of the arrangements, but they’re not adding me to their bag. I shall wear the dress I want, and have Sal and Trish as my backup on the day itself. No toddlers in sight. Not negotiable.’
He said slowly, ‘But there’s Italy. If I begged you not to go, would you think again?’
‘I don’t want you to beg,’ she said more gently. ‘Just to understand how much I want to research the Floria Bartrando story. I’ll be gone a matter of days, that’s all. It’s not a problem.’
‘It already is.’ He shook his head. ‘Dad’s totally vitriolic on the subject, as if he’s got a down on the entire Italian nation.’
‘Your father simply has a down on not getting his own way at all times,’ Maddie told him candidly. ‘It wouldn’t matter if it was Italy—or Outer Mongolia. However I can’t and I won’t give way to him, because that would set an unacceptable precedent. You must see that.’
She paused. ‘Of course, we could always elope. Get a special licence and do the deed somewhere with a couple of strangers as witnesses.’
Jeremy looked at her with blank horror. ‘You can’t be serious.’
She hadn’t been entirely joking either, she thought, suppressing a sigh.
She forced a smile. ‘Alternatively, you could always come with me to Italy. Take a few days of all the leave you’re owed and explore the delights of Liguria.’ And we could be alone as lovers again with no-one to interfere or disapprove. Get back to the time when we first fell in love. Wouldn’t that be good?
She added, ‘And if I had you as an escort, that might placate your father about the trip in general.’
His mouth tightened. ‘No,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t. And now I’d better go.’ He took her in his arms and held her tightly. ‘Oh, Maddie, I hate it when we quarrel.’
And I hate it when we have quarrels forced upon us, thought Maddie, fighting her disappointment as she kissed him and said goodnight.
And in the morning, she mused as she closed the door behind him, I shall have to tell the others it was a lovers’ tiff. Pre-marital nerves or something. And see if they believe me.
Ironically, soon afterwards it began to seem as if Nigel Sylvester might get his own way after all.
Because Todd, her boss at Athene came within a whisker of calling the whole Bartrando project off.
‘We need to know why a young singer with the world at her feet should simply disappear for thirty-odd years,’ he’d said, frowning, at one of the morning conferences. ‘We were promised a preliminary interview with Floria Bartrando herself, yet now they seem to be fobbing us off with a small provincial opera festival instead.’ He snorted. ‘And that’s not worth the expense of the airfare, even if it is being sponsored by some local bigwig.’
‘Perhaps she’s making her comeback at this festival,’ Maddie suggested, trying not to sound too anxious. If it all fell through, she could imagine Nigel Sylvester’s triumph and the increased pressure to fall in with all future plans as a result.
Todd shrugged. ‘Then, in that case, why don’t they say so? I’m worried that this whole Bartrando thing could simply be a publicity stunt, and you’ll end up being shown a grave in a cemetery and told that the festival’s in her memory.’
‘In which case, I use my return ticket, and we bin the entire project.’ Maddie tried to sound upbeat. ‘But I’m sure it’s all going to work out.’
And a few days later when Todd summoned her to his office, it appeared she was right.
‘I did the festival sponsor an injustice,’ he announced, tapping the letter on the desk in front of him. ‘He’s written to us, in person, snail mail. His name’s Count Valieri and he’s apparently the link with Signorina Bartrando, so you’ll be liaising with him.
‘He’ll have you met at the airport in Genoa and taken to the Hotel Puccini in Trimontano, where the festival will take place later in the year. And he’ll contact you there and set up a meeting with the mystery lady.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe you should pack a posh frock if you’re going to be hobnobbing with Italian aristocracy.’
‘I’m more likely to be palmed off on some private secretary,’ Maddie returned unruffled. ‘But I’d better find out a bit about him, to be on the safe side.’
‘I’ve already had a quick look online, and there isn’t much.’ Todd frowned. ‘Just that the Valieri family actually started the festival over fifty years ago, so he’s probably quite elderly, although there’s no picture. And the family money now comes mainly from olive oil and ceramics. Apart from that—zilch.’
‘Then it’s fortunate we’re not planning to tell his story.’ She hesitated. ‘Did he drop any hints about Signorina Bartrando?’
‘Not one. Here, you’d better have it.’ He handed her the sheet of elegant cream notepaper and she read the two short paragraphs.
The Count used black ink, she saw, and his handwriting was crisp and incisive.
Back in her office, she checked the hotel he’d booked for her on the internet and saw it had an impressive number of stars, and its food and comfort were highly praised by recent guests.
So far, so good, she thought, wondering if Puccini’s name was significant. After all, Floria Bartrando’s first important role had been Musetta in ‘La Boheme’. She’d received rave notices, completely eclipsing the woman playing Mimi. In fact, several critics thought she’d been miscast, and that her voice was more suited to the dramatic coloratura range of the leading part.
And her short but starry career had fully justified their opinion.
So maybe she simply disappeared because of death threats from other sopranos, thought Maddie, faintly amused.
But there’d been little to smile about since then. Jeremy had reacted badly to the news that her trip was definitely going ahead, and there’d been a definite coolness between them ever since. But that, she told herself, was probably due to his father giving him a hard time.
She had really hoped he would relent sufficiently to see her off at the airport, but there was no sign of him.
In the departure lounge she’d sent him a text—‘You’d better be pleased to see me when I get back’, adding a row of kisses, but there’d been no response to that either and she’d boarded the plane, edgy and with the beginnings of a headache as she fought her disappointment.
When the trolley came round, she bought some orange juice and took a couple of painkillers, then settled back in her seat, deciding to close her eyes for a few moments.
But when the next sound she heard was the captain’s voice announcing they had begun their descent to Cristoforo Columbo Airport, she realised, startled, just how tired she must have been.
As the plane turned inland, she caught her breath as she saw ahead of her, in fold after jagged fold, the peaks of the Apennines, some of them still streaked with snow.
She knew, of course, that in Italy, the mountains were never too far away, but these seemed almost too near. In some strange way—almost alien.
But she would begin an even closer acquaintance with them when she reached Trimontano, she reminded herself as the aircraft touched down.
While visualising them as threatening in some way was being over-imaginative, and showed the kind of stress she’d been under lately.
And which she’d come here to escape.
As she emerged from Arrivals, she was approached by a uniformed official.
‘Signorina Lang?’ His smile reassured her. ‘I have been asked to escort you to the Count’s car. Camillo, his driver, speaks no English.’
‘Oh,’ said Maddie. ‘Well—that’s very kind.’