Roman Holiday Page 16

  Good old Flynn. He adored Toby and always, always asked for him, spent time with him. Cared for him.

  “Oh, you know, good. Fine. He’s good. We’re good.”

  “What’s wrong?” Flynn cut through the crap.

  “Oh, Flynn, I’ve really screwed up here and I need your help.”

  “Is anyone dead?” he asked brusquely, probably thinking he was making a small joke.

  “Well, actually . . . ”

  “Jesus, Caro, what the hell is going on? Are you okay? Is Toby really okay? Talk to me!” he demanded, his voice urgent.

  So she did.

  Flynn was the person people could rely on. He was solid and straight and strong. Everyone in the family knew he worked in the police force having joined as a young chap straight from school. But that was over fifteen years ago and he now had, it seemed, special skills in the detecting department, as he usually worked in plain clothes and was sent on all kinds of missions he wasn’t allowed to discuss. With any of them. He could hold a secret to his chest to his dying day and Caro was hoping that while maybe not that long, he could keep hers just a little while longer while she figured things out.

  His initial response was surprise that she’d gone searching for her ex without his help in the first place. He had connections, as he kept telling them, everywhere. But he understood her previous need for continued secrecy until Toni could be found before revealing his identity to Toby. And then the shit had hit the fan. Flynn’s concern had been for Toby and his reaction, and he wanted to talk to him straight away. Caro had said no, not yet, and then told Flynn all about Nick and the DNA test. Well, not all about Nick. Not the “sex with a stranger who turned out to be Nick” part, but the rest, sure.

  “Are you sure you won’t talk to Mum and Dad?” Flynn had asked. “Or Frankie. You know they’d listen and help in any way they could.”

  “Yeah, I know. But I’m not ready.” He’d guffawed at that, citing fourteen years of not being ready. “And until Toby’s ready, I don’t think it’s my story to tell.”

  “You’ve just answered your own question, Caro,” Flynn had said thoughtfully and so damn wisely.

  She’d expected no less, hence the call.

  “Tell Toby about the DNA, ask him what he wants to do. How he’d like to proceed. If he says no to it then leave it. He may change his mind at some stage in the future. If he says yes,” Flynn continued, “then do it. You owe him all the truths he wants at this stage. All it’ll do is prove you’re telling the truth, give credence to Toby’s claim of relation. Let them deal with that. And I know most thirteen-year-olds would find this a hard thing to handle, but we’re talking about your boy. He didn’t lick his analytical skills off the pavement.”

  “Ha, ha. Smartypants, brother. Damn. I know. You’re right – it’s Toby’s decision, really. But he and I, we’re not really, you know, connecting at the moment. I’ve totally let him down.”

  “Stop beating yourself up. You did nothing intentionally. You’d never hurt him on purpose. Never. Let me talk to him, Caro,” he wheedled. “He needs to know someone else in the family is in his corner.”

  And so she’d relented and called Toby to the phone. She left them alone while they chatted and busied herself in the kitchen. Making dinner. Or attempting to. A little while later Toby appeared at the doorway.

  “Flynn says bye and he’ll phone tomorrow.”

  He handed her back the mobile, which she shoved in her pocket. He looked pale and tired. But not any worse than he had been before. Maybe a bit less tense. She wouldn’t ask what they’d said to each other. She trusted Flynn completely to have her son’s back at all times. And she knew Toby and his uncle had a strong bond.

  So.

  She began slicing tomatoes and Toby eased away from the doorjamb.

  “You’re doing that all wrong. Give me the knife.” He nudged her from the counter and took the blade into his own hands, chopping expertly. “Pass me some basil, please,” he said, and Caro let go of the breath she’d been holding.

  Maybe there was a mini truce at hand. Maybe it was time to explain about the official summons from Nick. Maybe it was time to give some power back into her son’s hands.

  A couple of days later and two days before the DNA test results were due back, Antonio called Caro.

  “Please, Caroline, bring the boy to our palazzo. We know he’s Toni’s – we’re sure. It’s our Nicolas who wants, who needs proof. Not us. Please bring him here for an early dinner this evening – there are some people you must meet.”

