Secrets of a Powerful Man

She gave him a puzzled look. ‘Occasionally. My father is interested in fine wines and has built up a large collection.’

‘Then he will almost certainly know that the wines from the Castellano Estate are the finest in Sicily.’ Reaching inside his jacket, Salvatore withdrew a business card and handed it to her.

Darcey glanced at the logo on the card and recognition dawned.

‘Castellano Wine! I’ve seen the label on wines in supermarkets and specialist wine shops. My father says the Castellano vineyards produce the best wine that has ever come from Sicily.’ She looked uncertainly at Salvatore. ‘So...do you work for the company?’

‘I own it,’ he said coolly. ‘At least, I own the vineyards and the winery, and also a wine distribution business under the umbrella of the Castellano Group, which is a multi-faceted global organisation. My father retired from the company last year, leaving me and my twin brother as joint CEOs. Sergio is responsible for the property development division, and also has a personal interest in the Hotel Royale in Bayswater, which the company purchased and refurbished a couple of years ago.’

Salvatore opened the rear door of the Bentley.

‘Now that you know as much about me as you need to know, will you accept my offer of a lift to my house in Mayfair?’

Darcey was still reeling from the realisation that he must be very wealthy—probably a multi-millionaire at the very least. Where else would he own a house but in the most expensive area of London? she thought wryly.

She shook her head. ‘I’d still prefer to take my car.’ It meant that she was in control and could leave his home when she chose.

Salvatore frowned. He was used to being obeyed without question, and he found Darcey’s obstinacy irritating, but she was already getting into her car.

‘I’ll follow you,’ she said, ‘but you had better tell me your address and I’ll put it into my sat nav.’

He gave her the postcode. ‘It’s on Park Lane, close to Marble Arch.’ Salvatore snatched his eyes from the expanse of slender thigh exposed as Darcey’s skirt rode up her legs as she climbed into her car and ruthlessly dismissed his faint stirring of sexual interest. ‘It will be simpler for Rosa’s sake if we drop formality and use our Christian names. Darcey is a charming name.’

Feeling hot and bothered by the predatory glint she had glimpsed in Salvatore’s eyes, Darcey was glad of the distraction.

‘It has both Irish and French origins. My father is half-Irish and half-French and he chose the name for me.’

‘The meaning of Salvatore is saviour.’

To Darcey’s surprise he gave a harsh laugh, and for a second she glimpsed a tortured expression in his eyes that was truly shocking.

His expression hardened and became unreadable once more. ‘The irony isn’t lost on me,’ he muttered obliquely.

She wondered what he meant, but before she could ask he slid into the back of the Bentley and disappeared from view behind the darkened windows. He was a man of mystery and absolutely the last thing she needed when she was two days away from her holiday, Darcey thought as she started the Mini’s engine and followed the Bentley out of the car park. For weeks she had been daydreaming about relaxing on a golden beach, eating melting Brie on crusty French bread, and drinking the local red wine. She was regretting her impulsive decision to meet Salvatore’s daughter, but as she recalled the photo of Rosa she could not help feeling sympathetic towards the little girl with the sad eyes.

* * *

Traffic in the capital at the start of the rush hour was heavily congested, and Darcey had lost sight of the Bentley by the time she crawled along Oxford Street and turned onto Park Lane. Opposite was Marble Arch and the green oasis of Hyde Park, but she was too busy looking for the address Salvatore had given her to be able to admire the famous London landmarks. Suddenly she caught sight of the Bentley parked in front of a stunning neo-classical style mansion house. Hastily indicating to change lanes, she nipped into a parking space, thankful that her small car was so easy to manoeuvre.

Salvatore was standing on the front steps of the house and seemed to be in deep conversation with a striking blonde wearing a very short skirt and a low-cut top that revealed her enviable cleavage. Darcey sensed from their body language that they were arguing. The woman spun away from him, but he followed her down the steps and caught hold of her arm.

Feeling awkward at the idea of interrupting a lovers’ tiff, Darcey remained in her car and watched the woman jerk free from Salvatore and climb into a waiting taxi, which immediately sped away. She was tempted to drive off too, but he was striding along the pavement towards her, his powerful masculinity in no way lessened by the slight unevenness of his gait due to his injured leg. With a sigh, she got out of the Mini and went to meet him.

