The Truth Behind his Touch Read online

  ‘No? Then what is a young girl like you doing in a rambling old house by a lake with only an old man for company?’

  Caroline glared at him. She was still smarting at the way his eyes had roamed over her and dismissed her as ‘nothing too beautiful’. She knew she wasn’t beautiful but to hear it casually emerge from the mouth of someone she didn’t know was beyond rude. Especially from the mouth of someone as physically compelling as the man sitting in front of her. Why hadn’t she done what most other people would have in similar circumstances and found herself an Internet café so that she could do some background research on the man she had been told to ferret out? At least then she might have been prepared!

  She had to grit her teeth together and fight the irresistible urge to grab her suitcase and jump ship.

  ‘Well? I’m all ears.’

  ‘There’s no need to be horrible to me, signore. I’m sorry if I’ve ruined your meeting, or … or whatever you were doing, but I didn’t volunteer to come here.’

  Giancarlo almost didn’t believe his ears. People never accused him of being horrible. Granted, they might sometimes think that, but it was vaguely shocking to actually hear someone come right out and say it. Especially a woman. He was accustomed to women doing everything within their power to please him. He looked narrowly at his uninvited visitor. She was certainly not the sort of rakethin beauty eulogised in the pages of magazines. She was trying hard to conceal her expression but it was transparently clear that the last place she wanted to be was in his office, being interrogated.

  Too bad.

  ‘I take it my father manipulated you into doing what he wanted. Are you his housekeeper? Why would he employ an English housekeeper?’

  ‘I’m his personal assistant,’ Caroline admitted reluctantly. ‘He used to know my father once upon a time. Your father had a one-year posting in England lecturing at a university and my father was one of his students. He was my father’s mentor and they kept in touch after your father returned to Italy. My father is Italian. I think he enjoyed having someone he could speak to in Italian.

  ‘Anyway, I didn’t go to university, but my parents thought it would be nice for me to learn Italian, seeing that it’s my father’s native tongue, and he asked Alberto if he could help me find a posting over here for a few months. So I’m helping your father with his memoirs and also pretty much taking care of all the admin—stuff like that. Don’t you want to know … um … how he is? You haven’t seen him in such a long time.’

  ‘If I had wanted to see my father, don’t you think I would have contacted him before now?’

  ‘Yes, well, pride can sometimes get in the way of us doing what we want to do.’

  ‘If your aim is to play amateur psychologist, then the door is right behind you. Avail yourself of it.’

  ‘I’m not playing amateur psychologist,’ Caroline persisted stubbornly. ‘I just think, well, I know that it probably wasn’t ideal when your parents got divorced. Alberto doesn’t talk much about it, but I know that when your mother walked out and took you with her you were only twelve …’

  ‘I don’t believe I’m hearing this!’ Intensely private, Giancarlo could scarcely credit that he was listening to someone drag his past out of the closet in which it had been very firmly shut.

  ‘How else am I supposed to deal with this situation?’ Caroline asked, bewildered and dismayed.

  ‘I am not in the habit of discussing my past!’

  ‘Yes, well, that’s not my fault.’ She felt herself soften. ‘Don’t you think that it’s a good thing to talk about the things that bother us? Don’t you ever think about your dad?’

  His internal line buzzed and he spoke in rapid Italian, telling his secretary to hold all further calls until he advised her otherwise. Suddenly, filled with a restless energy he couldn’t seem to contain, he pushed himself away from the desk and moved across to the window to look briefly outside before turning around and staring at the girl on the chair who had swivelled to face him.

  She looked as though butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth—very young, very innocent and with a face as transparent as a pane of glass. Right now, he seemed to be an object of pity, and he tightened his mouth with a sense of furious outrage.

  ‘He’s had a heart attack,’ Caroline told him abruptly, her eyes beginning to well up because she was so very fond of him. Having him rushed into hospital, dealing with the horror of it all on her own had been almost more than she could take. ‘A very serious one. In fact, for a while it was touch and go.’ She opened her satchel, rummaged around for a tissue and found a pristine white handkerchief pressed into her hand.

