Written in the Blood (29 page)

‘We won’t abandon you.’

‘You brought others?’

She nodded. ‘Outside.’

‘I’ll fetch them.’

Once he’d left, she turned back to the old woman in the chair.

Her eyes were open. They scanned the room blindly, wide with confusion. ‘
What
 . . .’ she croaked, voice rasping and dry. ‘
Where is this? Where’s it gone
?’

‘Hush, Angel. It’s over now. You did well.’

‘
Where . . . Is it coming back? I can’t see
.’

The woman with the seaweed eyes and sunlight hair moved towards her, holding out the knife.

C
HAPTER
29

Villa del Osservatore, Italy

T
ungsten clouds sailed the skies above Lake Como, darkening the water to an indigo hue. From her seat in the stern of the bow rider, Leah Wilde watched the lake’s western shore as it slipped by. On its slopes she saw groves of olives, figs and pomegranates; solitary cypresses clinging to limestone crags. As their boat motored through the water, carving a wide white wash, the shoreline revealed inlets sheltering hidden villas and peeling
palazzi
. To the east rose the
Triangolo Lariano
, a mountainous wedge of land dominated by the snow-covered peak of Monte San Primo, which split the lower half of the lake in two.

Beside Leah stood one of the
Belső
Ő
r
,
closest of the
Örökös Főnök
’s personal retinue of guards. The man held himself as still as the statues that decorated the terraces of the villa they sought, staring north-east across the water with eyes that constantly shifted their focus. He had spoken little since welcoming her aboard at Cernobbio. Whether that was because he disapproved of her presence here, or it was simply his nature, she did not know.

Behind them, piloting the vessel, a second member of the
Belső
Ő
r
, and in the bow, the five women Leah had brought along. Etienne and Soraya sat the furthest forward, eyes narrowed against the spray the boat kicked up as it knifed through the water. Behind them, on the second row of seats, sat the other
kirekesztett
volunteers she had recruited during her journey through Europe: from Budapest, Mária Wagner; from Milan, Alida Argento; from Paris, Delphine Binoche.

Clustered around a crag a few hundred metres above the western shore, she saw the collection of sixteenth-century chapels that formed the Sacro Monte di Ossucci. On the summit itself perched the even older sanctuary of the Madonna del Soccorso, its bell tower rising proud of the nearby trees.

It meant they were close. Leah heard their engine drop in pitch, and saw the bow dip down to meet the water. They motored towards a peninsula thrusting from the shore in a series of wooded humps.

On its rocky tip, dominating the scenery for miles around, stood the Villa del Osservatore. Breathtakingly beautiful, it comprised three individual buildings and a single watchtower, roofed in terracotta tile and connected by stone bridges and loggias. Its lush gardens and lawns encircled the peninsula in steadily descending terraces, and a wide stone-built staircase hugged the rock all the way down to the waterline, terminating at a landing stage edged with balustrades. Higher up the hillside she saw pergolas straining under the branches of ancient wisteria, and huge displays of azaleas and camellias. Ivy clung to the west-facing sides of the buildings and curled among its statues.

Built on the site of a former Benedictine monastery, the Villa del Osservatore had stood on the shores of Lake Como for nearly six hundred years. For half of those it had been owned by the
Örökös
F
ő
nök
, gifted by Clement XII in return for services rendered to the papacy. Although the villa was only one of a number of palatial European residences presented to the
hosszú életek
leader in times past, it was easily the most elegant.

Leah felt her stomach flutter when she saw it. Even now, the building raised a conflicting set of emotions in her: memories of pain and loss, but also of healing and discovery.

It was here she had come with her mother, immediately after the fire at Le Moulin Bellerose. Here, in its meditative gardens and graceful rooms, she had learned to live with her grief over her father’s death. Here, too, her mother had begun the slow process of healing – not just from the physical injuries she had suffered during her encounter with Jakab, but from the psychological trauma the episode had inflicted.

