A Secret Disgrace

Given that for the last decade he had dedicated himself to improving the lot of his people, what he had learned about Louise and the uncaring and downright cruel behaviour she had been subjected to by those who should have loved and protected her, could never have done anything other than add to his burden of guilt. It had never been his intention to hurt or damage her—far from it—and now, knowing what he did, he could well understand why she had never responded to that letter he had sent, acknowledging his guilt and imploring her to forgive him.

It went against the grain of everything that being a Sicilian father meant to abandon one’s child, yet at the same time for a family to be so publically shamed by the behaviour of one of its members left a stain on that family’s name that would be passed down unforgotten and unforgiven throughout the generations.

Louise could feel her face starting to burn. Was it through guilt or a still-rebellious sense of injustice? Did it matter? It certainly shouldn’t. The counselling she had undergone as part of the training for her career as a much sought after reconciliation expert, working to help bring fractured families back together again, had taught her the importance of allowing oneself errors of judgement, acknowledging them, and then moving on from them.

‘He and Melinda had plans to start a new life together in Australia. It made sense for him to sell the London apartment. Technically I was an adult anyway, as I was eighteen. I was going to university. But, yes, in effect he threw me out.’

So she had been left alone and uncared for whilst he had been on the other side of the world, learning all he could about improving the lot of the poorest people in that world in a bid to expiate his guilt and find a new way of living his life that would benefit his own people.

There was no point in telling her any of that, though. It was plain how antagonistic she was towards him and anything he might have to say.

‘And that was when you moved in with your grandparents?’ he continued. It was, after all, easier to stick to practicalities and known facts than to stray onto the dangerous unstable territory of emotions.

Louise felt the tension gripping her increase. Hadn’t he already done enough, damage, hurt and humiliated her enough without dragging up the awfulness of the past?

Even now she could hardly bear to think about how frightened she had been, or how abandoned and alone she had felt. Her grandparents had saved her, though. With the love they had shown her, they had rescued her.

That had been the first time in her life she had truly understood the importance of giving a child love and security, and all that family love could mean. That was when her whole life had changed and she herself with it. That was when she had promised herself that, whatever it took, one day she would repay her grandparents for their love for her.

‘Yes.’

‘That must have been a very brave gesture on their part, given …’

‘Given what I had done? Yes, it was. There were plenty of people in their local community who were ready to criticise and condemn them, just as they had already condemned me. I had brought shame on my grandparents and by association could potentially bring shame on their community. But then you know all about that, don’t you? You know how shamefully and shockingly I behaved, and how I humiliated and damaged not just myself but my grandparents and all those connected with them. You know how my name became a byword for shame in our community and how my grandparents suffered for that. Suffered for it but still stood by me. And because of that you will also know why I am here now, enduring this further humiliation by you.’

He wanted to say something—to tell her how sorry he was, to remind her that he had tried to apologise—but at the same time he knew that he had to stand strong. There was far more at stake here than their own emotions. Whether they liked it or not they were both part of a much greater pattern, their lives woven into the fabric of the society into which they had both been born. That was something neither of them could ignore or walk away from.

‘You want to carry out the promise you made to your grandparents that their ashes will be buried here?’

‘It was what they always wanted, and of course it became more important to them after … after the shame I brought them. Because burial of their ashes here was their only means of returning to being fully accepted members of their community, being accepted as having the right to be at rest here in the church in which they were christened, confirmed and married. There is nothing I will not do to make that happen—even if that means having to beg.’

Caesar hadn’t expected her honesty. Hostility and antagonism towards him, yes, he had expected those, but her honesty had somehow slipped under his guard. Or was it that part of him—the modern, educated part, that was constantly striving to align the desire to bring his people into the twenty-first century with being custodian of their ancient customs—was looking on with modern-day compassion? This was a young girl caught up in a system of values that had punished her for modern-day behaviour that contravened the old rules.

He could feel the weight of the letter in his pocket. Like pressure on a raw wound, grinding into it painfully sharp shards of broken glass.

