Treasured Dreams (3 page)

Not too many people had remained unscathed.

The only other thing, the one crucial thing he'd returned to this room for was hidden behind a brick in the wall.

He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out the tension mounted there as he stepped up to the head of the bed and sat on the wooden slats. Every brick looked the same. He hoped that would be his salvation. Without any prior knowledge of his hiding hole, it would be impossible for others to know where to look. He let his breath out slowly as he wriggled the brick from its place in the wall. Millimetre by millimetre, the brick eased towards him, then finally, with his fingers on either side, he tugged it free.

He sighed with relief. His scroll, the seven-hundred-year-old leather parchment, was still there. He plucked it from its hiding place and, resisting the urge to unroll it, he slipped the scroll into his pocket. Although the words upon it had already been committed to his memory, just having the ancient letter in his possession made the treasure hunt seem more real. Knowing he was the only person alive to ever have seen the ancient vow filled him with divine power.

As Nox shoved the brick back into place, a furry creature weaved between his legs.

He gasped. ‘Shadow!'

Nox reached down and scooped the feline into his arms. The silver-grey Chartreus purred as Nox hugged the cat to his chest.

‘How are you, my boy? I knew you'd survive without me.'

The cat licked the back of his hand.

‘I'm sorry, I don't have anything for you.' Nox sighed as Shadow purred under his caress. ‘They took my tanks away.'

He wondered what they'd done with his tanks. One had contained his meticulously cultured mushrooms, that he'd taken years to perfect. Half of the fungus varieties were mildly mind-altering; the other half would kill a man. The other tank he'd kept in this room had housed mice.

‘Did they give the mice to you, my
bellissimo
boy?' One of Nox's greatest joys had been watching Shadow devour the rodents whenever the stray slinked into his room. For nearly a decade, Shadow had frequented his bedside via the small air tunnel at the back. It was the only visit Nox ever looked forward to.

‘Come on, I'm hungry too. Let's see what's in.'

Nox hooked his arm under the cat's belly and clutched him to his chest as he opened the door and listened. Nothing but stone-cold silence. He didn't expect anything else. Unless someone had moved into Father Benedici's room after Nox had killed him, then he didn't think anyone would be living in this wing of the church anymore.

He navigated the passages to the kitchen. This was just one of the three kitchens in the church and orphanage complex. The main one that serviced the orphanage was a full industrial kitchen designed to feed the hundred or so poor devils whose parents had passed away, or had abandoned them, such as in Nox's case. The second kitchen was up in the youngest building in the church. Most of the brothers lived up there. The kitchen Nox headed towards had once been used by the staff. It was small, basic and rarely frequented by anyone else.

This was where Nox had eaten most of his meals. It was also where he'd cooked up the poisonous mushroom risotto that had killed his father.

Chapter Three

Rosalina watched her grandmother's frail hands as she peeled the skin from the red onion. Nonna's bulbous knuckles were white with the motion, and yet she handled the knife with ease.

Rosalina was relegated to the kitchen table, and Nonna was insistent that she elevate her legs. It made cooking so much harder when she couldn't stand.

Together, they'd been preparing meals all morning. But Rosalina wasn't complaining—she loved every minute in this old kitchen with her Nonna.

Villa Pandolfini, with its twelve bedrooms and sprawling vineyards, was her home. But this kitchen was where she'd grown up, under the feet of her wonderful grandmother, learning everything there was to learn about food and cooking the traditional Italian way. Cooking was at the heart of her family.

She'd missed this place while she was abroad. The seven-hundred-year-old villa had so much character and history. Four generations of her family had lived here. Tears threatened as she reflected on how much she'd missed them all, and particularly her Nonna. While Rosalina loved Australia and felt blessed to have met the man of her dreams, she was still saddened that she'd missed five years of her Nonna's life. Her grandmother wouldn't be around for much longer, and just the thought of it produced a lump in her throat that was impossible to swallow.

