Captive in his Castle

‘Where are you going?’ his aunt asked tremulously as he swung away from the bed and strode across the room.

‘To find Jess Harper. And when I do you can be sure I will demand some answers,’ he replied grimly.

Struggling to carry her heavy toolbox and a bulging bag of groceries, Jess let herself into her flat and stooped to pick up the post from the doormat. There were two bills, and a letter which she recognised was from the bank. For a moment her heart lurched, before she remembered that her business account was no longer in the red and she did not have to worry about paying back a hefty overdraft. Old habits died hard, she thought ruefully. She wondered if the novelty of being financially solvent would ever wear off.

On her way down the hall she glanced into Angelo’s room. It was still unusually tidy—which meant that he hadn’t come back. Jess frowned. It was three days since he had disappeared, and since then he hadn’t answered any of her calls. Should she be worried about him? He had probably moved on to another job, like so many of the casual labourers she employed did, she told herself.

But Angelo had been different from the other labourers who asked for work. Despite his assurances that he had experience as a decorator it had quickly become apparent that he did not know one end of a paintbrush from the other. Yet he was clearly intelligent and spoke perfect English, albeit with a strong foreign accent. He had explained that he was a homeless migrant. His gentle nature reminded Jess of her best friend Daniel, whom she had known at the children’s home, and perhaps that was why she had impulsively offered him the spare room in her flat until he got on his feet. Angelo had been touchingly grateful and it just wasn’t like him to leave without saying goodbye—especially as he had left his stuff, including his beloved guitar, behind.

Reporting him missing seemed like an overreaction, and although it was a long time since her troubled teenage years she still had an inherent mistrust of the police. But what if he’d had an accident and was lying in hospital with no one to visit him? Jess knew too well what it was like to feel utterly alone in the world, to know that no one cared.

If she hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow she would notify the police, she decided as she dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop and dug out the frozen ready meal she’d bought for dinner. She’d missed lunch. Owing to a mix-up with paint colours, the job she was working on was behind schedule—which was why Angelo’s disappearance was so inconvenient. He might not be the best painter in the world—in fact he was the worst she’d ever known—but to get the contract finished on time she needed all the help she could get.

The instructions on the box of pasta Bolognese said it cooked in six minutes. Jess’s stomach rumbled. Six minutes sounded like an eternity when she was starving. Taking a screwdriver from her pocket, she pierced the film lid and shoved the meal into the microwave. At least it gave her enough time for a much-needed shower. A glance in the mirror revealed that she had white emulsion in her hair from where she had been painting a ceiling.

Pulling off her boots, she headed for the bathroom, stripped off her dungarees and shirt and stepped into the shower cubicle. One day, when she could afford to buy her own flat, the first thing she would do would be to install a power shower, she thought as the ferocious jet of water washed away the dust and grime of a hard day’s work. For her birthday the previous week she had treated herself to a gorgeous luxury shower crème. The richly perfumed lather left her skin feeling satin-soft, and using a liberal amount of shampoo she managed to rinse the paint out of her hair.

Her team of workmen would tease her unmercifully if they found out that she had a girly side, she thought ruefully. Working in an all-male environment was tough, but so was Jess—her childhood had seen to that.

The sound of the doorbell was followed almost instantly by the ping of the microwave telling her that her food was ready. Pulling on her robe as the doorbell went again, she padded barefoot back to the kitchen. Why didn’t whoever was ringing the doorbell give up and go away? she wondered irritably. The microwave meal smelled unpleasantly of molten plastic, but she was too hungry to care. She peeled back the film covering and cursed as the escaping steam burnt her fingers. The doorbell rang for a third time—a long, strident peal that Jess could not ignore—and it suddenly occurred to her that maybe Angelo had come back.

Drago snatched his finger from the doorbell and uttered a curse. Clearly no one was at home. He had broken the speed limit driving from the airport to Hampstead, which was where, he had learned from his aunt’s lawyer, Jess Harper lived. According to Maurio Rochas the Englishwoman was a painter. Presumably she had a successful career to be able to afford to live in this attractive and affluent part of north-west London, Drago mused. He guessed that the Art Deco building had once been a magnificent house. It had been converted into six flats that must be highly sought after.

