CHAPTER EIGHT

Needing a weapon, Cassie grabbed the first item that her panicked eyes could see—a bronze statuette on a side table near the stairs.

Then she ran toward him. She was going to have the advantage of surprise, since he wouldn’t be able to turn in time. She’d bring the statuette down first on his head, and then on his right hand to disarm him.

Cassie leaped forward. He was turning—this was her chance. She raised her makeshift weapon.

Then, as he turned to face her, she skidded to a halt. Her cry of surprise was drowned out by his outraged shout.

The short, slender man was holding a large takeaway mug of coffee in his hand.

“What the hell?” he shouted.

Cassie lowered the statue and stared at him incredulously.

“Were you trying to attack me?” the man blustered. “Are you out of your mind? You nearly made me drop this.”

He looked down at the coffee, which had splashed up through the vent in the lid and onto his hand. A few drops had spilled onto the floor. He reached into his pocket for a Kleenex and bent to mop it up.

Cassie guessed he was in his early thirties. He looked immaculately groomed. His brown hair was fade-cut to perfection and he wore a short, well-trimmed beard. She picked up a hint of an Australian accent in his voice.

Straightening up, he glared at her.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Cassie Vale, the au pair. Who are you?”

His eyebrows rose.

“As of when? You weren’t here yesterday.”

“I was hired yesterday afternoon.”

“Signora hired you?”

He emphasized the last word and stared at her for a few seconds, during which Cassie felt herself grow increasingly uncomfortable. She nodded wordlessly.

“I see. Well, my name is Maurice Smithers, and I’m Ms. Rossi’s personal assistant.”

Cassie gaped at him. He didn’t fit her picture of what a personal assistant was like.

“Why did you sneak into the house?”

Maurice sighed.

“The front door lock is difficult to open in cold weather. It makes an unholy noise and I don’t like to disturb the household when I arrive early. So I use the back, as it’s quieter.”

“And the coffee?”

Cassie stared at the mug, still feeling blindsided by the strangeness of his appearance and his purported role.

“It’s from an artisanal brewery down the road. It’s Signora’s favorite. I bring her a mug when we have our morning meetings.”

“So early?”

Although her tone was accusing, Cassie was feeling embarrassed. She’d believed she was being heroic, acting in the best interests of Ms. Rossi and her children. Now she was discovering she’d made a serious mistake, and had gotten off on the wrong foot with Maurice. As her personal assistant, he was obviously an influential figure in her life.

Her visions of a future internship were suddenly looking less certain. Cassie couldn’t bear to think that her dream might already have been compromised thanks to her own foolhardy actions.

“We have a very busy day today. Ms. Rossi prefers to start early. Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to give this to her before it gets cold.”

He tapped respectfully on the door and a moment later, it was opened.

“Buongiorno, Signora. How are you this morning?”

Ms. Rossi was dressed and perfectly made up. She had a different pair of boots on today; these were cerise, with big silver buckles.

“Molto bene, grazie, Maurice.” She took the coffee from him.

The Italian pleasantries seemed to be a formality before the conversation switched to English, Cassie realized, as Maurice continued.

“It’s chilly outside. Shall I go and turn the heating up in your office?”

Up until now, Cassie hadn’t known that Maurice could smile, but now his face was stretched in an obsequious grin and he was practically fizzing over with the desire to please.

“We won’t be there too long. I am sure the heating will be adequate. Bring my coat, will you?”

“Of course.”

Maurice took the fur-collared coat from the wooden stand near the bedroom door. Following close behind her, he began talking animatedly.

“Wait until you hear what we have in the pipeline for Fashion Week. We had an excellent meeting yesterday with the French team. I’ve recorded the whole thing, of course, but I also have the minutes and a summary prepared.”

Cassie realized that Ms. Rossi hadn’t said a word to her. She must have seen her standing there, but her attention had been completely focused on Maurice. Now the two of them were heading toward the office where Cassie had been interviewed the day before.

She didn’t think Ms. Rossi was deliberately ignoring her—at least, she hoped she wasn’t. It was more as if she was completely distracted by work, with her full attention on the business day ahead.

“I have the sales reports for the past week, and there was a reply from the Indonesian suppliers.”

“I hope it is good news,” Ms. Rossi said.

“I think so. They’re requesting more information but it seems positive.”

Maurice was practically fawning over Ms. Rossi and Cassie had no idea whether he was ignoring her unintentionally or doing it deliberately, perhaps to show how much more important he was in her life than Cassie was.

She followed them to the office, trailing a few steps behind, waiting for the moment when there would be a gap in the conversation, so she could ask about the children’s schedules.

It soon became clear there was going to be no gap. With their heads bent over Maurice’s laptop, neither of them was giving her as much as a glance. Cassie became certain that Maurice was ignoring her on purpose. After all, he knew she was there.

She thought about interrupting them but felt nervous to do so. Their attention was so focused, and Cassie didn’t want to make Ms. Rossi angry, especially since the conversation she’d overheard yesterday proved that the businesswoman had a short fuse.