She was beginning to lose her self-control, Louise recognised. That mustn’t happen. She must accept that, whilst it was only natural that she shouldn’t want to answer him, she must resist the impulse to be defensive. What mattered was the debt of love she owed her grandparents, and no one—especially not this arrogant, lordly Sicilian, whose very presence in the same airspace as her was causing her body to react with angry contempt—was going to compromise that. After all, given what she had already been through, what was a little more humiliation? The words straw, broke and camel’s back slid dangerously into her mind, lodging there like small yet effective barbs.

She had almost been out of her mind with shock and shame and anger when her grandparents had taken her in, incapable of thinking for herself, never mind looking after herself. She had virtually crawled into bed, barely noticing the bedroom they had given her in their pretty Notting Hill house—the house they had bought so proudly when, after years of working for others, their restaurant had finally made them financially independent. She had wanted only to hide away from everyone. Including herself.

Her grandparents and their house had been her sanctuary. They had given her what she had been denied by both her mother and her father. They had taken her in and loved her when others had rejected her, ashamed of her and for her. Shame. Such a terrible word to a proud Sicilian. The scar that covered her shame throbbed angrily and painfully. She’d have done anything rather than come here, but she owed her grandparents so much.

In all the calculations she had made about what might be asked of her, what penance she might have to pay in order to remove the stain of dishonour from their family name and win agreement for the burial of her grandparents’ ashes, she had never thought to factor in the fact that she would be confronted by this man and forced to answer to him for her sins. The truth was that she had thought he’d be as antagonistic towards such a meeting as she was herself. She had obviously underestimated his arrogance.

‘As you know, I alone am not responsible for any decision made with regard to your request. The village elders—’

‘Will take their cue from you. As you must know perfectly well that I know that. You are the one who holds the authority to grant my grandparents’ request. To deny them this, their chosen final resting place, would be beyond unfair and cruel. To punish them because—’

‘That is the way of our society. The whole family suffers when one member of it falls from grace. You know that.’

‘And you think that is right?’ she demanded scornfully, unable to prevent herself from saying acidly, ‘Of course you do.’

‘Here in this part of Sicily people live their lives to rules and customs that were laid down centuries ago. Of course I can see many faults in those customs and rules, and of course I want to assist in changes that will be for the benefit of my people, but those changes can only come about slowly if they are not to lead to distrust and unhappiness between the generations.’

Louise knew that what he was saying was true, even if she didn’t want to admit it. Even if something in the trained, professional part of her was thinking eagerly of the opportunities for good that must surely come from being in a position to put in place changes that would ultimately benefit so many people and help them to understand and reach out for the gifts of the future, whilst laying to rest the ghosts of the past. Besides it was her grandparents’ wishes she wanted to discuss with him.

‘My grandparents did a great deal for their community. In the early days they sent money home here, for their parents and their siblings. They went without to do that. They employed people from the village who came to London. They housed them and looked after them. They gave generously to the church and to charity. It is their right to have all that they were and all that they did recognised and respected.’

She was a passionate advocate for her grandparents, and he couldn’t doubt the strength of her feelings, Caesar acknowledged. A discreet bleep from his mobile phone warned him of an impending appointment. He hadn’t expected this interview with her to take as long as it had, and there were still things he needed to say—questions he needed to ask.

‘I have to go. I have an appointment. However, there are things we still need to discuss,’ he told her. ‘I shall be in touch with you.’

He was turning to walk away, having made it clear that he intended to keep her on edge and anxious. A cruel act from a man who had cruelty and pride bred into his blood and his bones. Perhaps she shouldn’t have expected anything else. And the relief she felt because he was going? What did that say about her and her own reserves of strength?

He was only a couple of metres away from her when he turned. The sun slanting through the cypresses caught against the sharp, hard bones of his face, throwing it into relief so that he looked as if he could easily have traded places with one of his own fierce warrior ancestors—that toxic mix of pre-Christian Roman and Moor was stamped clearly on his features.

