With a reluctant shake of her head, Cassie abandoned the idea. What chance did she have of persuading an unknown person, who had a history and working relationship with the entire department? Who were they likely to believe—their trusted colleague, or an unknown stranger? In any case, Mr. Dellucci had already prepared an alternative version, that Cassie had wasted his time with a rambling complaint and was likely the abuser herself.
Plus, there was no guarantee that the department wasn’t rotten from top to bottom. Didn’t they say a fish rots from the head? Ms. Rossi could well have made payments to many different levels to ensure they turned a blind eye to her abuse.
Anger boiled inside her as she realized what it must have taken. No doubt, there had been special back-office meetings arranged, strictly one on one. She could imagine the plausible story given by this woman, decked out in her jewels and finery.
“I’ve been targeted by a disgruntled employee. Naturally, you can appreciate they are looking to cause a scandal. After all, it’s so easy for an individual to threaten a business owner’s impeccable reputation, when they feel unfairly done by. I know you understand, and that you would be my first port of call if I suspected anything was amiss with my children. Your department does such wonderful work. As a token of my gratitude, please accept this gift from me, personally—your job is thankless and I would like to show appreciation.”
Money, power, charm. Cassie gritted her teeth as she thought about the unfairness of it all. Why were the wealthy able to get away with such things? It was because they knew exactly what to do. It was as if a hidden set of rules applied, and everyone understood how they worked.
No wonder Mr. Dellucci had been so persistent in asking whether she had photos as he’d needed to confirm for sure that no records existed. She was sure now that if she’d said yes, he would have asked to see her phone, and immediately destroyed them, so that no evidence remained of his “good friend’s” wrongdoings.
Cynically, Cassie was sure that the department pursued other cases, involving poorer people’s children, with all the might of the laws at their disposal, while the rich removed themselves from the process with ease.
Packing felt like an acknowledgment of her defeat and Cassie found herself unable to continue. Shoving her suitcase out of the way, she slumped down onto the bed and lay staring at the ceiling, racking her brain for some other avenue that could provide a miracle for the children at the last possible minute.
Her fruitless thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door. The cook had brought her a dish of macaroni cheese.
“Thank you,” Cassie said.
The cook set it wordlessly on the desk and then turned back to the door without a smile or a greeting, or even meeting Cassie’s eyes. She understood now that staff in this house had learned to be deaf and blind in order to avoid trouble and keep their jobs.
She glanced at the plate, knowing that she’d end up throwing the food away, because the morning’s debacle had robbed her of her appetite.
Just before the cook closed the door, Cassie heard the buzz of the gate intercom. She guessed this must be Nonna arriving.
It was a very long shot, but Cassie’s only remaining hope was that Nonna would have sympathy for the children’s predicament. At any rate, Cassie could try and explain to her what was happening. A kind grandmother might be the answer she was seeking, arriving at the eleventh hour.
Cassie put on her shoes and ran downstairs. The front door was open, and a white van was parked outside.
The driver was helping Nonna out of the passenger seat, holding a large umbrella to shield her from the rain, while two maids unpacked her luggage from the back of the van.
Cassie’s first impression was that Nonna was far frailer than she’d expected. She looked shrunken, sickly, and confused. She leaned on the driver while she shuffled across the paving.
“Dove andiamo?” she asked querulously.
Although Cassie hadn’t heard the phrase spoken before, she had practiced the correct pronunciation from her phrase book as best she could. This meant “Where are we going?”
She frowned, confused, wondering why Nonna would be asking that. Perhaps, with her very basic grasp of the phrase, she had misunderstood the elderly woman’s words.
“We’re at my home, Mama.”
Swathed in a white fur coat, Ms. Rossi hurried out into the rain and took her mother’s other hand. Cassie stared, shocked, as she continued.
“Remember, I told you that you were coming to live here? I mentioned it when we visited you last time, and the time before, and when I called you yesterday.”
“I do not remember. Non ricordo,” Nonna insisted and Cassie gaped in horror.
Nonna wasn’t just frail because she was old, although Cassie guessed she must be in her seventies. She was frail because she was sick, and suffering from advanced dementia. In this condition she wouldn’t even be able to assist with the children’s homework or routine care, and she would certainly not be helpful in an emergency.
There was no way she could defend them from any abuse. In fact, watching as the elderly lady struggled up the high marble staircase, helped on both sides by her mother and the driver, Cassie realized that she could not even physically manage her own self.
Nonna should never have been brought here, supposedly to look after the children, when she was the one who needed the care.
Cassie turned away, feeling sickened by this revelation. No doubt, Ms. Rossi had planned it carefully. Cassie was beginning to suspect that the presence of an adult in the home must be a mandatory requirement for children, but having ticked that box, the businesswoman didn’t care if the adult was capable or