  ‘Sorry,’ she whispered shakily. ‘But I don’t know how you can just stand there like a statue and not feel a thing.’

  Big brown eyes looked accusingly at him and Giancarlo flushed, annoyed with himself because there was no reason why he should feel guilty on that score. He had no relationship with his father. Indeed, his memories of life in the big house by the lake were a nightmare of parental warfare. Alberto had married his very young and very pretty blonde wife when he had been in his late forties, nearly twenty-five years older than Adriana, and was already a cantankerous and confirmed bachelor.

  It had been a marriage that had struggled on against all odds and had been, to all accounts, hellishly difficult for his demanding young wife.

  His mother had not held back from telling him everything that had been so horrifically wrong with the relationship, as soon as he had been old enough to appreciate the gory detail. Alberto had been selfish, cold, mean, dismissive, contemptuous and probably, his mother had maintained viciously, would have had other women had he not lacked even basic social skills when it came to the opposite sex. He had, Adriana had wept on more than one occasion, thrown them out without a penny—so was it any wonder that she sometimes needed a little alcohol and a few substances to help her get by?

  So many things for which Giancarlo had never forgiven his father.

  He had stood on the sidelines and watched his delicate, spoilt mother—without any qualifications to speak of, always reliant on her beauty—demean herself by taking lover after lover, searching for the one who might want her enough to stick around. By the time she had died she had been a pathetic shadow of her former self.

  ‘You have no idea of what my life was like, or what my mother’s life was like,’ Giancarlo framed icily. ‘Perhaps my father has mellowed. Ill health has a habit of making servants of us all. However, I’m not interested in building bridges. Is that why he sent you here—because he’s now an old man and he wants my forgiveness before he shuffles off this mortal coil?’ He gave a bark of cynical, contemptuous laughter. ‘I don’t think so.’

  She had continued playing with the handkerchief, twisting it between her fingers. Giancarlo thought that when it came to messengers, his father could not have been more calculating in his choice. The woman was a picture of teary-eyed incomprehension. Anyone would be forgiven for thinking that she worked for a saint, instead of for the man who had made his mother’s life a living hell.

  His sharp eyes narrowed and focused, taking in the details of her appearance. Her clothes were a fashion disaster—trousers and a blouse in a strange, sickly shade of yellow, both of which would have been better suited to someone twice her age. Her hair seemed to be escaping from a sort of makeshift braid, and it was long—really long. Not at all like the snappy bobs he was accustomed to seeing on women. And it was curly. She was free of makeup and he was suddenly conscious of the fact that her skin was very smooth, satin smooth, and she had an amazing mouth—full, well-defined lips, slightly parted now to reveal pearly-white teeth as she continued to stare at him with disappointment and incredulity.

  ‘I’m sorry you’re still so bitter about the past,’ she murmured quietly. ‘But he would really like to see you. Why is it too late to mend bridges? It would mean the world to him.’

  ‘So have you managed to see anything of our beautiful city?’

&nbs
p; ‘What? No. No, I’ve come directly here. Look, is there anything I can do or say to convince you to … to come back with me?’

  ‘You have got to be kidding, haven’t you? I mean, even if I were suddenly infused with a burning desire to become a prodigal son, do you really imagine that I would be able to drop everything, pack a bag and hop on the nearest train for Lake Como? Surprise, surprise—I have an empire to run.’

  ‘Yes, but …’

  ‘I’m a very busy man, Miss Rossi, and I have already allotted you a great deal of my very valuable time. Now, you could keep trying to convince me that I’m being a monster in not clapping my hands for joy that my father has suddenly decided to get in touch with me thanks to a bout of ill health …’

  ‘You make it sound as though he’s had a mild attack of flu! He’s suffered a very serious heart attack.’

