as possible. Will and I are both prepared to leave immediately. You just have to say the word.’
‘We depart on Saturday, Ned. All the arrangements are being made by the Thomas Cook agency, as I mentioned earlier. I merely have to confirm the hotel to them later today.’
‘The Ritz is fine, as I told you.’
Neville nodded and picked up a menu. ‘I’ve hardly eaten for days, and I know it’s been the same for you. However, I do think we should order a decent meal, if only to keep our strength up.’
‘You’re right. The problem is I haven’t been at all hungry. Lost my appetite.’
Following suit and opening the menu, Edward studied it for a moment, then put it down, and remarked, ‘You know, the pious Henry Grant might be purging his soul and revelling in his religion, but his wife is here in London. Condolence letters could easily have been sent to us and our families, don’t you think?’
‘Look to the source, Edward. That she-wolf doesn’t know any better. Now, let’s order something to eat and relax. This afternoon we must go over our plans. We have to find a way to get to the bottom of this situation. We really do have to know whether there was foul play or not, and then act accordingly.’
‘I’m hoping the two managers in Italy will have more information for us, especially Alfredo Oliveri, since he lives in Carrara. My father always liked him, and often spoke about him. And with some affection, I might add.’
‘Then he’s our man, and no doubt he’ll have the police report. Or at least access to it. That will be a start.’
‘I thought Aubrey Masters was most cavalier in his attitude, and it infuriated me,’ Edward confided.
‘I know it did. I can read your eyes, even when you keep a poker face, Ned. Anyway, I do feel there is a way to get the better of the Lancashire Deravenels,’ Neville said, and went on, ‘I predict I will have you sitting in Henry Grant’s chair in less than six months.’
Edward was silent for a moment, and then he protested. ‘I’m so young, Neville. Let’s not forget I am not yet nineteen.’
‘Let’s not forget that William Pitt the Younger was only twenty-four when he became Prime Minister of England.’
‘But—’
‘No buts, Ned. You will run Deravenels.’
‘But only if you are by my side,’ Edward exclaimed.
‘And I will be, have no fear of that, Cousin,’ Neville Watkins promised.
They had come here to take the bodies back home to England. But they were also in Florence to find out what had happened to their kin in death. And suddenly, now that they were finally here in Italy, the one thing that Edward dreaded the most was actually viewing the bodies.
He was only too well aware that to gaze upon the waxen, lifeless faces of his father, brother, uncle and cousin would have a devastating effect on him. Conversely, he did need to see them, in order to be truly convinced they were really dead. In his mind he could not quite accept that this catastrophe had happened.
Edward Deravenel was standing in the window of his hotel room, staring out at the River Arno and the hills of Florence beyond. There was no sun on this cold January morning, and the sky was bloated, bulbous with grey clouds. A mist floated over the surface of the river, obscuring the dark waters, a mist that reminded him of London’s winter fogs.
He had arrived here last night from Paris, accompanied by Neville and Will, and they had checked into the Hotel Bristol. This was a well-known hotel, built in the second half of the nineteenth century, much frequented by the English aristocracy, and it had come highly recommended.
Like most of the grand hotels here, it was located on the banks of the Arno, and their rooms faced the river and the scattered hills which stood on the outskirts of the city. He and Will occupied rooms next to each other, while Neville was in a large suite just a few doors down the corridor.
Turning away from the window, Edward strode over to the mirror and began to tie his cravat made of a fine black silk. Once this was arranged to his satisfaction, he added a beautiful pearl pin in the centre of the carefully draped and folded knot. The pearl tiepin was a gift from his father, given to him last year for his eighteenth birthday, and he treasured it more than ever now.
Walking over to the wardrobe, he took out his waistcoat and slipped it on, returned to the cheval mirror, stared at himself, thinking how pale he looked, even haggard. With a small sigh he headed back to the wardrobe to retrieve his jacket.
And it seemed to Edward, as he walked back and forth, that the awful sense of dread he had just experienced trailed along with him, surrounding him like a thin veil, as if it were the mist off the river. He shivered involuntarily, paused next to a chair, rested his hand on it. He closed his eyes and his gaze turned inward.
I must be absolutely in control of myself today, and I must reveal nothing. My face must be unreadable at all times. I share Neville’s opinion that there has been foul play, that the fire was no accident. How we will find out the truth I do not know, but we must try. Will is of the same mind. I’m glad he came along. He gets on well with Neville, and we have both enjoyed his company.
Somehow I must get through the ordeal of viewing the bodies later this morning. And then we will go to Carrara, no matter what. I am set on that course. I must see the hotel where they met their untimely end. That is imperative. Then, hopefully, this Italian nightmare will come to an end. Later this week we will take their bodies home, to Yorkshire, where we will bury them in that benign earth, and they will rest in peace…
Insistent knocking on the door interrupted Edward’s thoughts, and he strode to open it. Will Hasling was standing there, appropriately dressed in a black suit and carrying a black overcoat on his arm.
‘I’m not too early, am I?’ Will asked, a brow lifting.
Edward shook his head. ‘Come in, Will.’ He opened the door wider and moved into the room, his friend following closely behind.
‘Have you had breakfast?’ Edward asked as he took his overcoat out of the wardrobe.
‘Yes, thanks, and so have you, I see,’ Will responded, glancing over at the tray which stood on a small side table. He frowned. ‘Coffee and a roll. Is that all you’ve eaten?’
‘I’m not very hungry.’ Edward glanced at the clock on the wall, and continued, ‘It’s only ten past nine, we’re early, I think. Fabrizio Dellarosa is not due here until ten-thirty.’
‘I know, but I was certain you would be up, and I thought we could go for a walk, take a breath of fresh air before his arrival. By the way, is Alfredo Oliveri also joining us?’
‘Dellarosa didn’t
