Il Segreto: The Secret

By Jeremy Gent

This book, il segreto (the secret) is the follow on from il complotto (the plot) and is followed by la fuga (the escape).
It tells the story Maddelena Ongaro, daughter of Luisa whose sister Gianna was murdered before Maddelena was born. Maddelena grows up in Venice with her brother Cesare. A traumatic event occurs which remains her secret. She eventually marries and emigates to Australia with her husband David Court. She visits Italy once per year but after the death of her father gets caught up in trying to shield her mother from the part she played in the murderous plot carried out by her brother-in-law Paul.
When Paul dies information turns up that reveals the possible identity of Gianna's killer after more than thirty years. A trial follows and at last someone is convicted. But has the correct person gone to prison?

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jul 5, 2011
• ISBN: 9781467892520

Jeremy Gent

see page 253 of first book Il Complotto and use this text

Book preview

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© 2011 Jeremy Gent. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 6/27/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-8278-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4678-9252-0 (eBook)

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Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

About the Author

PART TWO

IL SEGRETO

(The Secret)

CHAPTER 1 

2006

Maddalena Ongaro looked again at her name printed inside her passport. She had just woken up but it was still the early stage of her flight from Sydney to Rome. Emerging from a light sleep she momentarily had not been sure where she was. It was a long and frustrating delay before the passengers could embark on to the Alitalia flight but eventually they got under way. When settled in her seat it was not long before she had closed her eyes, almost as if she was trying to get the experience of queuing and waiting and queuing again out of her system. She had gone through this process so many times before yet still she hated this essential part of international travel, which at every stage was governed by the need for intense security. Now that she was fully alert she was carrying out the series of personal checks that many nervous travellers do to make sure they have got everything around them and on them. Everything was still there. It was now two weeks since she changed back to her maiden name; it was all part of her emotional catharsis. This followed the divorce from her husband. It had been the final trip that tied up all the loose ends. Now there was no turning back.

As far as she was concerned she was returning for good to her native Italy and this was something she never thought she would do until a couple of years ago. As the 747 Boeing cruised at 33,000 feet, first towards Singapore for a stop and then on to Rome she had time to reflect, firstly on her life before she emigrated about eleven years ago, then on the life she finally left behind in Australia and lastly to wonder what the future held for her.

At thirty-five it wasn’t too late to start a new life and indeed she had already made strides in that direction. She remembered all those years ago when she was first married, she started her life in Sydney and was told by some friendly neighbours who invited them to a beach party at Bondi – You’re an Aussie now! She quickly adapted to the way of life, language and culture and now spoke English with an easily recognisable Australian accent. Deep down she still felt like an Italian and her regular return visits to her birthplace in Venice meant that she never forgot her roots. But her outlook on life was not totally Italian anymore. She could be described as having an Anglo-Australian perspective on life and events as they arose. Now that she was returning for good would she revert back to being Italian in outlook? She didn’t think so.

She did not necessarily think that her way of living was so different from anyone else but so many unusual, not to mention unpleasant things had happened in her life so far that it was at times hard to take it all in. She wondered if it showed in her face. Now she had fully dealt with the latest change and staying with her husband was never an option after what happened. The next meeting with her mother Luisa in Venice was going to be a very difficult one and probably an intense affair because not everything was yet out in the open. It was time for her to rationalise the situation before coming to some form of reconciliation with her mother. But there were some shocks still left in store for her mother after this last visit. She supposed that if you have a large number of setbacks in life after a time you become shockproof. In that respect her mother suffered even more than her but some of mother’s worst problems were of her own making.

It was a matter of some amazement to herself that her mother wasn’t really completely screwed up. She did not think that there was too much more to discover about what had gone on in the past. However she hoped if there was still more to come out that once revealed it didn’t have the effect of damaging her irreparably. The first thing to deal with when she returned was a funeral, just what she didn’t need. Somewhere in between there had to be this long talk with mother because the time had come to say what should have been said a long time ago.

Maddalena Ongaro – the name reflected back at her from the laminated page – how was she coping? When she told some of her friends back in Sydney that she was going back to Italy for ever and would not be returning this time, they asked if it was because of her divorce or her family. She explained that it was both and that there were many problems still to resolve. Within her immediate circle of friends most knew something of what she had been through in the last couple of years, much of which had been spent back in Italy. Strangely enough, these couple of years brought a certain amount of stability and happiness and that was what was driving her on.

She must have been asleep for longer than she thought because on the overhead screen the journey map showed that the plane was leaving Australian airspace. This event in its own way felt quite symbolic. Her thoughts again turned to family. She recalled one of her colleagues at work saying sympathetically that you could choose your friends but not your family. How true that was.

