The Truth Behind his Touch (5 page)

‘I expect this nurse he’s hired is a private nurse?’

Caroline hadn’t given that a second’s thought, but now she blanched. How much would that be costing? And didn’t it prove that Alberto had no idea of the state of his finances? Why, if he did know, would he be spending money on hiring a private nurse who would be costing him an arm and a leg?

‘And naturally he must be paying
you
,’ Giancarlo continued remorselessly. ‘How much?’ He named a figure that
was so ridiculously high that Caroline burst out laughing. She laughed until she felt tears come to her eyes. It was as though she had found a sudden outlet for her stressful, frantic thoughts and her body was reacting of its own volition, even though Giancarlo was now looking at her with the perplexed expression of someone dealing with a complete idiot.

‘Sorry.’ She hiccupped her way back to some level of seriousness, although she could still feel her mirth lurking close to the surface. ‘You’ve got to be kidding. Take that figure and maybe divide it by four.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. No one could survive on that.’

‘But I never came here for the money,’ Caroline explained patiently. ‘I came here to improve my Italian. Alberto was doing me a favour by taking me in. I don’t have to pay for food and I don’t pay rent. When I return to England, the fact that I will be able to communicate in another language will be a great help to me when it comes to getting a job. Why are you staring at me like that?’

‘So it doesn’t bother you that you wouldn’t be able to have much of a life given that you’re paid next to nothing?’
Cheap labour
, Giancarlo thought.
Now, why am I not surprised?
A specialised nurse would hardly donate her services through the goodness of her heart, but a young, clearly inexperienced girl? Why not take advantage? Oh, the old man knew the state of his finances, all right, whatever she exclaimed to the contrary.

‘I don’t mind. I’ve never been fussed about money.’

‘Guess what?’ Giancarlo signalled to the waiter for the bill. When Caroline looked at her watch, it was to find that the time had galloped by. She hadn’t even been aware of it passing, even though, disliking him as she did, she should have been counting every agonising minute.

‘What?’

‘Consider your little mission a success. I think it’s time, after all, to return home …’

G
IANCARLO’S
last view of his father’s house, as he had twisted around in the back of the car, while in the front his mother had sat in stony silence without a backward glance, was of lush gardens and the vast stone edifice which comprised the back of the house. The front of the house sat grandly on the western shores of the lake, perfect positioning for a view of deep blue water, as still as a sheet of glass, that was breathtakingly beautiful.

It was unsettling to be returning now, exactly one week after Caroline had left, seemingly transported with excitement at the fact that she had managed to persuade him to accept the supposed olive-branch that had been extended.

If she was of the opinion that all was joyful in the land of reconciliation, then Giancarlo was equally and coldly reserved about sharing any such optimism. He was under no illusions when it came to human nature. The severity of Alberto’s heart attack was open to debate and Giancarlo, for one, was coolly prepared for a man in fairly robust health who may or may not have persuaded a very gullible Caroline otherwise to suit his own purposes. His memories of his father were of a towering man, greatly into discipline and without an emotional bone in his body. He couldn’t conceive of him being diminished by ill health, although
rapidly disappearing funds might well have played a part in lowering his spirits.

The super-fast sports car had eaten up the miles of motorway and only now, as he slowed to drive through the picturesque towns and villages on the way to his father’s house, were vague recollections beginning to surface.

He had forgotten how charming this area was. Lake Como, the third largest and the deepest of the Italian lakes, was picture-postcard perfect, a lush, wealthy area with elegant villas, manicured gardens, towns and villages with cobbled streets and
piazzas
dotted with Romanesque churches and very expensive hotels and restaurants which attracted the more discerning tourist.

He felt a pleasing sense of satisfaction.

This was a homecoming on
his
terms, just the way he liked it. A more in-depth perusal of Alberto’s finances had shown a company torn apart by the ravaging effects of an unprecedented economic recession, mismanagement and an unwillingness to move with the times and invest in new markets.

Giancarlo smiled grimly to himself. He had never considered himself a vengeful person but the realisation that he could take over his father’s company, rescue the old man and thereby level the scales of justice was a pleasing one. Really, what more bitter pill could his father ever swallow than know that he was indebted, literally, to the son he had turned his back on?

He hadn’t mentioned a word of this to Caroline when they had parted company. For a few minutes, Giancarlo found himself distracted by thoughts of the diminutive brunette. She was flaky as hell; unbelievably emotional and prone to tears at the drop of a hat; jaw-droppingly forthright and, frankly, left him speechless. But, as he got closer and closer to the place he had once called his home, he realised
that she had managed to get under his skin in a way that was uniquely irritating. In fact, he had never devoted this much time to thinking about any one woman, but that, he reasoned sensibly, was because this particular woman had entered his life in a singularly weird way.

