Pris lived for silence, but the one building between them now felt uncomfortable. Why?
“I talked to Benvolio, Leo’s foreman,” he said once the order had been called in.
Ahh, that must be it. She needed him tohelpinstead of hinder. She was obviously more worried than she’d realized if she expected him to care about her predicament instead of his. She’d learned to ask for help when her mother had gone gaga over a conman a few months back, but she didn’t like it.
Grudgingly, before she covered herself in flour, she produced cheese and crackers for snacking. She left them on the table for him to munch and dole out to the twins as needed and returned to her dough. That was all the encouragement she’d offer.
He seemed to accept this as approval and talked as he sliced cheese. “Ben was there five years ago, on the day Lucia and company arrived. I’m not good at dragging information out of people, but he said Lucia seemed to be happy. He doesn’t remember the names of everyone with her.”
Pris had no idea what this had to do with anything, but she listened as she pounded the dough into submission.
“The interesting part is that an older man spoke sharply to Lucia and the second woman. Ben doesn’t speak much English. He just had the impression that this man was running the show, not the women, even though Lucia owned the farm and the other woman argued with him.”
“KK and her father?” Pris suggested.
“That’s my guess from his description. Ben said Lucia was showing everyone around, explaining operations, greeting employees the way she always did. Leo was working on a machine and stayed out of it. Ben heard sharp words more than once, but he had his own work to do.”
Pris slapped the dough into a ball with impatience. “You’re saying this is the last time Leo saw Lucia, but they barely even talked?”
He looked a little startled at that assessment but nodded. “He had no way of knowing it was her last visit. I imagine there was a little bit of tension over being left on his own for months while Lucia was with her mother in London. When Ben left to go into town for parts, the visitors were all in the gazebo, sampling the oil and drinking wine. Ben thought Lucia had finally returned where she belonged and maybe they were celebrating.”
“Lucia must have had the twins with her, right?” She covered the dough and set it in the oven to rise, then turned to the refrigerator to decide on lunch.
“Ben hadn’t realized the twins were hers. They had a nanny caring for them.” Dante’s voice contained a hint of bitterness as he chomped his cheese. “Our housekeeper at the time said the woman who brought the twins to the door had brown hair with streaks of gray. I assume that was the nanny.”
“Wait a minute—Lucia didn’t even bring the twins to the door herself? That’s cowardice on a grand scale!”
“Not telling me about my own children was cowardice. Not letting us know she was coming was just par for the course. She knows I travel, and my mother isn’t tied to the house.” He whacked the cheese a little harder than necessary and caught it before it flew off the table.
“Our housekeeper said a blond woman unpacked the trunk with all the baby supplies,” he continued. “But she didn’t come to the house. The nanny didn’t speak Italian and our housekeeper’s English was poor. She was so shocked, that when we finally came home, she was still shouting and gesticulating more than making sense.”
“I can imagine,” Pris said dryly, remembering how the twins had been dumped on her the first day here. “How long did it take you and Emma to come home?”
Dante covered his face with his hand. “I was in Crete. My mother was in Scotland. The housekeeper quit the minute I returned. She’d had them for a day and night.”
Ouch. Pris winced. “Infants, baby formula, diapers—yeah, if I were her, I’d do the same. Mothers just don’tdothat.” Pris struck a salami with a small cleaver. And then her mental block parted and she stared at Dante. “Did you touch any of those baby things when you got home?”
He looked at her blankly, then at his hands, grasping what she was asking. “It’s not what I normally do.”
She got that too. She blocked mental vibrations. He had learned to block any psychometric disturbances. She waited, slicing more salami and starting on a tomato.
“I don’t think it would do much good to handle them now. The toys are in tatters, the clothes given away, the carriers well-used...and in the attic.” Where he couldn’t reach them on a crutch. “I can’t fathom learning much.”
“I’d just really like to know how Lucia felt giving up her children. I simply cannot get past that. I’m not in the least maternal, but even I... ” Pris looked at the two adorable five-year-olds glued to a laptop screen and singing mermaids or whatever. “Even in utter exhaustion and facing starvation, I don’t think I could abandon them.”
She set out a loaf of crusty bread and an assortment of vegetables and salami, but her heart wasn’t in the food. She must be coming down with something.
“I can tell you how to find the carriers,” Dante said hesitantly. “I don’t think it will do any good though. It’s not something I do well and after all this time...”
“Do you get images from ancient artifacts?” she asked, removing her apron.
“Sometimes. There is never a guarantee. The image has to be strong and usually emotional.” He looked dubious.
“I can’t think of anything more emotional than giving up children. Tell me where to find the carriers.”
“Give me the sandwich makings, and I’ll start on those,” he offered, amazingly. “It will take a while to climb up there and dig around under all the covers my mother uses.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t do this the first time around.” She transferred the ingredients to the table.
