Treasured Secrets (3 page)

‘Happy birthday, Aunty Rosa.' Her little nephew was missing his two front teeth. His innocent smile almost crushed her heart. Almost. For eight months she'd been a sponge, absorbing everyone's well-meaning advice, to the point where she felt emotionally numb. She was working again, but it was only out of sheer desperation that she'd accepted the waitressing job. Her wonderful days spent creating amazing meals in
Evangeline's
galley were already a world away. But her current situation only made her more determined to keep searching for the job of her dreams, which she did almost daily.

Her Nonna leaned in to her ear. ‘Don't worry, Rosalina. You'll find a man soon. Now eat.' Her eyes were a mixture of conviction and sadness.

‘I have plenty of them, Nonna.' She winked at her grandmother, and as she tugged on the pearl drop earrings Nonna had given her for her birthday, she forced a smile.

It was true. There'd been no shortage of men knocking on her door since she'd returned home. And although she'd been on a few dates, she couldn't get Archer out of her thoughts. Despite being halfway around the world, everywhere she looked she was reminded of him. A bottle of wine would bring back a memory of a romantic dinner. A painting of a beautiful beach would place her with him. A cross on a man's chest would allude to that damn pendant Archer never removed.

At Villa Pandolfini, mealtime was always a feast. But the extended Calucci family took that a step further, with friendly food rivalry practically a tradition. Rosalina was already full, but there was still so much she hadn't sampled. As this party was for her, she would be expected to taste everything, and all the women around the table would be watching her for approval of their dishes.

As she smiled at her family and forced down each mouthful, she replayed the final argument with Archer over in her mind. Archer's reluctance to talk about his nightmares or the pendant made her believe something horrific had happened to him, or that he'd done something terribly wrong. All manner of scenarios had entered her overactive mind, everything from theft to murder. She wanted to believe he was incapable of any of them. His reluctance to trust her, though, had her thinking otherwise. It was a dart through her heart. A dart that turned fatal when, after three years together, he still hadn't been able say he loved her.
How could I have been so stupid?

Her oldest brother whispered something into her sister-in-law's ear. Rosalina smiled at how comfortable they were together. She longed for that. She wanted love and lust, a soul mate and a family. All of which she was determined to find, no matter how long it took.

The afternoon rolled on like a perfect scene from a wholesome family movie. Wine was poured freely and complaints of being too full were only brief when desserts arrived. Her birthday cake was placed before her. The number twenty-eight, written in dark cherry icing, dominated the cake like a blazing hazard symbol. She took a large gulp of red wine and the smooth liquid slid down her throat as she pulled a speech together in her mind.

It took two attempts to blow out all the candles and everyone clapped as they chanted. ‘
Favella! Favella!
'

‘
Bene, bene
. Quiet down, you lot.' They hushed, and she felt their expectation of something brilliant. ‘First of all,
grazie
to Nonna for having this party for me. I bet you didn't expect me to be living under your roof again.'

Nonna waved her hand. ‘It is
temporaneo
. The man of your dreams will come 'round the corner very soon. You will see.'

It didn't matter what she said. Every part of her speech reminded her she was nearly thirty and single. She couldn't wait to get this long lunch over with. Thankfully, she had a legitimate reason to leave soon. Her friends were taking her out to dinner. Not that she could eat a single thing after all the family specialties she'd been obliged to eat so far. The thought of eating even a mouthful of the cake, overloaded with cream and chocolate and no doubt laced with Frangelico, made her feel ill.

The doorbell rang and, grateful for the interruption, she raced to open it and sighed with relief. Alessandro greeted her with a bunch of yellow roses and a kiss on each cheek.

‘Thank God you're here. Quickly say hello then goodbye, and get me out of here.'

Alessandro was an old friend from university, although their relationship had never been the same since their one alcohol-fuelled mistake many years ago. He was handsome, considerate, generous, safe, and he'd make a great husband. Exactly the distraction she needed.

