LITMIR.BIZ

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      When they had finished, Lucia paid the bill with some of the money she had taken from the cash register and they walked out into the hot sunshine. The streets were beginning to come alive, and the shops were starting to open. By now they have probably caught Miguel Carrillo, Lucia thought.

      Lucia and Teresa were impatient to get out of town, but Graciela and Megan were walking slowly, fascinated by the sights and sounds and the smells of the town.

      Not until they had reached the outskirts and headed towards the mountains did Lucia begin to relax. They moved steadily north, climbing upwards, making slow progress in the hilly terrain. Lucia was tempted to ask Sister Teresa if she would like her to carry the package, but she did not want to say anything that might make the older woman suspicious.

      When they reached a small glade in the highland, surrounded by trees, Lucia said, ‘We can spend the night here. In the morning we’ll head for the convent at Mendavia.’

      The others nodded, believing her.

      

      The sun moved slowly across the blue sky, and the glade was silent, except for the soothing sounds of summer. Finally, night fell.

      One by one the women stretched out on the green grass.

      Lucia lay there, breathing lightly, listening for a deeper silence, waiting for them to fall asleep so that she could make her move.

      Sister Teresa was finding it difficult to sleep. It was a strange experience sleeping out under the stars, surrounded by her sisters. They had names now, and faces and voices, and she was afraid that God was going to punish her for this forbidden knowledge. She felt terribly lost.

      Sister Megan, too, was having difficulty getting to sleep. She was filled with the excitement of the day’s events. How did I know that the friar was a fraud? she wondered. And where did I get the courage to save Sister Graciela? She smiled, unable to keep from being a tiny bit pleased with herself, even though she knew such a feeling was a sin.

      Graciela was asleep, emotionally drained by what she had gone through. She tossed and turned in her sleep, haunted by dreams of being chased down dark, long, endless corridors.

      Lucia Carmine lay still, waiting. She lay there for almost two hours and then quietly sat up and moved through the darkness towards Sister Teresa. She would take the package and disappear.

      As she neared Sister Teresa, Lucia saw that the nun was awake on her knees, praying. Damn! Lucia hurriedly retreated.

      Lucia lay down again, forcing herself to be patient. Sister Teresa could not pray all night. She had to get some sleep.

      Lucia planned. The money taken from the cash register would be enough for her to take a bus or a train to Madrid. Once there, it would be simple to find a pawnbroker. She saw herself walking in and handing him the golden cross. The pawnbroker would suspect that it was stolen, but that would not matter. He would have plenty of customers eager to buy it.

       I will give you one hundred thousand pesetas for it.

      She would pick it up from the counter. I would rather sell my body first.

       One hundred and fifty thousand pesetas.

       I would prefer to melt it down and let the gold run in the gutter.

       Two hundred thousand pesetas. That is my last offer.

       You are robbing me blind, but I will accept it.

      The pawnbroker would eagerly reach for it.

       On one condition.

       A condition?

      Yes. I misplaced my passport. Do you know someone who can arrange a passport for me? Her hands would still be on the golden cross.

      He would hesitate, then say, I happen to have a friend who does things like that.

      And the deal would be done. She would be on her way to Switzerland and freedom. She remembered her father’s words: There is more money there than you could spend in ten lifetimes.

      Her eyes began to close. It had been a long day.

      In her half-sleep, Lucia heard the sound of a church bell from the distant village. It sent memories flooding through her, of another place, another time …

       Chapter Eight

      Taormina, Sicily 1968

      

      She was awakened every morning by the distant sound of the bells of the Church of San Domenico, high in the Peloritani mountains surrounding Taormina. She enjoyed waking up slowly, languorously stretching like a cat. She kept her eyes closed, knowing that there was something wonderful to remember. What was it? The question teased at her mind, and she pushed it back, not wanting to know just yet, wanting to savour the surprise. And suddenly her mind was joyously flooded with it. She was Lucia Maria Carmine, the daughter of Angelo Carmine, and that was enough to make anyone in the world happy.

      They lived in a large, storybook villa filled with more servants than the fifteen-year-old Lucia could count. A bodyguard drove her to school each morning in an armoured limousine. She grew up with the prettiest dresses and the most expensive toys in all of Sicily, and was the envy of her schoolmates.

      But it was her father around whom Lucia’s life centred. In her eyes, he was the most handsome man in the world. He was short and heavyset, with a strong face and stormy brown eyes that radiated power. He had two sons, Arnaldo and Victor, but it was his daughter whom Angelo Carmine adored. And Lucia worshipped him. In church when the priest spoke of God, Lucia always thought of her father.

      He would come to her bedside in the morning and say, ‘Time to get up for school, faccia del angelo.” Angel face.

      It was not true, of course. Lucia knew she was not really beautiful. I’m attractive, she thought, studying herself objectively in the mirror. Yes. Striking, rather than beautiful. Her reflection showed a young girl with an oval face, creamy skin, even, white teeth, a strong chin – too strong? – voluptuous, full lips – too full? – and dark, knowing eyes. But if her face fell just short of being beautiful, her body more than made up for it. At fifteen, Lucia had the body of a woman, with round, firm breasts, a narrow waist and hips that moved with sensuous promise.

      ‘We’re going to have to marry you off early,’ her father would tease her. ‘Soon you will drive the young men pazzi, my little virgin.’

      ‘I want to marry someone like you, Papa, but there is no one like you.’

      He laughed. ‘Never mind. We’ll find you a prince. You were born under a lucky star, and one day you will know what it is like to have a man hold you in his arms and make love to you.’

      Lucia blushed. ‘Yes, Papa.’

      It was true that no one had made love to her – not for the past twelve hours. Benito Patas, one of her bodyguards, always came to her bed when her father was out of town. Having Benito make love to her in her house added to the thrill because Lucia knew that her father would kill them both if he ever discovered what was going on.

      

      Benito was in his thirties, and it flattered him that the beautiful young virgin daughter of the great Angelo Carmine had chosen him to deflower her.

      ‘Was it as you expected?’ he asked the first time he bedded her.

      ‘Oh, yes,’ Lucia breathed. ‘Better.’

      She thought: While he’s not as good as Mario, Tony or Enrico, he’s certainly better than Roberto and Leo. She could not remember the names of all the others.

      At thirteen, Lucia had felt that she had been a virgin

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