A Twist of Fate

by Joanna Rees

  Justin Ennestein, that old fool, Brett thought. He had Maddox’s ear all right, but Brett had made sure his replacement had the right loyalties. He’d set Storm on the case too.

  ‘It’s just made me re-evaluate the future. We can’t take things for granted. That’s all I’m saying.’

  Dennis took a slug of Scotch.

  ‘And the other issue,’ Brett said, sighing as if it weighed heavily on his mind, ‘is that I’ve had a sneak preview of Thea’s figures. I wasn’t snooping or anything – I know she’s due to present tomorrow – but,’ he sighed heavily again, ‘I hate to say it, but I don’t think she’s carrying her weight. Not when we’re so stretched.’

  ‘What are you saying?’ Max asked.

  ‘I’m saying that if we’re streamlining the company, we should include that to streamlining at the very top.’

  It was Max who sat up now. ‘You want to get rid of your sister?’

  ‘Hell, no,’ Brett said with a laugh, as if that were ridiculous. ‘Dad wouldn’t want that. But I am concerned that she’s out of her depth in certain areas.’

  He spired his fingers together and tapped them, as if he’d been thinking long and hard about it. ‘I mean, Thea eats, breathes and sleeps Maddox Inc. I felt,’ he blew out a breath as if emotionally touched, ‘you know, sorry for her at our wedding. I mean, when has she got time to live her own life?’

  He was gratified to see his father’s men nodding understandingly.

  ‘But I’m more concerned that she’s just not up to the job. Take Scolari. Now I’m not saying we should do anything sudden, but if, say – hypothetically – I could bring it in as we’ve wanted—’

  ‘But that’s impossible. Thea has made perfectly clear what the situation is there,’ Peter chipped in.

  ‘But if it’s not impossible for me,’ Brett clarified, ‘then I was hoping for your support in a little top-end restructuring. If – and it’s a big if – anything happened to my father, I know he’d distribute everything evenly between Thea and me. But that’s him just being a father, being sentimental.’

  He paused, looking at them all.

  ‘I’m looking out for Thea’s best interests – and the corporation’s – here. You know that, right?’

  ‘Sure,’ Dennis said, as if Brett’s proposal was entirely reasonable.

  ‘I think Thea does a great job,’ Peter said. ‘I’m not sure what you’re getting at.’

  ‘Just blue-sky thinking, that’s all. Just sounding you out.’ Brett smiled, topping up his glass. ‘My sister . . . well, she’s incredible. Totally driven. I’m just thinking about everything being fair.’

  The party at Maddox Towers was in full swing when Thea arrived. Griffin Maddox was in a good mood and greeted Thea warmly.

  ‘It’s a great party,’ he told her now, gazing around the crowded room with a satisfied smile.

  The mezzanine floor they all stood on led out onto an open-air terrace and rooftop garden. The Hoover Building was illuminated with green lights tonight, and with the sun fading over the Manhattan skyline, it couldn’t have been more perfect a backdrop. Yet Thea sensed a kind of forced atmosphere. She felt as if everyone were deliberately not looking in the direction of where the Twin Towers had stood, so permanently and defiantly. It was as if there was an unspoken tacit agreement between everyone that life would carry on, that no matter what the champagne would flow harder, the laughter would be louder – a deliberate two fingers to those who thought New Yorkers could be cowed.

  Thea thought once again of Michael and of his injuries. And she remembered too the missing letters from Mrs Pryor to her that he’d mentioned, and which Thea had never received. Secrets. So many secrets.

  ‘Go and find Storm for me, darling,’ Griffin Maddox said discreetly in her ear. ‘Justin will be cutting the cake soon.’

  But Storm wasn’t anywhere to be found. Thea looked all over for her – in her bedroom, the guest rooms, everywhere. She was probably shouting at a member of staff somewhere, or putting on her make-up. But she wasn’t in the bathrooms, or with the caterers. Finally only one room remained.

  Thea stole herself to go into the private kitchen: the place where Brett had assaulted her all those years ago. The door was stuck, so she pushed it harder with her shoulder.