Behind her, the
Bels
ő
Ő
r
skipper cut his engine and the boat arced towards the landing stage. Leah noticed Etienne and Soraya surveying Villa del Osservatore’s landscaped terraces, and smiled.

In truth there had been no need to arrive via the lakeside entrance, but the
F
ő
nök
had suggested it days earlier, and Leah understood why.

Although the
hosszú életek
leader acted unilaterally, without the consent, or even the knowledge, of her
tanács
, Catharina had realised this visit might just be perceived as a homecoming of sorts for the
kirekesztett
women inside the boat. Fitting, she had reasoned, that there should be an element of majesty to their arrival. The villa’s lakeside vista arrested the senses in a way that could not be experienced as readily from the shore. The
F
ő
nök
had desired to welcome these five women with a spectacle of beauty and serenity.

The craft bumped against the landing stage and its two crewmen jumped out, lashing it to the dock. Together they helped their passengers alight, remaining beside the boat as Leah led her party up the flight of steps. Above them, a gated entrance opened onto a manicured lawn shaded by cypress trees. On the final step, resplendent, waited the one hundred and thirty-third
Örökös F
ő
nök
of the
hosszú életek
.

Catharina Maria-Magdalena Szöllösi wore a simple white dress, a gold torc encircling her throat. She smiled when she saw the approaching
kirekesztett
, her face radiating a warmth so all-encompassing that Leah felt her heart swell in her chest.

When Etienne and Soraya saw Catharina standing between the gates, they came to a halt a few steps below. The others paused behind.

For long seconds, nobody moved. A breeze feathered about them, carrying the distant chimes of church bells.

Finally the
F
ő
nök
raised her hands, palms outward. ‘Welcome to Villa del Osservatore. Welcome home.’ She smiled. ‘You know, I’d planned a quite lengthy speech. But sometimes speeches are a welcome of themselves, and sometimes they are not. Allow me simply to say this: I bow to your courage. I know coming here wasn’t easy, and I’m sure you view me with a certain amount of distrust. You should know that the
tanács
is unaware of your presence. Through my own deficiencies I’ve failed to bring consensus in this task we face, which is why you – and what you attempt – must remain secret for now.

‘Our society has fractured during your absence; its bonds have begun to unravel. I hope to save this once-proud family of ours and repair the ties that bound us, but I cannot promise you your safety, even as I welcome you home.

‘I act not with the will of a unified
tanács
, but with the power I hold through the title of
Örökös F
ő
nök
. I will not knowingly admit
kirekesztett
into these halls. I repeal, therefore, the sentence of banishment from all five of you. Enter as friends, and let us cast the past aside.’

She dropped her hands to her side and her smile returned, abashed. ‘Forgive me. What was that if not a speech?’

Leah watched the reactions of her fellow travellers. Etienne’s eyes, usually so flat and hinting at disdain, brimmed now with emotion. Trembling, she dropped to her knees. ‘My thanks,’ she said. One by one, the remaining women dropped to their knees too.

Her smile faltering, the
F
ő
nök
hurried down the steps. She passed among them, touching shoulders, wiping away tears, urging them to their feet. Together, they ascended the remaining steps and passed through the gates into Villa del Osservatore’s grounds.

A path led them across the first lawn. It curved up a steep slope bordered with boxwood and laurel. The second terrace was planted with magnolias and two enormous sycamores. A running balustrade with two crescent balconies overlooked the sheer face of the peninsula’s western edge. Along it a row of statues, chiselled into the likenesses of past
hosszú életek
leaders, stared out across the water.

Catharina led them along a path bisecting a lawn outside the villa’s main residence. The building rose three storeys in height, tall windows interrupting the creep of ivy across its façade.

Six huge doors on the ground floor opened onto a loggia adorned with stone benches and urns filled with star jasmine. Leah smelled their perfume as she followed Catharina into the house via the villa’s music room.

