The Sicilian Duke's Demand. Madeleine Ker
any folly, any madness, to possess you.’
‘Don’t come near me,’ she said, backing away from him. ‘We’re not on the same side, Alessandro. Maybe you think we are, but we aren’t. Don’t kid yourself. Just stay on your side of the fence and I’ll stay on mine, until this thing is over. And then we don’t have to see each other ever again.’
She turned and ran, as swiftly as her strappy sandals would allow her, out of the echoing marble vault.
CHAPTER FOUR
‘DID you believe that story about the scrolls?’ David asked, rinsing out his mask as the boat rocked at anchor.
‘Alessandro Mandalà, philanthropist?’ Theo grinned. ‘I guess with that guy, anything is possible. I never got such a shock in my life as when he walked in the room. Why didn’t anyone tell us the old duke was dead?’
‘He’s probably keeping it quiet deliberately,’ Isobel said with a bitter twist to her mouth, ‘so nobody notices there’s a cuckoo in the nest.’
‘You’ve really got it in for the guy, haven’t you?’
‘He’s the enemy,’ she said shortly. ‘He’s the opposition. He stands for everything we have to fight against.’
David laughed. ‘Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that, Isobel. A lot of what he said last night made sense. Somebody has to rescue this illegal stuff that’s floating around. At least he loves the things he sells and tries to protect them. We all know what the alternative is like.’
‘Hyaenas have a natural place in the world order,’ she retorted. ‘Doesn’t mean I have to curl up with them.’
‘Well, he’s the most interesting man I’ve met in a long time,’ David said. ‘After you went to bed last night, he was telling us about some of his recent projects—’
‘Yet more Indiana Jones stories?’ she said coolly.
‘Well, I’ll tell you one thing, Isobel, Alessandro knows about ancient art. And he’s not short on courage, either.’
‘Or on barefaced cheek!’
‘I agree with David,’ Antonio Zaccaria said in his quiet voice. ‘Mandalà is unconventional, but he is doing sensational things for world archaeology. And sometimes at great personal risk.’
Isobel just shook her red-gold head. This was Sicily, as Antonio had said yesterday, and they saw things differently here. ‘One day, one of his shady deals will go wrong and somebody will put a bullet through that arrogant head of his.’
‘Isobel, I know you’re the team leader,’ David said. ‘You have the PhD and all. But Theo and I both think your antagonism towards Alessandro isn’t helpful. And I know Antonio agrees. We’re here because Alessandro invited us here, he smoothed the way with Antonio’s department, and he also happens to be our host. Those are three very good reasons to get along with the man.’
She bit her lip. She could hardly tell them about her first meeting with Alessandro—nor about what had happened last night. ‘He just rubs me up the wrong way.’
‘Be professional,’ Theo said gently. ‘Please, Isobel. For the sake of the whole project. Just be nice to the guy.’
‘And try and be detached about him,’ David added. ‘Give him the benefit of the doubt, at least?’
Theo nodded. ‘You were pretty off with him last night. Say something nice to him today, okay?’
‘Okay,’ she said, with a grimace of defeat. ‘I promise I’ll be as nice as pie. Even though it chokes me.’
‘Great! Here come the trays.’
The winch on the dive boat had been carefully hauling up the ‘basket’, actually a steel mesh platform, which they had loaded with the morning’s finds. It broke surface now, bearing several secured boxes, each containing an artefact. Excitedly, they swung the things aboard.
‘I’ve never known a site like this one,’ David exclaimed in glee. ‘Stuff keeps turning up all the time. It just keeps getting better and better.’ Carefully, he held up an amphora for them to see. ‘Look at this! This particular design is so rare and beautiful. I’m putting this one in the B Category, for sure.’
Part of their arrangement with the Beni Culturali was that they got to take certain selected artefacts back to New York, for eventual display in the Berger Foundation Museum on Park Avenue. These items went on the B Category list for discussion.
‘More bronze,’ Theo reported, showing them a box of corroded green shapes. ‘I think these must have been some part of the galley, maybe some kind of cleats for fastening ropes. I’ll know better when I’ve cleaned them up.’
The rumble of a boat intruded on their animated discussions. Isobel turned. A sleek white launch was cruising towards them. She recognized the expensive toy at once: it had been moored in the palazzo’s boathouse next to their dive boat. And she knew whom she was going to see at the wheel, too.
‘Good morning,’ Alessandro called as he pulled alongside them, courteously slowing right down so as not to rock their boat. He was bare-chested, wearing only Bermuda shorts, his splendid torso gleaming in the sun. She saw the black octopus etched against one muscled shoulder. A suitable insignia for a man who grabbed everything he wanted. He leaned on the rail, smiling down at them. ‘Any luck?’
‘Look!’ David held up the amphora for Alessandro to see.
‘Wonderful,’ Alessandro replied. ‘You don’t see too many with that beautiful shape. And good morning to you, Isobel. Any more visits from brigands?’
‘Mercifully,’ she replied in a clipped voice, ‘no.’
‘I’m very relieved to hear that,’ he replied cheerfully. ‘Is the morning’s work over?’
‘We just need to get these things back to the palazzo and into the solution,’ David replied. ‘Then we can catalogue them.’
‘I’m on my way round the coast to Selinunte,’ Alessandro said. ‘You get a wonderful view of the temple from the sea. I have room for one passenger. I would be honoured to show you your first glimpse of the temple of Selinunte, Dr Roche.’
Isobel opened her mouth to spit out a rejection when she felt David nudge her heavily. ‘Remember what you promised,’ he murmured urgently.
Theo jerked his woolly head at the boat, too, emphasizing, Go.
‘That would be very nice,’ she heard herself say in a scratchy voice. She was rewarded by the beams from her three colleagues.
‘Come aboard,’ Alessandro commanded. He leaned over the polished brass railing, holding out his hand. Gritting her teeth, Isobel picked up her hat, sunglasses and tote bag, and let Alessandro Mandalà grasp her wrist. She put her foot on the chromed ladder. With terrifying strength, he hoisted her up onto the gleaming mahogany deck of his launch.
‘For the greater good,’ she muttered.
‘I beg your pardon?’ Alessandro asked.
‘Nothing,’ she replied.
Alessandro waved farewell to the dive boat and eased the launch away, slowly increasing the engine speed once they were a safe distance away. The rumble of the motor deepened. And the launch, sharp and white as a tiger’s tooth, cut through the blue Mediterranean, bearing her away.
The coast along which they sped was wild and rocky, dotted with clumps of prickly pear and tall cypresses. The sea was a deep ultramarine and it was so hot that to feel the wind in her hair was delicious.
Alessandro’s launch was a sleek millionaire’s toy, upholstered in white leather, with two monstrous engines at the stern, no doubt capable of hurling the craft along like a missile. Down the companionway, she could