  Storm was inside straddling a man, whose face Thea couldn’t see, but whose trousers were bunched around the red socks on his ankles. Storm’s head flicked back and she moaned as she rode up and down on him.

  Thea froze.

  ‘No . . . no. Jesus!’ Thea gasped, backing out.

  She slammed the door shut, her heart pounding as she pressed herself against the wall. How could she? Now. Here? How could Storm do that to her father?

  A moment later Storm came out, smoothing down her dress over her curves.

  Thea stepped towards her. ‘How dare you!’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘How dare you do that to him. In his house.’

  Storm flinched. Then her green eyes glittered with menace.

  ‘Don’t you dare get on your moral high horse with me,’ she snapped. ‘My marriage is none of your business. You wouldn’t know sex-drive if it hit you in the face. You’re just a freaky ice-maiden.’

  Thea was astounded. ‘But my father? He loves you.’

  Storm flicked her head back. ‘So what?’ she hissed. ‘I have needs. And he’s never been able to fulfil them.’

  Thea shook her head, horrified that Storm was so unrepentant. She’d been caught red-handed with the man in red socks, whoever he was, and yet she didn’t give a damn. And Thea realized in that instant that it was doubtful if Storm had ever been faithful. That all along it had only been about the money and the power and the status.

  Unable to speak, she turned on her heel.

  ‘Don’t you judge me, Thea,’ Storm called after her. ‘I’m warning you. That would be very foolish indeed.’

  Upstairs, Justin was standing by the microphone on a small podium, where a cake had been set out. Thea arrived and stopped next to her father, her knees still trembling. She turned to him and he smiled, but her words faded on her lips.

  She felt her chest heaving with all the pent-up words she longed to blurt out. To tell him that his wife was an adulterous liar. But then she remembered that she’d been at a party once before in this room, when that woman had tried to blow the whistle on Brett, and she knew there was no guarantee he’d believe Thea, even if she told him what she’d just seen.

  He was blinded by Storm. He always had been. Thea telling him that Storm was a fraud and a liar would do nothing to change that.

  He was completely delusional, she realized. So fixated that he’d created the perfect happy family that he’d never see the truth about Brett and Storm.

  Well, she wouldn’t let them win. Her father’s only crime was seeing the best in people, and it was up to Thea to protect him.

  Justin banged the microphone, and Griffin Maddox smiled warmly at him. A second later Storm herself came in, ostentatiously adjusting a flower arrangement on her way.

  ‘I have been with Griffin now for most of my working life,’ Justin was saying. ‘And I have to tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that he has always been so much more than a colleague – a true friend.’

  There was a smattering of applause.

  ‘I have been honoured to have been made to feel like I was part of his wonderful family. Thea, Storm, Brett’ – he looked around the room, raising his glass to each in turn – ‘you have looked out for me, put up with me, even listened to me on occasion.’ There was laughter in the crowd. ‘You are all wonderful people.’

  Thea noticed Storm’s arm snake around Griffin Maddox’s waist and he smiled down at her as the audience applauded. Beyond them, Thea saw that Brett was staring at her. When she made eye contact with him, he winked and a shiver ran down her spine.

  ‘So it was with great care that I chose my successor,’ Justin continued. ‘I have Brett to thank for all his assistance in helping me do so, but I can hone
stly say that, in Lance Starling, we have found someone who will truly fit into the Maddox corporation. He comes highly qualified, with an excellent track record, an exemplary legal brain. I trust handing my work over to him entirely.’

  Instinctively Thea joined in the applause, hoping to get a glimpse of Justin’s successor. She’d heard a lot about him, but she’d yet to meet him herself. Straining to see around the crowd, she saw a good-looking young man walk from the back of the room. He was grinning and shaking hands as he went.

  Thea watched Brett’s smile widen. Lance Starling was clearly his man. She saw him walking round the crowd so that he too could get a better view. She watched as Lance Starling hopped up onto the podium to shake Justin Ennestein’s hand, before hugging him. Which is when Thea saw that Starling was wearing red socks.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  September 2007

  In the Rai Uno building in Milan, Romy sat in the small recording studio with her headphones on, trying not to be nervous about the ‘on air’ light shining above her head and the fact that she was next up to talk on national radio.