Never again would he rule out the unexpected. Just when you thought you had everything in control, something came along to pull the rug from under your feet.

In this instance, it wasn’t all bad. He fiddled with the radio, got to a station he liked and relaxed to enjoy the scenery and the pleasing prospect of what lay ahead.

He gave no house room to nerves. He was on a high, in fact, fuelled by the self-righteous notion of the wheel having turned full circle. Yes, he was curious to reacquaint himself with Alberto, but over the years he had heard so many things about him that he almost felt as though there was nothing left to know. The steady drip, drip, drip of information from a young age had eroded his natural inclination to question.

If anything, he liked to think that Alberto would be the one consumed by nerves. His business was failing and sooner or later, ill health or no ill health, Giancarlo was certain that his father would turn the conversation around to money. Maybe he would try and entice him into some kind of investment. Maybe he would just ditch his pride and ask outright for a loan of some sort. Either approach was possible. Giancarlo relished the prospect of being able to confirm that money would indeed be forthcoming. Wasn’t he magnanimous even though, all things considered, he had no reason to be? But a price would have to be paid. He would make his father’s company his own. He would take it over lock, stock and barrel. Yes, his father’s financial security would rest on the generosity of his disowned son.

He intended to stay at the villa just long enough to convey
that message. A couple of days at most. Thereafter it would be enough to know that he had done what he had to do.

He didn’t anticipate having anything to say of interest to the old man. Why should he? They would be two strangers, relieved to part company once the nitty-gritty had been sorted out.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he very nearly missed the turning to the villa. This side of the lake was famous for its magnificent villas, most of them eighteenth-century extravaganzas, a few of which had been turned into hotels over the years.

His father’s villa was by no means the largest but it was still an impressive old place, approached through forbidding iron gates and a long drive which was surrounded on both sides by magnificent gardens.

He remembered the layout of these glorious spreading lawns more than he had anticipated. To the right, there was the bank of trees in which he had used to play as a child. To the left, the stone wall was barely visible behind rows upon rows of rhododendrons and azaleas, a vibrant wash of colour as bright and as dramatic as a child’s painting.

He slowed the car in the circular courtyard, killed the engine and popped the boot, which was just about big enough to fit his small leather overnight case—and, of course, his computer bag in which resided all the necessary documents he would need so that he could begin the takeover process he had in mind for his father’s company.

He was an imposing sight. From her bedroom window, which overlooked the courtyard, Caroline felt a sudden sick flutter of nerves.

Over the past seven days, she had done her best to play down the impact he had made on her. He wasn’t
that
tall,
that
good-looking or
that
arrogant, she convinced herself.

She had been rattled when she had finally located him and her nerves had thrown everything out of perspective.

Unfortunately, staring down at Giancarlo as he emerged from his sports car, wearing dark sunglasses and walking round to swing two cases out of the miniscule boot of his car, she realised that he really
was
as unbelievably forbidding as she had remembered.

She literally flew down the corridor, took the staircase two steps at a time and reached the sitting-room at the back of the house, breathless.

‘He’s here!’

Alberto was sitting in a chair by the big bay window that had a charming view of the gardens stretching down to the lake, which was dotted with little boats.

‘Anyone would think the Pope was paying a visit. Calm down, girl! Your colour’s up.’

‘You’re going to be nice, aren’t you, Alberto?’

‘I’m always nice. You just fuss too much, get yourself worked up over small things—it’s not good for you. Now, off you go and let the boy in before he climbs back into his car and drives away. And on your way you can tell that nurse of yours that I’m having a glass of whisky before dinner. Whether she likes it or not!’

‘I’ll do no such thing, Alberto De Vito. If you want to disobey doctor’s orders, then you can tell Tessa yourself—and I would love to see how she takes that.’ She grinned fondly at the old man, who was backlit by the evening sun glinting through the window. Having met Giancarlo, she found the similarities between them striking. Both had the same proud, aristocratic features and the long, lean lines of natural athletes. Of course, Alberto was elderly now, but it was easy to see that he must have been as striking as his son in his youth.

‘Oh, stop that endless chattering, woman, and run along.’

He waved her off and Caroline, steadying her nerves, got to the front door just as the doorbell chimed.

She smoothed nervous hands along her skirt, a black maxi in stretch cotton which she wore with a loose-fitting top and, of course, the ubiquitous cardigan, although at least here it was more appropriate thanks to the cooling breeze that blew off the lake.

