Patriot Threat. Steve Berry
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CHAPTER EIGHT
IT WAS during breakfast that Teresa mentioned a soirée to be held that evening in a friend’s villa in the hills overlooking the Mediterranean Sea.
‘It will be a pleasure to represent you,’ Raúl assured her gently, in a bid to minimise Teresa’s voiced regret at not being able to attend.
‘Ana is incredibly generous in opening her home to host these occasions. My help is minimal in comparison.’
Yet Gianna recalled with ease the number of times Teresa had opened her Madrid home to host various fundraising functions. The expense of doing so gifted without question.
Devising interesting functions in order to raise funds for deserving charities required experience, imagination, and above all, organisation. Committees were formed, women volunteered their time, expertise and even their homes in a bid to host a successful soirée to benefit a children’s hospital wing with equipment, toys, digital televisions, DVDs. The list was endless, the functions many. Some were elaborate annual events; others by select invitation only.
Gianna had always respected the time and energy Teresa devoted to causes close to her heart, and knew the sadness Teresa must experience now at being forced through illness to take a much less active role.
‘Gianna, are you sure you don’t mind partnering Raúl?’
Excuse me? Since when was it assumed she would partner Raúl? Surely there was someone else he could call on, even at such short notice?
Except how could she say she had other plans when all her plans centered around Teresa’s welfare?
‘Of course not,’ she assured her with a smile.
‘Thank you. I’m very grateful.’
And that was sufficient. After all, attending a function supporting a good cause was no big deal. It wasn’t as if it was a new experience, given she’d attended similar functions in the past.
It was likely she’d be able to touch base with a few people she hadn’t seen in a few years. Appearing at Raúl’s side didn’t make it a date. It just so happened she was visiting Teresa at the time.
Choosing what to wear posed no problem as she instinctively selected the lilac gown with its crystal beading.
The colour enhanced her blue eyes, added soft texture to her skin, and with the skilled appliance of make-up the overall result was pleasing.
The length of her hair was swept into a fashionable knot held in place with crystal pins. A light spritz of her favourite perfume, diamond ear-studs, a slim diamond tennis bracelet added a finishing touch, and she slid her feet into delicate silver strappy stilettos, collected an evening clutch purse, then she exited the room and made her way to the head of the staircase.
Raúl was in the process of descending, and he turned and waited for her to join him.
The breath caught in her throat—a habit which occurred far too often just lately for her peace of mind.
Resplendent in a black tailored evening suit, snow-white linen shirt with black silk tie, he was something else. Ruggedly attractive, with harshly chiselled features, well-defined bone structure, he emanated a formidable aura of power. For beneath his forceful image lay a blend of latent sensuality which drew women like bees to a honeypot.
Including her.
Even now, when she professed to dislike him for his purported transgressions.
‘Beautiful,’ he complimented quietly, and stilled the urge to place his lips against the sweet curve of her neck.
‘Thank you.’
The faint pulse at the base of her throat had quickened its pace, and he took pleasure from the fact.
Miguel had the Mercedes parked adjacent the main entrance, and Raúl saw her seated before crossing round the vehicle to slip in behind the wheel.
‘It would help if you’d fill me in about the purpose of this evening’s function, the name of our host and hostess, and any applicable background information,’ Gianna suggested as they left the villa.
‘Ana and Franco own a spacious villa at Sóller, high on a hill overlooking the sea,’ Raúl informed her. ‘Ana is a tireless supporter of children’s charities, especially those for children disadvantaged by life-threatening illness. Franco shared similar business interests with my late father, and both families are friends of long standing.’
‘Tonight’s function is specifically aimed at raising funds for which particular charity?’
‘The building of an entertainment wing where terminally ill children can enjoy some of the luxuries most children take for granted. Electronic games that can be engaged in via remote control onto individual screens and played from their wheelchairs. Future donations will include a nurse-aide’s salary. Laptop computers set up to access the Internet so that the children can e-mail family and friends. The aim is to stimulate the mind and keep it active, even if physical mobility is limited.’
Mallorca bore so much history, if one wanted to explore and research it, but it was the scenery that captured Gianna’s interest. The tree-clad hills with villas peeping through the lush greenery. The many bays, beautiful beaches, the open sea. The horizon where the deep sapphire waters met with the azure sky, changing as the day progressed into night until the ocean and sky merged as one. The warm climate, the sun’s heat that cooled as night darkened the sky. The sophistication provided by the wealthy, which vied with the tourists who visited to share in the idyllic lifestyle.
It held memories of happier times, when Teresa had based herself in Madrid and flown in to Mallorca for the occasional weekend. The few times she and Raúl had flown in for a relaxing few days.
‘We’re nearly there.’
She’d been lost in thought, and hadn’t noticed the distance they’d covered, or Raúl’s skilled handling as they ascended the winding road.
Minutes later he eased speed and paused at a set of closed ornate gates, where visual identification was established via his driver’s licence and printed invitation.
It was a large property, spread out over several hectares, and already numerous cars lined the driveway.
Imposing and magnificent were only two superlatives Gianna accorded the large double-storeyed mansion. And that only related to the exterior.
Security guarded the entrance, where a further check took place…and it was only afterwards Gianna fully understood why.
An auction of art and precious jewellery was the feature of the evening, and any amount bid over and above the conservative reserve would be donated to charity.
Items were on display in a separate room guarded by a security team. Items worth millions of euros, Gianna calculated at a guess as she browsed the locked glass display cases.
Each item bore the reserve price, and a catalogue tabling detailed description was handed to each guest.
‘You are kidding me,’ Gianna offered quietly, for the room resembled a very organised Aladdin’s cave.
‘Hence the written invitations delivered individually by hand.’
‘Raúl, Gianna,’ a gracious feminine voice greeted. ‘How lovely of you to accept our invitation.’
‘Ana, it’s a pleasure.’ Raúl brushed his cheek to each of hers, and Gianna found herself receiving a similar salutation from their hostess.
‘Please adjourn to the lounge for drinks. There are plenty of refreshments, so please help yourselves. The auction will begin at ten.’
It was difficult to assess the number of invited guests…more than a hundred?
‘Almost two hundred, I believe,’ Raúl estimated, and smiled at her faint surprise, aware it irked her that he could