The Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose

‘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.