guiltily. How could she tell him that his rejection
of her, so closely mirroring John’s lack of sexual interest
in her, had not only heightened her own insecurities
but had also led to her wondering if, like
John, Lorenzo was actually finding sexual satisfaction
with someone else?
'You can’t deny that you and she have been lovers,'
she told him stubbornly.
'Have been, yes,' he agreed tersely. 'But that was
nearly twenty years ago, when I was a boy.'
'She says you still want her.'
'She may choose to think that, but it is most certainly
not true,' Lorenzo told her firmly. His fingers
were still clamped round her wrist, and suddenly he
cursed beneath his breath, saying grimly, 'You want
to know where I go? Very well, then — come with
me.'
He was walking so fast along the narrow, tunnellike
corridor in front of them that Jodie almost had to
run to keep up with him. She could smell damp, and
see it too on the vaulted curve of the ancient stone
walls. She gave a small shiver, and then a shocked
gasp as they reached a heavy oak door and Lorenzo
told her emotionlessly, 'The corridor beyond here was
once know as the via eternal, because it led to the
Castillo’s dungeons and torture chambers.'
'The torture chambers?' Jodie could hear the horrified
revulsion in her own voice.
Lorenzo gave a dismissive shrug as he unlocked
and then opened the heavy oak door. 'They were considered
a necessary part of warfare.'
'In medieval times, perhaps,' Jodie acknowledged.
'But—'
'No, not merely in medieval times,' Lorenzo interrupted,
his voice and his expression both so savagely
forbidding that she shivered.
Beyond the door lay a large cavernous room with
a low, vaulted ceiling. Wine racks leaned emptily
against one wall, whilst moisture dripped onto the
floor from the ceiling.
'It’s all right,' Lorenzo told her following her anxious
upward glance. 'The ceiling is quite safe, and the
coldness of the air, although unpleasant, does have
certain merits.'
'More torture for the prisoners?' Jodie suggested
sharply.
'My grandmother’s first husband was imprisoned
down here for a time.'
The unexpectedness of Lorenzo’s low-voiced comment
sent a shock through her.
'He was against Mussolini and made the mistake
of saying so; for that he was imprisoned and tortured
in his own home. My grandmother never really got
over it. Oh, she remarried after his death, but her heart
wasn’t really in it. She often told me herself that,
given a free choice, she would have preferred to retire
to the contemplative life of a convent — but she had
promised him that she would provide his house with
an heir. Her marriage to my own grandfather was arranged
by her first husband as he lay dying from the
damage inflicted on his body by his torturers. They
stole many works of art from the Castillo — and emptied
the wine racks,' he added grimly, nodding in the
direction of the empty racks. 'But there was one treasure
they were not able to take.'
Jodie looked round the bleak, cold underground
room in bewilderment.
'Down here?'
Lorenzo shook his head. 'No. Come with me.'
He led her over to a small door that opened onto
another set of stairs. 'These lead up to the main salon
of what used to be the state apartments.'
'Caterina’s rooms?' Jodie questioned him uncertainly.
'She sleeps in what was my grandmother’s room,
which forms part of the state apartments, yes — which
is why I use these stairs to reach the salon instead of
the main corridor stairs.'
They had reached the top of the stairs and another
door.
'Through here, in the main salon, concealed by the
fabric which my grandmother’s first husband had specially
applied to the walls, is a series of wall paintings
by a pupil of Leonardo. Although, according to my
grandmother, family legend insists that the Master
himself had a hand in their execution.'
As he spoke he was ushering her into a large elegant
room, its walls hung with green silk fabric. The
room was shabby and slightly neglected, with dust
motes hanging in the air along with the faint smell of
roses.
'The Duce was afraid that Mussolini’s men would
lay claim to the Castillo because of the paintings, and
so he had them covered up. It was his dream that one
day they would be fully restored. Our family is a large
one, and there are some members of it who feel that
the Castillo should be sold and the proceeds shared.
My grandmother wanted to leave the Castillo to me
because she knew I would fulfil on her behalf the
promise she made to her dying first husband.'
