A Deal with Di Capua. CATHY WILLIAMS
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for me to say at this juncture. Look, why don’t we nip to a little bistro I know not far from here? It should be relatively quiet at this hour and it would save you both the hassle of coming to my office in the morning. My car’s in the car park so we could go right now. Mr Di Capua, perhaps your driver could come and collect you in an hour or so?”
They were virtually at his car and Rosie heard Angelo click his tongue impatiently but he shrugged and made a brief phone call before sliding into the passenger seat, leaving her to clamber in the back. She felt as though she had no choice but to surrender to this turn of events. The short drive was completed in silence and twenty minutes later they were in a bistro which, as James Foreman had predicted, was fairly empty.
“I find it hard to believe that Amanda would leave a will,” Angelo said the second they were seated. “She had no one in her life. At least, no one of any significance.”
“You’d be surprised,” James Foreman murmured, his sharp eyes flicking between them.
“What were the difficulties you were talking about?” Rosie pressed. Next to her, Angelo’s hand, resting on the table, brought back sharp memories of how things had once been between them, cutting through the bitterness, leaving her dry-mouthed and panicked.
“Your friend was an emotional young woman carrying burdens she found difficult to cope with. She came to see me about a certain property she owned. I believe you know the property I’m talking about, Mr Di Capua—a certain cottage in Cornwall?” He turned to Rosie with a warmly sympathetic half-smile. “I understand the problems you both had. Over the years I built up a strong rapport with your friend. She was a needy soul and I became something of a father figure for her. My wife and I had her over many times for dinner. Indeed, we both did our best to counsel her on—”
“Are we ever destined to get to the point, Foreman?”
“The point is that the cottage was your wife’s prized possession, Mr Di Capua. She found refuge there.”
“Refuge from what?” Rosie interjected. She glanced across to Angelo’s hard, uncompromising profile and saw him flush darkly.
“We’re not here to discuss the state of my marriage,” Angelo bit out, meeting her puzzled stare with ice-cold eyes. “So she went a lot to the cottage.” He dragged his eyes away from her face. Hell, how was it that she could claw a reaction out of him? Was it possible that only this burning hatred could find a response in him?
“And the cottage belonged to her. In its entirety. Along with the acreage surrounding it. You recall, Mr Di Capua, she insisted shortly after you were married that you give it to her so that she could feel secure there and could be certain that it would never be taken away.”
“I recall,” Angelo said abruptly. “I agreed because I owned the estate alongside it. I could keep an eye on her.”
“Keep an eye on her? Why would you want to do that, Angelo?”
“Because.” Once again he looked at her. Once again he felt that surge of blistering, chaotic emotion which was a damn sight more than he had felt for the past few years. For as long as he could remember he had been completely dead inside. “Amanda had a problem with alcohol. She fancied the cottage because she wanted peace and quiet. On the other hand, with her fondness for the bottle, I couldn’t let her stay there without some form of supervision. She was unaware that I owned the estate abutting the cottage. I always made sure that one of my people was around to check on her now and again.”
“I can’t believe she started drinking. She was always so sure she wouldn’t go down that road.”
“Is that your convoluted way of asking me whether I drove her to drink?”
“Of course not!”
“Because you’re not sitting here at my request. Nor are you entitled to any explanations or niceties from me. You burned your bridges three years ago and lost the right to have a voice, as far as I am concerned.”
Rosie flushed bright red. She forgot that they both had an audience. The only person she was aware of was Angelo, looking at her with deep, dark hostility.
“You forget that I don’t even want to be here. Why should I? Why would I want to spend more time than absolutely necessary in your company?”
James Foreman cleared his throat and Angelo was the first to break the stranglehold of their stares.
“The cottage,” he said curtly. “Cut to the chase, man, and get on with it.”
“She left the cottage to you, Miss Tom.”
“Don’t be ridiculous!” Angelo cut in before Rosie had had time to assimilate what had been said to her. He placed both hands squarely on the table and leant forward, his body language bristling with intimidation, and the lawyer looked back at him with an apologetic smile.
“It’s all above board, Mr Di Capua. Amanda left the cottage to her friend.”
“Why on earth would she do that?” Rosie asked in bewilderment.
“Before you start getting any ideas,” Angelo gritted, looking at her, “over my dead body will you so much as put a foot over the threshold of that place.” He sat back and turned to stare at the lawyer who, for someone round-faced and sheepishly polite, was doing a good job of not being in the slightest bit cowed by a toweringly angry Angelo. A lesser man would have run for the hills at this point.
“I’m very much afraid that there’s very little you can do to prevent Miss Tom from accepting what has been willed to her,” James Foreman said, in the same apologetic voice. He looked at her with kindly eyes. “Whatever happened between you, my dear, there were regrets.”
“I wouldn’t dream of accepting anything Amanda may have left to me, Mr Foreman.”
“Well, hallelujah!” Angelo flung his hands up in a gesture of pure satisfaction, success rightfully accepted as his due. “So for once, we’re singing from the same song sheet. Now that this little charade is over, perhaps you two can get together and work out the paperwork to ensure that Miss Tom relinquishes whatever dodgy hold she may think she has on my property—which, in point of fact, will be a matter of necessity because I intend to develop it within the year. Now, if that’s all?”
“You always wanted to go into the catering business—am I right, Miss Tom?”
Rosie nodded dumbly. She felt as though she had been taken on a rollercoaster ride. Her thoughts were all over the place. Every part of her body was in a state of shock. All over again, and to her dismay, she was realising how powerfully Angelo Di Capua still affected her, despite her deep loathing of him.
“How did you know?”
“Amanda kept tabs on you without you realising it, I expect.” He shrugged. “With the Internet and social networks, it’s virtually impossible to remain anonymous these days. At any rate, you might want to think about what was behind this legacy to you. Of course, you must do what your heart tells you to do, but Amanda began cultivating the land around the cottage. There’s quite a bit of it, if I’m not mistaken.”
“This conversation is going nowhere!” Angelo insisted, making a slashing motion with his hand.
“It is my duty to explain the circumstances of this will,” the lawyer murmured, still looking at Rosie. “Amanda made plans of how the land was to be laid out, and what would grow where.”
“But she didn’t know that she would…She couldn’t possibly predict…”
“I think she knew, deep down, that she was not destined for a long life. I also think that she was working up the courage to contact you to give you the land. Fate got in the way.”
“This is so much to take in,” Rosie said, dazed. “Perhaps…perhaps I might just have a look at the cottage.” If nothing else, to see whether she might get full closure at least by visiting the place her one-time friend had obviously come