After the longest of goodbyes, she was finally in Alessandro's car and on the way to Florence for dinner. The combination of wine and the rush to escape had her a little dizzy and she blinked to refocus on the road ahead. As they drove along, their conversation lacked any real flow and she longed for the comfortable banter she'd had with Archer.

It was a couple of moments before she realised Alessandro was driving away from the city centre. ‘Where are we going?'

‘Well, we're not meeting the others until eight, so I thought I'd show you one of my favourite little churches. It has a fascinating history. You're going to love it.'

Rosalina didn't share Alessandro's love of churches. As a professor of ancient history and architecture, he could spend days exploring every building and alleyway in Florence. She wanted to show her excitement, but right now, she'd rather crawl into bed and disappear from the world.

His gaze was heavy upon her as she lifted her handbag onto her lap and flipped open her powder compact to apply a little make-up. The reflected sadness in her eyes was the jolt she needed. As she straightened her back and combed her hair, she told herself to snap out of it. She would no longer be a victim. Wallowing in self-pity would not find her love. To find a soul mate, she needed to get back to the fun-loving Rosalina who craved adventure, cooked amazing meals and laughed freely. But most of all, she needed to love herself again.

She glanced at Alessandro. He was the archetypical Italian man; square jaw, swarthy complexion, hair that was closer to black than chocolate, and dark almond-shaped eyes framed with long eyelashes. He'd barely changed in the twelve years she'd known him and she was certain he was still wearing the same aftershave he'd worn that fateful night she'd rather forget. But he was there for her back then and he was here for her now. She might as well try to enjoy herself. ‘Tell me about this church.'

His eyes gleamed. ‘It was built in the eleventh century and is situated in one of the purely medieval sections of Florence. The church has some of the most elegant and well preserved Romanesque stonework façades in Florence.' He spoke with flamboyant animation, like a professor before a crowd of interested students. Despite her initial reluctance for his history lesson, she was soon wrapped up in his passion.

Finding a car park in Florence was normally impossible, however one presented itself as if they were destined to have it. They locked the car and Alessandro's hand warmed the small of her back as he guided her through a large concrete plaza.

‘This is the Piazza del Limbo. Hundreds of years ago it was a cemetery where unbaptised babies were buried.'

As she looked around the unremarkable area, devoid of any hint of its original purpose, she realised this was exactly the distraction she needed. There was no chance anything in a church would bring on memories of Archer.

The church itself was simple in its construction, lacking the usual flamboyance prevalent amongst the more famous Florence churches.

‘See this beautiful brickwork?' His fingers floated over the bricks and his expression was one of awe.

‘Yes, I see it.' To her it looked like every other brick wall, but she was determined not to spoil it for him.

They stepped over the main threshold and the sense of complete tranquillity dominated her first impression of the little church.

Alessandro leaned in to whisper. ‘The first church on this site was said to have been built in the time of Pope Pelagius, in the years 556 to 561.'

Rosalina tried to do the math on how long ago that was, but gave up. Numbers were not her friend. She stared in wonder at the richly decorated wooden ceiling held up with enormous marble columns. They reminded her of the columns outside the Pantheon in Rome.

He pointed at the first two. ‘These two columns are from an ancient Roman bath. The rest are replicas.'

The floor was incredible, too. Black and white mosaic tiles, set in a chequerboard pattern, stretched the full length of the church, with an oval decoration in the middle of the aisle. Alessandro whispered in her ear. ‘See that oval? That's where they discarded the bodies during the plague. There were so many deaths they didn't have time to give them decent burials.'

‘That's awful.'

‘Sadly, although they saved time, they were actually contributing to the disease.'

She cupped her mouth at the horror. ‘Of course. The rats.' She kept her distance from the oval as Alessandro led her further into the church.

A large stained-glass window caught her eye and she was drawn to it. Remnants of the setting sun illuminated the red and blue glass fragments. The resulting ethereal glow was almost magical. Depicted in the masterpiece was a cloaked priest holding a scale, with a flat dish at either end containing a variety of objects. Its beauty captured her. There was something alluring about it.

