The Villa

cheese around here, you get the royal treatment." He looked at her while he took the wine from the bucket. "Look what happens when I ask you to wear something pretty. Comes from being in a castle."
    "Not your style, but you seem to be coping."
    "Digging a few ditches today put me in a good mood." He handed her a glass, tapped his to it. "Salute."
    "As I said, I did some digging of my own. The domestic staff's been very informative. I've learned Don made regular visits here, unreported visits. While he never stayed here alone, he rarely came with Gina."
    "Ah, the love nest."
    "Apparently. The mistress's name is Signorina Chezzo. She's young, blonde, silly and likes breakfast in bed. She's been a frequent guest for the last few years. Don insulted the staff by bribing them to keep her visits secret, but since no-one here has any love for Gina, they took his money and complied. They'd have been discreet without the money, of course."
    "Of course. They tell you about his other visitors?"
    "Yes. My father, but we'd already deduced that, and the woman my father came with once, who wasn't Rene. Kris."
    Tyler frowned into his wine. "I didn't get that from the vineyard."
    "Easier for me to nudge it out of the domestic staff. Anyway, it's hardly fresh news. It's fairly obvious he'd used my apartment for assignations when it suited him. Why not the castello."
    "You don't want me to say I'm sorry, but I am."
    "No, I don't mind you saying it. I'm sorry, too. It makes it that much more lovely that Mama's found someone who'll make her happy. Someone she can trust. Someone we can all trust. I say that knowing he once worked for Jerry DeMorney at La Coeur, and that Jerry's also been a guest here."
    This time Tyler nodded. "I thought so. The crew could only give me a description, and that wasn't clear. They tend to pay more attention to women than men in suits. Ties it together, doesn't it?"
    "Does it?" Restless, she rose, sipping her wine as she paced. "Jerry hated my father. A civilized sort of loathing, I'd always assumed."
    "Why?"
    "You really stay out of the loop, don't you?" she replied. "A few years back my father had a blistering affair with Jerry's wife. They kept it quiet, but it was still fairly common knowledge in the inner circle. She left Jerry, or he kicked her out. That piece of the pie gets served up differently depending on who's cutting it. Jerry and my father had been reasonably friendly before that, and after things chilled. But there was some heat under the chill, which I discovered two years ago when Jerry hit on me."
    "He came on to you?"
    "Clear and strong. I wasn't interested. He was annoyed and had a number of uncomplimentary things to say about my father, me, my family."
    "Damn it, Sophie, why didn't you mention this before?"
    "Because he made a point of coming to see me the very next day, full of apologies. He said he'd been more upset about the divorce than he'd realized, felt terrible, and ashamed, at taking it out on me, and that he'd come to terms with the fact that his marriage had been over before all of that happened. And so on and so forth. It was reasonable, understandable. He said all the right things, and I didn't think of it again."
    "What do you think of it now?"
    "I see a crafty little triangle. My father, Kris, Jerry. Who was using whom, I can't say, but I think Jerry's involved, or at least knows about the embezzlement, maybe even the tampering. It would be profitable for La Coeur, has been, for Giambelli to be fighting consumer unease, public scandal, internal discord. Add Kris in and you have my plans, my campaign, my work tossed in their lap before I have a chance to implement them. Corporate sabotage, spies, that's common enough in business."
    "Murder isn't."
    "No, that's what makes it personal. He could've killed my father. I can more easily see him with a gun in his hand than I can Donato. I don't know if that's wishful thinking. It's a long way from corporate espionage to cold-blooded murder. But…"
    "But?"
    "Hindsight," she said with a shrug. "Thinking back on the things he said to me when he lost control, and more, how he said them. He was a man on the edge, and one ready to dive off. Within twelve hours, he's apologetic, sheepish, controlled and bringing me dozens of roses. And still, in a mildly civilized way, hitting on me. I should've seen the first incident was truth, and the rest facade. But I didn't. Because I'm used to men hitting on me."
    The unhappiness, the