  She took a sip of water from the glass on the desk, her attention snagged by her own reflection in the window separating her from the team of producers and engineers on the other side.

  She looked so serious, she thought. Her hair was long again and today hung loose in soft waves. She was wearing an Alexander McQueen black trouser suit with high red Jimmy Choo shoes. She fought the urge to take one of them off and rub her foot. It had already been a long day.

  But she knew she couldn’t. Romy checked herself constantly to make sure she maintained her spotless corporate image, and she wondered whether it was on the presenter’s sheaf of notes that she’d won a gong for ‘Best Dressed Woman’ at the Grazia awards last week. Effortless style. That was the caption they’d used with the photograph in the press, which had made Romy laugh about the irony of it all. Her perfect exterior was far from effortless. Looking natural was the hardest thing in the world.

  Her life had changed so much in the past two years. Would she have been happier, she wondered now, if she’d stayed in Amsterdam? But those blissfully empty, carefree days were gone forever. She’d known they were as soon as she’d seen Alfie messing around with the camera crew in the park that day.

  It hadn’t been Alfie’s fault, but Romy had still been upset as she’d hurried back to her flat with him and Gretchen. When Lars had come to collect Gretchen, Alfie had told him about the TV cameras and how angry Romy had been.

  Lars . . . Romy remembered his friendly face and easygoing manner. The way he’d made her smile. What might have happened, she wondered, if things hadn’t turned out as they had? Might they have become friends, if her life hadn’t suddenly spun away from his? He’d been there when she’d needed him, and she’d kept in touch with him by email occasionally, but not as much as she should have. And certainly not recently. Gretchen would be growing up just as quickly as Alfie, she thought.

  Romy remembered how calm and kind Lars had been that day, as she’d blurted out the truth about who she was – and who Alfie’s father had been. The fact that she’d once been a famous model didn’t seem to bother him at all. So much so that Romy wondered now whether he’d known all along. Rather than being surprised, it had been Lars who’d calmed her down. Lars who’d made her think logically. And Lars who’d confirmed what she’d known in her heart: that her time out from her real life was over, and that she had to do the right thing and contact Alfonso’s parents and tell them about their grandson. And double-quick, too, before they found out about him anyway on TV, or in the press.

  Romy had been terrified during that first telephone conversation she’d had with Roberto. She’d braced herself, expecting his anger and disappointment in her to engulf her like a tide. Instead he’d told her that she didn’t have to explain. That he’d be sending his private jet to get her.

  Two days later Romy had arrived back at the Scolaris’ Tuscan farmhouse and Maria had been the first to step forward, wrapping her in a silent hug in the doorway, which had lasted for over a minute. An embrace so profound that Romy hadn’t been able to stop the tears coming. All the times she’d ever needed Maria’s support, all the times she’d ever been lonely, she’d longed for this hug.

  Alfie emerged from where he’d been hiding behind Romy’s long dress. He made his grandmother swoon with delight when he spoke to her in Italian and kissed her cheek.

  He was his father’s son. Oh yes, Romy thought, smiling proudly – in spite of her nerves – there’ll never be any escaping that fact. And each day, Alfonso, I see you in him . . .

  The whole family had assembled at the villa to greet her. And Romy soon discovered that the Scolaris were just as kind and gentle and understanding as they had been when she’d been in hospital. They were still ready to accept her as one of their own. Whatever her reasons for staying away, she’d come back. And that was all that had mattered to them.

  Without any formality, Flavia and Anna hooked their arms through hers and steered her into the house, where she found herself swamped by a flood of happy memories. This had been the place where Alfonso had taken her the first time to meet his parents, where they’d got engaged by the light of that huge orange moon, and where she’d got ready on the morning of her wedding.

  This was the place that had felt like home.

  Hours later on that first night Alfie hadn’t stopped being the centre of attention amongst all his cousins, as they gathered at the back of the house by the vine-covered terrace.

