Sophie and the Scorching Sicilian Read Free Page B

worker.’
    Marco grinned. ‘Praise indeed coming from you, Alberto, and how is Natalia?’ Marco’s voice softened as he said the name.
    In her official capacity as cook Alberto’s wife had ruled the kitchen when Marco had been growing up; in her unofficial capacity she had been the person who had comforted him on the occasions when a mother would normally have offered hugs.
    Even when his own mother had been around, she did not do hugs except when there was a camera to record the moment of maternal devotion.
    â€˜She is well, Marchese .’ Alberto angled a questioning look up at the tall man. ‘And she would like to see you…?’
    Marco heard the question and felt a fresh stab of guilt. He had neglected many things, including old friends, when he had cut himself off in the scandalous aftermath of the divorce.
    â€˜And she will,’ he promised. ‘But not today, I’m afraid.’ He flicked his cuff and glanced at his watch, mentally calculatinghow long the journey back to Palermo would take him. ‘I have a meeting in Naples.’
    â€˜You have been missed.’
    Aware of the reproach in the other man’s voice Marco nodded; he felt he deserved it. For a while the palazzo had been a battleground, and involved in the bitter war of attrition he had forgotten it was also his home.
    Marco admitted this with a humility that would have made his business competitors stare. ‘I was wrong to stay away. I have missed being here, so I’m here today to see what needs doing.’
    â€˜You are coming home?’
    What sort of home? Marco struggled to maintain his positive expression as his eyes lifted to the Renaissance facade. Fortunately no major structural work needed to be done, he told himself, concentrating on the fabric of the building, not on the dark emotions he experienced when he looked at his ancestral home.
    Would he ever be able to wipe away the shadows left by his failed marriage? Would he ever be able to look at this building and think of it as a home in the true sense of the word? It would take more than a fresh coat of paint, though being a pragmatic man he thought that would be a start.
    â€˜Yes, but first I want to make it…habitable.’
    Alberto nodded in total understanding. Too much understanding, for Marco’s liking; pity, even from an old friend, was not something he enjoyed.
    â€˜I just need to find someone who understands what this building deserves.’
    Someone who felt as he did about preserving its integrity; someone capable of feeling passionate about their work… to compensate for his own lack of it … He tore his eyes away from the facade and said, ‘And of course a new housekeeper—do you think Natalia would consider it?’
    During one of his absences Allegra had ousted Natalia from her kitchen and replaced her with a French chef. On his returnMarco had sacked the chef and tried to persuade Natalia to return, but she had steadfastly refused to enter the palazzo while Allegra was mistress there.
    Allegra had retaliated for his actions by getting drunk in public and being photographed half naked in the back of a cab with a boy who worked in the nightclub she had just fallen out of at four in the morning.
    So it had been a win–win situation.
    Alberto beamed, and said, ‘I think it might be possible…’
    Marco pulled the key from his pocket, inhaled and approached the door.
    His instructions had been that the place was not to be touched and they had been followed to the letter; barring the dust, it was all just as it had been.
    A walk through the building did not lift his mood. In his youth this had been a showplace; now the whole building had a pervading air of gloom and neglect that the grandeur of the architecture and furnishing could not hide.
    Had it always been this dark and depressing? he wondered as he pulled aside a dusty drape to let in some light. The light revealed damp patches