would act as if it had never happened, she decided in desperation. That was the only way to behave: as if it had been an inconsequential and meaningless episode she was keen to forget. She should never have gone to his bedroom, never have stood there shouting at him, challenging and provoking him. Just then the question of which room she occupied seemed unutterably trivial and not worth the fuss she had kicked up over it. Vito wasn’t used to being challenged, she reminded herself ruefully. Vito dug in like a rock bedding down when you crossed him.
The knock on the door interrupted her thoughts. It was a maid with a tray.
‘Mr Barbieri thought you might be hungry,’ she explained, setting the tray down on an occasional table by the window and whisking the insulated cover off the plate.
‘I could have come downstairs for it,’ Ava said guiltily, looking down at the beautifully cooked chicken meal, her taste buds watering in spite of herself. As a teenager she had been downright uncomfortable at being served by the staff while she stayed at Bolderwood but now she was rather more practical in her outlook. Jobs at the castle were highly sought after because Vito paid well and offered good working conditions as well as apprenticeships in the key country skills still in demand on the estate.
‘No need with a big staff and only two people to look after.’ The girl laughed, clearly unfamiliar with Ava’s past history with the Barbieri family.
Ava ate because she was indeed hungry and then she dug out a notebook and began to draw up a to-do list. Obviously calling the caterers came first and she would have to visit the garden centre that usually supplied the wreaths and garlands for the house. For the first time she wondered how she would get around because she had been banned from driving for the foreseeable future. Deeming that a problem better dealt with in daylight, she unpacked her holdall, which took all of five minutes. She took Harvey downstairs and, as directed by the housekeeper, she fed the dog in a rear hall before clipping on his lead and setting off through the solar-lit wintry gardens to take him for a brisk walk. The dim light was eerie, casting flickering shadows in the breeze with only the sound of her own feet crunching on the gravel paths in her ears. The whole place was just crammed with memories for her, she acknowledged painfully, for she could still remember sunbathing on the lawn and larking about with Olly while they studied for their final exams … the exams her friend had never actually got to sit. Ava had sat hers because her case had taken months to come to court. For most of that period she had been away at school where she was shunned like a leper for the tragedy she had caused and when she had finally come home her welcome there had proved even colder.
That night she slept in her comfortable bed, too exhausted to be kept awake by her mental turmoil. When she rose she was shocked to discover that it was almost nine, that she still felt tender in a certain place and was in no mood to celebrate the loss of her virginity. Clad in her jeans, her trusty notebook in her back pocket, she clattered downstairs with Harvey to take care of his needs first. Eleanor Dobbs was waiting for her when she came back indoors to direct her into the dining room for breakfast.
‘Could I have a word with you after you’ve eaten?’ she asked.
‘Of course. Is Vito here?’ Ava enquired stiffly, guessing that Eleanor wanted to discuss arrangements for the party.
‘The helicopter picks him up at seven most mornings,’ the older woman explained.
So, Vito was still locked into very early morning starts, Ava reflected without surprise while she tucked into cereal, fruit and coffee for breakfast. Work motivated him as nothing else could and he didn’t work because he needed more money either. Fabulously wealthy though he was, Vito still worked virtually every day of the week because he had once been the child of a spendthrift bankrupt and had lived through periods of great insecurity. He had only put down permanent roots at Bolderwood for Olly’s benefit, recognising that the little boy had needed a place he could call home.
Digging out her notebook before she even left the dining room, Ava called the local caterers, who had provided the food and refreshments at the last party. She arranged a meeting for the following day and was heading up the stairs when the housekeeper appeared again.
‘There’s something I want to show you,’ Eleanor told her uncomfortably. ‘I thought maybe you could help.’
Ava lifted a fine brow. ‘In any way I can,’ she said evenly, wondering why the other woman was so tense.
Ava’s tension mounted, however, when Eleanor Dobbs took her upstairs to what had once been Olly’s room. She unlocked the door and spread it wide. Ava stood on the threshold in shock, for the room was untouched and looked as though it was just waiting for Olly to walk back in and occupy it. ‘Why hasn’t it been cleared?’
‘I offered to do that soon after the funeral but Mr Barbieri said no. He used to come in here then but as far as I’m aware it’s a couple of years since he did that.’ The older woman grimaced. ‘After all this time it just doesn’t seem right to leave the room like this …’
Ava breathed in deep and straightened her shoulders. ‘I’ll sort it out,’ she announced. ‘Just bring me some boxes and bags and I’ll go through all this stuff and decide what should be kept and stored. Then you can clear the room.’
‘I’m very grateful,’ Eleanor said ruefully. ‘I didn’t like to approach Mr Barbieri about it again. It’s a sensitive subject.’
Alone again, Ava touched one of Olly’s fossil specimens and tears swam in her eyes. Time had stood still within these walls, transforming the room into Vito’s version of a shrine. That wasn’t healthy, she thought painfully, recalling his speech to her about life going on.
The housekeeper helped her sort through Olly’s possessions. Ava bagged his clothes for charity and put his Harry Potter first editions, the fossil collection and his photo albums into boxes. Leafing through the particular album that captured her two-year friendship with Vito’s brother, she laughed and smiled through her tears as warmer less painful memories flooded back to her. It was the first time she had allowed herself to recall the good times they had had together and afterwards, although she felt drained, she also felt curiously lighter of heart.
When the job was complete she took Harvey out to the garden where roses were still blooming in the mild winter temperature and as she looked at those beautiful blooms an idea came to her and she went back indoors to get scissors. She had never got to say an official goodbye to Olly, but she could now visit his grave and pay her last respects without fear of offending anyone as her appearance at his funeral would have done. Her battered fake leather jacket zipped up against the breeze, she left Harvey in Eleanor’s care and walked out onto the road, turning towards the small stone church little more than a hundred yards away. It had once been part of the Bolderwood estate, having been built and maintained by the original owners of the castle, but to maintain his privacy Vito had provided separate access for the church.
A blonde woman climbing out of a sporty car parked outside an elegant house opposite the church stared at Ava with a frown as she opened the gate of the cemetery, which was surrounded by a low wall. Ava laid her flowers down on Olly’s grave, noting with a quivering mouth that a stone angel presided over his final resting place: Olly had had great faith in angels.
‘It is you, isn’t it?’ a sharp female voice exclaimed abruptly.
Ava spun round and recognised the blonde she had seen at the house across the road. She was very attractive, beautifully dressed in the sort of garments that shrieked their designer labels, and Ava felt very much at a disadvantage with her wan face and shabby clothing. A faint spark of familiarity tugged at the back of Ava’s brain though and she surmised that she had seen the woman before. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t know you.’
‘Why would you know me? I’m Katrina Orpington but we’ve never moved in the same social circles,’ the blonde informed her scornfully. ‘But I still know you—you’re that Fitzgerald girl, the one who killed Vito’s little brother! What on earth are you doing here at Oliver’s grave?’
Chalk white though she was, Ava stood her ground. Her picture had been in the local paper