the Piazzale Roma. It had been sleeting heavily all the way from the Villa d’Oro, reducing visibility to a minimum, and she’d been crouched over the wheel, peering into the slippery darkness for over an hour. She waited a few minutes before getting out of the car, listening until Van Morrison had finished singing her favorite, “The Best Is
Yet
to Come,” and then she switched off the tape deck, smiling. Orlando had bought the tape for her: “This song could be meant for us,” he’d said … She glanced up surprised as, with a squeal of brakes, a car swept around the curved ramp and swung to a stop in the bay next to the exit. It was a black Peugeot and even from here she could see that the driver was wearing a chauffeur’s black cap.

Panic swept through her, and she glanced wildly around the almost empty car park. There was no one in sight; she was alone with the man in the black Peugeot. Quickly she reached out and locked all the car doors. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she could hear it and tremors of fear were running down her spine; she’d read too often about the victims of kidnap in Italy … some came out alive from their ordeal, but many didn’t; fingers and ears were cut off and sent to the victims’ relatives, girls were raped … and murdered …

She stared through the rearview mirror at the man; his face was in shadow, half hidden by the peaked cap, and he was sitting in the car with the engine running, sending gusts of gray fumes into the icy night. She couldn’t just sit here, she thought, hot with panic; she’d have to make a run for it; but he had deliberately parked near the only pedestrian exit. The only alternative was to drive away, beat him to the ramp …. Switching on the ignition,
Aria threw the car into reverse, backed quickly from her spot, and swung toward the down-ramp, glancing fearfully through the rearview mirror. He’d anticipated her move and had pulled out from his position, and was already racing the other way around the bay, heading her off. With a terrified whimper, she accelerated past him, up the ramp to the fourth floor, not knowing what she would do when she got there, but praying she might be able to jump out and get to the stairs before him.

The tires screeched as she swung the car onto the next level, stamping her foot on the brake as a group of workmen just climbing out of a van leapt hurriedly out of her way.

“What d’ya think you’re doing!” they yelled. “Stupid woman driver … you don’t look old enough to have a license, you could have killed somebody driving like that!”

They glared furiously at her through the window and Aria gazed back at them as though they were angels sent from heaven. “Oh, I’m so afraid,” she cried, bursting into tears. “A man is chasing me … he’s down there on the third floor, he blocked the exit so I couldn’t get out …”

The four burly workmen glanced at each other uneasily and then back at her. “Chasing a kid like that?” the tall one with a beard said. “The bastard, what did he have on his mind?”

“I’ve got a daughter her age!” exclaimed another.

“Don’t be frightened, kid, where is he? We’ll sort him out … Maurizio, you stay here with her, we three’ll take care of the bastard. Wait a minute, you guys, better take these.” Delving into the van, the tall bearded man handed them large metal spanners.

Aria leaned against her car, sobbing, as they strode belligerently down the ramp to the third floor. “Calm yourself, my girl,” the man waiting with her said kindly. “Here, have a cigarette.”

She shook her head miserably, wishing Orlando were here. She remembered the way his arm had felt around her that night, walking back from Corte Sconta, so secure, so … supportive. Orlando would protect her from everything. Oh, Orlando, Orlando, she wailed silently, why did you have to go away and leave me now?

The three burly men reappeared at the top of the exit ramp, shaking their heads and gesturing thumbs down. “No one there now, lady,” they called. “He must have heard us and decided to do a disappearing act. It’s a good thing for him he did, too, or
we might have killed the bastard.” Slinging their spanners back into the van, they stared at her kindly. “Where are you going now?” they asked.

“Home,” she sniffed, drying her eyes on her green fur sleeve. “I’ll get a water taxi. But thank you … thank you so much. I don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t been here.”

They glanced at each other uneasily, contemplating what might have happened to her. “Come on,” they said, “we’ll walk you to the taxi.”

Glancing nervously over her shoulder, Aria followed them down the stairs, half expecting to hear footsteps behind them, or to have the madman burst upon them around the next corner. It was still sleeting heavily and hunching into the jackets, they marched, two on either side of her, to the taxi landing stage. “My name is Aria Rinardi,” she told them, “and I’d like to know where you live so I can thank you properly.” She’d sell her gold bracelet, she thought, and send them a reward.

