Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose Page 4

  He heard her stop outside his door and waited with dread for the knock. He loved his mother, but he shrank from the questions he couldn’t answer because he didn’t want to face them.

  After a while she went away, leaving him alone with the brightening dawn that had no power over the darkness inside him.

  ‘Are you looking at those again?’ Toni Rinucci asked his wife warmly.

  Hope smiled, looking up from the book of wedding photographs she was studying.

  ‘I can’t help it,’ she said. ‘They are so beautiful.’

  ‘But Ruggiero has been married for three months now,’ he said, naming one of their twin sons.

  ‘The pictures are still beautiful after three months,’ Hope said. ‘Look at little Matti.’

  Ruggiero’s toddler son stood just in front of his father and Polly, his new stepmother. Although only two years old, he’d already managed to steal the limelight.

  ‘He looks like a little angel in that pageboy suit,’ Hope said sentimentally.

  ‘Yes—you’d never know that he’d covered it with mud ten minutes later,’ Toni observed with grandfatherly cynicism.

  ‘He’s real boy,’ Hope declared happily. ‘Oh, look!’

  She’d reached the picture showing all six of her sons.

  ‘It’s so good to see them all together.’ She sighed. ‘Francesco has been away so much—first America, then England—but this time he was here. Oh, it’s so good to have him finally back where he belongs.’

  Toni was silent as they went down the stairs together, and Hope, who could read his silences, glanced at him.

  ‘You don’t think so?’ she asked.

  ‘I’m not sure he’s home to stay. He’s not a boy any more.’

  ‘But of course he won’t stay with us for ever,’ Hope conceded. ‘He’ll find his own place and move out. But we’ll still see him far more often than when he was living abroad.’

  Hope made some coffee for the two of them, and took it out onto the terrace with its view over the bay. They both loved these moments when they had the house to themselves and could indulge in gossip about everyday matters—their household, their sons, their growing army of grandchildren, their upcoming thirty-fifth wedding anniversary—or just about nothing in particular.

  ‘That isn’t really what I meant,’ said Toni as she set his coffee before him, just as he liked it. ‘I sense something strange about his coming home now.’

  ‘He came home for the wedding,’ Hope pointed out.

  ‘Yes, but we thought he’d be here a few days, and bring Celia with him. Instead, he came without her, and stayed. Why did he suddenly leave England? He had a good career there, in a successful firm. He owns shares in it and was making a fortune.’

  ‘But he’ll do even better by setting up here,’ Hope pointed out. ‘It made sense for them to send him to his own country.’

  ‘I don’t like things that are too sensible,’ her husband complained. ‘There’s something else behind it.’

  Hope nodded. ‘I think so, too,’ she conceded. ‘I just hope it isn’t—’

  ‘What?’ Toni asked, laying his hand over hers.

  ‘He used to tell us so much about Celia. Every phone call, every letter was all about her. I was surprised when he said she was blind, because he’s not a man who—Well—’

  ‘Yes, I can’t imagine him living with a woman he has to care for all the time,’ Toni agreed. ‘But I thought we were wrong. I was proud of him. He even sent us photographs of her, and called her his English rose. I’d never known him to be so committed to a woman before.’

  ‘Then suddenly it’s all over,’ Hope said, ‘and he comes home without her. He’s been back for three months now, and he never speaks of her. Why?’

  ‘What are you afraid of?’

  ‘That he left her because his love wasn’t great enough for him to cope. I should be sorry to think that was true of any son of mine.’

  ‘But you didn’t like him living with her at the start,’ Toni pointed out. ‘You said her blindness would hold him back.’

  She made a face.

  ‘All right, I admit I’m not consistent,’ she conceded. ‘Is anyone?’

  ‘Never, in all the years I’ve known you, have you been consistent,’ her husband said fondly.

  ‘I wanted him to be sensible.’ she said, ‘But I suppose I don’t like him to be too sensible. I wanted to believe that my son is better than myself, kinder and more generous.’

  ‘Nobody is more generous than you,’ Toni protested. ‘But for the generosity of your love my life would be nothing.’