Rosalina wondered, as she often had, how different her life would've been had her mother lived. She'd been just seven years old when her mother had died. Although she had a few wonderful memories of her mother, none of them were in this kitchen, or any kitchen for that matter. Maybe her mother hadn't liked cooking, which was hard to believe, because all the other Calucci women in her family were fabulous cooks.

‘Glide it across.' Nonna clutched her fingers around Rosalina's hand and curled the rubber spatula from one side of the fine sieve to the other, forcing the mashed sweet potato through the small holes. ‘
Come questo
.'

‘Yes, Nonna.'

‘Makes it easier.
Comprendere
?'

‘
Si,
Nonna.'

Rosalina's grandmother was not one to argue with. Nonna chose to ignore the fact that Rosalina had spent two years in one of Italy's finest culinary schools. Rosalina didn't mind, though. Any chance to refine her skills under her grandmother's expertise was golden.

Nonna plucked a cork board from the cluttered duchess shelf and placed it on the bench next to the stove. She then opened the oven door, and the delicious aroma of roasted garlic wafted about the kitchen. Nonna removed the tray and placed the parmesan puffs onto the cork mat.

The temptation to eat one of the steaming pastries would have been impossible to resist had Rosalina been able to reach them. Having the leg cast removed couldn't come soon enough.

She glanced at the clock over the fireplace. Two more hours until Nonna's friends arrived for their monthly gathering. They'd originally taken turns when it came to who'd host the afternoon tea, but it wasn't long before Nonna's amazing cooking and her dominating personality overrode their plans, and the venue had been permanently fixed at Nonna's villa for as long as Rosalina could remember.

Preparing for these afternoons filled with food, laughter and the occasional tear from one of the ladies, produced some of Rosalina's fondest memories of growing up in this kitchen. Nonna was blessed to have such a wonderful group of ladies to grow old with, and they'd certainly shared some significant ups and downs together. Nonna became a widow in her early fifties, but with the abundance of Calucci family and her lifelong friends surrounding her, she was rarely alone.

Rosalina plucked fresh herbs from the ceramic pots Nonna had moved from the windowsill to the table for her. She finely chopped the chives and parsley and folded them into the sweet potato and mashed ricotta cheese with a little sea salt. Then she added half the flour and folded it in with a spoon.

Once again, Nonna showed her how to mix by guiding her hand, and despite Nonna's petite fingers, the old lady had a strong grip.

The last big feast Rosalina prepared had been for her own engagement party. She'd set the long table up in the vineyards that stretched from the back of the villa right up to the lowest row of grapevines.

It had been a magical afternoon. And night, too. Archer had surprised her by cleaning and decluttering the upstairs ballroom and inviting guests from Australia. Her heart ached at the weight of what had happened after that wonderful night. It was hard to believe that was five weeks ago. She sighed as she recalled Archer whisking her around the dance floor like a professional ballroom dancer.

Rosalina suddenly remembered a moment at her engagement party that had slipped from her mind. In light of everything that had happened since then—the helicopter crash, the treasure stolen from the yacht, her broken leg and Archer's broken ribs—it wasn't surprising she'd forgotten.

But now it came back to her as if she were reliving the moment.

Rosalina had been wearing a bracelet. It was a silver chain with only one small pendant dangling from it. This chain had been given to her by her mother the very last time Rosalina had seen her.

At the engagement party, she'd been dancing with Archer, and he'd twirled her around to meet Nonna. But when Nonna had seen the bracelet, a look of horror had swept across her face, then she'd raced out of the room.

Rosalina hadn't had a chance to chase her, and after all that had happened, she hadn't thought any more of the bracelet or Nonna's odd reaction to it.

Until now.

Rosalina's stomach rolled. She had to ask Nonna. There was no way she could leave this undiscussed. As much as she didn't want to upset Nonna, she had to know why the bracelet had affected her grandmother so much.

Rosalina removed the sweet potato gnocchi dough from the bowl, placed it onto the lightly floured tabletop, and divided it into four portions. Nonna sat at her side, and together they rolled the gnocchi into a thick log. Nonna was quick, working with expert skill as she cut the log into bite-sized pieces and pressed a fork into each one to make corrugated indentations. Within a matter of seconds, Nonna had prepared a whole plateful.

