The Correttis (Books 1-8). Кейт Хьюит

could be there when you all meet. I want to show you my village… .’

      ‘Mum…’ Ella’s voice was thick with unshed tears. ‘Why don’t you come over?’

      ‘Please, Ella, you know it is not possible.’

      ‘Just for a holiday. I will pay your airfare…’ But Ella stopped then. She was just repeating herself and, given it was her mother’s birthday, Ella didn’t pursue it further. She didn’t want to upset her today. ‘I’ll go and visit everyone soon and give them all your love.’

      ‘Let me know when you go, so I can ring them and tell them to expect you.’

      ‘Okay.’ Ella could not manage upbeat even a single second longer. ‘I really do have to get to work now. I love you, Mum.’

      ‘I love you too, Ella. Do you want to speak with your—’

      It was Ella who hung up.

      She was actually shaking with anger as she did so. That her mother could even suggest that she speak with her father after all that had gone on, that still she was supposed to pretend that terrible day had never happened.

      Yet it had.

      She could not break down again, but she could no longer pretend to forget either. She looked into the mirror, lifted her hair and saw the pink scar. The scar was proof that that day had happened. It was even there when she smiled. Those lovely white teeth had come at the most terrible price. Ella could still remember spitting her own teeth into her hand, but worse than that was the memory of the betrayal—that her mother could have forgiven him and stayed.

      That she could watch as her own daughter was beaten and, instead of calling the police, had stood there sobbing and screaming. Instead of calling for an ambulance, she had handed Ella ice packs and told the story to give to the dentist, to the doctor. Had told Ella that if she didn’t want to make it worse for her mother, then she must tell everyone that she fell.

      Ella needed to get out, to walk, to run. It was the reason she opened her door, for she would never have opened the door to Santo in this state. She wasn’t crying, but she was still shaking in anger, still holding in a scream that wanted to come out.

      ‘Ella?’

      She brushed past him, but he caught her wrist.

      ‘Please, Santo.’ She was having great trouble keeping her voice from shouting. ‘I was just about to go for a walk.’

      ‘Later…’ He simply could not let her walk off like this. He could see how upset she was.

      ‘I just need to get out for a while.’

      ‘Of course you do.’ Santo was very practical. ‘We all go a bit stir-crazy in the hotel after a few days. I’ll take you for a drive. I could use one too.’ He was not going to argue about this. He had come to visit Ella for rather more pressing reasons than a drive, but for once, work could wait.

      They drove, in silence at first, around the winding streets, but Santo drove the powerful car with far more finesse than Ella and it was actually nice to sit back and stare at the scenery.

      ‘It’s beautiful.’ Ella looked at the dotted beige buildings built into the hills and then they turned into a village. Another one, Santo explained, that was run-down and in much need of the new lease of life the redevelopment might bring.

      ‘There is only one café now,’ he explained, slowing the car down. Ella peered up a long set of steps. ‘Do you want to stop for a drink?’

      Ella shook her head.

      ‘There are only a couple of shops….’ She was starting to understand more and more the difference this movie could make. It was such a stunning part of the country. There were just picture-perfect views everywhere. Yet so many, like her mother, had left. She blinked and turned her head as she passed vaguely familiar buildings, recognising some of them from the photos her mother spent a long time reminiscing over.

      ‘This is my mother’s village.’

      ‘I know.’ Santo turned and smiled. ‘You could drop in on your aunts now.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Ella gave a tight smile.

      ‘Probably a good call,’ Santo said. ‘Your mother would never hear the last of it if you arrived with a Corretti in tow.’

      ‘Slow down a moment.’ He did so. ‘I think that’s the baker’s that my mother used to work at before she moved.’

      ‘Does she work now?’

      ‘No,’ Ella said. ‘She worked in a factory till she had me, then gave it up to help out in my father’s shop.’ She peered into the window as Santo slowly passed. ‘It’s nice to see it.’ It really was. There were a few people walking, and some women sitting in the front of their gardens talking. And it was actually nice to see it for the first time with Santo rather than alone. She took a breath. ‘Could we get that coffee?’

      ‘Sure.’ He turned the car around on a very narrow road with a very steep descent on one side. Only that wasn’t what had the sweat beading on Ella’s forehead. She should take a moment to touch up her make-up. She was supposed to look nice at all times, but she wasn’t actually working, Ella realised.

      This was very personal indeed.

      They walked along the narrow pavement. Even the street was cobbled—it was like stepping back in history. They stopped outside a tiny church.

      ‘My mum gets so upset when anyone gets married. She’s told me all about the church. She says the parties afterwards are amazing….’

      ‘The whole street comes out,’ Santo said. ‘Tables are set up for the reception.’

      ‘It’s just so different from anything I’m used to,’ Ella said. ‘Not just here, the whole of Italy. Everything’s so much newer in Australia, even the old buildings aren’t comparatively old.’ She looked around at the relatively unchanged architecture, could completely understand how her mother missed it, how Gabriella could still picture it so well, because it was just as it appeared in the photos. ‘Nothing’s changed,’ Ella said.

      ‘Of course it has,’ Santo responded. ‘The changes just don’t show.’

      They climbed the narrow steps to a café and certainly they turned heads when they walked in. Ella was quite sure it was because Santo was a Corretti, and that it had nothing to do with the fact he was possibly the most beautiful man in the world.

      The whole place fell silent and they were shepherded to a seat.

      ‘Are they scared of you?’ Ella asked in a low voice. ‘Or angry?’

      ‘Both,’ Santo said. ‘I hope soon they will be neither.’

      He ordered—coffee and crêpes that were filled with gelato. It was just so nice to be away from set. The locals were starting to talk amongst themselves again, and yes, the gelato was as good as her mother described.

      ‘It’s nice to be out, thanks for this.’

      ‘No problem.’

      ‘How come you’re not on set?’

      He just shrugged—those reasons could wait. For now Santo just wanted to talk about her. ‘Your mother’s never been back?’

      ‘Nope.’

      ‘One day, maybe?’

      Ella didn’t answer.

      Even when they were back in the car, when he tried to work out just what it was that had upset her so much today, still Ella spoke about work.

      ‘I spoke with Paulo and arranged his interview and I left a message for Marianna. Paulo sounds really good, he’s just not able to start yet.’

      ‘Which is a problem,’ Santo admitted. ‘I need someone who can start as soon as possible.’