Matteo joined her at the gate. ‘Okay then, let’s play. How would you come to live there?’
She thought long and hard. ‘I come to Capri to be a companion to an ageing English film star,’ she said after a while.
‘And does said ageing English star have a dangerously sexy half-Italian nephew?’ He dropped a kiss onto her neck and she leaned back against him.
‘Maybe. He’s a playboy disgrace who doesn’t trust the companion as he thinks she’s out to get his great-aunt’s fortune. Oof, it’s hot,’ she said, abandoning make-believe to swig some water.
There were plenty of other people walking the same route but it didn’t feel too crowded as they climbed up and up, the sun beating down upon them as it neared noon. Enjoyable as the walk was, Charlie was relieved when they passed a tree-lined glade and Matteo agreed to her suggestion that they take the opportunity to stand in the shade and cool down. It wasn’t a long walk but steep, made harder by the temperature.
Taking a much-needed breath and more water, Charlie swivelled slowly to take in the view. Looking up, she could see the Villa Jovis perched at the very top of the cliff and shivered as she remembered some of the history detailed in her guidebook.
‘How could they have imagined back then that two thousand years later we would be coming to gawp at the villa when people were murdered and tortured there—just like the Colosseum? It seemed so surreal to be walking around surrounded by tour groups and running children, listening to spine-chilling tales of slaughter, unable to imagine how much blood was spilled there. And we’re shocked and say it’s barbaric but are we any different? There’s no respect for those thousands of lives lost there; it’s just another tick on the tourist list. Two thousand years make the horrors just seem inconceivable.’
She turned to Matteo but his mind was clearly elsewhere as he fished his phone out of his pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘It’s been vibrating. I know I promised, but...’
‘No, go ahead.’ She knew he wouldn’t be able to relax until he knew who was calling him and why. ‘It’s fine.’
She wandered over to the edge of the shaded terrace and peered down at the sea below, an intoxicating turquoise that made her want to dive right in, at least she would if she wasn’t several hundred feet up. Where were the swimming spots on this island? Matteo would know.
She turned, a question on her lips, then stopped as she took in the rigid look on his face.
He barely seemed to know she was there. ‘Good God! When? I see.’
‘What’s happened?’ she said, swimming forgotten, but he didn’t acknowledge her question, still engrossed in the call.
‘Yes. Yes. Of course. Right. Agreed.’
He ended the call but made no move towards her and her stomach dropped as she noted his compressed mouth, his brows drawn together, every trace of the holiday-maker gone. Even in shorts and a T-shirt, he was suddenly every inch the deputy CEO of Harrington Industries.
‘What’s happened?’ she repeated as he pocketed his phone, his face even grimmer if that was possible.
‘I’m sorry. I have to go.’ He rummaged in his pocket and held out the return ticket for the funicular and a handful of notes. ‘You stay here, go up to the villa as we arranged, get yourself some lunch. I need to take the boat back for speed, but there are plenty of ferries across to the mainland; you’ll be fine. Don’t let this stop you enjoying your day.’
‘Of course you need to take the boat back; I can’t sail,’ she said, realising as she said it that who took the boat was so not the point she needed to be making. ‘Anyway, I’m not staying here without you... Matteo, what happened?’
He ran his hand distractedly through his hair and for a moment she saw a flicker of fear behind his set expression, then it was gone, as if it had never been. He was shutting down, she realised wearily. Just like before.
‘It’s my father.’
In a moment she was by his side, her hand clasping his arm. ‘Is he okay? Has there been an accident?’ Of course she’d go back with him; he’d need her support. She knew he wasn’t close to his father, resenting his party-filled lifestyle and the way he had so easily left Matteo to be brought up by his grandfather. From what Matteo had said, his father had kept custody of him legally but hadn’t seemed to care whether his small son was at boarding school, in Italy or alone in his grandfather’s austere Richmond mansion with a series of nannies—his grandfather just as absent, only in his case through workaholism. Moderation, it seemed, was not a Harrington gene.
Matteo shook his head. ‘No, no, he’s just been caught bribing.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Just! The fool. As inept at illegal business as he is at any other kind of work.’
‘Bribing? Who?’
‘I don’t know; he was over in Chile. He’s a director of Harrington Industries, not that he’s ever done a day’s work in his life. I don’t even know why he was in Chile; last I heard he was on his yacht in Nice. But he’s been arrested on suspicion of bribery. This could be an absolute disaster for us PR-wise. I need to get back to London and talk to our Head of Security before he heads out to Chile. He’d better take our Comms VP as well to handle the story at that end. I should be in the UK handling any PR fallout. Damn him. What was he thinking?’
It wasn’t his father he was so concerned about, more the potential reputational damage to Harrington Industries.
‘But what about your father; is he okay?’
‘He’s been bailed.’ The hard line of his mouth curved into a humourless smile. ‘He’ll be fine; he always slides out of these things. But an allegation like this could go very badly against us. Open up all kinds of investigations. We are clean, of course, but we can’t afford to have any mud sticking, not with the delicate negotiations we have coming up in China.’
‘You can’t go back to the UK alone. I’ll come with you.’
