The Innocent's Secret Baby(2)

     



 





CHAPTER ONE

ROME AGAIN... ROME AGAIN...

The City of Love.

Wrapped in a towel, and damp from the shower, Lydia Hayward lay on the bed in her hotel suite and considered the irony.

Yes, she might be in Rome, and meeting tonight with a very eligible man, but it had nothing to do with love.

There were more practical matters that needed to be addressed.

Oh, it hadn't been said outright, of course.

Her mother hadn't sat her down one evening and explained that, without  the vast and practically bottomless pit of money that this man could  provide, they would lose everything. Everything being the castle they  lived in, which was the family business too.

And Valerie had never said that Lydia had to sleep with the man she and her stepfather were meeting tonight.

Of course she hadn't.

Valerie had, however, enquired whether Lydia was on the Pill.

'You don't want to ruin your holiday.'

Since when had her mother taken an interest in such things? Lydia had  been to Italy once before, on a school trip at the age of seventeen, and  her mother hadn't been concerned enough to ask then.

Anyway, why would she be on the Pill?

Lydia had been told to 'save' herself.

And she had.

Though not because of her mother's instruction-more because she did not know how to let her guard down.

People thought her aloof and cold.

Better they think that than she reveal her heart.

And so, by default, she had saved herself.

Lydia had secretly hoped for love.

It would seem not in this lifetime.

Tonight she would be left alone with him.

The towel fell away and, though she was alone, Lydia pulled it back and covered herself.

She was on the edge of a panic attack, and she hadn't had one since...

Rome.

Or was it Venice?

Venice.

Both.

That awful school trip.

She had said yes to this trip to Rome, hoping to lay a ghost to rest.  Lydia wanted to see Rome through adult eyes, yet she was as scared of  the world now as she had been as a teenager.

Pull yourself together, Lydia.

And so she did.

Lydia got up from the bed and got dressed.

She was meeting Maurice, her stepfather, at eight for breakfast. Rather  than be late she just quickly combed her long blonde hair, which had  dried a little wild. She had bought a taupe linen dress to wear, which  had buttons from neck to hem-though perhaps not the best choice for her  shaking hands.

They are not expecting you to sleep with him!

Lydia told herself she was being utterly ridiculous even to entertain  such a thought. She would stop by for a drink with this man tonight,  with her stepfather, thank him for his hospitality and then explain that  she was going out with friends. Arabella lived here now and had said  they should catch up when Lydia got here.

In fact...

Lydia took out her phone and fired off a quick text.

Hi, Arabella,

Not sure if you got my message.

Made it to Rome.

I'm free for dinner tonight if you would like to catch up.

Lydia

And so to breakfast.

Lydia stepped out of her suite and took the elevator down to the dining  room. As she walked through the lavish foyer she caught sight of herself  in a mirror. Those deportment classes had been good for something at  least-she was the picture of calm and had her head held high.

Yet she wanted to run away.

* * *

'No, grazie.'

Raul Di Savo declined the waiter's offer of a second espresso and  continued to read through reports on the Hotel Grande Lucia, where he  now sat, having just taken breakfast.

At Raul's request his lawyer had attained some comprehensive  information, but it had come through only this morning. In a couple of  hours Raul was to meet with Sultan Alim, so there was a lot to go  through.

The Grande Lucia was indeed a sumptuous hotel, and Raul took a moment to  look up from his computer screen and take in the sumptuous dining room  that was currently set up for breakfast.

There was the pleasant clink of fine china and a quiet murmur of  conversation and, though formal, the room had a relaxed air that had  made Raul's stay so far pleasurable. There was a certain old-world feel  to the place that spoke of Rome's rich history and beauty.

And Raul wanted the hotel to be his.

Raul had been toying with the idea of adding it to his portfolio and had  just spent the night in the Presidential Suite as a guest of Sultan  Alim.

Raul hadn't expected to be so impressed.

He had been, though.

Every detail was perfection personified-the décor was stunning, the  staff were attentive yet discreet, and it appeared to be a rich haven  for both the business traveller and the well-heeled tourist.

