The Ravenscar Dynasty. Barbara Taylor Bradford

Masters.’

      The Italian nodded, looking suddenly worried, and his voice faltered slightly when he replied, ‘I told Alfredo Oliveri it wasn’t necessary for him to come. I am here, and I run the Deravenel business interests in Italy. He knows nothing. Nothing more than I do.’

      ‘So what you are saying is that the cause of the fire is a genuine mystery. And also that our family members were not even burned in this fire. Very interesting. Very interesting indeed, Dellarosa.’

      Fabrizio was silent, staring back at Edward, and asking himself why he suddenly felt both nervous and threatened by this young man, a veritable giant blessed with an extraordinary physique and overwhelming good looks, who had the coldest blue eyes he had ever seen. Steel, Dellarosa thought. This Deravenel is made of cold steel. And he was unexpectedly afraid. Edward Deravenel was not like his father, and he would be trouble, of that Fabrizio Dellarosa was convinced. He could not wait to escape, to return to his office and communicate with London.

      Edward announced, ‘Well, it seems you have nothing more to say, Signor Dellarosa. So let us go. Please take us to the hospital, so that we can finally view the bodies. Oh, and incidentally, what arrangements have you made for the bodies to be taken back to England?’

      Dellarosa coughed behind his hand, and then said quickly, in a hurried manner, ‘They will go by ship. I have booked passages for you, and Signor Watkins.’ He paused, glanced at Will and added, ‘I will book passage for you, Mr Hasling. If you wish to accompany your friends.’

      ‘I do,’ Will answered at once.

      Neville exclaimed, ‘I don’t think so, Signor Dellarosa! What I mean is, I don’t think we shall be travelling by ship. Nor will the bodies of our fathers and brothers.’

      Dellarosa gaped at him. ‘I am not understanding—’

      ‘Then let me explain,’ Neville cut in. ‘It is January. The weather is bad. A journey by sea could prove quite dangerous at this time of year. There are far too many storms, rough seas.’ He shook his head and gave Dellarosa an odd look. ‘I shall make the travel arrangements myself. We will take the bodies back to England by train. So much safer in the long run, wouldn’t you say?’

      It was the registrar of the hospital, Roberto Del Renzio, who greeted them at the reception desk and led them down a long corridor to the morgue.

      A tall, heavy-set man, he was dressed in a starched white shirt with a stiff wing collar, black tie, black jacket and pin-striped trousers. He had a sombre voice but his expression was bland, and it seemed to Edward that the man was lighthearted in spirit, the kind of person who was ready to laugh if the joke was a good one. But he did not laugh or joke or even say very much as he accompanied them to the far end of the hospital, which he explained, was the north wing.

      The registrar paused when he came to a waiting room, and turning to Dellarosa, he said, in stilted English, ‘Perhaps you would please to be waiting in here.’ He swung his eyes to Edward, and asked, ‘Just the two of you will enter the morgue?’

      ‘I’m not sure,’ Edward answered and looked over at Will. ‘Would you like to come in with us?’

      ‘If that’s all right with you, yes, I would, Ned. I wish to pay my last respects to them all. Do you mind, Neville?’

      ‘So be it,’ Neville murmured, and followed the silent Ned and the registrar, with Will Hasling following immediately behind him.

      Much to Edward’s surprise, the four dead men had already been brought into the morgue in their closed coffins. He had fully expected them to be in the long metal drawers which were banked around the room.

      A moment later, a white-coated doctor joined them, and after being introduced, he proceeded to open the coffins.

      Together Edward and Neville viewed the bodies of their fathers and brothers, staring down at their waxen faces. It was true, they had not been burnt. There wasn’t a mark on them. At least, not on their faces.

      Although they did not know it, both men were thinking the same thing…that these were no longer their loved ones, not now that their souls had left them. All that remained were these frozen carcasses.

      Edward touched his father’s shoulder and closed his eyes. Goodbye, he thought, goodbye. Then he moved on to look at his dearest brother, his lovely Edmund. But the Edmund he had known and loved was not here either. He touched his shoulder, said goodbye to the boy inside his head, and moved on sadly.

      Neville followed suit, silently saying his farewells whilst knowing that what had made these four men so special, so unique, were their spirits…They were merely empty shells how, dead flesh. And Will, slowly moving behind them, felt cold inside and utterly bereft. For he, too, understood death now, and its total finality.

      Within minutes it was all over.

      They collected the relevant papers from the registrar, and took their leave of Dellarosa. They immediately left the hospital, huddled together, hurrying away with speed, heading across the piazza Santa Maria Novella to the hotel.

      And Edward wondered why he had so dreaded this viewing of the bodies all day. He had felt nothing.

      The letter arrived in the late afternoon. It was pushed under the door of Edward’s room. But when he went and opened the door there was no one there. He looked up and down the corridor only to discover it was empty.

      Opening the envelope, he took the letter out. It was short, a note.

      As he scanned the brief words he felt his stomach lurch, his mind racing. There was no salutation. Only a few lines, brief and to the point:

      ‘Nothing is the way it seems. Come to the place your father visited last. Tomorrow. Go to the building with a familiar name. I will be waiting.’

      Edward knew immediately that the note was from Alfredo Oliveri. The place his father visited last was Carrara. And the building with the familiar name was Deravenels. Of course.

      Folding the letter in half he put it in his pocket and left the room, walked down the corridor to Neville’s suite. And he knew deep within himself that tomorrow they would find out the truth at last.

       ELEVEN

       Carrara

      From the moment Edward had arrived in Carrara with Neville and Will earlier that morning, he had wanted to turn around and leave. There was something about this town in Tuscany which truly depressed him.

      He knew that, in part, this feeling sprang from the fact that his father and brother, uncle and cousin had died here only last week, and in tragic circumstances. And yet he genuinely disliked certain aspects of the place, found it cold, unwelcoming, and reeking of danger, and there was yet another element that troubled him. He felt oppressed by the range of mountains that encircled Carrara on three sides, and seemed to close it in like a prison.

      Marble dominated here. Great slabs of it gleamed whitely high on the mountain sides of the Apuan Alps; its grey-white dust floated on the very air, settled on the buildings and the ground; on the people as well; it penetrated their clothing and hair. There was the constant sound of marble being chipped at, in studios, workshops and apartments along the streets, where artists and artisans were working on sculptures, frescoes, urns and other different kinds of artifacts. Carrara was busy in the town as well as up on the mountain ranges.

      Edward fully understood that he must get himself through the meeting with Alfredo Oliveri and then hurry away as fast as he could. In