She realised that the noise that woke her up was the sound of the trolley bringing a meal for the semi-comatose passengers in economy class. Maddalena found it difficult to get excited about airline food but the consumption of it managed to kill half an hour of the flying time. The coffee that followed the meal was indescribably awful. It always was on aeroplanes – why didn’t she learn? For that matter, why didn’t it get any better? She winced as she saw the brown sludge emerge from the spout of the big pot and almost changed her mind but couldn’t summon the courage to make a nuisance of herself.

It was important to eat as she now had an occipital headache. With her, this came about as a result of the build up of stress and tension and to have one this early during the flight was not a good sign. She reached inside her airline shoulder bag which had been stowed under the aircraft seat and pulled out the extra bottle of water she asked the stewardess for and took a drink. It helped to take away the dull metallic taste of the coffee which made her tongue feel like a piece of carpet in her mouth. Keeping well hydrated on long flights was the right thing to do and was something she had learned over the years. She hated taking any kind of pills or tablets but if this headache continued she would just have to give in. After half an hour it showed no sign of abating so she gave in and the water bottle was opened again to wash down the pain relief tablets.

Her minded drifted and shifted around all the issues. There was too much going on up there inside her head – this was the real cause of the headache. She closed her eyes and thankfully was asleep again.

CHAPTER 2 

Early years in Venice

One of my earliest childhood recollections was going out on the vaporetto to the island of San Michele in the Venetian lagoon. From Cannaregio where we lived we would go to the most practical waterbus stop for the journey, which for us was the Fondamente Nuove. Sometimes we would go from the stops at Sant’Alvise or Madonna Dell’Orto instead just for a bit of variety and added to that it was not as far to walk as they were slightly closer to where we lived. The stop we got off at on the island was called Cimitero – cemetery – because that is where Venetians go to be buried.

The family plot had to be visited regularly in order to be respectfully maintained. I could only have been about four years old when I first went on this trip. I was always neatly dressed and on my very best behaviour and took flowers with me. I remember the first time when il nonno (grandfather) showed me where la nonna (grandmother) was laid to rest. She died well before I was born. He carried her picture with him all the time. He told me all about her but I don’t remember very much of what he said. Mamma Luisa, my mother, always went and stood at the grave of her sister, my Aunty Gianna who was murdered in England and been flown home to be buried. This was also before I was born so it was very difficult for me and my brother, when he was old enough to be taken over to the island, to feel as sorrowful as the older members of the family. How can you grieve properly for people you never knew? These were forever very sombre occasions but whenever my Uncle Carlo who had been married to Aunty Gianna came over from England the pilgrimage to San Michele would be followed by a party at a local restaurant because he said that he didn’t want everyone to be sad.

As far as I was concerned he was always a very popular figure and because he was such great fun. He would hold my hand and say that he wanted us to remember all the good times. The atmosphere was always so much better when he was with us. The usual silence that went with such trips to the cemetery would be broken by him as he pointed out something of interest that was going on in the lagoon. It might only be a boat or a rare bird – whatever it was he managed to make it appear interesting simply because of his natural enthusiasm.

To show his devotion to the family after Aunty Gianna’s murder he continued to visit Venice, quite often combining it with business. He was a wealthy man and apparently insisted on paying for a large amount of Mamma’s wedding expenses because he knew that Grandfather was not very well-off. He was also quite well known for his charitable work in the city especially after the great flood which took place back in 1966 before I was born. People still talked about the event because there were regular reminders of it. When a high tide was expected or adverse weather conditions were to affect the lagoon, the early warning sirens would go off. In Palazzo San Marco the shopkeepers would transfer all the products on the lower shelves to upstairs in the building, or to higher shelves within the shop to restrict the amount of water damage. After the high water disappeared you would see them milling around with their buckets and mops cleaning up with resigned looks upon their faces, glad that the water has gone but knowing that there is going to be a next time.

Uncle Carlo also wanted us to move from our apartment, large and comfortable though it was, in Cannaregio to what he considered to be a nicer area. But Grandfather would not do this despite the fact that Uncle Carlo would have given him the money. Grandfather did however agree to a total refurbishment of the apartment and no expense was spared. As a child I never felt that I went without anything and this in part had quite a lot to do with Uncle Carlo’s generosity.

When I was about ten years old or so my young brother Cesare threw a tantrum one day when we were due to go out to the island and refused to go. He had been going to the island since he was about two years old. The novelty quickly wore off and he always got bored when we went over on these visits and was frequently told off. This time he was determined not to go. He rolled around on the floor of the apartment in his best clothes with his hands placed over his ears so that he could not hear the pleadings with him to stop and the angry shouts telling him to behave himself. What he probably needed was a good slap around the legs but my parents never ever hit us at any time whilst we were young and growing up. So he was allowed to get away with this and in future stayed at home or went fishing with Papa. To me this seemed a reward for bad behaviour and a lack of respect. Papa reasoned that a young boy does not understand but did that mean that young girls like me automatically do? I also think it gave Papa a good excuse not to go as well although he would never admit to that. I continued to go. I don’t know why it didn’t occur to me to make a fuss as he had done. Perhaps it was because I was so close to my Mamma who I loved and admired. The trips became less stressful without Cesare’s incessant whining and moaning but not any more cheerful.

