The Italian's Passionate Revenge

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WHOis he? Why has this stranger come to my husband’s funeral and why does he stand there, staring at me across the grave?

‘Ashes to ashes, dust to dust-’

In a corner of a London cemetery the preacher intoned the words over the open grave, while the mourners shivered in the cold February drizzle and the dead man’s widow wished it could all soon be over.

Ashes and dust, she brooded. A perfect description of my marriage.

Elise ventured a glance around the others and saw only blank faces, just as she’d expected. Ben Carlton had had business associates, but no friends. His life had been a litter of shady deals and shabby relationships.

Including ours, Elise thought. A wretched marriage, for wretched reasons, brought to a wretched end.

Many of the people here were unfamiliar. Some she’d met at the lavish dinner parties Ben had enjoyed giving, and she vaguely recalled their faces. Some she’d seen at functions hosted by his firm. Others she’d never seen. They all looked alike, except for one man.

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