The Italian's Revenge

‘I didn’t misunderstand,’ Santo insisted.

‘Santino!’ Vito turned his attention back to his son. Everyone had been talking in Italian until that point, but Vito’s next sentence was delivered in clear, crisp English. ‘You will apologise to Marietta now! Do you understand that?’

The little boy was close to tears; Catherine could see that, even though he was determined to face the whole thing out with an intransigence that was promising to be his downfall.

‘Oh, don’t make him do that, Vito.’ It was Marietta who came to Santo’s rescue. Marietta sounding beautifully placating. ‘He meant no offence. He’s just a little angry because I corrected his Italian.’

‘No, you didn’t!’ the little boy protested. ‘You said I was a nuisance and that when papà married you he wouldn’t want me any more! And I hate you, Papà!’ he turned to shout at his father. ‘And I won’t say sorry! I won’t—I won’t—I won’t!’

Shocked surprise at his son’s vehemence hardened Vito’s face. ‘Then you—’

‘Santo,’ Catherine said quietly, over whatever Vito had been about to say to him, and brought all four pairs of eyes swinging around in her direction.

And if Catherine had never been made to feel like the poor relation in this house before, she was certainly feeling that way now, as she stood there in her scrap of cheap cotton and took in with one brief, cold glance Marietta, looking smooth and sleek and faultlessly exquisite in her shiny black dress and shiny black shoes and with her shiny black hair stroking over one shoulder.

‘Oh, Catherine!’ It was poor, anxious Luisa that burst into speech. ‘What must you be thinking?’

‘I am thinking that this—altercation seems to be very lopsided,’ she answered, without taking her eyes from her belligerent son. Silently she held out a hand to him, and with that simple gesture brought him running to her.

Vito was glaring at her for overriding his authority. Luisa was wringing her hands because her peaceful little haven had been shattered and she never could cope with that. And Marietta watched sympathetically as Catherine knelt down so her face was at her son’s level.

‘Santo, were you rude to Marietta?’ She quietly requested his opinion.

He dropped his eyes. ‘Yes,’ he mumbled truculently.

‘And do you think that deserves an apology?’

The dark head shook, then came back up, and Catherine could see that the tears were real now in big brown eyes. ‘I never said what she said I did, Mummy,’ he whispered pleadingly. ‘I just wouldn’t,’ he added simply. ‘I like Papà being married to you.’

Catherine nodded. As far as she was concerned Santo had stated it as honestly as he knew how and the conflict was now over, because she was not going to make her son apologise to a woman she knew from personal experience could twist any situation round to suit her own purposes.

‘Then you go off to your room,’ she told Santo. ‘And I’ll come and see you there in a few minutes.’

‘Catherine—’ Vito wanted to protest, seeing his influence being thoroughly undermined here, but Catherine continued to ignore him as she came upright and sent her son off without offering anyone the chance to do anything about it.

When she turned to face all of those that were left, she found three completely different expressions being aimed right back at her. Vito—angry. Luisa—upset. And Marietta—smiling like a cat who’d pinched the last of the cream.

And why not? Catherine allowed. Within minutes of arriving here she had managed to stir up trouble between every single one of them.

‘Good grief, Catherine, what a temper your son has!’ Marietta broke the silence with a mocking little laugh. ‘Sadly, I seem to have a knack of inadvertently sparking it off! I shall attempt to stay out of his way while I am staying here,’ she determined ruefully.

Staying here? Catherine turned to look at Vito, who was looking as puzzled as she was by the comment.

‘Marietta arrived home from the States this morning to find her apartment under water,’ Luisa jumped in hurriedly. ‘A burst water pipe while she was away has ruined everything, so of course I invited her to stay here while the repair work is being done.’

Of course, Catherine parodied, feeling an old-remembered weariness begin to settle over her like a thick black cloud.

‘I have just placed my things in the rooms next to Vito’s rooms,’ Marietta inserted sweetly. ‘If you want to know where to find me.’

‘No.’

The harsh negative did not come from Catherine’s lips, though it very well could have done, since she was thinking the exact same thing as Vito obviously was by the way he had stiffened his stance. Was he remembering a conversation they’d had recently, where the question of which rooms Marietta used when she stayed here had been the one of too many points of conflict between the two of them?

The woman had a special knack of making other people out to be liars.

‘Whoever put you there has made a mistake,’ he said tersely. ‘If you need to stay here, Marietta, then stay in my mother’s wing of the house. Catherine and I desire our privacy.’

‘Of course,’ Marietta instantly conceded. ‘I will move rooms immediately. And I apologise that Luisa and I did not take into consideration the—newness of your reconciliation when we chose my rooms.’