Treasured Dreams by Kendall Talbot Page B

funeral mask of Tutankhamun.’ His words were loaded with awe.
    The base of the cylinder was a layer of gold, carved in a way to look like rope twisted around and around, gradually becoming narrower so it formed a cone and ended in a knot at the very tip. Sezoine turned to Alessandro. ‘This is incredible.’
    â€˜What is it?’ Alessandro asked.
    He shook his head. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
    â€˜Do you think it has something inside?’ Ginger said.
    â€˜I’m not sure.’ Sezoine rolled the cylinder over with his fingers.
    â€˜It looks like the gold cap might come off.’ Alessandro said.
    Sezoine let out a gush of breath. ‘We need to clean this up first. Then we’ll look.’
    â€˜But that could take hours,’ Ginger said.
    Alessandro looked around. Everything was covered in coffee-coloured dust. It would take hours.
    Sezoine turned to Ginger. His face was stern. ‘Whoever created this went to great lengths to protect whatever is inside.’
    Alessandro stepped forward, saving Ginger from Sezoine’s warning. ‘Okay, what shall we do?’
    Sezoine glanced at the clock on the wall and huffed. ‘I need to go.’
    â€˜Go! What do you mean, go?’
    â€˜I have a flight to catch. I’m guest speaker at the New York Metropolitan Museum of Art. Sorry, but this’ll have to wait until I get back.’
    â€˜Wait?’ Ginger thumped her sides with her fists.
    He turned to her. ‘Yes. Wait. We can’t progress without cleaning this up and …’ he ran his hand over the blue cylinder, ‘I want to take my time examining this exquisite piece.’
    Alessandro sighed. ‘When do you return?’
    Sezoine slowly shook his head. ‘Ten days.’

Chapter Ten
    Rosalina had had an emotional day. It started at the doctors, where she’d held firm hope that the plaster cast would finally come off. She didn’t get the news she wanted. ‘Three more days,’ the doctor had said in a chirpy voice that’d made her want to strangle him.
    After leaving the Santa Maria Nuova Hospital, she’d caught the train back to Signa and hailed a taxi to take her the two kilometres to Villa Pandolfini. Rosalina was exhausted, sore and angry by the time she’d trudged up the gravel driveway.
    Nonna’s first words were. ‘Eat, then we talk.’ It was her standard approach when she noticed someone was troubled. Rosalina knew there was no point putting up a fight. Nonna was impossible to manipulate. She slumped into the kitchen chair, and within seconds Nonna placed a plate of still steaming sfogliatelle pastries before her. The tension magically disappeared as Rosalina inhaled the delicious aroma. Her shoulders sagged with relief as she bit into the buttery pastry and tasted the heavenly semi-sweet ricotta mix ingeniously pillowed inside.
    This was by far one of Rosalina’s favourite traditional Italian sweets, and Nonna was brilliant at knowing when she needed it. Rosalina was fully aware she’d need to eat at least one full pastry before Nonna would allow her to talk, and she was grateful because she felt much better after she’d finished.
    â€˜How are you, Nonna?’ Rosalina didn’t need to be specific; Nonna would be aware she was referring to their last conversation.
    â€˜I’m fine.’ Nonna wrapped her soft, pale hands around Rosalina’s and drew her eyes in. Nonna’s eyes were clear today, thankfully free of tears and tension. ‘You don’t need to worry about me.’
    â€˜I know. Have you seen Filippo?’
    Nonna shook her head and released Rosalina’s hand. ‘Not since we last spoke.’
    At first, Rosalina feared that Nonna wouldn’t reveal her stress even when asked, however as the hours rolled on, and Nonna showed no signs of tension, Rosalina wondered if Nonna was actually pleased to have unburdened that family