The Words We Whisper by Mary Ellen Taylor

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

GINA

Richmond, Virginia

Monday, June 14, 10:00 a.m.

Gina texted a picture of the broach to a jeweler friend of hers and then showered and dressed. Hair and makeup always made the day brighter. But as she stood, pain in her belly twisted, and she froze.

She regularly graded the pain on a scale of one to ten. Until the last week, it had hovered around a five. Irritating but manageable. But today it was at least a ten plus and enough to take her breath away.

She had dreaded her last days, fearing they would be filled with pain and, worse, pity. She had caught Zara’s lips tightening when she was upset or worried, but for the most part her sister had kept her sadness hidden. Perhaps it was selfish, but she was grateful that this had not turned into lots of drama and tears.

She pushed into a sitting position and reached for the two painkillers Zara had left out for her. Her baby sister was doling out the pills now because she worried it was too easy for Gina to get confused and take too much.

Maybe she was also worried that Gina would swallow the entire lot and end this slow slide to the finish line. She had considered it once or twice in the early days but had decided she was too stubborn to quit.

But that was when the pain had been a four or five.

She swallowed the two extra pain pills and lay back, breathing deeply. “Christ, this illness really sucks.”

Finally, she was able to rise up, square her shoulders, and move toward the bathroom and turn on the steaming spray. She stepped inside and ducked her head under the hot water that beaded on her neck and shoulders. Slowly the meds kicked in, and she finally drew in a deep breath.

She stayed in the shower until she drained the hot-water tank, then toweled off, ran her fingers through her hair, and sat at her makeup table. She stared at her skinny, gaunt reflection. How many times had she dieted to get off the elusive last five pounds? Now those pounds and a few of their friends were gone, and she would give anything to have them back.

“Buck up, girl,” Gina said. She spent the next twenty minutes applying makeup, and though she was not red-carpet ready, she looked decent when Zara knocked on her door.

“Come in.”

Zara carried a steaming glass of herbal tea, which she set on the dressing table. “Are you feeling okay?”

Gina cradled the cup and inhaled the herbal scents. “And why would I not?”

“The long hot shower is the usual tip-off. How are your pain levels?”

“Manageable since I took the two emergency pills. Pain and I are getting to be good friends.”

Gina’s phone rang. “That’s my jeweler friend,” she said. “I sent him pictures of the broach this morning.”

“That was fast.”

“I still have some moves,” she said proudly.

“More than some,” Zara said.

Grinning, she accepted the call. “Tony. What do you have for me?”

“I have information on your broach.” Tony’s southern drawl drew out the words in a slow, easy way. He was never rushed, never frazzled. “But I would really love to see it in person.”

“I could bring it by today,” Gina said, ignoring Zara’s raised brow.

“That would be fantastic,” Tony said. “I’m here all morning.”

“Great. See you in a few.”

Zara shook her head. “If your blood pressure is too high, you can’t go. I don’t need you blacking out on me because the pain is so bad.”

“It’s not that bad. And I’m going. This is the one adventure that truly interests me.”

Zara wrapped the blood pressure cuff on Gina’s thin arm and pressed the button. Gina waited, watched the numbers like a game show contestant. Too low: you don’t go. Too high: same deal. But just right . . .

“It’s a little elevated,” Zara said.

“But not too high?”

“Close, but you pass.”

“Bingo. We go to the jeweler. I’ll get my purse, and we’re off. What about Nonna?”

“Still not talking about the broach or journal. Amanda is here, so she’ll be fine.”

Gina followed Zara downstairs and paused to scratch each dog’s head. The little creatures were underfoot a lot, but they had a charm she was growing accustomed to. “We’ll take Nonna’s Mercedes. I’m not crazy about the van experience.”

“Don’t knock it. It’s a great way to see the country.”

“No, dear, five-star hotels are the way to go. By the way, I haven’t seen you sleeping in it since you arrived. Nice having running water and toilets, isn’t it?”

“I’m not complaining.”

Gina slid on her darkest sunglasses and ducked her head a little so the bright sunshine did not smack her square in the face and trigger another headache. She texted Zara the address. “This is where we’re going.”

“Got it.” She opened her maps app, turned the radio to a soft-rock station, and kept the volume low.

Gina settled into the passenger-side seat against the warm leather, and she actually felt better. Baby sister was a good nurse and knew all the little tricks to make life easier. “We haven’t talked much about your bucket list.”

“I tackled it, remember?”

“It was just one item, if you don’t count a meltdown.”

“Number one was a fairly large ask. And I’ve already agreed to take you and Nonna to Italy.”

“That won’t count unless you spend at least a week, hopefully two, in Rome. You’ll have the money to do it, and I expect you to spend it,” Gina said.

“A pet sitter will cost more than the trip.”

Gina grinned. “So you’ll go for a couple of weeks?”

“I would like to walk in Isabella’s shoes, and as long as the trip doesn’t involve me sleeping with another man, I’m open to suggestions.”

“Have you heard from Nicolas? It’s been a couple of days.”

“No, I haven’t heard from him.”

“Have you called him?” Gina asked.

“He’s the one that has to work it out. Calls from me aren’t going to help. If he wants me, he knows where to find me.”

“Do you think he’ll reach out?” Gina asked.

“I don’t think so. Like I’ve said, Catherine was his one and only.”

“That doesn’t mean he can’t love again.”

“Nobody likes to play second fiddle,” Zara said.

“I don’t think it works that way.”

