Lucy Gordon - The Italian's Passionate Revenge

A book in the Red-Hot Revenge series, 2008

WHOishe? Why has this stranger come to my husbands funeral and why does he stand there, staring at me across the grave?

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust-

In a corner of a London cemetery the preacher intoned the words over the open grave, while the mourners shivered in the cold February drizzle and the dead mans widow wished it could all soon be over.

Ashes and dust, she brooded. A perfect description of my marriage.

Elise ventured a glance around the others and saw only blank faces, just as shed expected. Ben Carlton had had business associates, but no friends. His life had been a litter of shady deals and shabby relationships.

Including ours, Elise thought. A wretched marriage, for wretched reasons, brought to a wretched end.

Many of the people here were unfamiliar. Some shed met at the lavish dinner parties Ben had enjoyed giving, and she vaguely recalled their faces. Some shed seen at functions hosted by his firm. Others shed never seen. They all looked alike, except for one man.

He stood on the other side of the grave, his lean face expressionless, his eyes hard as they watched her. As the last rites dragged on, Elise realised that he never looked at the coffin, only at herself. He had a fixed gaze, with something unyielding about it, as though by staring her down he could find the answer to a question.

She tried to tear her eyes away, but she couldnt. It was almost as though he was ordering her to look at him, refusing to release her. She fought him but, to her dismay, she could feel her will yielding to his.

He was in his late thirties, tall, dark-haired, with a commanding air that seemed to reduce everyone else to insignificance. He spoke briefly as he stepped aside to let a lady pass. It was only a few words, but Elise heard the Continental accent and wondered if he was attached to Farnese Internationale, the great Italian-based firm that had recently hired Ben, an act that still baffled her.

Elise hadnt known much about her late husbands business affairs, beyond a vague suspicion that others considered him an oaf. Nothing had surprised her more than seeing him head-hunted by a powerful multinational corporation.

Ben had told her about it, smirking with self-congratulation. Hed known about her poor opinion of him and had relished the chance to prove her wrong.

You just wait until were living in Rome, in the lap of luxury, he crowed. The apartment will make your eyes water.

That was how she discovered that hed already bought the apartment, without consulting her. Worse, hed even sold their London home, behind her back.

I dont want to go back to Rome, she told him furiously. And Im amazed that you do. Do you think I can forget-?

Dont talk rubbish. That business was over long ago. Ive got an important job and well have to do a lot of entertaining. You should be looking forward to it. Itll give you a chance to use your Italian again. You always spoke it well.

You said yourself, that was a long time ago, she reminded him.

Look, Im going to need you, he said in the brusque way he always used to end arguments. I dont speak the damned language and you do, so dont give me a hard time.

Plus you got one jump ahead by getting our money out of the country before I found out.

He looked pleased.

Just in case you were getting any ideas about divorce- he chuckled -I know whats been flitting through your head.

Perhaps Ill decide to go my own way and earn my own living, she mused.

How that had made him hoot with laughter!

You? After all these years of living the good life? Never! Youve gone soft.

Elise had ignored his rudeness and selfish complacency, being used to it. Perhaps he was right and she could no longer function independently. It was a dispiriting thought.

With their house sold, theyd moved into The Ritz Hotel until the day of departure. But that day had never come. Ben had died of a heart attack while enjoying an assignation in another hotel with a woman whod called an ambulance, then vanished before it could arrive.

Elise shivered. It was late afternoon and the light had faded, turning the mourners into shadows. Still she sensed the stranger watching her in the gloom.

At last it was over and people began to move, reminding her to perform her duties as hostess.

I do hope you can come to the reception, she said again and again. It would have meant so much to Ben.

I trust your invitation includes me, said the man. You dont know me, but Id been looking forward to your husband joining my firm. My name is Vincente Farnese.

She knew the name at once. Shed heard it often from Bens lips-one of the most powerful men in Italy-had the ear of government ministers-influential-rich-

And he wants me to join him, Ben had rejoiced. He searched for me, said only the right man would do for the position-offered me a fortune-said it was worth anything to get me-

Elise had smothered her astonishment that anyone should actually seek out this overblown windbag, never mind pay him over the odds. Now she stared at Vincente Farnese, searching for some clue to help solve the mystery.

She found none. He was in the prime of life, with the air of a man of sense. It was inexplicable.

Ive heard of you from my husband, she said. It was good of you to take the trouble to attend his funeral. Of course youre welcome at the reception.

Youre too kind, he said smoothly.

A man who was never at a loss, she thought, ready with the right words, the right attitude, always ahead.

So why had he bothered to come here? What could he hope to gain now Ben was dead?

Suddenly she didnt care any more, about anything. There was only a weary longing for all this to be over. She closed her eyes, swaying slightly, then felt strong hands steadying her.

Not much longer, said Vincentes quiet voice.

The words echoed her thoughts so exactly that she opened her eyes sharply and found him standing close, holding her gently.

Dont give up now, he murmured.

I wasnt-that is-

I know, he said, and she had the strangest feeling that he did.

He began to guide her towards the car, waving away the chauffeur to open the door for her himself. Just before she got in, Elise glanced up at someone else whod caught her eye in the cemetery. This was a woman in her thirties, attractive in a flashy way, wearing expensive black clothes that somehow managed to look blowsily overdone.

It occurred to Elise that this stranger too had been regarding her oddly, with a kind of belligerence, hating her and sizing her up at the same time. But Signor Farnese had occupied her thoughts, leaving her little attention to spare.

Who is that lady? he asked, getting in beside Elise.

I dont know. Ive never seen her before.

She seems to know you, if the looks shes been giving you are anything to go by.

It was a short journey to The Ritz, where a lavish buffet had been laid on in the grandiose suite Ben had insisted on occupying. Elise would have preferred a quiet affair, but shed splashed out on Bens funeral out of a kind of guilt. Now he was dead she felt uneasy about her hostility, no matter how much hed deserved it. She couldnt grieve but she could give him the kind of send-off he would have wanted, suitable for a wealthy, important man, even if the wealth had often been a conjuring trick and the importance had existed only in his head.

As she entered the room a mirror told her that she looked perfect for the role of elegant widow in her neatly fitting black dress, small black hat over blonde hair, styled severely. She was an expert in the art of appearance, having once dreamed of being a clothes designer. Events had ended her training abruptly, but her skill remained.