Maurio had not known any more information about the woman Angelo had been living with, and as yet the private investigator Drago had hired to run a check on her had not got back to him. But for now the question of why his cousin had given her money was unimportant. All that mattered was that he should persuade Jess Harper to visit Angelo. Hopefully the sound of her voice would rouse him from his unconscious state.

Where the hell was she? He wondered if she worked from a studio—maybe he could get the address from a neighbour. He did not have time to waste searching for her when Angelo’s condition remained critical. Frustration surged through him and he pressed the doorbell again, even though he knew it was pointless. He was exhausted after spending the past three days and nights at the hospital, snatching the odd half-hour’s sleep in the chair beside Angelo’s bed.

His eyes felt gritty and he rubbed his hand across them as images of his cousin flashed into his mind. Angelo had been a sensitive, serious little boy after his father’s death, and he had hero-worshipped Drago. It was only during the nightmare of the last few days, while Angelo hovered between life and death, that Drago had acknowledged how deeply he cared for the young man he had helped to bring up.

There was no point waiting around when it was clear that Jess Harper wasn’t here, he told himself. He was about to head back down the stairs when the door of the second-floor flat suddenly opened.

‘Oh!’ said a voice. ‘I thought you were someone else.’

Drago spun round, and as he stared at the figure standing in the doorway his breath seemed to rush from his body. He felt a strange sensation, as if his ribcage had been crushed in a vice. There had only been one other occasion in his life when he had been so blown away by a woman, and then he had been an impressionable twenty-two-year-old. Now he was thirty-seven, highly sexually experienced—and, if he was honest, somewhat jaded from a relentless diet of meaningless affairs. But for a few crazy seconds he felt like a hormone-fuelled youth again.

His nostrils flared and he gave his head a slight shake, utterly nonplussed by his reaction. He had met hundreds of beautiful women in his life, and bedded more of them than he cared to think about, but this woman quite literally took his breath away. His eyes were drawn to the front of her white towelling robe, which was gaping slightly to reveal the pale upper slopes of her breasts. The realisation that she was probably naked beneath the robe heated his blood, and every nerve-ending in his body prickled with fierce sexual awareness.

Swallowing hard, Drago studied the woman’s face. It was a perfect oval, and her delicate features looked as though they had been sculpted from fine porcelain. The high cheekbones gave her an elfin quality that was further accentuated by her slanting green eyes. Her long, damp, dark red hair contrasted starkly with her pale skin.

Something unfurled deep in his gut—a primitive hunger and an inexplicable sense of possessiveness that made him want to seize her in his arms and lay claim to her.

‘Can I help you?’

Her voice was soft, with a slight huskiness that made his heart jolt. He found himself hoping that his aunt’s lawyer had made a mistake with the address and this woman was not his cousin’s mistress. The idea of Angelo making love to her incited a feeling of violent jealousy in him.

He gave himself a mental shake, irritated by his body’s unwarranted response to her, and demanded abruptly, ‘Are you Jess Harper?’

Her green eyes narrowed. ‘Who wants to know?’

‘My name is Drago Cassari. I understand that my cousin Angelo has been living here with you.’

‘Cousin!’ She sounded genuinely shocked. ‘Angelo told me that he was alone and had no family.’

So he had the right address, and the right woman. Drago’s jaw tightened as he struggled to dismiss the image that had come into his mind of tracing the perfect cupid’s-bow shape of her lips with his tongue. As he walked towards her she retreated behind the half-open door and eyed him distrustfully.

‘I was unaware that Angelo had any relatives. Do you have proof that you are his cousin?’

Irritated by her suspicious tone, he withdrew his mobile phone from his jacket and accessed a photograph stored in the phone’s memory.

‘This is a picture of me with Angelo and his mother, taken six months ago when we attended the opening of the new Cassa di Cassari store in Milan,’ he explained, handing the phone to her.

She stared at the screen for several moments. ‘It’s definitely Angelo, although I’ve never seen him wearing a tuxedo before,’ she said slowly. ‘But…it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why he never mentioned his family.’

