Italian Tycoon, Secret Son

by Lucy Gordon

  Again and again, her mind played over the end of their last meeting, when anger had made him speak without restraint and his hard face had softened, just for a moment. And then he had wept, and she’d dared to hope that warmth might grow again between them.

  But perhaps the fact that she’d seen his tears had been her undoing. After that he’d wanted to get rid of her.

  On the third day she rebelled. If he thought she was going to sit here awaiting his pleasure, he was badly mistaken. She was, after all, in Milan, a city so famous for fashion that it had given the world the word milliner. She spent a fascinating afternoon studying the expensive shops, ended in a restaurant and took a taxi back to the hotel.

  ‘Signorina,’ said the receptionist as soon as she entered, ‘a gentleman has left many messages for you to call him back.’

  The relief was overwhelming. It had come right at last, as she had surely known it would. Taking the paper he held out, she hurried up to her room and dialled the number she saw written there.

  ‘Pronto!’ The voice that answered was not Renzo’s.

  ‘This is the Signorina Amanda Jenkins,’ she said hesitantly.

  ‘Signorina, thank you so much for calling back. My name is Eugenio Ferrini. I understand that you are a researcher of the highest calibre.’

  She sat down abruptly on the bed. It wasn’t Renzo. He still hadn’t called her.

  Mandy made some reply, and the smooth voice at the other end explained that he was embarking on a book for which he would need some research done in England, and she had been recommended to him.

  ‘Why me?’ she asked, dazed.

  ‘Your name is better known than you think. My wife and I would be so glad if you would join us for dinner tomorrow evening. I can show you my papers and we can discuss the work you can do for me.’

  ‘Thank you, I should love to,’ she said, making a note of his address.

  At least this way her trip would not be wasted, she thought angrily.

  His house was close to the Via Montenapoleone, the fashionable street where she’d walked that very afternoon, and therefore the most expensive part of town. If the Ferrinis lived there, she had better take a lot of trouble about her appearance.

  By next morning there was still no call from Renzo and she set out on a shopping trip in a mood of determination. First Gucci, then Armani, then Louis Vuitton, then a dozen others, until she had settled on a simple dress of dark green that echoed her eyes, set off with tiny earrings that were a convincing imitation of gold, and shoes with suicidally high heels that did wonders for her ankles and legs.

  Then it was the beauty parlour for a session that left her skin dazzling and her hair teased into a curvy confection, disdaining the slight severity of her usual style. When she’d returned to the hotel and donned her new clothes she knew herself to be fit for the most glamorous party.

  A limousine called at exactly seven o’clock and conveyed her the short distance to the Ferrini villa, which looked as if it had been built several hundred years earlier by an inspired architect.

  Lights poured from the building and her host was already at the door on the top of the steps, smiling in welcome.

  ‘Dottoressa, how kind of you to come at such short notice.’

  She was astonished. Her college degrees entitled her to be addressed as ‘Doctor’ but it was still surprising that Ferrini had known it. How much did he know about her, and who had told him?

  He was a small, thin man with white hair, a lean face and a brilliant smile. He introduced his family, then took her inside, where she received a shock. She’d expected a small gathering, but there were at least a hundred people there, enjoying pre-dinner drinks.

  Ferrini introduced her as an honoured guest, repeating Dottoressa several times, so that they should all appreciate that a person of distinction had come among them. And Mandy soon realized that they were genuinely impressed. They were Italians, with a respect not only for learning but for the indefinable quality known as bella figura. It was something she had noticed in Renzo-style, assurance. Now she sensed that her fellow guests could see it in her, and her confidence flowered.

  The others were dressed in the costliest of jewels, the most elegant of clothes, but it was Mandy who stood out, perhaps because she had chosen a simple look. Or perhaps because she was stunning. The men opened their eyes wider at the sight of her, and many of them jostled to get close and offer her wine.

  Only one man did neither. Like the others, he watched the new arrival carefully, but only from the shelter of a large bookcase, to see without being seen, for he feared prying eyes.