  ‘You praise me too much,’ she said with a little smile. ‘It isn’t generous to love a man who gives you everything you want.’

  He returned the smile, and she kissed him, but they both knew that it wasn’t really true. Despite his love, he didn’t give her everything she wanted. Only one man could have done that, and Toni was not that man. It would have been too much to say that he knew it, but he’d always had a suspicion, which he proved by determinedly refusing to ask questions.

  Thirty-five years ago he had met Hope, an Englishwoman visiting Italy, a divorcee with three sons: Luke, adopted; Francesco, born during her marriage, but not by her husband; and Primo, the stepson she’d come to love. Toni had loved her from the first moment, and had been overjoyed when she’d agreed to marry him. Only his own children could increase his happiness, and that had come about the following year, with the birth of twin sons, Carlo and Ruggiero.

  Since then he had sometimes wondered if Francesco was her secret favourite, but her adoration of each one of her sons was so all-encompassing that it was hard for Toni to be sure of his suspicions. Nor did he ever allow himself to brood about them.

  Hope had missed Francesco badly since he’d left home to work in America, later moving to England, but she would have missed any of them who vanished for years, making only brief visits home.

  But suddenly, three months ago, he’d returned to Naples from England, ostensibly for his brother’s wedding, and full of plans for setting up a branch of his firm and increasing his already healthy fortune. While he looked for somewhere to live he’d moved back into the Villa Rinucci, in the room that had always been kept for him, even when it had seemed he would never occupy it again.

  But he had come without the woman he’d once seemed to love, and he would never speak of her.

  ‘You’re afraid he just dumped her because she was a burden, aren’t you?’ Toni asked his wife gently. ‘But I don’t believe that. Not our Francesco.’

  ‘I’ve told myself that many times.’ Hope sighed. ‘But how well do we know him these days?’

  ‘Maybe she dumped him?’ Toni suggested mildly.

  ‘Toni, caro, you’re talking nonsense. A girl with a disability dumping a man who could look after her? No, it’s something else—something that gives him bad dreams.’

  ‘He tells you this?’ Toni asked, startled.

  ‘No, but sometimes he mutters in his sleep. I’ve heard him through the door. Last night I heard him cry, “Get out!” At other times he gets up and walks the floor for hours, as though he was afraid to go back to sleep.’

  ‘Now it is you who are talking nonsense,’ he told her firmly. ‘If he walks the floor, surely it’s because he’s making plans for the factory? Why should he be afraid to sleep?’

  ‘I wish he would tell me,’ Hope said sadly. ‘There is something about this situation that he’s keeping a secret, and it hurts him.’

  ‘Does he know that you heard him last night?’

  ‘No, I meant to knock on his door, but I lacked the courage.’

  ‘Don’t tell me that you’re afraid of your own son?’ he said in a rallying voice.

  ‘Not exactly. But there’s a distant place inside himself, where nobody else is allowed.’

  ‘That’s always been there,’ Toni pointed out. ‘As long as I’ve known Francesco he’s protected that inner place—sometimes fiercely. I remember the
very first day we met. He was three years old, and the wary look was already in his eyes.’

  ‘Perhaps he was just nervous at meeting a stranger?’ Hope mused.

  ‘Francesco has never been nervous of anyone in his life. People are nervous of him. He’s always kept himself to himself. That way he doesn’t have to bother with anyone who doesn’t interest him.’

  ‘Caro, what a cruel thing to say!’ Hope protested.

  ‘I don’t mean to be cruel, but he’s the man he is. He isn’t wide-open to people, and his heart is difficult to reach. He prefers it like that. It saves having to make small talk. He’s impatient with small talk. It’s a waste of time. He told me so.

  ‘You make him sound so grim,’ Hope objected.

  ‘He is grim in many ways. He lacks charm, and that’s another thing he’s glad of.’

  ‘I’ve always found him very charming,’ Hope said, offended.