Drago did not think it strange that his cousin had kept details of his private life secret. The Cassaris were one of the wealthiest families in Italy and attracted huge media attention. Drago had been hounded by the paparazzi since he was a teenager. He had learned to choose his friends carefully, and had taught his cousin to do the same. Although if the information about Jess Harper having a criminal record was true, then perhaps Angelo had not been careful enough, he mused.

The confused expression on Jess Harper’s face was surprisingly convincing.

‘There’s a Cassa di Cassari department store in Oxford Street that sells the most beautiful but incredibly expensive bedlinen and other household furnishings.’ If she ever won the lottery, Jess had promised herself that she would shop exclusively at Cassa di Cassari. ‘It had never occurred to me until now that Angelo has the same name—Cassari. I suppose it’s just coincidence.’ She looked at the photo of the shop-opening again and her frown deepened. ‘I mean—Angelo can’t have any connection to a world-famous brand-name—can he?’

Could she really not know? Drago found it difficult to believe that she was unaware of Angelo’s identity.

‘Our great-grandfather founded Cassa di Cassari shortly after the First World War. After our fathers were killed in an accident I inherited a seventy per cent stake of the company. Angelo owns a thirty per cent share.’

Drago’s eyes narrowed when Jess Harper made a startled sound. Either she really had not known the true extent of his cousin’s wealth or she was a good actress. Perhaps she was wishing she had ‘borrowed’ more money from Angelo, he thought cynically. But for now the question of how she had got her hands on Angelo’s inheritance fund wasn’t important. He simply wanted to get her to Italy as quickly as possible. There would be time for questions once his cousin had regained consciousness.

She thrust his phone at him. ‘I don’t understand what’s going on, or why Angelo lied to me, but he isn’t here. He left a couple of days ago without saying where he was going and I have no idea where he is. I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

She began to close the door, but with lightning reaction Drago jammed his foot in the doorway.

‘He’s in hospital, fighting for his life.’

Jess froze. Her anger and incomprehension that Angelo had not been honest with her faded and she felt as if an ice cube had slithered down her spine. She was shocked to hear that he had a family and dumbstruck by the revelation that he was connected to the famous Cassa di Cassari luxury Italian homeware brand. The whole thing was unbelievable, and if it wasn’t for the photo of him on Drago Cassari’s phone she would have assumed it was a case of mistaken identity. But the news that Angelo was in hospital was more shocking than anything.

‘Why…? I mean, is he ill?’ She felt guilty that she had not reported Angelo missing. He was a nice guy, and she should have realised that he would not have moved out of her flat without saying goodbye.

‘He was in a car accident. He suffered a serious head injury and has been unconscious for three days.’

Drago Cassari spoke in a controlled voice, but when Jess looked closely at him she saw lines of strain around his eyes.

She felt sick as she pictured Angelo the last time she had seen him, the evening before he had disappeared. She had cooked dinner—only omelettes, which was all her limited culinary skills could manage—and he had been flatteringly appreciative and afterwards helped with the washing up. She had been surprised to find he was gone the following morning, but she had assumed he was used to being alone, just as she was, and hadn’t thought to inform her he was going away. As the days had passed she had started to worry, though—independent as he was, he was still young.

Drago Cassari’s voice cut into her thoughts. ‘I’ve come to ask if you will visit him in hospital. The longer he remains unconscious the more chance there is that he will have permanent brain damage.’

‘He’s that seriously hurt?’ Jess swallowed as she imagined Angelo injured and unconscious. A memory flashed into her mind of seeing Daniel in Intensive Care after he had been knocked off his push-bike by a speeding car. He had looked so peaceful, as if he was asleep, but the nurse had said he was only being kept alive by the machine that was breathing for him and that he was showing no signs of brain activity. Jess had understood that Daniel was seriously injured but she hadn’t expected him to die. He had only been sixteen. Even eight years later, thinking about it brought a lump to her throat.

Could Angelo die? The thought was too awful to contemplate, but from his cousin’s grave expression it was clearly a possibility.

‘Of course I’ll visit him,’ she said huskily. She had no idea why Angelo had told her he was alone and destitute, but the mystery of why he had lied wasn’t important when his life was at risk.