But his head shake was decisive. ‘You have the gala, Charlie.’
The gala. Of course. A feeling of déjà vu swept through her. Once again she was on the cusp of doing something that showcased the best of her talents and once again her husband wouldn’t be there to see it. Not to mention that he’d promised to be by her side the whole time, that she needed him to translate.
‘You’ll be fine,’ he said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘Lucia can translate for you, and you know the children now and they know you. You don’t need me.’
If only that was true. ‘How long will you be?’
‘I don’t know. But I promise I’ll be back, Charlie. Back for the gala.’
She looked at him levelly. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Matteo. Don’t put either of us through that. Not this time.’
In two steps he was over to her, cupping her face with his hands, kissing her, quick and desperate. Taken aback by the fierce need in his embrace, she clung to him, only to find herself put firmly to one side.
‘I won’t let you down, Charlie. Trust me.’
Charlie watched him stride away until he was out of sight; he didn’t look back once, as if she was already forgotten. For a moment she thought about giving up, returning to Capri town, heading back to the harbour and getting the first ferry back to Amalfi. But nothing would be served by her giving up her day out, even if it wasn’t the day she’d planned. With a heavy heart and slow steps, she returned to the path and made her way up towards the Villa Jovis, thinking she’d gladly throw the whole of Harrington Industries off the cliff.
She did her best to enjoy the rest of the afternoon, combining sightseeing with a little bit of shopping and a plate of excellent pasta in a restaurant on a quaint side street, but her spirits were low, no matter how much she told herself to buck up. Charlie had never minded being alone before; she was quite used to it, even in strange places, thanks to some solo backpacking and day trips out alone when staying with her parents. She didn’t do lonely, just like she didn’t do sad or
regrets, but today she couldn’t deny that she was lonely and sad and full of regrets for both the day they hadn’t shared and what that meant in the long term.
Of course Matteo had to go back, she told herself. But at the same time she couldn’t help thinking that he had his phone and his laptop back at the villa, that Harrington Industries had an experienced Head of Security who could sort out the bribery issue, and plenty of PR professionals to sort out any negative press. What would standing in the London office actually achieve that he couldn’t do just as well in Ravello? But of course his grandfather had summoned him back and Matteo had obeyed. His grandfather was probably glad of the opportunity. He’d taken to calling Matteo every morning and she knew that every single one of those conversations began with, When are you coming back?
Now it was her turn to ask that question. And to prepare for the likely answer to be, Not now, not yet. Then, Not at all.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MATTEO DREW A weary hand through his hair and blinked a couple of times, his eyes dry and sore. He had no idea how long he’d been sitting at his desk, no idea what time it was: hell, he barely knew what day it was.
From the moment he’d landed at Heathrow it was as if his time away had never been. The second he’d set foot back in this office, work had descended on him like some kind of eternal punishment from a Greek myth. As soon as he thought he’d finished one thing, another twenty landed in his inbox and that was without even considering the mess his father’s actions had got them into. Thanks to the time difference, he was in constant communication both late at night and early in the morning to Chile, liaising with Harrington Industries’ Heads of PR and Security, who had gone out to try and salvage the business deal his father had so clumsily been trying to arrange and to ensure the arrest didn’t make it into the papers.
Alongside all this was an underlying niggle of worry about his grandfather’s health. He had seemed fully recovered from the stroke, but the last few days had clearly taken their toll; his face was tinged with grey, his mind less sharp than usual. Although the same could not be said for his tongue. That was as on point as ever.
All of this meant that Matteo had barely had a chance to speak to Charlie, let alone make plans to return to her. She assured him that she was fine, that she understood his absence, but he had made promises to her that right now it was looking increasingly unlikely he could keep. What that meant he could barely think about, partly because his mind was so consumed with work and partly because he knew he wouldn’t like the answer.
The buzzer on his desk vibrated and a second later Jo, his PA, popped her head around the door. If he felt exhausted she looked it, immaculate as always, not a hair out of place, not a crease in her suit, but she had deep hollows under her eyes. ‘For goodness’ sake, Jo, go home.’ He tried a smile to soften his words. ‘When did you last sleep?’
‘I could ask you the same question.’ She nodded significantly at the sofa bed in the corner of the office. ‘Have you actually been to your own house since you got back? Or have you been here every night?’
There was no point lying to her. ‘It seemed silly opening up the house just for me,’ he said. They both knew that wasn’t the reason he hadn’t gone home. It didn’t feel like home any more, not without Charlie.
‘You grandfather wants to see you. Are you free, or shall I put him off?’
He sighed. ‘There’s no point delaying the inevitable. I’d like to persuade him to go home and get some rest as well. Look, Jo, I’m serious. Go home. It’s an order. I don’t want to see you back here for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘I hate to ignore a direct order, but I think you might need me for a few hours more yet. I promise I’ll go home this evening, and if nothing else has happened to take the rest of the week off. Deal?’
‘Okay, but at least take an hour. Go for a walk or something. Get yourself a sandwich.’
She nodded and closed the door softly behind her. Matteo sat back and stretched.