  Caro hesitated. Not that she didn’t appreciate the gesture of trust on the di Luca part, but she really didn’t want Toby getting swamped with other relatives.

  “Are you sure? I don’t want to cause any difficulty between you and your nephew,” Caro said, lying through her teeth.

  She couldn’t give a flying pyjama-wearing monkey if Nick ever spoke to his aunt and uncle again. As long as he avoided her, she was good to go.

  A little more persuasion later and she and Toby were in a taxi on the short drive out of the city.

  “Is it an actual palace?” Toby asked.

  “No, it’s just called a palazzo; though it is pretty swanky.”

  “Does it have a swimming pool?”

  “I believe so.”

  “Can I go for a swim?”

  “Perhaps. Did you bring togs?” She looked over at his backpack.

  “Nah, but that doesn’t matter. I could go in in my boxers.”

  “It’s late October – the pool may not be open, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  She peered out of the taxi window, nerves bouncing and jigging in her belly. It was worse than last time. She knew what to expect on the practical side, but emotionally? She was a wreck. What if they didn’t really get on . . . the other day’s conversation had been brief, stilted. Polite and formal. What if they didn’t like him?

  “What if they don’t like me?” His voice, younger now than his years, was low.

  “What? Are you cracked? How could they not adore you?” Caro ruffled his hair, forgetting for a moment that he wasn’t into that any more. Not since the Toni news. “They’ll simply love you, Tobias Anthony, I know in my heart they will.”

  She let her hand rest briefly on his shoulder as the taxi came to a halt. Caro hoped, fervently, that she’d done a mother’s job of reassuring her child in his hour of doubt.

  “Yeah,” he tossed her a grin. “Flynn says I’m ‘the business’ and not to let anyone tell me different.”

  Toby reached up and pressed the button, speaking fluently in Italian when the bell was answered.

  Buzzed in, they strolled up the avenue and amid pointing out some of the more exotic plants, Toby craned his neck to get a view of his father’s home.

  “Wow,” he whispered, “it’s like something from one of your art books, isn’t it?”

  Antonio and Valentina were waiting eagerly on the doorstep. Or at least they appeared eager, Valentina stretching her neck out to catch a glimpse of the arrivals. Spotting them, she clapped her hands and called out a welcome, first in Italian and then English.

  Neither she nor Toby had told the di Lucas that Caro’s Italian was excellent and unless Nick had let it slip, she was content enough to let that untruth lie. For now. She might be able to hear something they’d prefer her not to know and if that made her underhanded, she wouldn’t let it cost her a thought. Not when Toby’s happiness was at stake.

  The welcome was all Caro could wish for. They peppered Toby with questions and every answer he gave brought bigger and bigger smiles to their faces. She began to relax and after a sip of the pre-dinner aperitif, she could feel her shoulders begin to ease their way down from where she felt they’d been lodged, just below her ears.

  Toby was busy showing his grandfather pictures on his phone while Valentina arranged some cold meats and olives on a plate, her gaze regularly going to rest on the two male heads so close together.

  “Thank you for
this,” Caro offered, snaring Valentina’s eyes herself. “It means so much to Toby to get to know you and Antonio. I appreciate your trust in us.”

  Valentina sat next to her on the wicker couch where they gathered in the conservatory. The evening sun was well set but the room was scented with fresh flowers and had an easy charm, even in the darkening night. The lamps were lit and the room was pooled in a warm glow. Valentina’s hand was trembling a little as she rested it on Caro’s forearm.

  “No, my dear girl. It is we who must thank you. You have brought our hearts back to life.”

  Her eyes misted over and she dabbed gently with a fine linen handkerchief. Caro was suddenly reminded of her own granny Flynn, her mum’s mother. Never went anywhere without the handkerchief; though hers were often just plain embroidered cotton. She missed Granny Flynn so much.

  As she and Valentina smiled at the bonding happening before them, Caro relaxed a little more. This was good. This would go in the memory book for Toby in the years to come. Lot of firsts for him this week. A lot of loss and pain but good things, too. Maybe the good would outweigh the bad . . .

