CHAPTER NINE

      IT WAS TWO hours before the lawyers, and Ramon who had acted as a witness, had the documents signed.

      ‘Well, that’s done.’

      Ivo didn’t say anything.

      ‘So how does it feel, boy, to finally have the old man where you want him?’ Salvatore mocked.

      Suddenly Ivo was angry, too angry for a moment to respond. ‘Is that what you think I am?’

      ‘No, it isn’t. I would be happier if you were. You’re soft, Bruno, you always were. You allow emotions to get in the way of good sense.’

      Ivo’s anger dissolved as quickly as it had flashed. ‘I’m Ivo, Grandfather.’

      The old man looked away. ‘What’s in a name...? I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want anyone to know, for anyone to know that Salvatore Greco is a feeble-minded dribbling idiot who needs feeding.’ His voice cracked.

      Ivo turned away while his grandfather fought the tears that filled his eyes. He had never seen his grandfather cry. He was filled with a sense of helplessness he had never felt before.

      ‘You will not tell anyone. Swear to me, Ivo.’

      Ivo turned back to face him. ‘I swear.’

      ‘Give me a little while longer before my enemies start celebrating. So, what is the child like?’

      ‘Jamie is a...nice baby.’

      ‘And you’re marrying the girl.’

      Ivo shook his head. ‘No.’

      ‘I thought as much. You’re a devious devil. You get that from me. Is the baby like...his father?’

      It wasn’t seeing his grandfather struggle to remember his grandson’s name, it was watching him try and disguise the fact that it felt like a body blow as a fresh stab of toxic guilt consumed him.

       How could I not have seen this?

      Ivo moved impulsively across the room to his grandfather’s side. ‘Grandfather—’

      The old man held up his hands as though warding off danger, his lip curled in a snarl of distaste. ‘No soft stuff and sentiment. I’m not totally ga-ga yet.’

      His expression blank, Ivo drew back.

      ‘That’s better. I think I’ll sleep. When does the boy arrive?’

      ‘They are already here.’

      ‘We will have dinner tomorrow, then.’ He gave a little chuckle and threw his grandson a knowing look. ‘Are you bedding her yet? Oh, my God, when you look down your nose at me you look just like my father. I was a major disappointment to him, you know, never good enough for him.’ His voice trailed away. ‘Too crude and vulgar.’

      It was several minutes before Ivo realised he’d fallen asleep.

      Ramon was waiting outside the door when he emerged. ‘He’s asleep,’ he said.

      ‘He tires easily.’

      They exchanged a nod of understanding. Ivo took steps before the reality began to kick in; the entire empire was now his responsibility. The buck stopped with him.

      * * *

      The suite of rooms she had been allocated covered three floors, and had, as well as the master suite, two guest suites, a dining room, living room, kitchen, a kitchenette, a day nursery, a night nursery, lift access to the nannies’ rooms and one to the ground floor.

      When asked was it suitable she gave a cheery smile and said, ‘Just like home.’

      Nobody smiled at her joke but they did leave her in peace.

      She focused on the immediate priorities. Bathing and feeding Jamie were top of the list, after which he’d immediately fallen asleep.

      A hot shower was calling her. It was a relief to strip off her creased clothes and step into the shower after resisting the temptation of the massive antique copper bathtub. A long luxurious soak was for an occasion when Ivo was not likely to appear to bear her off to the awful interview with his grandfather.

      When she walked back into the sitting room, wearing a soft robe from the bathroom, there were hot coffee and tea, tiny sandwiches and a selection of pastries on one of the tables.

      She poured a black coffee, took a sip and, picking up one of the sandwiches, she went to the bedroom and walked over to one of the massive wardrobes. The scent coming from the lavender sachets that were hooked around the rail tickled her nostrils as she opened it. Someone had unpacked her clothes before she’d even reached the room and they looked pretty lost sitting there in the cavernous scented space.

      Eating the rest of her sandwich, which was very good, she selected a dress similar in design to the creased one she had just taken off, though the neckline on this one was squarer and the fabric plain white with a discreet diamond pattern picked out in silver.

      She fished out some fresh underwear and wriggled her way into it. It required a few contortions to reach the zip but once on she smoothed down the fabric and looked at herself in the mirror. She was playing a part. Did she look like the sort of woman a man like Ivo Greco proposed to?

      The answer was quite obviously no, not when you considered the long-legged model types she’d seen hanging on him, quite literally in some instances, in the collection of photos available online for anyone interested enough to type in his name.

       Now, if you were talking taking to bed...?

      Fastening onto the unbidden thought came a flashback to that kiss, as her gaze drifted to the big bed that dominated the room. She walked across and laid her hand on the smooth, pristine silk quilt.

      Through half-closed eyes she visualised two figures lying there, limbs entwined. She shook her head to clear the erotic, illicit hallucination. A shiver ran through her body as she lifted a hand to her lips, running her finger along the outline, her eyes half closed.

      What was happening to her?

      Her breath came shallow and uneven as she fought against the pressure exerted by the knot of tangled emotions, among them a yearning she didn’t want to acknowledge, all lodged behind her breastbone. It was as if that one kiss had released something inside her. Something she didn’t seem to have any control over.

      She wandered across to the dressing table and picked up a silver-backed brush. Removing the pins that had held up her hair in the shower, she began to brush it, focusing on the long soothing strokes and not the depressing realisation that that kiss had been the most mind-blazingly erotic experience of her life. Which had to make her one of the saddest twenty-five-year-olds in the world.

      How many twenty-five-year-old virgins were left in the world, outside convents?

      ‘You’re an anachronism, Flora...and yet,’ she told her mirror image, ‘you look quite normal.’ She waved the brush at the mirror. ‘Freckled, and very ginger, but normal.’

      She brushed until her hair prickled with static, a fiery nimbus around her face.

      And she could still taste that kiss.

      With a small, angry cry of self-disgust she threw the brush across the room. It landed bang in the middle of the big bed.

      ‘This has to stop, Flora!’ she told herself as she stalked across to retrieve it.

      For some reason Flora found herself reluctant to put a crease in the pristine bed linen so, leaving one foot on the floor, she pushed her other knee through the folds of the dress and put it on the bed before she stretched out to reach the brush.

      She