  If they could observe him now they would rake him over, fascinated by the longing which he tried to hide but feared he couldn’t. Worst of all, she might guess the truth.

  He’d seen a difference in her from the start. Her face was no longer the cheeky imp he’d known before, but older, thinner, marked by sadness, yet no less entrancing. It added one more confusion to those that already swamped him, and her appearance tonight-chic, beautiful-only compounded his bewilderment.

  And she knew she was beautiful. Oh, how she knew it!

  Suddenly he was back in that other time, when she’d forced him to watch her with another man, dancing as though they were one, moving sinuously, provocatively, teasing, taunting him, daring him to take action.

  And he hadn’t dared, because what he’d wanted to do was toss her over his shoulder, carry her to bed and make love until they were both dizzy.

  Which, might, just possibly, have caused a scandal.

  Now, she was doing it again, flickering through the lights, vanishing, reappearing, luring him on yet, with every movement, every turn of her head, proclaiming herself queen of her surroundings and far, far out of his reach.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘S HALL we go through to dinner now?’ Ferrini asked Mandy.

  At once his two grown sons stepped forward, inviting her to take the arm of one or both of them.

  ‘Be off,’ their father commanded, laughing and crooking his own arm. ‘Age has its privileges.’

  ‘But you don’t need to claim privilege,’ Mandy said lightly. ‘You are the one I would have chosen.’

  This raised a cheer and a smattering of applause, led by Ferrini’s much entertained wife. Mandy accepted his arm, glancing triumphantly around at her audience. Then she froze with shock.

  Just for a moment she thought she’d seen Renzo, standing in the far corner of the room, watching her intently. But surely it was her imagination. One blink and he was gone.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Ferrini asked gallantly.

  ‘Perfectly,’ she said brightly. ‘Except that I’m famished, and longing for this splendid meal.’

  ‘Then let us depart on the instant.’

  Signora Ferrini prided herself on having the best cook in Milan, and it showed. With every course, several dishes were on offer-saffron-coloured Risotto alla Milanese, Frito Misto, a mixed fry of seafoods and meat, Osso Buco, veal shank garnished with parsley, garlic and lemon rind, followed by Lombardy apple fritters and paradise cake.

  While eating she took the chance to glance along the table, seeking the face that she might-or might not-have seen earlier. But it was some distance and the people at the far end were indistinct.

  I’ve got to stop this, she told herself. Of course he can’t be here. He’s not well enough.

  Then she saw him, sitting at the far end, deep in conversation with a vivacious young woman who was clearly straining every nerve to hold his attention. He wore a black dinner jacket and bow tie, just as he had the night he’d leapt into her room, certain of his right to do as he pleased whether it was to seduce one woman or comically throw himself on the mercies of another.

  It was a shock to see that he could still look like the old Renzo-handsome, confident, basking in female adoration.

  So that was why she’d been ignored, Mandy thought indignantly. Renzo had learned all he wanted to from her, decided it didn’t
interest him and turned away, leaving her sitting, waiting in the hotel like an idiot. No doubt he thought that by now she’d have given up and left Milan. The last thing he’d expected was to see her here, which was why he’d been trying to escape her notice.

  Angrily, she focused on her host and asked about the work he wanted her to do. He explained that he was writing a history of his family, whose activities over the generations had been colourful.

  ‘We have long had a connection with England. Many Ferrini wives have come from there, some from notable political families, and it is this that I would like you to work on.’

  ‘Pooh, politics!’ said the young man on her other side.

  Turning, Mandy saw Luigi, Ferrini’s younger son, in his early twenties and one of the most dazzlingly handsome young men she had ever met. His eyes were dark and lustrous, gazing into hers with a fervour that made her want to laugh.

  ‘Dottoressa,’ he said, taking her hand, ‘our history contains many great love stories that are far more important than politics. The Ferrini men have gone out and conquered.’ He carried her hand to his lips. ‘I’m sure you understand me.’

  ‘I understand you perfectly,’ she said with meaning.

  ‘Behave yourself, Luigi,’ Ferrini commanded. ‘You will embarrass our guest.’