She’d been on top of the world after being hired, commended and praised by this influential woman. This morning, it was as if she didn’t exist to Ms. Rossi.

Turning away, Cassie felt discouraged and unsure. She tried to push the negative thoughts away, and firmly reminded herself that her role was to look after the children and not to monopolize Ms. Rossi’s attention when she was so busy. Hopefully Nina and Venetia would know what their schedule was.

When Cassie went to the girls’ rooms, she found them empty. Both beds had been immaculately made, and their rooms were tidy. Guessing that they must have gone to have breakfast, Cassie headed to the kitchen and was relieved to find them there.

“Good morning, Nina and Venetia,” she said.

“Good morning,” they replied politely.

Nina was sitting on a chair while, behind her, Venetia wrapped a hair tie around her ponytail. Cassie guessed that Nina had just done the same for her sister because Venetia’s hair was already neatly tied.

Both girls were dressed in pink and white school smocks. They had made toast and orange juice, which was set out on the counter.

Cassie was struck by how they seemed to behave as a unit. From what she’d seen so far, they had a harmonious relationship; there was no sign of squabbling or even teasing. She guessed being so close in age meant that they were more like twins than older and younger sisters.

“You two are so well organized,” Cassie said admiringly. “You’re really clever at looking after yourselves. Can I get you anything to put on the toast? What do you usually have? Jam, cheese, peanut butter?”

Cassie wasn’t sure what was in the house, but guessed these staples must be available.

“I like plain toast with butter,” Nina said.

Cassie assumed that Venetia would agree with her sister. But the younger girl looked at her with interest, as if considering her suggestions. Then she said, “Jam, please.”

“Jam? No problem.”

Cassie opened cupboards until she found the one with the spreads. They were on a high shelf—too high for the children to reach.

“There’s strawberry jam and fig jam. Which do you want? Or else there’s Nutella.”

“Strawberry, please,” Venetia said politely.

“We are not allowed the Nutella,” Nina explained. “It is only for special occasions.”

Cassie nodded. “That makes sense, since it’s so delicious.”

She passed the jam to Venetia and sat down.

“What are you girls doing this morning? You look all ready for school. Must I take you there? What time does it start and do you know where to go?”

Nina finished her mouthful of toast.

“School starts at eight, and today we finish at two-thirty as we have a singing lesson. But we have a driver, Giuseppe, who takes and fetches us.”

“Oh.”

Cassie couldn’t hide her surprise. This setup was far more organized than she had expected. She felt as if her role was redundant and she worried that Ms. Rossi would realize she could do without her, and might not require her for the full three-month assignment. She needed to make herself useful. Hopefully when the children came back from school they would have homework that she could help them with.

Mulling over her strategy, Cassie got up to make herself some coffee.

When she turned around, she saw that the girls had finished their breakfast.

Nina was stacking the plates and glasses into the dishwasher, and Venetia had pulled one of the kitchen stools over to the cupboard. As Cassie watched, she climbed onto it, and reached as high as she could to put the jam back where it had come from.

“Don’t worry. I’ll do that.”

Venetia looked wobbly on the stool and Cassie hurried over, foreseeing that this could end in disaster.

“I will do it.”

Venetia clung to the jam jar tightly, refusing to let Cassie take it from her.

“It’s no problem, Venetia. I’m taller.”

“I need to do this.” The younger girl sounded intense. More than that, she seemed desperate to do it herself.

On her tippy toes, with Cassie anxiously hovering behind her ready to grab her if the chair fell over, Venetia replaced the jam, pushing it carefully back into the exact spot where it had been before.

“Well done,” Cassie praised her.

She guessed this fierce independence must be part of the girl’s character and upbringing. It seemed unusual, but then she’d never worked for a high-caliber family like this before.

She stood and watched while Venetia maneuvered the stool back into its precise position. By then, Nina had put the butter back in the fridge and the bread in the bin. The kitchen looked immaculate, as if breakfast had never been eaten there at all.

“Giuseppe will be here soon,” Nina reminded her sister. “We must clean our teeth.”

They left the kitchen and headed upstairs to their rooms, with Cassie watching in amazement. Five minutes later they returned, carrying their school bags and coats, and headed outside.

Cassie followed them out, with thoughts of security still uppermost in her mind, but a white Mercedes was already driving toward the house. A few moments later, it stopped in the circular driveway, and the girls climbed in.

“Goodbye,” Cassie called, waving, but they couldn’t have heard her, because neither child did so much as wave in response.

When Cassie went back inside, she found that Ms. Rossi and Maurice had also left. No other household staff seemed to be on duty at that time.

Cassie was entirely alone.

“This is not what I expected,” she said to herself.

The house was very quiet and being here alone felt unsettling. She’d assumed that she’d have far more to do, and much more involvement with the children. This whole setup felt weird, as if they genuinely didn’t need her at all.