Raul was now seriously considering taking over this landmark hotel.

Which meant that so too was Bastiano.

Fifteen years on and their rivalry continued unabated.         

     



 

Mutual hatred was a silent, yet daily motivator-a black cord that connected them.

And Bastiano would be arriving later today.

Raul knew that Bastiano was also a personal friend of Sultan Alim. Raul  had considered if that might have any bearing on their negotiations but  had soon discounted it. Sultan Alim was a brilliant businessman, and his  friendship with Bastiano would have no sway over his dealings, Raul was  certain of that.

Raul rather hoped his presence at the hotel might cause Bastiano some  discomfort, for though they moved in similar circles in truth their  paths rarely crossed. Raul, even on his father's death, had never  returned to Casta.

There had been no respects to pay.

Yet Casta had remained Bastiano's base.

He had converted the old convent into a luxury retreat for the seriously wealthy.

It was actually, Raul knew, an extremely upmarket rehab facility.

His mother would be turning in her grave.

Raul's black thoughts were interrupted when the portly middle-aged  gentleman sitting to his right made his disgruntled feelings known.

'Who do you have to sleep with around here to get some service?' he muttered in well-schooled English.

It would seem that the tourists were getting impatient!

Raul smiled inwardly as the waiter continued to ignore the pompous  Englishman. The waiter had had enough. This man had been complaining  since the moment he had been shown to his table, and there was  absolutely nothing to complain about.

Raul was not being generous in that observation. Many of his nights were  spent in hotels-mainly those that he owned-and so more than most he had  a very critical eye.

There were certain ways to behave, and despite his accent this man did  not adhere to them. He seemed to assume that just because he was in Rome  no one would speak English and his insults would go unnoticed.

They did not.

And so-just because he could-Raul gestured with his index and middle  fingers towards the small china cup on his table. The motion was subtle,  barely noticeable to many, and yet it was enough to indicate to the  attentive waiter that Raul had changed his mind and would now like  another coffee.

Raul knew that his preferential treatment would incense the diner to his right.

From the huff of indignation as his drink was delivered, it did.

Good!

Yes, Raul decided, he wanted this hotel.

Raul read through the figures again and decided to make some further  calls to try to get behind the real reason the Sultan was selling such  an iconic hotel. Even with Raul's extensive probing he could see no  reason for the sale. While the outgoings were vast, it was profitable  indeed. The crème de la crème stayed at the Grande Lucia, and it was  here that their children were christened and wed.

There had to be a reason Alim was selling, and Raul had every intention of finding out just what it was.

Just as Raul had decided to leave he glanced up and saw a woman enter the dining room.

Raul was more than used to beautiful women, and the room was busy enough  that he should not even have noticed, but there was something about her  that drew the eye.

She was tall and slender and she wore a taupe dress. Her long blonde  hair appeared freshly washed and tumbled over her shoulders. Raul  watched as she had a brief conversation with the maître d' and then  started to walk in his direction.

Still Raul did not look away.

She made her way between the tables with elegant ease, and Raul noted  that she carried herself beautifully. Her complexion was pale and  creamy, and suddenly Raul wanted her to be close enough so that he could  know the colour of her eyes. She lifted a hand and gave a small wave,  and Raul, who was rarely the recipient of a sinking feeling where women  were concerned, felt one now.

She was with him, Raul realised-she was here to have breakfast with the obnoxious man who sat to his right.

Pity.

The blonde beauty walked past his table, and he could not help but  notice the delicate row of buttons that ran from neck to hem on her  dress. But he pointedly returned his attention to his computer screen  rather than mentally undress her.

That she was with someone rendered her of no interest to him in that way.

Raul loathed cheats.

Still, the morning scent of her was fresh and heady-a delicate cloud  that reached Raul a few seconds after she had passed and lingered for a  few moments more.

'Good morning,' she said as she took a seat, and unlike her companion's the woman's voice was pleasant.

'Hmph.'

Her greeting was barely acknowledged by the seated Englishman. Some  people, Raul decided, simply did not know how to appreciate the finer  things in life.