Page 87 of Last Breath

Naturally, according to the La Marcas.

‘I will have some bottles sent to my own experts back in Australia for an independent analysis.’ Nella found her voice briefly, though it cracked and dropped in and out like a dodgy radio connection. The knowledge that she had absolutely no wine contacts and would therefore have to ask Tom was too much to bear right now. She dulled it with another deep sip, almost draining the glass of now-warm liquid.

Roman nodded politely, but they both knew it would be a fruitless endeavour. The tests would show it was the same recipe that Nella’s family had built their fortune on and continued to profit from today. It would show it was made at the same time as this photo was taken, proving that the two men had created it together.

Proving Nella’s entire life had been a lie.

Daisy’s voice rang in her ear as she watched condensation dribble down Roman’s untouched glass of soda water. He was rambling on about the exact process of wine testing.

‘The photograph doesn’t prove anything, Nella. It suggests they were in business together, but it’s not exactly a contract, is it?’

‘The burden of proof is on a balance of probabilities,’ Nella had said. ‘The La Marcas just have to make the judge and jury believe there was a likely possibility the recipe belonged to them. It’s not like criminal cases where you need incontrovertible proof. This photo, the wine we found, it’s more than enough.’

She had to call Tom. She had to tell her mother. Her whole family. Everyone who’d been relying on her to fix this.

No wonder Clarkson hadn’t told Tom. What would Clarkson have done once he got to Isola San Giulio? That is, if he’d managed to convince Ariana to get the key for him. Would Clarkson have tossed the wine into the water? Burned the photograph? How could he? He wouldn’t have been able to get in without Ariana or one of the other La Marcas. And there’s no way she would have kept quiet.

Nella was darkly grateful Ariana’s vomiting spell had continued into the afternoon. The younger woman was holed up with Daisy keeping watch upstairs. But it didn’t matter. Nella had done the one thing she was never meant to do: trust a La Marca. There was no way to deny they’d found the wine; Ariana was there and Roman would testify she’d been there. The evidence would get to court whether or not she brought it. It was over.

‘Signora?’ Roman’s voice had the strained patience of someone who’d been trying to get her attention for a while. ‘What do you think?’

‘I ...’ She had no idea what he’d asked. Maybe something about the wine. About the recipe. About that date she’d agreed to a lifetime ago. ‘I have to ...’

She didn’t know where she was going, only that she could not stay here.

The hotel blurred past her in a mix of red and gold, interrupted occasionally by bright cobalt blue as she passed a window. Evening was drowning the winter-blue sky. Eggy pasta and fresh basil. She was near to the restaurant. Restaurant meant people. People meant ...

‘Oliver?’

27

Nella

‘What are you doing here?’ It was impossible. Every part of her pulled away from the looming figure ahead of her.

Maybe he had a twin?

The safe. (But Grey said he’d sort it out.) The iPad. (No one saw Jett take it.)Ah.

‘You read his emails, didn’t you?’ she said. What was this feeling? Like there was a knife against her chest? ‘You knew he was planning to come here.’

‘Funny, you mentioning Clarkson’s emails.’ Oliver’s voice was quiet, like a soldier tiptoeing into enemy territory. He moved out of the shadows of the romantically lit restaurant. It was really him. Blond hair slicked back like he’d just showered or swum. Vein in his temple pulsating. He was here. In Milan. ‘Seeing as you could only have seen them by gaining access to his iPad illegally.’

‘I found it in my file room,’ Nella lied. ‘The cops must have missed it. You, on the other hand, clearly hacked his private account.’

‘The only thing I’m guilty of,’ Oliver said, ‘is reviewingmyfirm’s accounts. Clarkson bought two tickets to Milan. He used his company card to book two rooms at this hotel. One under his name, and the other under—’

‘Ariana La Marca.’

Clarkson must have been confident he’d be able to convince her.

‘I know,’ she said. Surely he could hear her heart like a headphone thumping in his ear. ‘I know he told you he was leaving the company.’

It was just a moment. Like a lightning flash across Oliver’s face. Then it was gone.

She didn’t want to know what it was.

‘The only thing I know for sure,’ he said, ‘is that you came by that information illegally. Are you going to tell me what you were actually doing in Clarkson’s office at the party?’