Cassie decided she would go to the gate and ask. With the tall, steel-barred structure between herself and them, she would hopefully be safe enough.
She climbed out of her car, hesitating as the sedan’s door opened.
To Cassie’s relief, a woman with long, highlighted blond hair emerged from the car.
She looked to be about thirty years old, and was much better dressed than Cassie, and she seemed annoyed.
The woman stomped up to the gate.
“Hello,” she said loudly in a plummy English accent. “I wonder if you can tell Maurice I’m waiting. He asked me to come through to the house this morning, and I’ve just realized I only have the office number. Or does the intercom ring through to the home office?”
“Maurice is not here,” Cassie told her. “He and Ms. Rossi left about twenty minutes ago. I don’t know where they were going.”
She didn’t know why, but this woman seemed familiar.
The blond let out an irritated huff of air.
“Seriously? He’s not here? But he told me yesterday to come here any time before ten a.m. to collect my tax certificate and the laptop bag I loaned him. He specifically said he’d be at the house.”
“He didn’t mention you were stopping by,” Cassie said, but then her confused brain put two and two together. “Wait. I think I’ve spoken to you before. Are you by any chance Abigail?”
The blond woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrows shot up.
“Yes, I am. Who are you?”
“You were the person who answered my call when I responded to the job, and told me that the position was taken. Later, you phoned me back to say it was still available.” Cassie lowered her voice. “Then I heard Ms. Rossi firing you on the phone. Or am I wrong?”
“Oh. Yes, I remember now. And you are so not wrong.”
Abigail seemed delighted to find a listening ear.
“I know you’re employed by her and all, but let me tell you, that woman is a witch. She’s completely psychotic. She’s aggressive and unreasonable and you never, ever know where you stand with her. One minute you’re her trusted righthand person and marketing assistant, and so very valued. The next minute you’re fired over something you knew nothing about.”
Abigail ran her hands through her hair in a frustrated gesture.
“I mean, it wasn’t even my fault! I literally didn’t know about those ads. I just happened to answer the phone because Maurice was busy on another call. He told me what to say, so it was his slip-up, not mine.”
“Seriously?” Cassie asked, concerned.
“Maurice is her blue-eyed boy, though. He puts up with all her tantrums. He’s not even a Rossi employee, but hired by her personally.”
“But she’s the owner, isn’t she?” Cassie said.
“Yes, she’s the owner, but since they restructured, the board of directors has taken on most of the responsibility for the company’s running. In my opinion, they did that so that she can’t keep making idiotic decisions that damage the brand. Apart from firing me, of course. Unfortunately that was within her scope as she’s still in charge of the marketing team. Otherwise, her main duties are to attend the meetings and corporate functions and do the model calls. Tell girls they’re ugly and no good to represent her products. She seems to like doing that.”
Cassie stared at Abigail, horrified.
“This is terrible,” she said.
“News to you?” Abigail sounded cynical.
“No. Not at all.” Cassie stepped closer. “I’ve also been fired. I’m only here until tomorrow. But I have seen how she treats her children and I’m desperately worried about leaving them. She’s an abusive parent. The way she punishes them is totally overboard and sadistic, for things that aren’t even their fault.”
Abigail frowned.
“That’s appalling. Being toxic at work is one thing, but mistreating your own children is another. Are you going to call the police? What do you plan to do?”
Cassie hesitated. She hoped that sharing her plans with the disgruntled marketing assistant wouldn’t end up backfiring on her. But she had to trust somebody, and there seemed to be no reason for Abigail to snitch on her to Ms. Rossi.
“I thought I would report her to the child protection authorities before I go. I’ll ask them if they can investigate.”
“That sounds like a good idea,” Abigail agreed.
“I was on my way to find a coffee shop and do some research. I’m not sure what department deals with this here, or where they are based.”
“I might be able to help you there,” Abigail said. She reached into the car and took out her purse, rummaging through it until she found her phone. “We have a social media page for the expats living in our area, and details like this are available online. I’m sure I remember children being on the list. There’s definitely fire and garbage removal and police. Let me look.”
She scrolled through her phone while Cassie waited eagerly. Abigail’s arrival was proving to be a stroke of luck that would hopefully allow her to help the children in the remaining time she had.
“Here you are. This seems to be the one. What’s your number?”
Cassie read it out and Abigail messaged the details to her.
“Well, good luck,” Abigail said. “I’d better head to the office now and see if I can track Maurice down. Hopefully he’ll be there at some stage this morning.”
“I hope you manage to find him,” Cassie said. “Please don’t mention you spoke to me at all.”
“I won’t say a word.”
Abigail climbed back into her car and drove off.
Cassie entered the address into her phone and mapped out her route. The Rossi home was located south of Milan and the Social Services offices were close to the city center. She guessed it would take her at least half an hour to drive there. She set off hurriedly, unsure of how this process would work, but expecting that