  ‘Not at all,’ Mandy said lightly, recovering her hand. ‘I’m very good at coping with over eager little boys.’

  This caused a general laugh. Luigi smote his forehead.

  ‘She calls me a little boy. Dottoressa, this will never do. I must have my revenge.’

  ‘Perhaps I will also take mine,’ she murmured.

  ‘Is that a promise?’

  ‘No,’ she said, smiling provocatively. ‘It’s a threat.’

  This caused another laugh. Under the cover of looking around her, Mandy managed to dart a quick glance down the table. She might as well not have bothered. Renzo was totally absorbed in his lovely companion. There was nothing to suggest that he’d seen what was going on at the other end.

  The meal was coming to an end. People split into groups, drifting out into the beautiful gardens.

  ‘Perhaps we could now go into the library,’ Ferrini said.

  ‘Let us all go,’ Luigi added, drawing Mandy’s hand through his arm.

  Together, the three of them headed out of the dining room, Luigi talking non-stop, both to her and the other guests as he passed them.

  ‘Of course we all think our own family is interesting, but ours has produced more scoundrels than most-Elena, how lovely to see you again-plus a few who can claim royal blood-unofficially. Of course that’s shocking but-ah, my friend, Renzo, I was wondering where you were. Do you know Signorina Jenkins?’

  ‘I have that pleasure,’ Renzo said, rising to his feet and nodding politely at Mandy. ‘Good evening, Dottoressa. I trust you’re enjoying yourself.’

  ‘More than I would have believed possible,’ she replied. ‘I can’t tell you how glad I am that I came.’ She added significantly, ‘I’m learning so much.’

  It would have been a pleasure to see him discomfited, but his face was blank as he gave another brief nod before Luigi swept her away.

  A man standing just behind Renzo gave an envious sigh.

  ‘So Luigi’s in love again, but you can’t blame him this time. She’s a pearl among women, don’t you think?’ Receiving no answer, he peered closer. ‘Renzo, are you with us?’

  ‘Forgive me,’ Renzo said with an effort. ‘What were you saying?’

  ‘I asked what you thought of Luigi’s latest little playmate.’ His voice trailed off at the murderous look he found turned on him.

  ‘Be silent if you know what’s good for you,’ Renzo said softly. ‘Do you understand me?’

  ‘Yes…yes…no offence meant…I only…’

  ‘Get out of my sight.’

  The man backed away, exchanging a glance with the pretty young woman beside Renzo, who’d been determinedly flirting with him. Now she gave a shrug and a resigned sigh. Another hope gone.

  Mandy’s hosts escorted her across the marble hall to a pair of ornate double doors, which Ferrini pulled open to reveal a huge old-fashioned library with books going up to the ceiling. It also boasted a top-of-the-range computer, but the predominant impression was of another century. She was charmed.

  She was also slightly puzzled when she examined papers and heard Ferrini’s detailed description of what he wanted her to do. The notes were extensive and the ground seemed to have been well covered already. But the fee he was offering was considerable, and she had no other work in prospect.

  At last the door opened to reveal Ferrini’s elder son.

  ‘Papa, Signor Marucci wants to speak to you urgently-’

  Her host said something very impolite about Signor Marucci.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Luigi said. ‘I’ll look after the Dottoressa. There are many things you haven’t told her.’

  ‘Can you endure this bad character?’ Ferrini asked her, grinning.

  ‘He doesn’t frighten me,’ Mandy said. She waited until the other two had left, then said firmly to Luigi, ‘Shall we get to work?’

  She had to admit that when he got talking he was serious and interesting, giving her insights that his father had overlooked. But he also gazed at her like a lovesick puppy, making it hard for her to keep a straight face.

  ‘I think we should join the others now,’ she said.

  ‘Haven’t I earned a reward?’ he asked plaintively.

  ‘You’ve certainly earned my thanks.’

  ‘Is that all? Not one little kiss?’ He began to advance on her.

  ‘Listen to me, Luigi. You’re a very nice person, but I’m several years older than you and I don’t play games with children.’

