Nunn The Palazzo

A thrilling destination murder mystery from the internationally bestselling author of The Botanist's Daughter, perfect for fans of Lucy Foley and Lucy Clarke
1. Auflage 2025
ISBN: 978-1-83501-150-8
Verlag: No Exit Press
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 6 - ePub Watermark

E-Book, Englisch, 304 Seiten

They're all killers, but only one will resort to murder. The stunning new novel from international bestseller Kayte Nunn, for all fans of Lucy Foley and White Lotus. Successful beauty entrepreneur Vivi Savidge is about to celebrate her fortieth birthday at the Palazzo Stellina, a historic former convent in the foothills of the Italian Alps. Vivi's little sister is flying in from Brisbane with her sixteen-year-old twins in tow. Her ex-colleague and his new husband are coming from Boston, and old university friend Caroline is driving from Turin. Every one of them is hiding a shameful secret. Amid a suffocating heatwave, the holiday ignites an explosive cocktail of obsession, jealousy, and greed. Before the week is over, secrets will be exposed and the gathering will turn deadly, leaving one victim, a handful of suspects, and a murderer in their midst. 'A brilliantly twisty thriller in a beautiful setting. I couldn't put this down' Pip Drysdale 'Will whisk you away from everyday life and immerse you in the Italian mountainside, which turns out to be as deadly as it is idyllic' B.M. Carroll

Kayte Nunn is the internationally bestselling author of seven novels, most recently 2022's The Only Child. They are available worldwide in English, and have been translated into eleven languages. She was brought up in England, lived in the US for a number of years as a child and now calls the Northern Rivers of NSW, Australia home.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Nunn, Kayte

Leseproben

CHAPTER TWO

‘Taking it to extremes, isn’t she? Running away to a convent.’ A tall, fair woman in a crumpled oversized cotton shirt, striped track pants and dirty white sneakers steps out of the car that has pulled up at the front. She surveys the buildings before her, shading her eyes against the glare of the sun as she takes in the razor-sharp mountain peaks beyond. ‘Jesus, it’s hot.’

‘Alice! I’m so glad you made it!’ Vivi peers over the balustrade, her face alight with pleasure, although if someone were to look carefully, they would see wariness etched into the fine lines around her eyes. ‘ convent,’ she stresses, then straightens and throws her arms wide, as if she is the proprietor of this magnificently crumbling mansion when in fact she has merely rented it for the week. ‘Welcome to the Palazzo Stellina!’

Two teenage girls emerge from the back of the tiny car, unfolding their limbs like baby giraffes. Younger versions of their mother, they’re almost identical, with long, poker-straight fine blonde hair and the round, angelic faces and china blue eyes of an Anglo-Saxon Madonna. They’re both wearing pastel linen dungarees over tiny matching T-shirts, bucket hats and bug-eyed sunglasses, and look as fresh as if they just stepped out of the shower instead of having just endured a punishing long-haul flight.

‘Girls!’ Their mother takes a deep breath. ‘Italy! Can you believe it? I was right: even the air smells good here.’

They all raise their faces, flowers to the sun, and Vivi takes a moment to appreciate how much the twins have grown. She wants to stop time, to freeze them like this, to keep them at an age where nothing catastrophic has happened to them, when they haven’t experienced the loss of someone they love. Although if she were able to stop time, she should probably have done so months ago.

‘Mia? Isla? Darlings?’ she calls. ‘My God! I almost didn’t recognise you.’ She hurries to greet her sister, nearly tripping on the steps in her haste. ‘Such a cliché, I know, but has it really been three years?’ She pictures them with dimpled elbows and cheeks, in toddler pyjamas, smelling of bubble bath, snuggling in for bedtime stories. As newborns, two impossibly tiny, perfectly round, bald heads peeking out of pink blankets. The back of her throat begins to sting and she blinks rapidly: those days are long gone, and she was only there for a handful of them, too busy with her own baby, the business she tended to with as much constancy and ferocity as any mother.

How did they get here so fast, the girls practically grown, their childhood already a memory that she was barely a part of? It feels like five minutes has passed, not fifteen – or is it sixteen? – years.

‘Weeds, aren’t they? They’ve left me a long way behind. They’re even a head taller than Jeff,’ Alice says, releasing a hair elastic to shake out her messy ponytail, her fair skin free of make-up. No matter how much free product Vivi sends her, she never wears any of it, caring little about such things. Alice turns to hug Vivi fiercely, mashing her face against her shoulder. It’s even more of a comfort than Vivi expected, and she returns the hug with equal fervour.

‘Not exactly an achievement.’ Alice’s ex-husband liked to pretend he was five foot nine, but he fooled no one.

‘Fair comment.’ Alice releases her, reaching into her bag and pulling out a pack of nicotine gum. She thrusts it at Vivi, but Vivi shakes her head. She has never had a habit and is surprised her sister doesn’t remember that, but then Alice has always been oblivious to things that don’t directly concern her. ‘You look good.’ She tilts her head to one side. ‘All things considered.’

