Poppa, his ally in a hundred childhood pranks. ‘We won’t tell Mamma, it would only worry her.’
But these images were succeeded by another, one he hadn’t seen, but which he now realised had been there all along: the old man, round faced and white whiskered, laughing up his sleeve at the little joke he’d played on his sons, and particularly on his forceful elder son.
Vincente hadn’t seen the danger. So there had been no warning, no chance to be prepared. Rinaldo had always loved his father, but at this moment it was hard not to hate him.
The darkness was turning to the first grey of dawn. He had walked for miles, and now it was time to walk back and make ready for the biggest fight of his life.
CHAPTER TWO
RINALDO FARNESE finally dragged his eyes away from the woman who was his enemy. He had noted dispassionately that she was beautiful in a glossy, city-bred kind of way that would have increased his hostility if it hadn’t been at fever pitch already. Everything about her confirmed his suspicions, from her fair hair to her elegant clothes.
It was time for the mourners to speak over the grave. There were many, for Vincente had been popular. Some were elderly men, ‘partners in crime’ who had spent days in the sun with him, drinking wine and remembering the old times.
There were several middle-aged and elderly women, hinting wistfully at sweet memories, under the jealous eyes of their menfolk.
Finally there were his sons. Gino spoke movingly, recalling his father’s gentleness and sweet temper, his ready laughter.
‘He’d had a hard life,’ he recalled, ‘working very long hours, every day for years, so that his family might prosper. But it never soured him, and to the end of his life, nothing delighted him as much as a practical joke.’
Then he fell silent, and a soft ripple ran around the crowd. By now all of them knew about Vincente’s last practical joke.