  ‘I’m not a child. I’ll show you.’

  He managed to get an arm around her waist but she fended him off with a hand pressed firmly against his chest.

  ‘I’m warning you, Luigi-’

  ‘But now I simply must kiss you,’ he said winsomely. ‘It’s a matter of honour.’

  In the brief tussle that followed he succeeded in planting the tiniest possible peck on her cheek before she managed to get free and head for the door. Then she froze.

  Renzo was standing there.

  ‘Our host asked me to fetch you,’ he said tonelessly. ‘There’s going to be dancing.’

  ‘Good,’ she said a little breathlessly. ‘I enjoy dancing.’

  ‘Yes, I remember.’

  ‘Splendid,’ Luigi declared, unabashed. ‘Now I can dance with you.’

  But now the game had palled.

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she said. ‘You have other guests. I mustn’t monopolise you.’

  He tried to get close again, but Renzo forestalled him, extending his arm for Mandy to take.

  ‘Well, don’t let Renzo monopolise you,’ Luigi said blithely. ‘He won’t dance with you. He can’t. He’s a dead man these days.’

  Mandy heard someone draw a sharp breath. It might have been Renzo or herself. She couldn’t be sure because a red mist had descended on her.

  ‘What a rotten thing to say!’ she flashed. ‘You should be ashamed of yourself.’

  ‘All right,’ he said, backing away. ‘Don’t eat me. I’m just warning you that he’s not the man he was.’

  ‘He’s still ten times the man you are,’ she raged. ‘Let me go, Renzo.’

  He’d settled his arms around her tightly enough to withstand her struggles.

  ‘Let me go.’

  ‘Hush,’ he said, holding on. ‘You can’t murder him in his own house. It wouldn’t be polite. Luigi, clear off or, I swear, I’ll set her on you.’

  Luigi fled.

  When he was out of sight, she stood for a moment, breathing hard, shattered by her own reaction. She’d thought she was in command until Luigi had insulted Renzo. Now she was in a blazing temper, and turned it on him for lack of any other target.

  ‘Why did you do that
?’ she blazed. ‘Did you hear what he said about you?’

  He nodded. ‘I heard what you said too. There was a time when you’d have gone to the stake rather than pay me a compliment.’

  ‘I wasn’t complimenting you,’ she said quickly. ‘I just said it to put him down.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I should have realized that.’

  ‘I was annoyed at his callousness. Didn’t it make you angry when he said you were a-’ She stopped, unable to say it.

  ‘A dead man?’ Renzo finished for her. ‘Why shouldn’t he say it? It’s true. I’ve been a dead man for two years, but perhaps-Who knows?’

  The stab of pleasure this gave her made her doubly conscious that he was still holding her firmly against him. His grip was strong, not at all like an invalid, and the warmth from his body seemed to envelop her.

  ‘Will you please let me go?’ she asked in a shaking voice.

  ‘I don’t think I should. You’re not a safe person to be on the loose. You never were. The first time we met, you threatened to thump me.’

  ‘No, our meeting in the office wasn’t the first meeting. There was one before that.’

  He nodded. ‘Yes, there was. I behaved very badly, didn’t I?’

  ‘Shockingly.’

  ‘And you were wearing that towel robe that kept falling open.’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ she said, trying to dismiss the pictures that flashed through her brain.

  ‘Neither did I for a long time, but I’ve remembered now.’ His smile came from the old days and told her that his memory contained every detail of that night. To her intense annoyance, she found that she was blushing.

  ‘Nothing to say?’ he asked wryly. ‘That’s not like you. You were always waiting to catch me out.’

  ‘I liked my fun,’ she said defiantly.

  ‘Not that night. We could have had fun together-’

  ‘I’d barely met you.’

  ‘You’d barely met Luigi tonight but it didn’t stop you egging him on.’

  ‘I didn’t-How dare-’ She was speechless.

  ‘Let’s go out into the garden, where we can have a drink and talk.’

  Renzo began to lead her out of the house, still his prisoner, and now she found that the desire to escape had mysteriously faded.