  “Mama Valentina!”

  A strong voice broke through the gentle chatter and laughter of the sun room and a tall, striking woman, who appeared to be in her mid-fifties, strode in. She was dressed in a navy blue silk fitted dress to the knee with a string of pearls at her throat. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun, but her features were so defined that her handsome face could carry the look. Caro started in surprise. Who was this person, calling Valentina “Mama”?

  Antonio broke apart from his huddle with Tony and smiled at the newcomer.

  “Ah, Elena, please come and meet the newest member of our little family.”

  He turned Toby towards the woman, who blanched, her hand going instantly to her throat. She broke into a string of Italian, so fast even Caro found it hard to keep up, but it definitely contained some pretty shocked expletives relating to Toby’s parentage. She must have known Toni as a child, because she couldn’t take her eyes off Toby and was obviously reeling from the likeness.

  Valentina stepped up and took the woman’s arm, guiding her to join them on the wicker couch. Caro sat back and watched Toby come forwards, hand outstretched to shake, as manners dictated. As they shook hands, Valentina introduced Elena Rossi to Toby Fitzgerald, son of Toni di Luca. As sharp as you like, Elena whipped her head to meet Caro’s eyes, a cool, flinty look boring into her.

  “Why is this boy not called di Luca, if he is in fact a di Luca?” she demanded in a haughty tone, speaking in English.

  “It’s complicated,” Caro said, and none of your effing business. “Toby can decide later which name or names he may like to use.”

  God, they hadn’t thought that far ahead, hadn’t discussed it. And even if they had, she wasn’t about to confide in this cold-hearted wagon. Caro didn’t usually take an instant dislike to people. She was fair and non-judgemental as a rule and tried to instil those values in her son, by example. But there was something about this particular woman that made her hackles rise.

  “Really? You’d let your child make those decisions?”

  Elena’s voice sounded incredulous. Her English was excellent, Caro would give her that, but the tone was snooty and sneering.

  “Yes. I would.” Caro smiled serenely at the other woman while gritting her teeth.

  She’s not my problem, nothing to me, nothing to Toby. Grin and bear it.

  Elena stared at her, a puzzled look on her face. She turned her head as noise from the inner rooms erupted suddenly. A couple of female voices could be heard – squabbling, it seemed. Caro watched as Elena stiffened her spine, if that was even possible, since it was already poker straight. A woman about Caro’s age and a young girl rushed into the room. They couldn’t have looked more different. The woman was slender and petite and as dark as the girl was fair.

  “Nonna, Nonna Valentina, scusi il ritardo . . . oh, perdonatemi,” the young girl greeted the women in the sun room and then halted abruptly as she saw Caro.

  Nonna, Nonna Valentina? What the hell? These two women were the child’s grannies? Valentina and . . . Elena?

  Then, hold on a blinding second . . .

  “Valentina, what’s going on, please?” Caro reached for the older woman’s hand and tugged gently. “I don’t understand who these people are.”

  Antonio extricated himself from Toby’s attention and rose to come towards the gathered group of females. He smiled apologetically at Caro.

  “Ah, sì, there is much to explain, to everyone here, indeed.”

  He looked slowly from one woman to the next, letting his gaze linger for a moment on each as if to soften what he was about to say. Caro had a very bad feeling something pretty nasty was about to be revealed.

  The dark-haired new arrival caught a glimpse of Toby as he stood up to face the gathering crowd. She gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Blessing herself hurriedly, she sat down abruptly on a nearby chair.

  Antonio walked forwards and rested his hand gently on her shoulder and petted it, once, twice. He cared about this woman, Caro thought as she watched the interplay, but who was Elena to her? It was getting extremely complicated.

  “Antonio, explain,” Valentina urged her husband.

  Toby scuttled over to Caro’s side and silently took in the selection of people who were now all staring at him. Mimicking Antonio’s gesture of a moment ago, she rested her hand on her son’s shoulder and squeezed softly.