  ‘For which I am truly sorry.’ Giancarlo extended his arms wide in a gesture of such phoney sympathy that Caroline had to clench her fists to stop herself from smacking him. ‘As I would be on learning of any stranger’s brush with death. But, alas, you’re going to have to go back empty-handed.’

  Defeated, Caroline stood up and reached down for her suitcase.

  ‘Where are you staying?’ Giancarlo asked with scrupulous politeness as he watched the slump of her shoulders. God, had the old man really thought that there would be no consequences to pay for the destructive way he had treated his wife? He was as rich as they came and yet, according to Adriana, he had employed the best lawyers in the land to ensure that she received the barest of settlements, accessed through a trustee who had made sure the basics, the absolute basics, were paid for, and a meagre allowance handed over to her, like a child being given pocket money, scarcely enough to provide any standard of living. He had often wondered, over the years, whether his mother would have been as desperate to find love if she had been left sufficient money to meet her requirements.

  Caroline wearily told him, although she knew full well that he didn’t give a damn where she was staying. He just wanted her out of his office. She would be returning having failed. Of course, Alberto would be far too proud to do anything other than shrug his shoulders and say something about having tried, but she would know the truth. She would know that he would be gutted.

  ‘Well, you make sure you try the food market at the Rinascente. You’ll enjoy it. Tremendous views. And, of course, the shopping there is good as well.’

  ‘I hate shopping.’ Caroline came to a stop in front of the office door and turned around to find that he was virtually on top of her, towering a good eight or nine inches above her and even more intimidating this close up than he had been sitting safely behind his desk or lounging by the window.

  The sun glinted from behind, picking out the striking angles of his face and rendering them more scarily beautiful. He had the most amazing eyelashes, long, lush and dark, the sort of eyelashes that most women could only ever have achieved with the help of tons of mascara.

  She felt a sickening jolt somewhere in the region of her stomach and was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of her breasts, too big for her height, now sensitive, tingly and weighty as he stared down at her. Her hands wanted to flutter to the neckline of her blouse and draw the lapels tightly together. She flushed with embarrassment; how could she have forgotten that she was the ugly duckling?

  ‘And I don’t want to be having this polite conversation with you,’ she breathed in a husky, defiant undertone.

  ‘Come again?’

  ‘I’m sorry your parents got divorced, and I’m really sorry that it left such a mark on you, but I think it’s horrible that you won’t give your father another chance. How do you know exactly what happened between your parents? You were only a child. Your father’s ill and you’d rather carry on holding a grudge than try and make the most of the time you have left of him. He might die tomorrow, for all we know!’

  That short speech took a lot out of her. She wasn’t usually defiant, but this man set her teeth on edge. ‘How can you say that, even if you were interested in meeting him, you couldn’t possibly get away because you’re too important?’

  ‘I said that I have an empire to run.’

  ‘It’s the same thing!’ She was shaking all over, like a leaf, but she looked up at him with unflinching determination, chin jutting out, her brown eyes, normally mild, flashing fire. ‘Okay, I’m not going to see you again …’ Caroline drew in a deep breath and impatiently swept her disobedient hair from away her face. ‘So I can be really honest with you.’

  Giancarlo moved to lounge against the door, arms folded, an expression of lively curiosity on his face. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes glittered. She was a woman in a rage and he was getting the impression that this was a woman who didn’t do rages. God, wasn’t this turning into one hell of a day?

  ‘I don’t suppose anyone is really ever honest with you, are they?’ She looked around the office, with its mega-expensive fittings, ancient rug, worn bookshelves, the painting on the wall—the only modern one she had glimpsed, which looked vaguely familiar. Who was really ever that honest with someone as wealthy as he appeared to be, as good-looking as he was? He had the arrogance of a man who always got exactly what he wanted.

  ‘It’s useful when my man who handles my stocks and shares tells me what he thinks. Although, in fairness, I usually know more than he does. I should get rid of him but—’ he shrugged with typical Italian nonchalance ‘—we go back a long way.’