“Have you ever been in love?” Zara asked. She pulled out of their neighborhood and onto Forest Hill Avenue toward the Nickel Bridge, which fed into the city.

“When have I not?” Gina asked.

“No, I mean really in love.” Her brow wrinkled as it had when she was a kid and she had been pondering a problem.

“There was a guy in my midtwenties. I thought he was the one.”

“Was that Bob or Mark?”

Gina grinned. “It was Simon.”

“The doctor?”

“That’s right.”

“He was a nice guy. Good looking, and he had the best stories about working in the hospital. He’s part of the reason I became a nurse.”

“I figured you inherited your medical talent from Dad.”

“Remember the stethoscope Simon gave me? Big hit.”

“How old were you? Fourteen?”

“Give or take. Why didn’t you marry him?”

“He was into his work. Like Daddy was. I loved him for his dedication, but I saw myself taking the same path as my mother. I suddenly pictured myself at forty with kids and a husband chasing a woman half his age. I didn’t want to go there, so I broke up with him.”

“How did Simon take it?”

“Not well. I broke his heart.” In her worst moments, she traveled to the day she left him and how shattered he had looked. “He eventually married about ten years later, and I hear he has a couple of kids.”

To Zara’s credit, she did not ask how it made Gina feel. It had never felt good, not even after all these years.

They rode into the town, the silence only broken up with the mechanical voice that dished out their directions. She pulled into a handicap parking spot in front of the store.

“I don’t have a tag,” Gina said.

Zara pulled one from her purse. “I have Nonna’s. You’re going to need it too.”

Gina stared at the blue-and-white tag now hanging from the rearview mirror. Though it was another indignity, she was grateful the car was close to the shop, and she was spared crossing the hot parking lot.

Out of the car, she moved toward the door and pulled it open. Overhead bells rang.

Standing behind the counter was a tall, lean man in his late forties. His dark hair and olive skin, coupled with a quick, smooth smile, had Gina grinning. “Tony,” she said.

“Gina.” He came around the counter and kissed her on each cheek. “I’ve not seen you in a while. Where have you been? And is it true you’re closing your shop?”

“On to a new adventure.” Gina did her best to sound breathless and unbothered. “I’ve missed you. This is my sister, Zara.”

He greeted Zara and only betrayed a flicker of curiosity over the sister who did not resemble her at all. “And now you reappear with the most fascinating mystery for me.”

“Never boring, darling,” Gina said.

“Were you able to find any information about the broach?” Zara asked.

Tony reached for his black, chunky glasses. “Of course.”

“Tony is a miracle worker when it comes to old pieces of jewelry. Now tell my sister what you found before she busts.”

Grinning proudly, he moved around the counter and produced a manila folder. He opened it to the large-scale picture Gina had sent him. “I was intrigued the moment I saw it,” he said. “And if you have not sold it, do not accept any offer without talking to me first.”

Gina moved to the glass case and glanced at the sparkly diamonds. God, but she loved them. She was going to miss dressing to the nines. “It’s not for sale. Can you tell me what you found?”

“The maker’s mark was very distinct. I started in Rome, as you suggested, and though it took a few calls, I found the jeweler who made the piece.”

“You found the shop? How is that possible?” Zara asked.

“It’s very easy. It’s still in business. It was made by a Marcello Conti, who was the original shop owner. He opened his doors in 1920 on the Via Veneto. He ran his shop until the early 1960s and then turned it over to his son, and now his grandson operates the business. I sent them a picture of the piece and inquired about Signora Margherita Bianco. They still have their original sales records.”

After all this time,Gina thought.

“It’s not uncommon for stores in Rome to be passed from generation to generation and to stay in business for centuries,” Tony said.

Again, the universe had allocated time in a disproportionate way.

“The broach was purchased in 1921 by Ferdinando Bianco, who was a general in the First World War. Apparently quite the war hero and businessman. He bought many pieces over the years, but no one had ever inquired with the jeweler about them.”

“Isabella’s diary said the Bianco apartment had been completely looted. Whoever took her jewels kept them,” Zara said.

“When an item as unique as this one is stolen, it’s often divided into smaller stones. It becomes untraceable very quickly,” Tony said.

“We know who bought the broach, but the original owners are long dead,” Zara said.

“Signor Conti looked through his records to see if any of the other Biancos had been a client. The signora’s grandson, Edoardo, bought an engagement ring in 1943, and then there were no purchases until 1950, when Edoardo Bianco returned to the shop to buy a necklace for his wife. The Biancos continue to frequent the store to this day.”

“How can you be sure it’s the same family?” Gina asked.

“The store keeps careful records, always creating files for wealthy families. Edoardo was filed under his grandfather’s original account, and the store manager confirmed that the elder Bianco had purchased an emerald broach in 1921 for his wife.”

“Signora Bianco’s grandson and granddaughter-in-law survived the war,” Zara said. “They made it out of Italy.”

“The couple spent the remainder of the war in Switzerland and returned to Italy in 1946. Edoardo worked hard to rebuild his family’s fortune, and the family now owns extensive properties in Rome, Umbria, and Tuscany,” Tony said. When they both looked at him a little surprised, he shrugged.

“My goodness, you’ve been busy,” Gina said.

“I became quite fascinated and did a little detective work on the family this morning.”

“We can contact the family through the jeweler?” Gina asked.

“He said he would be more than happy to set up a meeting,” Tony said.

“Nonna will be interested to know this,” Gina said.

“Maybe she can finally tell us how she came to own the broach,” Zara said.