The Widow by Anne Stuart Read Free Book Online

Pompasse had moved on to another teenager, Charlie thought. No wonder Gia was so bitter. It was hard to be considered too old at her young age.
    â€œI’ll go find Lauretta,” Charlie said.
    â€œFine,” Gia said with a toss of her head. “We’ll make a pact—you keep out of my way and I’ll keep out of yours.” And she stalked from the deserted studio, impressive and indignant.
    Charlie suppressed an irritated sigh. So this was Pompasse’s ultimate revenge. She may have escaped, but he’d left her his damaged castoffs. It was going to be a horrendous few weeks getting things settled.
    She moved toward the door, and the soft light washed over her. She could smell the pine resin and the wild rosemary, the tang of the lemon trees. No, horrendous was not the right word. A week or so at La Colombala was worth dealing with Gia and the insurance adjuster and dotty old Madame Antonella. She would take her joy from the place, do her duty, and then turn her back on it once more, closing that chapter in her life for good. Gia’s hostility would only make things easier.
    She glanced over at the vineyard. There was no sign of Maguire’s rumpled figure, and she breathed a small sigh of relief. He made her nervous, though for the life of her she couldn’t figure out why.
    Once Henry was there she’d feel safer. Why she would think a man like Maguire would be any kind of threat was something she didn’t want to consider.
    At least Lauretta and Tomaso were happy to see her. The plump, middle-aged housekeeper greeted her like the prodigal son, with tears and cries of joy and so many hugs and kisses that Charlie felt winded, while her husband Tomaso beamed with pleasure. She dutifully plowed through half the wonderful food Lauretta placed in front of her, drank the strong, bitter coffee and laughed about the past. There was no mention of the present—the shadow of Pompasse loomed over all of them, and it was too soon to speak of it.
    â€œI was going to put you in the master’s room,” Lauretta said apologetically, leading the way up the narrow stone stairs. “No one’s used it in a long time, and of course I kept it clean, but I decided you’d be happier in your old room.” She pushed the door open. “It seemed best.”
    Charlie froze, not making any effort to enter the room. “It’s still the same,” she said in a hollow voice. Except for her suitcase which Tomaso had already carried up for her.
    â€œThe master would never let anyone else use it. That Gia wanted to move in, but he wouldn’t let her. Everything is just as you left it, though of course it’s been dusted every other day. All your clothes are still in the closet, all your jewelry is in the jewelry box. Your makeup and perfume were too old, so Pompasse had me buy new ones every year, to keep them fresh. He also had me keep fresh flowers in here. Wildflowers in the summer, as you liked them. Yellow hothouse roses in the winter. He said he wanted it to be welcoming when you came back home.”
    Charlie stared at her in bewilderment. “I had left him, Lauretta. I’d filed for divorce. Surely he knew I wasn’t coming back?”
    â€œHe always hoped,” Lauretta said calmly. There was no censure in her voice, no judgment. She had spent her life serving Pompasse, could imagine no reason not to, but she’d served Charlie in her own right, as well. She had lent Charlie her own money to make her escape that night seven years ago.
    Charlie walked into her old room, trying to shake off the peculiar sense of foreboding. It was like stepping back into her past, back into the old emotions. Fear, anger, resentment, all the feelings she’d pushed away from her were back in force, overlaid by guilt at the sight of the wildflowers blooming cheerfully in the terra-cotta vase.
    She moved to the window, looking out over the view she had loved so much. The