Cesare was the boy who always wanted to be first except when it came to having to make any personal effort or sacrifice to achieve that end. He was the big boy that behaved like a baby. At school the need to do well was instilled in me at an early age and I dare not step out of line whereas the continuous misdemeanours of Cesare went unpunished. If he had done wrong it was always someone else who was at fault or the teacher was picking on him. I worked hard and got on well whereas he was indolent and rude and achieved very little. My Mamma did not get much backing from my Papa when she tried to chastise him in any way and in the end she gave up rather than have rows with Papa. I can tell you that there were many rows about how to deal with Cesare. He became even worse when five years after the time of his big tantrum Uncle Carlo started to bring his two sons over from England.

He remarried after the murder of my Aunty and on the first occasion he brought his wife Hayley with him. Hayley used to be an employee of his at his small commercial art gallery in London and according to Mamma came to Venice on a few occasions and met the family several times before. Cesare and I were told to look upon the boys as cousins.

The visit wasn’t a great success. Mamma did not appear to care for Hayley very much and after that first summer she never came again. The feeling was mutual with Hayley showing no warmth towards Mamma and only barely smiling at us children. When she was there I remember her taking me on one side and asking me how my grandfather was. She asked me to tell him that she was sorry to have missed him.

He chose this time to go and visit his wartime partisan comrades down in Sicily where he had, as a young man, assisted in the Allied Invasion in 1943. He felt that it would be too overcrowded at home with the extra visitors from England and anyway it was time he said to pay his respects to the boys that gave their lives.

Grandfather told lots of stories about the war and repeated them many times. You had to pretend that you had never heard these stories before. I got the impression that Mamma believed that he exaggerated his own bravery in many of these tales. At first, before he stopped listening to the repeats, Cesare would ask him how many Germans he killed and he would reply that he didn’t keep count because in war you didn’t do that out of respect for your fellow soldier, even if he was an enemy. Mamma’s facial expression gave away the fact that she had also heard this and other stories many times before. She would say tongue in cheek that it was lucky he and his friends were there otherwise the Allies would never have won. He was aware that he was being teased and then he would go on about there being no respect these days.

He also claimed that he had always been against Mussolini and the fascists but again, the way that Mamma reacted I don’t think she was so sure. She would always tease him. So when you found out who was winning you changed sides. When he protested she would look away and smile.

Anyway he met up with his old pals and from what he told us afterwards went to ceremonies at the burial concentration grounds just outside Catania and at Siracusa. Siracusa was the place where one of his old friends owned a café over on the causeway linked small island of Ostia and this was where he stayed during his visit. When he came back he was very subdued and the trip wasn’t the great success that he had been anticipating. According to him, everything had changed. He was particularly incensed that a large part of the coastline from Augusta down to Siracusa was now heavily industrialised. Why he should be so surprised about this after forty or so years was difficult for my parents to fathom. Mamma went to lengths to explain that this was the inevitable price that had to be paid for progress and when he went on complaining she lost patience with him. He was perhaps seeking some kind of magic excitement that he experienced as a younger man and was disappointed when he didn’t find it. It was a journey that he was never to make again.

When I next saw him on my own I told him that Aunty Hayley asked to be remembered to him. Grandfather was usually very kind and doted on me but when I mentioned this his face became very stern and his mood angry. He told me never to speak about this woman again to him because she had, replaced your Aunty Gianna and this upsets your Mamma. I confess to being shocked by this and didn’t say anything to Mamma about it for fear that she would also get angry.

My brother Cesare hated his new found cousins but I must say at this point that I liked both of them. This made things even worse as far as Cesare was concerned and we used to argue about it. Matters deteriorated between Cesare and me the next summer when I developed a crush on the older of the two boys. His name was David; he and I spent a lot of time together whilst his brother Paul seemed to worship my Mamma. Paul had made a very special effort to improve his Italian and I was very impressed with how good he was at speaking it. In fairness to him he tried to be friendly towards Cesare bringing him sweets and keepsakes over from England.

Paul had found out that Cesare liked football and when he first came over he brought with him some old badges of the leading English and Scottish teams that had been given to him by his Uncle Ronnie who was the caretaker for the gallery in London. This was a miscalculation by Paul because Cesare was a mad keen supporter of the Turin team Juventus. Paul did not appreciate how much il calcio (football) is not so much a sport