She reassured herself that it was early days, and she should be thankful for some time on her own. Probably this was the calm before the storm, and when the children got back home she’d be run off her feet.

Cassie decided she would use the time to follow up on the lead she had received yesterday. The unexpected free morning she was enjoying now might be her only chance to find out where Jacqui was.

She didn’t have much. The name of a town was not a lot.

But it was all she had and she was determined that it would be enough.

*

Using the household’s Wi-Fi, Cassie spent an hour getting to know the town where Jacqui lived—or at any rate, where she’d told Tim the barman that she’d been living, a few weeks ago.

In her favor was the fact that Bellagio was a small town, not an enormous place. A small town meant fewer hostels and hotels, and there was also a better chance of people knowing each other’s business, and that a beautiful American woman might be remembered.

Another advantage was that it was a tourist destination—a scenic place bordering Lake Como that offered dramatic views, as well as numerous shops and restaurants.

As she researched, she imagined what it must be like to live in that town. Quiet, scenic, bustling with tourists in the peak of summer. She imagined Jacqui staying in one of the small hotels or rental apartments—probably a small place, overlooking a cobbled street, accessible from a steep stone staircase, with a window box filled with colorful flowers.

It took two hours before Cassie had properly familiarized herself with the place, and made a comprehensive list of the lodges and backpacker hostels, the numerous Airbnbs, and the rental agencies that let out apartments. She knew there were probably a few places she’d missed, but she hoped that the odds would be in her favor.

Then it was time to start calling.

Her mouth felt dry. Compiling the list had built up her hopes. Every name and number represented a new chance. Now she knew her hopes would be broken down again, as the list of places where Jacqui might be staying grew smaller and smaller.

Cassie dialed the first number, a guesthouse in the town center.

“Hello,” she said. “I am looking for a lady by the name of Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister; I lost my phone, and I can’t remember where she said she was staying. I’m in Italy now and want to meet up with her.”

Although this wasn’t the truth, Cassie had decided it was a plausible reason for her phone calls. She didn’t want to embark on a long, complicated story as she feared that the guesthouse owners might grow impatient, or even suspicious.

“She might have booked in under Jacqueline. It would have been within the past two months.”

“Jacqueline?” There was a short silence and Cassie felt her heart accelerate.

Then her hopes crash-landed as the woman said, “Nobody by that name has stayed here.”

Cassie discovered this was a long, frustrating, and time-consuming task. Some of the guesthouses refused to help at all due to privacy concerns. Others were busy so she had to make a time to call them again.

She worked her way down the list of options until she’d almost reached the end. Only three numbers were left, and after that she would have to admit defeat.

She dialed the third-last number, feeling frustrated, as if Jacqui’s elusive presence was taunting her.

“Posso aiutarti?” the man on the other side of the line asked.

Cassie had learned this phrase meant “Can I help?” but the man didn’t sound helpful. He sounded impatient and stressed, as if he’d had a bad day. Cassie guessed he would be one of those who would tell her that he couldn’t disclose any details for confidentiality reasons. He’d say it just to get her off the line, because he had guests waiting, or was heading out himself.

“I’m looking for a Jacqui Vale. She’s my sister. I planned to meet up with her while I was in Italy, but my phone was stolen yesterday and I can’t remember where she was staying.”

Cassie had upped the drama level of her story, hoping for more sympathy.

“I’m phoning around to try and trace her.”

She heard the man tapping a keyboard.

Then Cassie nearly fell off the chair as he said, “Yes, we did have a Jacqui Vale staying with us. She was here for about two weeks and then she moved out, into a shared apartment, I think, because she was working nearby.”

Cassie’s heart leaped. This man knew her—had seen her, spoken to her. This was a huge breakthrough in her search.

“I remember now, she had part-time work at the boutique around the corner, Mirabella’s. Would you like Mirabella’s number?”

“This is amazing, I can’t believe I’m going to be able to find her,” Cassie gushed. “Thank you so much. Please give me the number.”

He looked it up for her, and she wrote it down. She felt giddy with excitement. Her search had resulted in success. She’d found the place her sister had recently worked. There was every chance that she might still be there.

With trembling hands and feeling short of breath, she dialed the number he’d given her.

It was answered by an older Italian woman, and Cassie felt a pang of disappointment that Jacqui herself hadn’t picked up, because that was what she’d been imagining would happen.

“What can I do for you?” the woman asked in strongly accented English, as soon as she’d established that Cassie was not Italian.

“Am I speaking to Mirabella?”

“You are.”

“Mirabella, my name’s Cassie Vale. I’m trying to contact my sister, Jacqui. I lost touch with her a while ago, but I found out that she has been working for you. Is she still there, by any chance? If not, could you pass on her number to me?”

There was a pause.

Cassie imagined Mirabella beckoning Jacqui over to the phone and she was disappointed when the woman herself spoke again.

She sounded brief, regretful, and businesslike.

“I am sorry, but Jacqui Vale is dead.”

There was a click, as she disconnected the call.