Chapter 3 - The Secret Behind the Golden Frame|
For several seconds, nobody spoke.
Alessandro stared at Harold Bennett as though the elderly man had begun speaking a language he didn't understand.
"My grandmother had another child?"
Harold lowered his eyes.
"Yes, sir."
"That's impossible."
"I'm sorry."
Alessandro glanced toward the photograph of the painting on my phone.
Then back at Harold.
"My grandmother had one son. My father."
Harold swallowed.
"That's what the family believed."
Across the ballroom, Camille stood perfectly still.
She wasn't looking at Alessandro anymore.
She was looking at me.
And something about her expression made me wish I hadn't photographed the frame.
Alessandro turned toward Daniel.
"Clear the room."
Within minutes, guests began collecting their coats.
The annual charity auction, which had started with champagne and polite applause, ended in whispered speculation.
Nobody argued.
Nobody asked for a refund.
Everyone wanted to leave before Alessandro Romano decided he had more questions.
Soon only a handful of people remained.
Alessandro.
Harold.
Daniel.
Camille.
And me.
I started toward the service entrance.
"Claire," Alessandro said.
I stopped.
"Stay."
Camille gave a sharp laugh.
"Of course. Apparently, household employees are now part of private family meetings."
Alessandro ignored her.
"Harold, start from the beginning."
The elderly man sat down.
His hands were shaking.
"Your grandmother, Sofia Romano, purchased that painting forty years ago. The artist was a young man named Matteo Bellandi."
Alessandro frowned.
"I know the artist."
"Yes, sir. But you don't know why she purchased it."
Harold glanced toward me.
I stood quietly beside the table.
"Matteo painted the village where Sofia lived before coming to America. It was a small coastal town in southern Italy."
Alessandro nodded.
"My grandmother grew up near Amalfi."
"Yes."
Harold took a trembling breath.
"When she was seventeen, she fell in love with a young fisherman. His family was poor. Hers was not."
Alessandro's expression changed.
"What happened?"
"She became pregnant."
The silence felt enormous.
Harold continued.
"Her parents sent her to relatives in another town. After the baby was born, they arranged for the child to be placed with another family."
Alessandro stared at him.
"A boy?"
Harold shook his head.
"A girl."
I felt my chest tighten.
Something about the story sounded painfully familiar.
My mother had grown up in foster care.
She knew almost nothing about her biological family.
Her earliest memories were of a Catholic children's home near Milwaukee.
I'd spent years listening to her wonder whether someone had once wanted her.
I pushed the thought aside.
Lots of children were adopted.
Lots of families kept secrets.
That didn't mean anything.
Harold continued.
"Sofia spent decades trying to find her daughter. She eventually discovered that the baby had been brought to America through a private adoption arrangement."
Alessandro leaned forward.
"Did she find her?"
Harold hesitated.
"She found records."
"What records?"
"They were hidden inside the painting."
I stared at him.
"The backing?"
He nodded.
"Sofia believed the painting would remain in the family. She said it was safer than a bank deposit box because nobody would think to look behind a landscape."
Alessandro looked toward the forged canvas.
"Then the original contains evidence about my grandmother's daughter."
"Yes."
Camille suddenly spoke.
"How touching. A secret baby from eighty years ago."
Everyone turned.
She folded her arms.
"But what does any of this have to do with tonight?"
Harold looked at her.
"It has everything to do with tonight."
Camille's smile disappeared.
Alessandro narrowed his eyes.
"Explain."
Harold swallowed.
"Three months ago, a private investigator contacted me. He claimed he had information about Sofia's daughter."
Alessandro went still.
"Who hired him?"
Harold looked down.
"Miss Hart."
Camille laughed.
"That is a lie."
Harold shook his head.
"He showed me a letter with your signature."
"Anyone can forge a signature."
Alessandro turned toward her.
"Did you hire an investigator?"
Camille hesitated.
Then lifted her chin.
"Yes."
"Why?"
"Because I wanted to help your family."
Alessandro studied her.
"You never mentioned it."
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
He looked toward the forged painting.
"You have a remarkable number of surprises."
I lowered my eyes to hide my reaction.
Camille's face hardened.
Alessandro turned back to Harold.
"What did the investigator discover?"
Harold reached into his coat.
He removed a yellowed photograph.
It showed two women standing outside a small American church.
One was unmistakably Sofia Romano.
The other was younger, with dark hair and a gentle smile.
Harold handed the photograph to Alessandro.
"Your grandmother found her daughter in 1989."
Alessandro stared.
"What?"
"She visited her once."
"Then why didn't she bring her into the family?"
Harold's voice broke.
"Because by then, the daughter had a life of her own. Sofia was afraid of destroying it."
Alessandro lowered the photograph.
"What's her name?"
Harold looked toward me.
His eyes filled.
I felt a strange chill.
Then he whispered, "Margaret Dawson."
The room seemed to tilt.
Dawson.
My surname.
My mother's name.
I gripped the edge of the champagne table.
Alessandro slowly turned toward me.
"Claire?"
I couldn't answer.
Harold looked at me with tears in his eyes.
"Your mother is Margaret Dawson, isn't she?"
I nodded.
"Yes."
Alessandro stared at the photograph again.
Then at me.
May you like
And for the first time since I'd entered the Romano mansion eight months earlier, he looked completely speechless.
Because the uneducated little maid standing beside him might be the granddaughter of the woman whose painting had nearly been stolen.