‘Liar.’ Vivi can’t hide the plum-coloured shadows under her eyes, the wan skin. No amount of serums or expensive creams can conceal the indelible marks of grief.

Isla is looking around with interest, reaching out to touch the rough stone of the palazzo walls, while Mia is stabbing at her phone, frowning.

‘How are my favourite nieces?’

‘Good, thanks, Auntie Vee,’ they chant in unison, smiles briefly lighting up their faces. They have Australian accents now. Five years down under will do that.

The two girls return Vivi’s effusive hugs, Isla more enthusiastically than her twin. Nothing’s changed: Mia always was the less approachable of the pair. Even as a toddler she’d shy away from any display of affection. She was the daring one, running laps around Vivi’s back garden or trying to climb the fence into the next-door neighbour’s place. Always wanting to live dangerously. Isla was the obedient one, the kind one, and although Vivi loves them both dearly and equally, she has an extra layer of admiration for Mia, a risk-taker after her own heart, stubborn in the pursuit of her desires.

‘Sorry about everything,’ Isla whispers, and Vivi squeezes her tighter.

‘Precious girl.’

‘I can’t believe we made it here in one piece. I fear my life has been considerably shortened by that autostrada out of Turin.’ Alice widens her eyes and mimes hands gripping a steering wheel, her clenched knuckles demonstrating her terror. ‘Driving on the wrong side of the road with jetlag. I deserve a medal.’

‘You didn’t kill us, Mum,’ Isla says.

‘Not quite,’ Mia chimes in.

Alice ignores her daughters, puts the packet of gum back in her bag and takes in her surroundings. ‘It’s bloody gorgeous,’ she says, turning in a slow circle, her eyes widening as she sees the sheer face of the mountains, purple in the heat haze, sharp as cut-outs against the sky. ‘We won’t want to leave, will we, girls?’

The twins are inspecting the pockmarked stone walls, the broken shutters (painted a nevertheless charming shade of duck-egg blue) and the unruly gardens. Mia, snapping away with the camera on her phone, mumbles something unintelligible that Vivi chooses to interpret as positive.

‘’ says Isla shyly.

‘She’s been learning Italian on Duolingo ever since she found out we were coming,’ Alice says proudly.

‘Mum! You’re oversharing. Again,’ Mia grumbles.

‘It’s fine, really,’ Isla says.

‘What can I smell?’ Alice ignores Mia, sniffing the air again. ‘Garlic? Rosemary? It’s going to be heaven to be catered to for a week!’

‘Well done, Isla; I hope it comes in useful. This place isn’t too shabby, huh?’ Vivi isn’t about to draw attention to the scuffed furniture or temperamental plumbing. As she looks back towards the palazzo, her gaze falls on a window on the top floor. A movement catches her eye. She squints, and for a moment thinks she sees someone there, a gaunt face peering down at them. She turns back to her sister, ignoring the unnerving feeling of being watched. ‘I can’t claim any responsibility, I’m afraid. Jade found it,’ she admits.

The pictures on Instagram make the nineteenth-century palazzo seem more glamorous than it is, but since when is that a surprise. ‘I’m sorry it’s only Piedmont and not the Cinque Terre, or Sicily, or Puglia. That’s where everyone is going these days, isn’t it?’ They both skirt the fact that not only is Vivi footing the bill for the entire group but she also had her travel agent arrange the flights for Alice and the girls. ‘She’ll get the best deal,’ Vivi had said on the phone when she issued the invitation, batting away Alice’s half-hearted protests.

Six months ago, Jade, her blessedly efficient EA, had been planning an extravagant fortieth birthday celebration with two hundred of Vivi’s friends, colleagues and business acquaintances in the ballroom at Claridge’s. A gilt-embossed invitation on heavy card had been approved and was waiting to be printed. But after Will’s diagnosis, Vivi decided not to go ahead with it, insisting the party be cancelled, even if it meant forfeiting the deposit. ‘But see if they’ll waive the fee,’ she instructed Jade. The alternative, a quick getaway with only the closest of friends and family, was all she could possibly cope with.

When Jade sent her the details of the Palazzo Stellina, a private estate staffed by a former Michelin-starred chef and accommodating up to a dozen guests, it seemed the answer to her prayers. More importantly, it was vacant on the date required. When Jade booked it, Vivi was still optimistic that Will would be well enough to make it.

Honestly, she could kill him for not being here.

It isn’t the first time she’s wished him dead, but if killing your spouse doesn’t occur to you at least once during a marriage, who even are you? Her lips curve at the irony. Black humour and sheer bloody-mindedness are the only things getting her out of bed these days. You didn’t get to where she was without people waiting on the sidelines for you to fall apart, and she was damned if she was going to give them the satisfaction.

‘Don’t worry. Half of the girls’ class is in either Positano or Puglia.’ Alice laughs expansively. ‘At least we won’t run into anyone we know here, right,...