She leaned in to study it more closely and her breath caught in her throat. A knot turned in her stomach as she stared at the item featured in the higher dish. It was identical to Archer's pendant. There was no mistaking it. The curved object was a plaque with the letters APOSTOLI embossed in distinct decorative text. Archer's pendant, however, was not complete and only had the letters
OSTOL
, and even then, half of the
L
was missing. All this time she'd thought it was an
I
. The shape of the letter
S
convinced her of the match. It was like no other style of writing she'd ever seen.

‘Are you okay,
mio dolce
? You look like you've seen a ghost.' Alessandro placed his hand on her arm.

Rosalina swallowed her shock, determined to keep it from him. ‘Tell me about this.' She pointed at the scale.

‘This masterpiece commemorates a victory Pope Pelagius had over the Goths and their expulsion to the Apostles, St James and St Philip. That's why it's called the Church of the Apostles. See, the balance of the scale is tilted in favour of the Apostles: the Goths have been conquered.'

Her mind raced as she stewed over how a part of this commemorative piece ended up around Archer's neck. None of it made sense. Archer had never told her he'd been to Italy. Although he could have found the pendant anywhere, a fire raged within her as she dreaded that this was yet another secret. With clenched teeth, she removed her phone from her pocket, keyed her pin to select the camera and held it towards the stained glass. She zoomed in on the plaque to get a better picture.

Suddenly rough fingers grabbed at her arm, and she gasped as her phone tumbled onto the mosaic tiles. The loud clatter echoed about the church.

She twisted to see her attacker, but a heavy hood shrouded most of his face. What she did see — dry, flaky lips and a stubbled chin, pockmarked with scars — was enough for her to know she didn't want to see any more.

‘Let go of me!'

The man's fingers bit further into her wrist.

‘Let her go.' Alessandro shoved at the man's shoulder.

The man's insipid lips drew into a thin line as he released her. ‘
Lei non ha permesso di fare delle foto
!'

Rosalina cowered from his yellowed teeth and Alessandro stepped between them. It was a brave, uncharacteristic move and his trembling hands showed his unease. Without another word, the man stormed away. His robe swished around his legs and he quickly vanished into a dark corner at the back of the church. His foul body odour lingered. Actually, it did more than that; the stench was poisoning the air. Rosalina stepped back, trying to escape it.

‘What was that about?' Alessandro's dark eyes darkened even further.

Rosalina collected her phone from the floor. ‘I was about to take a photo.' She pointed to the stained-glass window. ‘I can't believe how quick he was. He came from nowhere.'

‘Are you okay?' Concern engulfed his gaze.

She nodded and rubbed her wrist where the man's fingers had dug in.

‘Come on, let's get you out of here.'

With his hand on her waist, Alessandro guided her towards the front door. She only broke his embrace to sidestep around the oval mosaic.

She couldn't wait to get out of the creepy building.

***

By the time she joined her friends for dinner, she was well beyond tired. Dinner was long and draining, and although she cherished their company, Rosalina couldn't stop analysing the significance of the plaque in the stained-glass window. At every silent interval, another unanswered question raced through her mind.

There was one thing she knew for certain. Her time with Archer wasn't over.

Archer's eyes snapped open, releasing him from the nightmare. He didn't want to look at the other side of the bed, but even after all these months, he couldn't help it. The still plump pillow, the flat unused sheet — all of it was a painful reminder that Rosalina wasn't here. He missed her loving caress, her reassuring whisper and just about everything else about her. He sat up and wiped sweat from his forehead. After a moment, he slid out of bed and paced the floor until his heartbeat returned to normal.

Standing naked at the window, he allowed the gentle breeze to cool his burning skin. The sound of ropes clanging against hundreds of boat masts was a song to his ears, but like the twinkling lights, it failed to lift the darkness shrouding his heart.