  ‘So have I. Inside this family he can be delightful. To those he loves he shows warmth and generosity, but to them only. Generally he’s indifferent to the world and its opinions, and nothing’s going to change him. That’s why if this young woman really was the right one, breaking up with her was a greater tragedy than it would be with other men.’

  ‘But he dismissed her.’

  ‘Did he? I wonder. What a pity you didn’t manage to talk to him when you heard him call out in his sleep. He might have opened up at that moment.’

  ‘You’re right.’ She sighed. ‘I’m afraid I’ve missed the chance. This morning he rose early and left before the rest of us were up.’

  ‘Careful to avoid us,’ Toni murmured.

  ‘No, no, I’m sure we’re making too much of this, and all is well with him,’ she said, as lightly as she could manage.

  Toni rested his hand fondly on her shoulder.

  ‘If you say so, carissima,’ he said.

  For the rest of the day Hope was inwardly disturbed. The conversation of the morning haunted her, and she found herself repeatedly going out onto the terrace to look down the path to where a car would climb the hill, hoping that Francesco would return early.

  But there was no sign of him, and at last the light began to fade.

  Despondently, she was about to go inside but stopped at the sight of something moving on the road below. A vehicle was climbing the hill, and for a moment she allowed herself to hope. But then she saw that it was a taxi. It stopped at the steps and the driver got out to open the rear passenger door.

  The first creature out was a dog, a beautiful black Labrador, wearing the harness of a guide dog. A strange feeling came over Hope, and she began to understand even before she saw the other occupant unfold her long, graceful legs and step out. It was the young woman in the pictures Francesco had sent her.

  ‘Good afternoon,’ Hope called, speaking her native English. ‘You must be Signorina Ryland.’

  Celia paid the driver, who set a bag beside her, offering to take it into the house. She declined, gracefully, and he drove away. Her face, turned to Hope’s, was bright and smiling.

  ‘Buongiorno,’ she said. ‘Si, sono la Signorina Ryland. E penso che siate la Signora Rinucci.’

  Hope was both charmed and impressed by this young woman who confirmed her own identity and guessed that of her hostess in excellent Italian. Then Celia added, ‘But if you are Francesco’s mother, you’re as English as I am, or so he’s told me.’

  ‘Indeed, I am,’ Hope confirmed.

  She reached out to shake Celia’s hand, taking the opportunity to assess her, and had the disconcerting impression that she was being assessed in return.

  She knew it was false. Celia’s eyes were sightless, but it was impossible to tell—not merely because they were large and beautiful, of an incredibly clear blue, but also because they were full of life. Mysteriously, they contrived to be both guileless and shrewd.

  ‘I’m glad we’ve met at last,’ Hope said. ‘It was time. Come inside. Can I take your bag?’

  ‘Thank you, but I can carry it.’

  ‘Then let’s go in. There are five broad steps just in front of you.’

  ‘If you walk ahead, Jacko will follow you.’

  The Labrador did so, finding the way after Hope until they were in the large living room and Celia was sitting. Then he curled up unobtrusively close to her chair.

  ‘Perhaps he would like some water?’ Hope suggested.

  ‘He’d love some,’ Celia said quickly. ‘He works so hard.’

  In a few moments Jacko was gulping down water, making so much noise that Celia smiled, reaching down to touch him lightly.

  Hope took the chance to study her, and was astonished by what she saw. Unconsciously she’d fallen victim to the assumption that blind meant dowdy. Now she saw how wrong she’d been. This self-assured young woman made no concessions to her disability. She was dressed with a combination of elegance and daring that actually suggested hours in front of a mirror, getting every detail right.

  Her hair was a flamboyant red, just muted enough to be natural, just adventurous enough to be a statement. For the life of her Hope couldn’t decide which.

  Her make-up was discreetly flawless, her pale complexion offset by a delicate rose tint in her cheeks. Her figure was magnificent, encased in a deep blue trouser suit whose close fit and superb tailoring managed to be both demure and revealing.

  The thought flitted across Hope’s mind: If my son threw her away, he’s a fool.

  ‘Francesco didn’t tell me that you were coming,’ Hope said. ‘If he had, I would have looked forward to it.’

