The Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose

all-engulfing.

‘Tell me what it is,’ she begged, leaning over him from behind and putting her arms around him.

‘I can’t,’ he said in a stony voice. ‘I don’t know.’

‘How can you not know what’s troubling you? You didn’t have these dark moods before.’

‘Sometimes I did-they’ve always come over me without warning, all my life. But not very often, so it wasn’t a problem. They’d come and then they’d go, sometimes for years. I thought I’d got the better of them for good. But suddenly they came back, all in a rush, a few months ago.’

‘Because of me?’

‘It’s connected with you,’ he said reluctantly, ‘but not only you. There’s something else-like a huge shadow looming over me, blotting out everything else.’

‘I know about Franco,’ she said softly. ‘Your mother told me.’

‘That he’s my father? Yes, it’s one of those things that everyone knows and nobody mentions, for Toni’s sake. But it isn’t a big deal, funnily enough. We’ve only met a few times. When we do, we look each other over, exchange the time of day, and that’s that. I don’t look like him, luckily, and he has another son and two daughters. I’ve always been content to leave it like that. Toni’s been a great father to me, and I wouldn’t hurt him for the world.’

Before she could say any more he added quickly, ‘It’s getting late, and we need to make an early start tomorrow.’

They went to their separate rooms for the night. Celia lay listening carefully for any sound from Francesco. But all was quiet, which meant that either the nightmare hadn’t returned or he, too, was lying awake, determined not to sleep and give himself away.

Celia was a little reluctant when they set out for Naples Central Railway Station next morning. This was a family occasion, and she didn’t really belong, yet a part of her wanted to be with Francesco-to be ready for whatever might happen. Perhaps she could be of no help to him. Perhaps he would shut her out. But he was going to need her in some way, of that she was certain.

In less than two hours they were drawing into Rome Central, where cars waited to take them to the hotel. The room she shared with Francesco overlooked the Via Veneto. It was large, and had two double beds, and through the windows came sounds from the luxurious heart of the city.

Celia declined the chance to go to the hospital with the rest.

‘I’ve got a headache,’ she said untruthfully to Francesco. ‘We’ll meet up later.’

Alone, she unpacked and walked the room to get a mental picture of it. She’d taken the precaution of bringing some work with her, and spent the next hour listening to tapes and dictating messages. But it was a relief when her cellphone rang and she found herself talking to Sandro.

‘How long will you be away?’ he asked. ‘Things are beginning to happen here.’

She explained the position and he sighed.

‘I guess you’ll do what you have to do. But why you’re taking the trouble for that prickly, awkward so-and-so I’ll never know.’

‘That’s easy,’ she said. ‘It’s because he’s a prickly, awkward so-and-so. He needs me.’

‘I need you.’

‘No, you don’t. You’ve got your life together in a way he’ll never have.’

Sandro chuckled. ‘Well, don’t tell him that. He’d never forgive either of us. He hates my guts. The two times we met, the air was full of it.’

‘He’s afraid you’re going to talk me into doing a jump.’

‘Talk you-You’re the one who found that place, remember? And we had a fight about who was going to make the first jump. You were ready to murder me when I won.’

‘Well, there’s no need to go into that,’ she said hastily. ‘It’s best forgotten.’

‘That’s a pity, because the press are dead keen for you to do it. Simon wants you to call him. He writes for L’Esperienza.’

Her heart gave a leap before she had time to think. But then-

‘I can’t even think of it just now.’

‘Of course. Just make the call and say you’ll do it when you can. The number is-’

‘I’ve got his number. I have to go now.’

She hung up and lay back on the bed, thoughtful. After a moment she switched her cellphone off.

There was a knock on the door.

‘It’s me,’ Della called. ‘And I’ve got goodies-tea and cakes.’

‘I could kill for a cup of tea,’ Celia said, opening the door.

When they were seated, and enjoying the first cup, Della gave a long sigh and said, ‘I took the chance to get away. It’s really the sons who belong with Franco, not us. Francesco really needs to be there. I think he’s feeling a bit edgy.’

‘What’s Uncle Franco like? He said there was no resemblance.’

‘There isn’t. They’re both tall, but that’s about it. Uncle Franco is hefty and muscular, like a football player, and he’s managed to keep his figure without putting on weight.’

‘I wonder what Hope thinks of him now,’ Celia mused.

‘She’s not giving anything away. I was watching her, so elegant and proper, everything in its place, the perfect picture of a respectable, virtuous, elderly matron. And I suddenly realised what an eventful life she’s had. Her first child at fifteen, then a husband, a lover, another child, then another husband. The rest of us are quite dull by comparison. Even now, Hope is still beautiful, but I’ve seen pictures of her as a young woman, and in those days she was more than beautiful. She had a sort of wild quality that makes it clear why all the men fell for her.

‘There’s a wedding picture of her and Toni. She’s smiling at the camera, but he’s looking at her with his heart in his eyes. It’s been there ever since, according to Carlo. He says all the time they were growing up they knew that if Toni said, “That’s how Mamma wants it,” then that was how it was going to be.’

‘But aren’t we making too much of this?’ Celia asked. ‘Maybe Franco was the great love of her life, but that was years ago. She’s not going to leave Toni now.’

‘No, but if he senses that the old feeling is still there between them it will hurt him terribly. She’s everything to him. He’s such a dear, I’d hate him to be hurt.’

‘So would I,’ Celia said. ‘Even though I don’t know what he looks like, every time he’s there I get a feeling of kindness and gentle strength.’

‘That’s Toni,’ Della agreed.

Everyone returned from the hospital that evening. They had seen Franco, who’d thanked them for coming, but Lisa had failed to regain consciousness, against all their hopes.

Francesco said little, but as they all sat at dinner that evening Celia felt him touch her gently now and then, as though seeking reassurance. She looked forward to the moment when they would be alone together later that night, and she could ask him to confide in her.

But before that there was a phone call that changed everything.

It came just as the meal was ending. Hope answered her cellphone, listened for a moment, then said tersely, ‘Very well. I’m coming.’

‘What’s happened?’ Toni asked her.

‘Lisa is awake and wants to see us.’

‘All of us?’ Toni asked softly.

‘Me-and Francesco.’

Nobody could have told from Toni’s face that this meant anything unusual to him.

‘Come with me,’ Hope begged.

‘No, cara. I have no place in this. I’ll wait for you here.’

‘But-’

‘Go,’ he said, with sudden intensity.

Hope didn’t reply, but she put her arms about her husband and kissed him.

‘Francesco,’ Toni said in a low voice, ‘go with your mother.’

‘Yes, Poppa.’

His hand was tight on Celia’s. He didn’t ask her to accompany him, but neither did he release his grip. They