  “It’s all right, darling,” she said quietly.

  But she didn’t really know if it was.

  Antonio ushered everyone into the interior drawing room, got everyone seated as Valentina offered more aperitifs and olives and nuts. They all took a drink but left the nibbles. Antonio took the big armchair and began his explanations. Obviously not knowing that Caro could understand everything perfectly, he explained in both English and Italian. Toby and she exchanged a glance and she shook her head slightly, ensuring his continued silence on the subject.

  “So, let me introduce our daughter-in-law, Marianna, and our granddaughter, Mia.”

  Antonio swept his hand towards the dark-haired woman, who looked to be still in shock, and the blonde girl perched nervously on the arm of the couch. Caro’s head swivelled back and forth between Valentina and Antonio before resting on Marianna and her daughter.

  Oh. My. God. The penny dropped. Loudly.

  Toni was married.

  He already had a family.

  Her brain whizzing, she tried to gauge the age of the girl, but it was hard to say.

  “She is thirteen.” Valentina interpreted her thoughts.

  Caro could feel the kick to her stomach as if a mule had sauntered into the discreetly decorated room and belted her a punch in person.

  “When’s her birthday?” Caro asked, her voice a rasp of sandpaper.

  “April 30th,” Elena said, cool as you like.

  No. No, it couldn’t be.

  “Excuse me a moment.”

  Caro stood from her chair and rushed from the room. She didn’t know where she was going, didn’t know the layout but remembered seeing a bathroom door open near the main hall. On autopilot, she veered towards the front of the house and almost fell in the door, locking it swiftly behind her.

  For a moment she stood there, back pressed to the solid wood. Her heart was racing and a cold sweat trickled down her back. Every ounce of blood in her body seemed to pool at her feet and for maybe the second time in her life, Caro thought she was actually going to faint. Bending from the waist, she pressed her hands to her knees, her head dropped forwards. In. Out. In. Out. She measured her breaths, slowing them as much as she could.

  When her body seemed a little more in control, she stood upright again, still a bit light-headed. She moved to the washbasin and ran cool water, cupping it in her hands and at first sipping, then gently splashing it on her face. Her eyes stared back at her from the mirror above the sink.

&
nbsp; Christ!she looked like death warmed up. Her skin pale and clammy, her eyes hollow with shock. Resting her head forwards against the cool glass, she let out a long breath.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  No words of any sense came to her. She was completely thrown off-kilter. Bad enough that Toni hadn’t bothered to answer her texts and calls and emails and actual letters. Bad enough that he never got to know their son. His fucking loss. Her anger was starting to build. A slow burn usually, but she could feel the rage seething through her body now.

  That bastard.

  That fucking bastard.

  Not only had he left her high and dry and her son without a father, but that selfish, thoughtless pig bastard had been cheating on her, sleeping with bloody saintly Marianna, while the next night, or who knows, the same day, also whispering love words in her own ear. Oh. Oh . . .

  Words failed her. Literally failed her.

  Straightening from the mirror, Caro grabbed some paper towel and wiped her face dry. She scrunched it into a ball and tossed it in the waste bin. It really was a charming guest bathroom, in shades of peach and grey, but it was lost on Caro. She needed to grab her child and leave. Get him out of this mess before he was hurt any more. Reeling, she walked on unsteady feet to the door and unlocked it. And yelped in fright.

  Marianna was standing there. A glass of iced water in her hands. Waiting.

  “Please, Caroline.” Her voice was soft, hesitant, heavily accented. “I am much sorry that you are having this shock, this news. Please, take a drink.”

  Caro eyed the glass dubiously. Tales of the Borgias and their delight with deadly nightshade flashed into her mind and she hesitated. But, God, her throat was dry.

  “It is not poisoned.” Marianna smiled slightly, shyly, and held the glass out straight in front of her. “I promise it.”

  Caro blinked. That was almost funny. She huffed out a laugh and reached for the chilled glass, drinking deeply. She caught Marianna’s watchful gaze and realised in an instant that none of this shit-stir was this woman’s fault, either. She was as much as a victim as Caro.