  ‘He doesn’t know I’m in Naples. I came to return some of his property. When he left our apartment in London he was in a hurry, and he left things behind.’

  ‘And you’ve come all the way to Naples to return them to him?’ Hope asked.

  ‘No, I was coming, anyway. I work here now. It seemed a good idea to bring them myself.’

  A thousand questions rose to Hope’s lips. She wanted to ask Celia all about herself and Francesco, and what had happened between them, but she found that something forced the questions back. This young woman had a simple dignity that was impressive.

  At Hope’s request she talked about the work that had brought her here. She spoke with enthusiasm but no self-pity, and laughter seemed to come naturally to her.

  Hope’s first thought had been that Celia wanted to reclaim Francesco. Now she wasn’t so sure. This was a strong, independent girl, and Hope couldn’t believe she’d come to get her claws into him. She didn’t need him. She didn’t need anyone.

  ‘Let’s have some fresh coffee,’ she said at last, rising. ‘I’ll just go into the kitchen and tell Rosa. She’s the best cook in Naples—but you’ll discover that for yourself when you come to dinner.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d love to.’

  Hope was gone a few minutes. Just as she prepared to return she heard the sound of a car drawing up outside, and a glance out of the window showed her Francesco arriving. She was about to call him when she realised Celia would be bound to hear her. Instead, she returned to the main room, and arrived just a second too late.

  Francesco had started to walk through the doorway when he saw Celia. He stopped dead, silent and motionless. Hope, watching his face from the other side of the room, saw in it all she wanted to know.

  The sight of her had astounded him, penetrating his armour that was so strong against the rest of the world, leaving him exposed and defenceless. He just stood there, staring at Celia, paler than his mother had ever seen him before. He actually seemed unable to speak, and his breathing was shallow, as though he’d received a blow over the heart.

  ‘Hallo, Francesco,’ Celia said calmly.

  Of course she recognised him, Hope thought. She knew his step. Of the two of them, she was the one in command of this situation.

  Although she had spoken to Francesco, Celia’s face was half turned away from him, so that Hope had a good view of her expression and saw the soft, eager smile that to
uched her mouth. Her eyes danced with pure joy.

  ‘I had no idea that you were coming to Italy,’ Francesco said slowly, and there was a slight hesitation in his voice that would have been a stammer in any other man.

  ‘I thought it was time I changed my life,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Found new horizons, learned new skills.’

  ‘But—why Italy?’

  ‘Because you may recall that I spent some time learning Italian in case you and I ever came here together. It seemed a shame to waste it. So if you had any idea that I’d come trotting after you, you can just think again, oh, conceited one!’

  ‘That wasn’t what I—’

  ‘Yes, it was. It’s the first thing that came into your head.’

  ‘Well, I didn’t expect to find you sitting in my mother’s front room. Does she know who you are?’

  ‘I think she guessed as soon as she saw Jacko.’

  ‘Who the hell is Jacko? Your latest romance?’

  ‘You might say we’re constantly in each other’s company. He takes me everywhere.’

  ‘I’ll bet he never gets told to keep his hands to himself because you’re better off without him,’ Francesco said bitterly.

  Celia’s voice rose slightly in indignation.

  ‘For pity’s sake, Jacko is my dog!’

  He swore under his breath.

  ‘Don’t be vulgar, my son,’ Hope said.

  ‘I didn’t see you there, Mamma. This is—yes—well…’ His voice trailed off as he realised the incongruity of what he was saying.

  ‘I’ve been here over an hour,’ Celia said merrily. ‘Your mother knows who I am by now. I came to return some things that belong to you. They’re in that bag by my feet, next to Jacko.’

  ‘He’s black,’ Francesco said, regarding Jacko. ‘I didn’t see him in the shadow.’

  ‘Come and say hallo to him,’ Celia offered.

  He came forward uneasily and reached out to stroke the dog, who stretched up his head for a moment, then settled down again. Francesco seated himself close enough to Celia to talk quietly.

  ‘I don’t believe this is happening. What the devil are you doing here?’