‘What I remember most is that he was always there for me, always ready to play games and laugh at silly jokes.’
He grew still, watching her, fascinated by the smile that touched her lips. It was fond and indulgent, containing the whole history of a happy childhood. Vincente thought of his own childhood, and the father he’d rarely seen.
‘Go on,’ he said.
She found it easy to slip back into that blissful time. A whole host of incidents rose in her mind, crowding each other as she hurried to tell Vincente. Suddenly she was happy, as though her beloved father was there with her again.
‘You really loved him, didn’t you?’ Vincente asked, remembering how she’d gone to visit the grave on the day they’d left London.
‘Yes, I did. I wish he were here now, but he died a few months back. If only-’
‘If only what?’ he asked as she stopped.
‘No, it doesn’t matter.’
‘Tell me,’ he urged. Something told him this was important. When she still hesitated, he reached out and touched her gently. He had the feeling that he was on the verge of a revelation.
‘I came to Rome to study fashion, and I was so stupid that I never even asked how Dad raised the money to send me here. He told me he’d had an insurance policy that was to pay for my higher education and it matured at just the right moment. I believed him, because I wanted to.
‘Of course he’d really borrowed the money at a huge rate of interest, then couldn’t afford to make the payments. He was working in Ben’s business at the time and some money came his way that he thought he could take without anyone knowing. So he did, and Ben found out.’
‘What did Ben do about it?’ he asked, with sudden urgency.
‘He came out to Rome to tell me what Dad had done, and that he was going to turn him over to the police. I had to stop him, and there was only one way.’
‘Are you saying-?’
‘Ben wanted me. I was his price. He knew I…He knew I didn’t love him, but it made no difference.’
Elise had been on the verge of saying that she loved Angelo, but something stopped her. She still had an uneasy sense of having betrayed her young love with the new feeling that had taken her by storm, and now she couldn’t speak of him. Not to Vincente.
‘You married Ben-to save your father?’ Vincente asked slowly.
‘It was the only way. I couldn’t let Dad go to prison, not when it was my fault he was in such a mess.’
She had the feeling that he’d grown suddenly tense.
‘And that was why you married that creature?’ he asked in a voice with a touch of urgency.
‘Nothing else could have made me do it. I know everyone thought I was lucky-a poor girl who’d snapped up a rich man. But I’d never have married Ben if it hadn’t been necessary.
‘And the real cruelty was that Dad died just two months before Ben did. It could have been so different. If only he’d lived a little longer, we’d have been free together. But it was too late.’
‘You’re crying,’ he said gently.
‘No, I’m not. Not really.’
‘Yes, you are. Come here.’
Vincente reached out and drew her to him, and she found that she really was weeping-for herself, her father, her ruined dreams. But that it should have happened in the arms of this harsh man, of all people, left her amazed. She tried to stop the flood, even now fearful of yielding a point to him in their battle. But the battle seemed very distant at this moment, and now she could sense a tenderness in him that had never been there before, even in their subtlest love-making.
‘Sorry,’ she said at last. ‘I don’t normally give in like that.’
‘Perhaps you should. You might cope better in the long run.’
‘I cope fine.’
‘But you might need some help.’
‘I couldn’t ever let Ben see me cry.’
‘No, he’d have enjoyed it too much,’ Vincente said dryly.
‘How did you know that?’
‘Anyone who ever met him would know that.’
She gave a muffled chuckle.
‘What is it?’ he wanted to know at once.
‘Just that I never saw you as an agony aunt.’
‘I have many hidden talents.’
‘I’ll bet you work to keep that one very well hidden.’
He smiled, but the smile faded as he considered her words. Apart from his mother, Elise was the only person who’d ever seen this side of him. In fact, he’d only dimly been aware that it existed. But in the last few minutes it had come roaring out of its lair to protect her.
Her unhappiness was unbearable to him, but more piercing still were the words she’d uttered a few minutes earlier. She’d married Ben under duress. There had been no soulless pursuit of money, oblivious to who was hurt. She’d done what she had to do for love of her father.
As Vincente leaned back on the bed head, holding her against his chest, he felt a weight being lifted from his heart and, revealed beneath it, was a joy he’d never before allowed himself to recognise.
But he turned his eyes away from that joy. It was too much, too unfamiliar, too complex. He would think about it later.
‘You were lucky,’ he said. ‘To have had a father like that.’
‘What about yours?’
‘He was a good father in his way, but everything in him was focused on business. He had to dominate and rule, and he wouldn’t let up until he had all the power he wanted.’
‘Is that why you’re the same?’
There was a silence before he said, ‘I guess so. It was the way to get his attention. I remember once…’
There in his mind was an incident he hadn’t thought of for years; himself, the eager child hoping for praise, his father, impatient of anything that would distract him from his agenda.
So Vincente had countered by becoming the agenda. At school he’d excelled at maths, science, information technology and anything else that might help him become a businessman in his father’s image. And it had worked. He’d been taken into the firm and immediately proved himself a chip off the old block.
‘Did that make your father proud of you?’ she asked.
‘Oh, yes, he was impressed.’
‘Did that make you happy?’
‘It was what I wanted,’ he said evasively.
She was too wise to press the point.
Vincente had been given more and more responsibility, had seized it gladly, never seeing the road he was travelling or where it led. When his father had his fatal heart attack Vincente had been, although still in his twenties, ready to take over-ready in all the right ways, and all the wrong ones.
That had been ten years ago, and since then he knew that the qualities he’d started with-an unforgiving ruthlessness, a scorn of weakness, a readiness to duel to the death and give no quarter-had all been emphasised and given a sharper, crueller edge. His presence here with this woman proved it, for reasons that she didn’t know and which made him uneasy right now.
That thought made him sit up sharply, so that she almost fell out of his arms.
‘Is something the matter?’
‘No,’ he said quickly, ‘it’s all right; I can get out of bed. Go to sleep.’
It was painful but he managed. He needed to be alone to think. From the safety of the window-seat he looked back at the bed, where she had closed her eyes, and tried to work out what had happened to him.
It had always been simple. You kept your eye on the target, you did what you set out to do, and if people didn’t like it, then tough. If they feared you, that was good. Where women were concerned you played fair, behaved generously, and stayed safe by choosing the kind of woman who understood the game. And you never, ever