  Romy watched her mother-in-law bring out a plate of her famous dusted cherry biscuits from the kitchen. She sat down in the old wicker chair in the garden, and Flavia’s daughter, Marice, lifted up Alfie towards her and started teaching him a rhyme. Looking at Maria surrounded by roses, her lost grandson on her lap, Romy realized how wrong she’d been to stay away.

  ‘I thought it would be less painful if I cut off the past,’ Romy tried to explain to Roberto as she walked with him to help him pick herbs in the garden. ‘I’m so sorry.’

  ‘You can no sooner cut off your past than cut off your leg,’ Roberto said, with a gentle chuckle. ‘I know. I have made the same mistake. I thought I would stop being angry with Alfonso if I cut him off.’ He shrugged. ‘It didn’t work. It just made it worse.’

  The way his eyes twinkled then as he put his arm around Romy’s shoulder reminded her so much of Alfonso, it made her feel that Alfonso was somewhere near too, watching them. Being here, in the company of his family, was bringing him back to life, in the way that posters and newspaper clippings, she now understood, could never have done.

  ‘Look at her,’ Roberto said, his voice soft with love, looking across the garden at Maria, who was playing hide-and-seek with the children. ‘She is old now, but just as beautiful as the day I met her. We need to cherish these years whilst we can.’

  ‘Yes.’ Is that what she’d done? Romy wondered. Had she made every single second with Alfonso count?

  ‘Which is why I’m thinking of spending more time at home,’ Roberto said.

  ‘You mean retiring?’ Romy asked, stopping now, surprised. Roberto had always been such an embodiment of his company that it seemed impossible to imagine it existing without him, or indeed he without it.

  He nodded slowly. A look of sadness crossed his face. ‘Like Maria, I am not as young as I was,’ he said.

  ‘So what will you do? Sell up?’ The thought seemed abhorrent, for a reason Romy couldn’t immediately identify. Maybe because she’d always imagined Alfonso one day giving up his driving and taking over his father’s reins. Or perhaps because, deep down inside, it struck her that just selling off something Roberto had worked so hard to build was wrong.

  ‘Sell? Never.’ Roberto’s voice was fierce and Romy smiled, relieved to see the old fire still burning brightly in his eyes.

  He plucked a sprig of mint and put it into the basket she had over her arm, along with the sage, dill and bay. He began wal
king slowly along the curved brick pathway again.

  ‘This business has been in my family for six generations,’ he said. ‘I could never sell it. No, I shall do what all the Scolaris have done before me. I shall leave it to the next Scolari in line whom I think most suited.’

  And it was only then, as she followed Roberto’s steady gaze towards Alfie – who’d cut through the gardens and was waiting for them just up ahead, absently trailing his fingertips through a bed of deep-pink peonies – that Romy realized what Roberto was really talking to her about. In bringing her son here, Romy had made him a Scolari. She’d delivered Roberto his heir.

  ‘But, Roberto . . . you can’t mean Alfie? He’s only a child.’

  ‘That’s why I’m going to teach my business to you,’ Roberto told her, gripping her arms firmly now as they walked.

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you, Romy. Because I’ll be too old to ever teach Alfie myself. Meaning that I want you to be in charge after I’ve gone. Then you can give the business to Alfie when he comes of age.’

  Romy panicked. ‘What about your daughters? Flavia could run it, surely?’

  ‘I’ve thought about it, but Flavia has her own life, her own commitments. And Anna is too busy. They have both told me separately that they have no intention of becoming the one in charge. The only one, I think, who ever had enough balls, and business brains to go with them, was Gloria. But she’s made her own choices.’

  Romy heard the pain in his voice and remembered how Gloria had a boyfriend, supposedly a drug-dealer, of whom Roberto had disapproved, and how she had sided with this man over Roberto in an argument, how she’d crossed her father, and after that there’d been no way back.

  Romy remembered now the whole complexity of the Scolari family, its rules and traditions. But most of all she remembered how black and white Roberto was. Any hope she’d had of finally confessing to him about why Alfonso had died – the fleeting fantasy she’d entertained of telling him the truth – vanished.

  ‘And what about Alfie’s cousins?’ Romy said. ‘What if one of the girls . . . ’