Inside, pale walls were hung with gilt-framed artworks. A fifteenth-century Botticelli dominated the south end of the room, hanging above two concert grands. Elsewhere, pieces by Rubens, Titian and Holbein. Walnut-framed sofas on cabriole legs, upholstered in a rich cream velvet, surrounded a fireplace in the north wall.

Leah smiled as she looked at the people gathered inside the room. On one of the sofas, Kata Lendvai read a book to her children, Dávid and Lícia. On the floor nearby sat Ara Schulteisz and her daughter Tünde. In a corner, playing an intricate game involving metal soldiers, dominoes and dice, were some of the Calw programme’s oldest children: seven-year-old Emánuel and his brother Levi; six-year-olds Carina and Philipp; eight-year-old Pia and her younger brother Alex. Even Flóra, a mother now only a few short weeks, was there with her son, Elias.

And, right beside the fireplace, Leah saw her mother. Hannah Wilde perched next to Gabriel on one of the sofas. Ibsen lay at their feet.

It did her heart good to see her family together like that, and for a moment she just watched them. After her father’s murder all those years ago, Leah had thought the hole he had left in her mother’s heart would never be filled. In the months and years that followed, Gabriel never sought to replace Nate in Hannah’s affections, or Leah’s; he’d simply offered them his love. The speed with which they had reciprocated it had surprised them all.

Gabriel raised his head and when he saw her he grinned and whispered something to Hannah. Leah picked her way through the children playing on the floor as her mother rose to greet her.

Do not cry
, she told herself. But of course she did.

Hannah opened her arms and Leah folded herself into her embrace. For a while she felt so emotional that she struggled even to breathe. Her mother seemed smaller somehow, as if she had shrunk in stature since they’d been apart. But Leah knew it was an illusion. Her mother’s physical presence, while by no means diminutive, could never adequately reflect the force of will it contained.

‘How have you been?’ Hannah asked.

‘I’m fine. Good, in fact. Great to be here with everyone.’

It was true. Gathered in this room were all the people she cared most about in the world. Together they had worked towards a goal no one had thought possible, and even though the future had never seemed so bleak, they had already achieved something remarkable: the laughter of the children playing on the floor was testament to that.

‘You can’t fool me,’ Hannah murmured. ‘There’s something. What?’

‘Later. Not now, not in front of everyone.’

‘We’ll find somewhere quiet. I know Catharina wants to speak to you too.’

Leah released herself from her mother’s embrace, and immediately found herself enveloped in Gabriel’s.

‘Little miss,’ the Irishman said. ‘You had us worried for a while. Glad you’re back safe.’

‘I blame you. All those stories of the
C
ŵ
n Annwn
over the years must have given me itchy feet.’

He pulled back from her, grinning, and studied her closely. ‘Did you meet any?’

‘I met something,’ she replied, the smile sliding from her face.

The
F
ő
nök
crossed the room and slid her hand around Leah’s arm. ‘I’m intruding, I know I am,’ she said. ‘You should have some time alone. But we do need to talk, as soon as we can.’

Hannah’s face grew serious. ‘Thank you, Cat, but you’re right. We all need to hear Leah’s news, and I don’t think we should wait. We’ll have plenty of time to catch up later.’

Etienne watched Leah Wilde embrace her mother, her mind a whirl of emotions. She had not expected to be so overcome by her arrival at Villa del Osservatore. But the sight of the
Örökös F
ő
nök
,
waiting to greet her at the lakeside gate, had moved her to tears for reasons she could not explain. Perhaps it was the empathy she saw in the
hosszú életek
leader’s eyes; perhaps it was her touch, or the words, whispered in her ear:
You’re home, Etienne. I can’t repair the past, but you have my love, my apology.

Did the woman know Etienne had been cast out not for crimes she herself had committed, but for those committed by her family,
against
her? Etienne thought she must. Her words certainly seemed to indicate it.

An apology, even as sincere as the one she had just received, could repair not one hour of the suffering she had endured over the last one hundred years, but . . . her thoughts trailed away from her and her mouth fell open.