Italian Tycoon, Secret Son

rescued, Renzo was missing and probably dead. His death had been confirmed a few days later.

She’d returned to England in a daze of grief and tried to take up the threads of her life, although, after the love that had blazed briefly and been so cruelly snatched away, it felt little better than a half life.

But then, two years later-almost to the day-she’d picked up a newspaper and read:

Avalanche Victim Wrongly Identified.

It now seems that the body identified as Italian climber Lorenzo Danilo Ruffini, following the Alpine avalanche nearly two years ago, was actually another man of similar appearance…

She’d embarked on a determined quest, hiring a private detective who had soon been able to tell her, ‘It took the rescue team a long time to find him, and then nobody thought he would live. His body had actually shut down with the cold but, against all the odds, they managed to bring him back.’

‘How did he come to be wrongly identified?’

‘There were two men missing, and the woman who did the identification was the wife of the other one. She couldn’t face the fact that he was dead, so she simply denied that the body was his. Then she had a complete mental collapse, but recently she recovered enough to admit the truth.

‘He now lives in Milan, where he owns a sports-equipment company. His physical recovery took a long time, and his mental recovery even longer-and both, I understand, are incomplete. In fact, they will probably never be complete.’

And now, here she was, having followed the trail to Milan. In a few moments she would see Renzo again and know if the dream she’d carried in her heart had any reality.

One thought troubled her. She hadn’t sought him out before because she’d thought he was dead, but he seemed to have made no effort to find her. It could have been done easily through Pierre Foule’s records, but he hadn’t tried. Had she too been reported as dead? Or had he simply put her behind him?

No! Her heart denied it fiercely. He had said, ‘I love you. You are everything to me, and you will be everything, for however long we have-and afterwards.’

She heard his words but more, she saw him, not shielded by darkness as he had been then, but as he had lived in her heart ever since-his eyes softened with tenderness, his voice deep with fervour as he proclaimed his love for ever.

The man she remembered had not turned his back. He loved her still, as she loved him. Anything else was impossible.

Today she would see him again and life would spring anew within her. He would look at her and his face would be transformed with a joy that echoed her own, and somehow they would find the way forward again.

At last she rose, determined not to be afraid, walked back to the house and rang the bell.

It was answered by a woman in her thirties. She had a distracted air, but she smiled politely.

‘Does Signor Lorenzo Ruffini live here?’ Mandy asked in Italian.

‘Yes, but he doesn’t want to be disturbed. I’m Lucia, his secretary. Is he expecting you?’

‘No, he’s not expecting me. At least…’a sudden vagueness overtook her ‘…I don’t think he is.’

‘What name shall I tell him?’

‘Mandy Jenkins.’

‘Does he know you?’

‘I don’t…really know.’

‘Look, I don’t think-’

‘I’ll wait. I don’t care how long it takes.’

She was inside the door before Lucia could protest.

‘You’d better come in then, but it could be a long wait. He’s got an important appointment with a business associate-well, more of an enemy, really. Mind you, he seems to think everyone is an enemy these days.’ Lucia added confidingly, ‘He’s going to carve him up. Ah, that must be him.’

The doorbell had rung again. Lucia admitted a squat individual with an expanding belly and a cunning face.

‘Signor Vanwick?’ she asked politely.

‘Mr Vanwick,’ the man declared grumpily in English. ‘I’ve got no time for that Signor stuff.’

‘Yes, Mr Vanwick. Follow me, please.’

She led him down the hall, Mandy following, and opened a door.

‘Mr Vanwick, Signor Ruffini,’ she announced and stood back quickly before she was brushed aside by Vanwick’s advancing bulk.

Before the door closed they could just hear him growl, ‘Now then, Ruffini, what’s all this trouble about my bill?’

‘Nice character,’ Mandy said in English. ‘Not a good advertisement for my country.’

‘No problem,’ Lucia said. ‘In a few minutes he’ll come out of that door, pale and shaking. He tried to cheat Signor Ruffini out of a million euros and now he’s going to wish he hadn’t. Nobody makes that mistake twice. Mr Vanwick is an unpleasant man but I feel sorry for him, getting on Signor Ruffini’s wrong side.’

‘You don’t like Signor Ruffini?’

‘I’m not sure. He’s a good boss in many ways. When my mother was ill he gave me plenty of time off on full pay. But working for him can be tough. He snaps, barks orders and talks to people without looking at them.’

‘And he’s going to “carve him up”? Does he do that often?’

‘When he has to. People think, because he’s been so ill, that he’s a soft touch, but they soon learn their mistake.’

The sound of a voice came from the next room. It had a hard, unforgiving quality that fell unpleasantly on the ear.

‘That’s him,’ Lucia said with relish.

As if to demonstrate, there came a cry, of ‘Lucia,’ through the door. She hurried in, leaving the door wide. Mandy moved quietly to a place where she could catch a glimpse of Renzo, but at the last moment she stopped, suddenly reluctant.

For two years she’d carried the memory of a man who was delightful, sweet-natured and devil-may-care. Every moment he’d been there in her heart, gazing gently at her with eyes full of love.

Now she was filled with foreboding. His voice alone warned her of a change in him, but that was natural, she tried to reassure herself. Inside, he was still the same man and when he saw her he would smile with joyful recognition.

Mandy moved quietly to where she could peer through the gap, and beheld him for the first time in two years. And what she saw made her freeze.

For a moment she actually didn’t recognise him. Who was this grim, tight-faced individual? How could he be the man who’d held her so tenderly on the mountain?

He was sitting behind a large desk, but suddenly he got to his feet and began to pace the room, hectoring the man who was sitting there, listening uncomfortably.

Mandy had a good look at his profile as he turned and recognised the sharp nose and firm chin. This was Renzo and not Renzo.

He must have suffered, she told herself. That and two years had changed him, as it had changed her. Yet there was something about this grim caricature that smothered her first happiness on finding him, leaving behind only dismay and sadness.

She backed away quickly and was seated again when Lucia hurried out.

‘Now he wants something else, quick as possible, only it’s buried in the files-somewhere.’

‘I’ll hold the fort while you look,’ Mandy said.

‘Thanks. He might call for that.’ She indicated a newspaper cutting on the desk and hurried away.

Mandy stayed listening to Renzo’s voice coming from next door, trying to hear in its harshness some hint of the voice she remembered-resonant, teasing, full of life. But it was impossible. This could have been the voice of a machine.

But that would surely change when he realized that she was there and the memories of their time together came surging back.

‘Lucia, bring me that cutting.’ The order was barked out.