The Millionaire Tycoon's English Rose

But suddenly, three months ago, he’d returned to Naples from England, ostensibly for his brother’s wedding, and full of plans for setting up a branch of his firm and increasing his already healthy fortune. While he looked for somewhere to live he’d moved back into the Villa Rinucci, in the room that had always been kept for him, even when it had seemed he would never occupy it again.

But he had come without the woman he’d once seemed to love, and he would never speak of her.

‘You’re afraid he just dumped her because she was a burden, aren’t you?’ Toni asked his wife gently. ‘But I don’t believe that. Not our Francesco.’

‘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.’