“No need for that, Signorina,” they said, embarrassed, “we would have helped anyone in that situation.”

“Then here.” She tipped the contents of her purse into the burly man’s jacket pocket. “Have a drink on me. It’s nothing, but I can never thank you enough.”

“Signorina Rinardi?”

Aria jumped, her eyes wide with alarm, and then she recognized Giulio, Carraldo’s boatman. “The launch is here, waiting for you, Signorina,” he told her.

The men turned to stare at the launch, gleaming like ebony, and at its black raven emblem in the circle of gold. “That’s Carraldo’s boat,” one whispered, awed.

“Carraldo?” They turned to look at Aria again, the expression in their eyes changing. “Carraldo!” they said again, edging away. “Well … good night then, Signorina, good night …” They hurried across the Piazzale, muttering together, and Aria stared after them, horrified. They had been so kind, so sweet to her … they’d saved her life … but as soon as Carraldo’s name was mentioned, they’d run off. And she knew why; she’d caught the look of contempt and fear on their faces as they turned away.

She turned to Giulio, smart in his black double-breasted pea jacket with the brass raven-insignia buttons, and his black peaked cap with the white naval cover, waiting patiently for her to make a move. “Giulio?” she asked as they walked to the launch, “how did the Signore Carraldo know I was going to be here?”

“The Signore is with the Baronessa, Signorina. She had telephoned the villa and been told you were on your way home. The Signore was worried about you traveling alone in this bad weather; he sent me here to wait for you.”

Aria’s heart sank. It had been almost a month since she had seen Carraldo and so much had happened since then. She wished she’d never set eyes on Carraldo; she wished she’d never even heard of him. But then, if she hadn’t, she would never have met Orlando.

Francesca was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. “Whatever happened to you?” she cried, shocked by her mascara-smudged, tear-stained face. “Was there an accident … are you all right?”

“I’m all right, Mama,” she replied, climbing the marble stairs wearily. “I’ve just had a fright, that’s all.”

Carraldo was standing at the fireplace, a glass of whiskey in his hand. “What happened, Aria?” he asked sharply.

She wanted so badly to talk about it, but she couldn’t, especially to Carraldo and her mother. Between them they’d see she never left the house alone again, and that would give her mother a perfect excuse to spy on her. She would call Mike tomorrow and tell him what had happened; Mike had seen the black Peugeot, he’d know now she was right. And when Orlando got back, he’d look after her. He would see that she was never alone and at the mercy of whatever madman was chasing her.

“Answer us, Aria!” Francesca exclaimed. “You look dreadful. What happened, for God’s sake?”

“Some stupid boys chased me in the car park at the Piazzale Roma,” she said quickly. “They scared me. That’s all.”

“Chased you?” Carraldo asked.

“They were just a group of silly boys. I suppose they’d been drinking and thought it was fun. I thought they were going to crash into me. It’s nothing really, it was silly of me to cry.”

“Well, for goodness’ sake, go and clean yourself up,” Francesca said, relieved, “you look terrible. Then we can have a civilized dinner together. Antony has a surprise for you.”

Aria glanced at Carraldo apprehensively, wondering what it was this time. “Are you sure you’re all right?” he asked quietly.

She nodded. “I’m okay. I’ll just go and wash my face and get changed.”

They were already at the table when she came down, and Fiametta was serving artichoke soup. “Your favorite,” she whispered
comfortingly, her sharp eyes taking in her tear-swollen face.

Aria got through dinner somehow, though her head was aching and tremors of shock still ran up and down her spine. They must never know how desperately afraid she’d been.

“Well, now, I think Antony should tell you his surprise,” Francesca said, smiling happily.

“We’ve seen so little of each other lately,” Carraldo said. “I know it’s my fault, I’ve been so busy. But it’s almost Christmas Eve, and even I must stop work. It happens that I’ve some business to take care of in California soon afterward, and I thought it would be nice if we flew over and spent Christmas in Los Angeles. You’ll enjoy it,” he promised, with a faint smile, “a couple of weeks of blue skies, sunshine, swimming pools … Rodeo Drive.”