Before Nonna could stand up again, Rosalina seized the opportunity. She placed her flour-dusted hand on her grandmother's wrist.

‘Nonna,' she said.

It may have been the way she said it, or maybe Nonna had been dreading this very conversation, but when Nonna looked up at her she had fear in her eyes.

‘At my engagement party, I wore a silver bracelet. When you saw it, you … you looked horrified. What was it, Nonna?'

Nonna turned to her hands and stared at them, rubbing them together to dust off some of the flour. It was a long time before she seemed ready to speak, and this was unusual. Nonna loved to talk.

Finally, she looked up at Rosalina with tears pooling in her eyes. ‘That bracelet was
la madre di
.'

‘I know, Nonna; Mum gave it to me.'

Nonna frowned and her eyes searched Rosalina's, maybe seeking the truth.

‘
Madre
was on her way to hospital to have the baby. I was scared for her, and she gave me the bracelet to look after until she came home with my new brother or sister.'

Nonna blinked up at her. ‘Your
padre
looked everywhere for that bracelet. Did you know that?'

Rosalina nodded. ‘I didn't want to give it to him. It was the last thing Mum gave me, so I hid it in the back of that picture frame on my side table.'

‘With the photo of
Padre
?'

She nodded again. That photo was the only photo Rosalina had of her father smiling. He'd never smiled again after her mother died.

‘Is that why you reacted the way you did, Nonna?'

Her grandmother pursed her lips. She looked frozen in that moment, and Rosalina knew there was more. ‘Tell me, Nonna. If it's about my mum, I want to know.' Acidic dread pooled in Rosalina's stomach.

Nonna stood up and walked to the stove, her back to Rosalina. ‘It was a long time ago, Rosalina. It is not
necessario
to bring up such dreadful things.'

‘What dreadful things?' Rosalina struggled to her feet, and without the crutches, waddled to her grandmother. She placed her hand on Nonna's bony shoulder and squeezed. ‘Nonna. Tell me.'

Nonna cupped her own cheeks as if horrified by what she was being asked to do. There was a long pause before she looked up at Rosalina. Tears threatened to spill over, and Rosalina resisted the powerful urge to clutch her grandmother to her chest. She needed to be strong. She needed to know what happened.

‘Sit.' Nonna motioned with her hands for Rosalina to sit back down, then Nonna sat at her side, clutching her own hands as if trying to stop them from trembling.

‘Your
padre
was always so busy with the vines,
la raccolta, la semina, nutrimento
. Then there was the grapes and the wine-making. He rarely came home. Here. Your
madre
was overwhelmed with six
bambini
.' Nonna slowly ran her hand through the flour on the table. ‘She missed him so.'

At the emotion quavering in her grandmother's voice, Rosalina knew not to interrupt.

‘But after many years she stopped missing him. Soon he was no longer
importante.
You, your brothers, your sisters were everything. It was like your
padre
was a guest who
visitato
from time to time. Once you started school, your mother had more time on her hands and she found herself work at the florist in town. She loved it. All day she would design
bellissimo fiori
for men wanting to romance their lovers. She blossomed, just like the flowers she arranged. And men flocked to her like bees to the sweet flower nectar.'

Rosalina had a feeling she knew where this was going and wasn't sure she wanted to hear any more. But how could she stop it? She'd begged Nonna to tell her the story; now she had to listen.

‘At first, your mother laughed off the
attenzione
. She couldn't believe that any man was interested in a woman with six children. But they were. Many were. Your mother was
bellissimo
, confident, sensual. Yet hollow. She needed more than what she had at home. Especially as you children were growing up.'

Rosalina felt icy fear building in her spine as she dreaded what secret Nonna was about to reveal. ‘Nonna, you don't need to go on.'

‘Yes I do,' she snapped to Rosalina. Her eyes blazed with fire. ‘I have started now. You will hear it all.'

Rosalina could barely swallow. ‘Shall I fetch a glass of water? Or tea maybe?'

‘Wine. We will have a wine.'