Page 41 of Twisted Obsession

‘I’m struggling with Toccata.’

‘Toccata,’ he repeated, as if he was trying to work out what the hell Toccata was, and by repeating it back at me, it might help him.

‘It’s the piece I need to perfect.’

I could hear someone talking in the background and felt guilty about taking up his time.

‘Okay,’ he offered.

‘I need to be in Bologna this afternoon to meet with my professor, so I can find a way forward.’ I used my professor’s terminology.

‘No.’

‘Salvatore, please. I have forwarded you the email of the appointment,’ I explained.

‘No.’

‘Salvatore.’ I heard the pleading in my voice.

‘Do not ask again. I don’t have the time today.’

I was sure he said something else, but it was too late, I’d pushed disconnect and dropped the phone next to me on the bed. Even though I’d known what his answer would be, I still felt the pain at his point-blank refusal and although I knew he loved me, the way he time and time again pushed away what was important to me was beginning to upset me.

But it didn’t matter anymore, because within the next hour I’d be gone.

Chapter Eighteen

Giovanna

Tears finally came to me.

But I allowed them, as they weren’t for me but for my first true love, my grandfather. They were tears that consisted of many things, sadness, happiness, love, and memories. So, I played with graceful flourishes, hoping he could hear me as I said my goodbyes the only way I had left to me.

I was executing the final part of my plan to leave and sitting at the piano in the long gallery. My watch told me I had twenty minutes left before I had to be sitting in my car awaiting the opportunity to escape. But for now, my fingers connected with the keys as I played off by heart “Für Elise” by Beethoven, which was my grandfather’s favourite.

The day the Steinway & Sons instrument had arrived in our house, he had explained the exact spot it needed to be placed in. Because, with his large French doors open to his rooms, he would always be able to hear me.

So, play I did. For him and for me. I played until my tears dried on my cheeks, and I felt cleansed. Over and over my hands flew across the keys, and I prayed he could hear the tune I was playing on repeat for only him.

As the music travelled around the sizeable space, I relished being in the room alone, with only my thoughts to accompany me. Lorenzo and Paulo were nowhere to be seen. I’d passed them in the corridor as I’d entered the gallery to play, just as I’d told them over breakfast that I would. Even they seemed surprised to find me exactly where I’d told them I’d be. They seemed happy enough as they’d walked away and probably back to the kitchen, that I was complying with the terms of my internment, and they would have enough accurate information about my movements to give to Salvatore when he called later.

Feeling heartened, I’d changed my clothes into what I knew I would be leaving in, a smart navy-blue sleeveless shift dress, with a large red Gucci bag on my forearm which contained the few basics I would need over the following couple of days, and matching Manolo Blahniks. I’d freshly brushed my hair, fixed it up into a chignon and applied a light layer of make-up.

As I’d reached out to touch Lorenzo’s arm earlier, as was my way, while I explained that Mama would be expecting two different cars to arrive at ten this morning, I could see that even he was taken with my appearance. In those few short minutes, I realised for the first time that Lorenzo was attracted to me. He had to be nearly thirty. I knew he hadn’t married, unlike Paulo who had married young and had, I thought, at last count probably six children.

Why haven’t I noticed before?I had no idea.

It seemed to me that Dante had taken and awakened all my senses and when he’d retuned them, I’d gone from child to woman. I’d closed the door to the gallery feeling a little disconcerted by my new discovery, again with no idea why.

With my hands now aching, I finished the piece for the fifth or sixth time, and stilled as I concentrated on the silence of the room and house around me. Then I reached across to the speaker next to me and turned on the recording I’d just madeof myself. It would give me twenty-five minutes, hopefully, if no one opened the door on the room. As the notes filled the space once again, I reached inside my bag for the phone Dante had given me.

It’s ten minutes to ten. I’m leaving for the car.

Wish me luck.

Always.

I’m scared.

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