She pulled open the door and her mouth went dry. In a snug-fitting cream polo-necked shirt and a pair of tan trousers with very expensive-looking loafers, he was every inch the impeccably dressed Italian. He looked as though he had come straight from a fashion shoot until he raised one sardonic eyebrow and said coolly, ‘Were you waiting by the window?’

Remembering that she
had
, actually, been at her window when his car had pulled into the courtyard, Caroline straightened her spine and cleared her throat.

‘Of course I wasn’t! Although I
was
tempted, just in case you didn’t show up.’ She stood aside; Giancarlo took a step through the front door and confronted the house in which he had spent the first twelve years of his life. It had changed remarkably little. The hall was a vast expanse of marble, in the centre of which a double staircase spiralled in opposing directions to meet on the impressive galleried landing above. On either side of the hall, a network of rooms radiated like tentacles on an octopus.

Now that he was back, he could place every room in his head: the various reception rooms; the imposing study from which he had always been banned; the dining-room in which portraits of deceased family members glared down at the assembled diners; the gallery in which were hung paintings of great value, another room from which he had been banned.

‘Why wouldn’t I show up?’ Giancarlo turned to face her.

She looked more at home here, less ill at ease, which was hardly surprising, he supposed. Her hair which she had attempted to tie back in Milan was loose, and it flowed over her shoulders and down her back in a tangle of curls, dark brown streaked with caramel where the sun had lightened it.

‘You might have had a change of heart,’ Caroline admitted in a harried voice, because yet again those dark, cloaked eyes on her were doing weird things to her tummy. ‘I mean, you were so adamant that you didn’t want to see your father and then all of a sudden you announced that you’d changed your mind. It didn’t make sense. So I thought that maybe you might have changed your mind again.’

‘Where are the staff?’

‘I told you, most of the house is shut off. We have Tessa, the nurse who looks after Alberto. She lives on the premises, and two young girls take care of cleaning the house, but they live in the village. I’m glad you decided to come after all. Shall we go and meet your father? I guess you’ll want to be with him on your own.’

‘So that we can catch up? Exchange fond memories of the good old days?’

Caroline looked at him in dismay. There was no attempt to disguise the bitterness in his voice. Alberto rarely mentioned the past, and his memoirs, which had taken a back seat over the past few weeks, had mostly got to the state of fond reminiscing about his university days and the places he had travelled as a young man. But she could imagine that Alberto had not been the easiest of fathers. When Giancarlo had agreed to visit, she had naively assumed that he had been willing, finally, to overlook whatever mishaps had drastically torn them apart. Now, looking at him, she was uneasily aware that her simple conclusions might have been a little off the mark.

‘Or even just agree to put the past behind you and move on,’ Caroline offered helpfully.

Giancarlo sighed. Should he let her in to what he had planned? he wondered.

‘Why don’t you give me a little tour of the house before I meet my father?’ he suggested. ‘I want to get a feel of the old place. And there are a couple of things I want to talk to you about.’

‘Things? What things?’

‘If you don’t fancy the full tour, you can show me to my bedroom. What I have to say won’t take long.’

‘I’ll show you to your room,’ she said stiffly. ‘But first I’ll go and tell Alberto where we are, so he doesn’t worry.’

‘Why would he worry?’

‘He’s been looking forward to seeing you.’

‘I’m thinking I will be in my old room,’ Giancarlo murmured. ‘Left wing. Overlooking the side gardens?’

‘The left wing’s not really used now.’ Making her mind up, she eyed his lack of luggage and began heading up the stairs. ‘I’ll take you up to where you’ll be staying. If we’re quick, I’m sure your father won’t get too anxious. And you can tell me whatever it is you have to tell me.’

She could feel her heart beating like a sledgehammer inside her as she preceded him up the grand staircase, turning left along the equally grand corridor, which was broad enough to house a
chaise longue
and various highly polished tables on which sat bowls of fresh flowers. Caroline had added that touch soon after she had come to live with Alberto and he had grumpily acquiesced, but not before informing her that flowers inside a house were a waste of time. Why bother when they would die within the week?

‘Ah, the Green Room.’ Giancarlo looked around him and saw the signs of disrepair. The room looked tired, the wallpaper still elegant but badly faded. The curtains he
dimly remembered, although this was one of the many guest rooms into which he had seldom ventured. Nothing had been changed in over two decades. He dumped his overnight bag on the bed and walked across to the window to briefly look down at the exquisite walled garden, before turning to her.

‘I feel I ought to tell you that my decision to come here wasn’t entirely altruistic,’ he told her bluntly. ‘I wouldn’t want you having any misplaced notions of emotional reunions, because if you have, then you’re in for a crashing disappointment.’