‘Your son,’ he said. ‘Have you brought him to Sicily with you?’

CHAPTER TWO

WAS this how it felt when the sky fell in on you? And yet she should have been prepared for such a question.

‘Yes.’ Her answer was terse, because that one word was all she could manage with the angry fear that was crawling with sickening intensity through her veins. Not that she had anything to fear. It was no secret, after all, that she was a single mother with a nine-year-old son.

‘But you didn’t choose to bring him here with you? Was that wise? He is only nine years old. A responsible mother—’

‘As a “responsible mother” I decided that my son would be safer and happier, whilst we conducted our interview, keeping his appointment for a tennis lesson as part of the children’s club activities provided by our hotel. Oliver, my son, was very close to his great-grandfather. He misses him. Bringing him here today wouldn’t have helped Ollie.’

Even if he could have been persuaded to come.

She was shaking inside with mortified anger, but she wasn’t going to let him see it. She couldn’t let him see it. The truth was that for the last eighteen months her relationship with Ollie had been going through an increasingly difficult time, with Oliver making it very plain to her that he blamed her for the fact that he didn’t have a father. This had led to problems at school, with Ollie getting into trouble because of arguments and scraps with other boys who did have fathers in their lives, and a painful gulf was growing between her and the son she loved so very much.

She would have done anything to protect Ollie from the pain he was going through—anything. She loved her work, and was proud of what she had achieved—of course she was—but she knew that without Ollie to be responsible for she would probably never have pushed herself to go back into education, get her qualifications and then start to climb the career ladder. It was for Ollie that she had worked long into the night, studying and working, so that she would always be able to provide him with a secure financial future. But what Ollie was now insisting he wanted more than anything else was the one thing she could not give him. A father.

Whilst her grandfather had been alive he had been able to provide a stabilising and loving male influence in Ollie’s life, but even then Ollie had started to become withdrawn and angry with her because she would not give him any information about his father.

Oliver was a clever boy at a good school. The private fees soaked up a large part of her income. But even though there were plenty of other boys there whose fathers were absent from their lives for one reason or another, unlike Oliver they at least seemed to have some contact with those fathers. Her grandfather had been very concerned about the effect the lack of any information about his father was having on Oliver, but he had known as well as she did how impossible it was for her to tell Ollie the truth—and she certainly wasn’t prepared to lie to him by concocting a comforting, sanitised version.

Louise loved her son. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for him to make him happy. But she couldn’t tell him about his father. At least not yet—not until he was old enough to understand something of the demons that had driven her. And old enough to forgive her for them. Her transgressions might not have given him a father, but they—and the loving care of his great-grandparents, who had stood by her when she had totally refused to have the termination her parents had tried to insist on—had given him life. Surely that was a gift worth having?

‘We still have things to discuss. I shall call on you at your hotel tomorrow morning at eleven o’clock in the coffee shop.’

Not a single word as to whether or not it might be convenient for her to see him at eleven o’clock, or indeed if she would have preferred to meet him somewhere else. But what else had she expected? Arrogance was this man’s middle name—along with cruelty and over-weaning pride. It was a great pity that someone didn’t cut the all-powerful, judgemental Duca di Falconari down to size and make him as mortal and vulnerable as those he obviously thought so far beneath him.

From the churchyard Louise could just see the polished shine of the black metal bonnet of the waiting limousine as it drew away, the dark-tinted windows obscuring any view she might have had of its passenger. Not that she wanted to look at him, or indeed have anything to do with him, but she had no choice.

From the path that wound through the hotel’s gardens and ran past the tennis courts Caesar had a good view of the young boy who had just arrived as part of a group under the care of the hotel’s children’s club team, to begin a lesson with one of the hotel’s tennis coaches.

Louise Anderson’s son. He was tall and strongly muscled for his age, and he hadn’t inherited his mother’s colouring Caesar recognised. The boy was olive-skinned and dark-haired—but then that was hardly surprising given his Sicilian blood. He was a good player, focused and with a strong backhand.