The Innocent’s Secret Baby(43)

There were the fields that the Contis and Di Savos had fought over for generations, and yet the wine had never made either family their fortune—and Raul’s palate now knew it never would.

His stomach turned in on itself, and it had nothing to do with the sudden banking of the chopper, more the view of the schoolyard, and beyond it to what had been his family home.

He could hear his childish lies to his father.

‘Mamma has been here all day.’

Or...

‘I think she went to breakfast with Loretta.’

And now perhaps he understood why Lydia did not take photos, for there were memories you did not want to see.

Raul hadn’t lied just to save himself.

He had lied to cover for his mother.

Over and over and over.

And then he recalled her more cheerful dispositions. When she would sing and start to go out more, and Raul’s lies to his father would have to begin again.

There was the church, and to the side the tombstones.

Raul’s history stretched beneath him and there was nothing he wanted to see.

But he made himself look.

The ocean was wild and choppy, crashing onto jagged rocks, and then he saw it.

Far from falling into disrepair the old convent now stood proud, and he remembered his mother’s tears when it had closed down.

Had it really been her dream?

The chopper landed and Raul climbed out.

He thought Security might halt him, but he walked across the lush lawn and towards the gateway without confrontation.

There was a sign for Reception and Raul headed towards it. He walked past a fountain and then ignored the bell and pushed open a heavy arched door.

There were downlights—a modern touch that softened the stone walls—and at a desk sat a young woman wearing what looked like a dental nurse’s uniform.

‘Posso aiutarla?’

With a smile she asked Raul if she could help him.

‘Si.’ Raul nodded. ‘I am here to speak with Bastiano.’

No frown marred her Botoxed brow, but Raul could see the worry in her eyes as she checked the computer, even though her smile stayed in place.

‘May I have your name?’

‘Raul Di Savo...’

She must be just about due to have her anti-wrinkle injections topped up, for now a line formed between her brow and the smile faded.

Oh, that name—even now—was known in the valley.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No,’ Raul responded. ‘He isn’t expecting me...’

‘On the contrary.’

Bastiano’s voice arrived before he did, and Raul looked up as he emerged from the shadows of the archway. A glint of sun captured the scar on his cheek, and Raul thought he looked like the devil himself appearing.

‘Bastiano.’ Raul didn’t even attempt to keep the ice from his voice. ‘I would like to speak with you.’

‘I rather thought that you might,’ Bastiano said, his response equally cool. His indubitable charm would never be wasted on Raul. ‘Come this way.’

Raul followed him through the arch and they walked along a cloister that looked down on a quadrangle where a small group were sitting in the afternoon sun, talking. They glanced up at the two dark-suited men, for there was a foreboding energy about them that drew attention.

Even the receptionist had followed, and stood watching as they disappeared into the old refectory.

The darkness was welcome, and the windows were like photo frames, setting off a view of the Sicilian Strait that roared in the distance.

‘Take a seat,’ Bastiano offered.

It would be churlish to stand, Raul knew, when he was here for a favour, so as Bastiano moved behind his desk Raul sat at the other side.

‘There is something I need from you,’ Raul said. ‘I would have preferred not to just land on you, but you refused to take my calls.’

Bastiano didn’t say anything, but Raul saw the smile of triumph that he attempted to contain. Of course he would not take Raul’s calls—he would far prefer to witness him beg.

‘I didn’t return your calls because I don’t think I can help you, Raul,’ Bastiano answered, and his manicured hand gestured to some papers on the desk before him. ‘Alim said you have been trying to reach him. I know how badly you wanted the hotel, but a deal has been reached—the contracts are awaiting my signature.’

Bastiano thought he was here about the Grande Lucia, Raul realised.

But then why wouldn’t he think that?

A few weeks ago that had been all that had mattered to Raul—acquisitions, pipping Bastiano to the post and amassing the biggest fortune.

‘I’m not here about the hotel,’ Raul said, and he watched as Bastiano’s contained features briefly showed his confusion.

But he righted himself quickly.