  He shot her a smile that was so unconsciously charming that Caroline was nearly knocked backwards by the force of it. It was like being in a dark room only to be suddenly dazzled by a ray of blistering sunshine. Which didn’t distract her from the fact that he refused to see his father, a sick and possibly dying old man. Refused to bury the hatchet, whatever the consequences. Charming smiles counted for nothing when it came to the bigger picture!

  ‘I’m glad you think that this is a big joke,’ she said tightly. ‘I’m glad that you can laugh about it, but you know what? I feel sorry for you! You might think that the only thing that matters is all … all this … but none of this counts when it comes to relationships and family. I think you’re … you’re arrogant and high-handed and making a huge mistake!’

  Outburst over, Caroline yanked open the office door to a surprised Elena, who glanced at her with consternation before looking behind to where her boss, the man who never lost his steely grip on his emotions, was staring at the small, departing brunette with the incredulous expression of someone who has been successfully tackled when least expecting it.

  ‘Stop staring,’ Giancarlo said. He shook his head, dazed, and then offered his secretary a wry grin. ‘We all lose our cool sometimes.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  MILAN was a diverse and beautiful city. There were sufficient museums, galleries, basilicas and churches to keep any tourist busy. The Galleria Vittorio was a splendid and elegant arcade, stuffed with cafés and shops. Caroline knew all this because the following day—her last day before she returned to Alberto, when she would have to admit failure—she made sure to read all the literature on a city which she might not visit again. It was tarnished with the miserable experience of having met Giancarlo De Vito.

  The more Caroline thought about him, the more arrogant and unbearable he seemed. She just couldn’t find a single charitable thing to credit him with. Alberto would be waiting for her, expecting to see her arrive with his son and, failing that, he would be curious for details. Would she be honest and admit to him that she had found his sinfully beautiful son loathsome and overbearing? Would any parent, even an estranged parent, be grateful for information like that?

  She looked down to where her ice-cold glass of lemonade was slowly turning warm in the searing heat. She had dutifully spent two hours walking around the Duomo, admiring the stained-glass windows, the impressive statues of saints and the extravagant carvings. But her heart hadn’t been in it, and now here she was, in one of the little cafés, whi
ch outside on a hot summer day was packed to the rafters with tourists sitting and lazily people-watching.

  Her thoughts were in turmoil. With an impatient sigh, she glanced down at her watch, wondering how she would fill the remainder of her day, and was unaware of the shadow looming over her until she heard Giancarlo’s velvety, familiar voice which had become embedded in her head like an irritating burr.

  ‘You lied to me.’

  Caroline looked up, shading her eyes from the glare of the sun, at about the same time as a wad of papers landed on the small circular table in front of her.

  She was so shocked to see him towering over her, blocking out the sun like a dark avenging angel, that she half-spilled her drink in her confusion.

  ‘What are you doing here? And how did you find me?’ Belatedly she noticed the papers on the table. ‘And what’s all that stuff?’

  ‘We need to have a little chat and this place isn’t doing it for me.’

  Caroline felt her heart lift a little. Maybe he was reconsidering his original stance. Maybe, just maybe, he had seen the light and was now prepared to let bygones be bygones. She temporarily forgot his ominous opening words and the mysterious stack of papers in front of her.

  ‘Of course!’ She smiled brightly and then cleared her throat when there was no reciprocal smile. ‘I … You haven’t said how you managed to find me. Where are we going? Am I supposed to bring all this stuff with me?’

  Presumably, yes, as he spun round on his heels and was scouring the piazza through narrowed eyes. Did he notice the interested stares he was garnering from the tourists, particularly the women? Or was he immune to that sort of attention?

  Caroline grabbed the papers and scrambled to follow him as he strode away from the café through a series of small roads, leaving the crush of tourists behind.

  Today, she had worn the only other outfit she had brought with her, a summer dress with small buttons down the front. Because it left her shoulders bare, and because she was so acutely conscious of her generous breasts, she had a thin pink cardigan slung loosely over her—which wasn’t exactly practical, given the weather, but without it she felt too exposed and self-conscious.