Ten minutes later he was ascending in the lift to his grandfather’s penthouse office suite. Matteo could have had the rooms alongside as deputy CEO but preferred to be a couple of floors below, next to some of the other executive board and decision-makers. The lift opened into the opulently carpeted lobby and Matteo strode straight through, past the open-plan office where his grandfather’s PA guarded the entrance to his lair. He greeted her cordially as he rapped on the heavy oak door, not waiting for an invitation before opening it and stepping into the large corner office with views out over Kensington Gardens.
He had expected his grandfather to be exactly where he was, seated behind his huge antique desk, but Matteo hadn’t expected to see the man lounging on the leather sofa on his right. Head bowed, brows drawn together, he exuded exhaustion. His father looked nothing like his usual urbane playboy self.
‘Dad?’
His father looked up and managed a faint smile. ‘Matteo, good to see you.’
‘When did you get back?’
‘A couple of hours ago,’ he said. ‘Your grandfather wanted me to come straight here and explain myself.’ His tone was mildly sarcastic, but his smile softened the words.
‘As you can see, Matteo, the prodigal son has returned.’ His grandfather’s voice was dry.
‘But without the fatted calf,’ his father said.
The resulting thump of a fist onto the desk reverberated around the room. ‘That’s right, make jokes. You put the company name into disrepute and now you’re trying to make it a laughing matter. But what else could I expect from you? You’ve always been a wastrel!’
Matteo held his hands up to stem the flow of angry words. His father looked completely unlike himself. It wasn’t just that he was tired and obviously visibly shaken by his experiences during the last few days; there was almost an air of humility about him that was more disconcerting than his usual insouciance. Meanwhile, his grandfather was greyer than ever, shaking with anger.
‘Why don’t I take it from here, Grandfather? Go home. Get some rest. Everything is completely under control now. I should have Barry’s report in the next couple of hours, but verbally he’s reassured me that this has all been kept under wraps. Go and get some sleep. I’ll see you back here in the morning.’
It wasn’t often that Matteo issued orders to his grandfather, let alone saw them obeyed by the proud old man, but to his surprise his grandfather didn’t even protest, getting up and making for the door on shaky feet, almost hunchbacked with weariness. This time last year Matteo had been made aware of just how fragile his grandfather was getting—he was nearly eighty after all. Just because he carried himself with the arrogance of someone indestructible, it didn’t mean that he was.
‘Sleep?’ his grandfather managed to scoff. ‘When I start taking naps it’ll be time to put me down.’
‘There’s no harm in naps and you shouldn’t be putting in these kinds of hours,’ Matteo said gently as his grandfather reached the door. ‘The doctor was very clear.’
He had refrained from ever uttering the word retirement. He knew exactly how his grandfather would respond to that, but maybe it was time to start having some conversations about semi-retirement. Maybe his grandfather should take on a chairman role and let Matteo step up to CEO. He was more than ready, but he didn’t want to mount some kind of coup. It had to be done with his grandfather’s blessing, if such a thing was even possible. But it had to be possible. His grandfather couldn’t carry on like this—and Matteo couldn’t allow him.
‘Don’t fuss over me, boy,’ his grandfather snapped and then he was gone.
Silence fell until Matteo’s father laughed a little shakily. ‘Still his charming self, I see.’
Matteo’s protective instinct surged. ‘What did you expect? He’s not been well, and you haven’t exactly helped. Bribery? What were you thinking? Why were you in Chile?’
His father regarded
him coolly. ‘I am a director of this company. Whether you like it or not.’
‘In name, maybe.’ He crossed to the window and stared out at the London landscape beyond. ‘When have you ever done a full day’s work?’
His father didn’t answer for a long while, and when he turned Matteo was surprised to see a look of infinite sadness on his face.
‘I need a shower, a shave and to change. And then, son, maybe you and I should go out and have a proper talk.’
* * *
Matteo sat back in the comfortable leather armchair and fought to keep his eyes open. The delicious three-course dinner and the glasses of wine which had accompanied it had made him realise just how weary he was. His father had taken him to his club, the kind of panelled walls, leather fittings and macho atmosphere that Matteo would usually avoid, but today it seemed right for this unexpected meeting between father and son.
During the dinner they hadn’t talked about anything too personal, his father asking a few questions about how Charlie was and Matteo’s accident, but mostly they had kept to neutral topics: sport, mutual friends, the chat of casual acquaintances, not father and son. Now his father too sat back and regarded him. He looked much more like himself, shaved, his hair immaculately slicked back, dressed in a linen suit, every inch the ageing playboy.
‘I was in Chile because I knew there was an opportunity there with mining rights.’
Matteo raised an eyebrow. ‘You are interested in mining rights?’ He tried to keep the incredulity from his voice.
‘As I said before, I’m still a director. I’m certain my father would quite happily have struck me off the board if he could, but that’s the beauty of a family-owned business. He has no power to do so.’
‘And so you decided to get these rights by any means possible. Damn the consequences?’
‘It was a misunderstanding.’ His father looked pained. ‘I was involved in some exploratory talks; I had no idea the official was corrupt and under investigation. I offered to have a talk with my old college about opportunities for his son—I had no idea how it would be construed. I’ll know better next time.’
Winning Back His Runaway Bride Page 13