A Shadow of Guilt(19)

Gio obliged and took the road to the hospital and when he got out of the jeep and met her at the front she stopped and said, ‘What are you doing? I can get a taxi home from here.’

‘I’d like to pay my respects to your mother if I may, and your father if he doesn’t mind.’

Valentina couldn’t speak. Guilt flooded her and she avoided Gio’s eyes. Under his questioning look she blurted out, ‘The truth is that my parents don’t know about … my job. That I lost it, or that I’m working for you.’

Gio folded his arms; his belly felt leaden. ‘And you think they’d be upset if they knew?’

She looked up at him. ‘Well, what do you think?’

A bleak feeling rushed through Gio. How could he have forgotten for a moment the intense and awful grief of that day by the graveside. He ran a hand through his hair and stepped back. ‘You’re probably right … it’s not a good idea.’

‘What’s not a good idea? Gio, I’m glad you came—Emilio has been asking for you.’

They both turned at the same time to see Valentina’s mother on the steps of the hospital where she’d clearly been getting air and had heard their last exchange. With no choice now, Gio followed a stony-faced Valentina and her mother into the hospital, his stomach churning at the thought of what lay ahead.





CHAPTER FOUR



‘WHAT DID YOU say to my father?’ Valentina hissed at Gio as they walked back out of the hospital an hour later.

Gio was still in shock himself at how Emilio had reacted to seeing him. Alone in the hospital room with the old man, Gio had steeled himself for whatever Mario’s father was going to say, expecting a diatribe or a level of hostility matched by his daughter. But the man had completely taken the wind out of his sails by saying a little stiffly, ‘First of all, thank you. I believe the reason I’m still alive is because of you.’

Gio had muttered something unintelligible, embarrassed.

And then Signor Ferranti had held out his hand. ‘Come here, boy … let me look at you.’

Gio had walked over and given his hand to Emilio, who had taken it in a surprisingly strong grip. His voice was rougher, emotional. ‘When we lost Mario … we lost you too.’

Gio’s mouth had opened and closed. His own emotion rising thick and fast. Eventually he’d got out, ‘But … don’t you blame me? Hate me for what happened?’

Emilio had let his hand go and pointed to a chair for Gio to sit down and he’d done so, heavily. Stunned.

‘I did,’ the old man admitted, ‘for a long time. It was easier to blame you than to believe that it could have just been a tragic accident. But ultimately, that’s what it was. I know well how reckless Mario was, you were as bad as each other.’

‘If I hadn’t had that cursed horse though—’

Signor Ferranti put up a hand, stopping Gio. He arched a brow. ‘Do you really think you could have stopped Mario when he wanted to do something?’

Gio’s chest was so tight he could hardly breathe. He half shrugged.

Mario’s father said gently now, ‘Mario followed you around like a puppy, wanted to do everything you did….’

A granite weight settled in Gio’s belly, the all-too-familiar guilt rearing up when he thought of the countless reckless activities he’d encouraged Mario to join him in over the years. Anything to alleviate his own sense of yawning loneliness. ‘I know,’ he’d just answered quietly.

As if sensing his self-flagellation though, Valentina’s father had said gently, ‘Gio, he worshipped the ground you walked on … just as I know you did him.’

Gio looked at Signor Ferranti in surprise. There was no condemnation in his voice, only weary acceptance.

‘For Valentina though … it was very hard for her to come to terms with. She was so angry … is still angry, I think.’

‘Gio!’

Gio looked down at Valentina blankly for a second. He was still in the room with her father. They were outside the hospital doors now and her arms were folded and she was glaring up at him. There were smudges of weariness under her eyes and that made Gio’s resolve firm even more.

Now she’d got his attention she continued. ‘So are you going to tell me how on earth you had the nerve to propose moving my father to a private specialist clinic in Syracuse, let alone taking him to a hospital on the mainland for a major heart operation?’