These Tangled Vines(26)

“Is this even real?” I said to myself as I crossed the sunlit square.

Beyond Contucci Palace, the cobblestone streets were narrow, steep, and winding. It was easy to lose my sense of direction, but I soon found my way to the little bank and ventured inside.

It wasn’t anything like the banks back home. The tellers stood behind an ornately carved walnut counter, and the floors were stone. I felt as if I’d stepped into another century.

“Hello,” I said to the first teller who looked up and smiled at me. “I’m Fiona Bell. I’m here about a safety-deposit box.”

The young woman perked up. “Ah, sì . You’re Anton Clark’s daughter. I’ll tell the manager you’re here.”

She disappeared into a back office, then reappeared with an older gentleman wearing a suit and tie. “Ms. Bell. What an honor. Thank you for coming at such a difficult time.” He laid a hand over his heart. “Your father entrusted me personally with the task of guarding the key to the box and handing it over to you.” He passed me a small envelope. “If you will follow me, I’ll take you to the vault.”

Other than the letters, I hadn’t considered what else might be inside the box. The fact that I’d received the phone call from the bank so quickly after my arrival in Italy made me wonder if Anton had predicted Connor’s and Sloane’s combative reactions and had taken the necessary steps to ensure that the letters didn’t fall into their hands. With such a tremendous amount of money at stake, he must have known they would make every effort to repeal his wishes. But who knew what else might be inside the box?

I followed the bank manager down a set of steep stone steps to a vault on the lower level. He removed the steel container from a locked cubbyhole and placed it on a table. “I will leave you alone,” he said, amiably. “When you’re finished, you can lock the box again and leave it here on the table. I will wait just outside.”

“Grazie ,” I replied.

He walked out and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, I stared at the box. It was rectangular, long, and flat. Not very large but certainly big enough to hold a stack of letters.

Burning with curiosity, I reached into the envelope for the key and unlocked the box. I raised the lid on squeaky hinges but found it to be empty.

I spoke in a low voice. “Anton. Maybe you’re getting back at me as well—for ignoring you all these years.”

Lifting the box to carry outside to the manager—to let him know that it was empty and to ask if anyone else had a key—I noticed that something went clank at the back. My heart did a flip, and I reached deep inside to feel around. Right away, my fingers touched upon a cold, hard object. I pulled it out.

It was another key—a wrought iron, medieval-looking work of art.

I shook the box to make sure there wasn’t anything else I had missed, but this was it.

“You couldn’t have included a note with this?” I whispered to the ghost of my late father and wondered what keyhole it belonged to.



A short while later, I returned to Piazza Grande and found Marco waiting for me in the shiny black Mercedes.

“How did it go?” he asked as I got into the passenger seat and shut the door.

“Fine,” I replied. “He left me this.” I pulled the key out of my purse and passed it to him. “Do you have any idea what it’s for? Maybe an old chest? A secret room?”

Marco held it in his hands and examined it closely. “This is a very old key, Fiona. Too big for a chest, I think. It does not look familiar, but I was just Anton’s driver.” He handed it back. “Maybe Maria will know. Or her husband. Or Connor or Sloane.”

I slipped the key back into my purse. “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not mention it to Connor or Sloane. We’re not exactly playing on the same team right now, if you get my drift.”

Marco started the engine. “I do. They’re not happy about the will. I won’t say a word.”

“Thank you, Marco. I appreciate that.”

He turned the car around, and we drove back down the hillside.





CHAPTER 9


LILLIAN


Tuscany, 1986

“The shed” was one of three stone buildings that each contained luxurious guest suites. Lillian and Freddie would occupy suite number two—a two-bedroom, two-level apartment with a kitchenette, two luxury bathrooms, and a sitting room. There was a small car park outside beneath an overhang, an olive orchard on a terrace below, and, from the kitchen window at the back, a magnificent view of the hilltop town of Montepulciano, high in the clouds. The suite also came with weekly maid service.

After the accident, Mr. Clark had dropped Lillian and Freddie off at the hospital, then handed Lillian a business card with a phone number for the winery’s shuttle service, which would pick them up whenever they were ready to leave the hospital.

Now, at last, after a long, exhausting day, they were finally settled into bed for the night.

Lillian lay on her back, gazing up at the ceiling fan. “I feel like we were given a second chance today, and we can’t take it for granted.”

“How do you mean?” Freddie asked.

She wondered how he could not recognize the magnitude of what they’d just experienced.

“I mean”—she propped herself up on an elbow—“we could have been killed this morning. Do you know how lucky we were that those trees were there? If not for them, we would have gone straight over the edge and down five hundred feet.”