He held out his hand and pulled his friend up beside him. They both stood up, looking down over the edge.
‘Don’t worry,’ Giuseppe commiserated, ‘you’re not the first.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Look,’ Giuseppe pointed. ‘There’s a shoe.’
‘Huh?’ Dario peered closer. Giuseppe was right. Amongst the scree and small pieces of rubble, a lone shoe was sitting on the edge of the ledge. It wasn’t a hiking boot or a trainer; it looked like a good leather brogue – the kind someone might wear with a suit, or their Sunday best. ‘How did someone lose a shoe like that down here?’ Dario wondered, staring upwards.
Giuseppe shrugged. ‘Who knows? Maybe it fell out of the sky,’ he joked, looking up at a lone aeroplane passing overhead, thirty thousand feet above them. It was at that point that they both turned around to look at what was behind them.
The ledge was wider than they had expected, and they realized immediately that they weren’t alone.
‘Madre di Dio!’ Dario gasped.
‘Che cavalo? Is that what I think it is?’ Giuseppe said in a strangled voice.
‘It’s a body all right!’ It was undoubtedly a skeleton, lying on the narrow rocky ledge. It was partially concealed beneath mud and rotting leaves, and there were still clothes visible on its skeletal bones, the other shoe still in place on the left foot which was twisted at a horrible angle. A pair of empty eyeball sockets in a smashed skull stared out at them.
‘Mamma mia,’ Dario whispered. Trapped on the ledge with the grim discovery they’d made, it was obvious without needing to say it to each other that freaking out wasn’t an option. But both of them were desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the macabre bones.
‘What do we do now?’ Giuseppe asked, clearly in shock.
Dario’s face was grim. ‘Get the hell out of here as fast as we can without killing ourselves, and then we call the police.’
Lucia de Santis was admiring her reflection. She looked striking and sexy in black leather trousers paired with knee-high stiletto boots, and a closely fitting cream sweater that showed off her enviable curves. Her platinum-blonde waves were pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and she wore her trademark red lipstick. Now she was ready to face the day, anticipation tingling through her body. She was in Venice, and anything could happen. She just had to decide where to go and what to do for maximum enjoyment.
Her morning had been rather interesting already. Massimo had brought her the newspapers, and her feline eyes had landed on a small, rather unremarkable article headlined: BODY FOUND BY HIKERS IN CANNEGIA BELIEVED TO BE MISSING MAN.
The following paragraphs went on to outline how a body had been found in the mountains outside Cannegia, a small village whose only claim to fame was that it was the birthplace of legendary opera star Lucia de Santis …
Lucia thoughtfully crossed to the window, looking out at La Serenissima. The sun had chased away the morning fog and the sky was blue and cloudless, the lagoon sparkling in the sunlight. Gondoliers plied their trade along the Grand Canal, wearing the traditional striped jerseys and straw hats, as vaporetti sped past, the city teeming with energy. She’d certainly come a long way from Cannegia, she reflected, though right now it seemed as though secrets from her past were about to make a reappearance …
She should call her butler, Lucia decided, turning away from the window, trying to snap out of these gloomy thoughts. Or perhaps she should contact the head concierge, and see what she could suggest to entertain a bored diva.
Ordinarily, Lucia would ask her assistant to arrange something, but she was currently – once again – senza assistant. She’d fired the last one, shortly after throwing a spike-heeled Manolo Blahnik at her head. Lucia had had to pay rather a lot of money to keep that story out of the papers – not to mention the fact that she’d ruined a fabulous shoe. The assistant hadn’t been worth losing that Manolo on.
Lucia had gone through four assistants in the last six months. Why were they all so incompetente? Lucia wondered with a sigh. How hard could it be to book a few flights and bring her coffee when required? Her agent was trying to recruit a new one as soon as possible but—
Something outside the window, in the manicured gardens below, caught Lucia’s attention. If she wasn’t mistaken, that was Brad Redford, the movie star! She squinted, pressing her nose up against the glass, hoping that no one could see her in this unflattering position. Hmm, it was hard to tell … The man was wearing a baseball cap and dark glasses, bundled up against the cold in a chunky leather jacket as he explored the grounds, but she was 99 per cent certain that it was Brad. Lucia had seen every one of his films, though she had no real interest in action movies; it was Brad Redford who was the real attraction.
He was walking back from the helipad with two men. One was tall and attractive. The other, a couple of steps behind, was slightly shorter and had long hair in a ponytail. The trio stopped, and Lucia watched them. They were pointing to the sky, gesturing with their hands, clearly having an animated discussion.
Lucia felt a rising sense of excitement, an idea forming in her mind. She remembered reading an article in the newspapers about Brad Redford filming a new High Voltage movie in the city. And it looked as though he was staying in the White Palace Hotel, likely just down the corridor from La Leonessa …
Lucia smiled, and double-checked her appearance in the mirror. Perfezione.
This could be the diversion she’d been looking for, and the perfect way to get Davide Bruno’s attention.
Out in the gardens, the air was cold but the view across the lagoon was stunning. Marco wasn’t looking at the scenery; he inspected the helipad with a critical eye, bending down to check the state of the concrete surface. Then he stood up and frowned, turning round to look at the hotel in the distance. With its white stucco exterior and detailed stonework, it had the appearance of an elaborate wedding cake.
Marco opened his mouth to speak when Brad’s phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket and looked at the number.
‘Sorry, guys, I need to take this,’ Brad apologized, striding off ahead through the extensive gardens.
‘That was convenient,’ Edoardo said snarkily, as he and Marco followed Brad along a flagstone walkway flanked by oleander bushes. Magnolia trees reached up to the azure sky, pink and white buds blossoming on every branch.
‘What was?’
‘Finding a babysitter like that.’
‘It was very nice of Issy to offer.’
‘Lucky for you. It doesn’t look very professional, does it, turning up to Brad Redford’s hotel suite with an eight-year-old autograph hunter in tow?’
‘She’s my daughter, Edoardo. What am I supposed to do – leave her at home by herself? Rosina is never ill, so she must be really unwell to call in sick.’
‘It’s not “bring your kid to work” day, is it? It doesn’t look great for us as a company. Don’t forget, it’s my name above the door, not yours.’
‘How could I forget that?’ Marco said, biting his tongue. He loved his job, but he didn’t always love his business partner.
‘I don’t know what the hell my father was doing, putting you in charge of the family company,’ Edoardo pressed, bitterness and anger written across his features.
Marco opened his mouth to retort, then closed it again, letting the remark pass. He knew that Edoardo was jealous and upset, his pride wounded, but that didn’t make it any easier for Marco to deal with his bitter comments.
The air was thick with tension as they drew closer to the hotel, passing through a secluded courtyard decorated with statutes of Roman gods and goddesses. Suddenly, Edoardo seemed to have a change of heart, snapping out of his bad mood as quickly as it had arrived.
‘Gina’s pretty hot, don’t you think?’ Edoardo said, with a sly grin on his face, his eyes drifting over a naked sculpture of Aphrodite.