‘It might be best if I left,’ she said, feeling her heart skitter when he halted in front of her. Her reaction to him was all the more unsettling because she could not control it. Since her divorce eighteen months ago she had not felt the slightest interest in men, and she was horrified by her body’s response to Salvatore’s potent virility.

He frowned, and she explained, ‘I saw you arguing with your girlfriend and I thought you might want to go after her.’

‘That wasn’t my girlfriend,’ he said curtly, and Darcey suddenly realised that his temper was on a tight leash. ‘Sharon was my daughter’s nanny. I hired her through an agency when I brought Rosa to England for surgery to fit the cochlear implants. The arrangement was that Sharon would accompany me back to Sicily and continue looking after Rosa. But she has just informed me that she has got back together with a boyfriend and is moving to Birmingham to be with him.’

‘So who is looking after Rosa now?’

‘Sharon said she had asked one of the maids to keep an eye on her.’

Darcey could imagine how confused and upset Rosa must feel at being abandoned by the nanny who was supposed to be taking care of her. ‘Poor little girl,’ she said softly.

There was no flicker of emotion in Salvatore’s dark eyes. ‘Unfortunately Luisa—the nanny who had looked after Rosa since she was a baby—left to get married shortly before we came to England. Finding someone able to use sign language at short notice was difficult, and Sharon was the only person on the agency’s books. I admit that when I took her on I was unaware of her boyfriend problems.’ He glanced at Darcey. ‘Come and meet my daughter.’

He began to walk back towards the house, and after a moment’s hesitation Darcey hurried after him. ‘Was Rosa close to her previous nanny?’

He shrugged. ‘I suppose so. My daughter has no memory of her mother and had only been cared for by Luisa. I imagine she missed her at first, but she’s a resilient child.’

Darcey was chilled by his cool tone and his curiously detached air when he spoke about his little girl. She wondered if a five-year-old could really be as resilient as he seemed to think, but she made no comment as she followed him up the steps and into the house. With grey marble walls and floor, and elegant antique furniture, the entrance hall looked more like the foyer of a five-star hotel—with the same impersonal feel. It was obvious that expert interior designers had been given a limitless budget to spend, but although it was a beautiful house it was not a home, and seemed as cold and unwelcoming as its owner.

Darcey glanced at Salvatore’s hard profile as they walked up the sweeping staircase. ‘This is a stunning place,’ she commented.

‘Do you think so? There’s rather too much marble decor for my taste, but I suppose it’s impressive.’ His tone was sardonic. ‘My brother purchased the house to add to his property portfolio. When he married his English wife he considered using it as a London base, but he and Kristen have a very lively four-year-old son, and now another child on the way. They rarely visit England, so I bought the house from Sergio. Most of the time it is rented out to an Arab sheikh. I have only been staying here for the past couple of months, while Rosa had the cochlear implants fitted and adjusted.’

At the top of the stairs Salvatore led Darcey along the landing and opened a door. As she stepped into the room she noticed that a half-hearted attempt had been made to make the room child-friendly, with posters of fairies on the walls and a large dolls’ house in the corner. A movement from over by the window caught her attention, and she watched a little girl slide down from the window seat and run across the room.

Rosa was tall for her age, and even prettier than the photo Darcey had seen of her. Her curly hair was tied in a ponytail, and her dark eyes, framed by long lashes, were hauntingly beautiful. A small earpiece attached to a wire that disappeared beneath her tee shirt and was attached to a battery pack was the only sign of her hearing impairment. Darcey knew that another wire running from the earpiece to a small circle taped to Rosa’s head, was linked magnetically to the implant inside her skull, enabling her to hear.

Rosa’s face had lit up at the sight of her father, but as she came towards Salvatore her steps slowed and she gave him an uncertain smile that made Darcey’s heart ache. She expected Salvatore to sweep his daughter into his arms, but although he gave a brief smile he seemed strangely awkward and patted Rosa’s head, as if he were a distant uncle who was unused to children.

Why don’t you cuddle your daughter? Darcey wanted to ask him. He did not appear to notice the little flash of hurt in Rosa’s eyes, but Darcey saw, and she felt a pang of sympathy for the child.

She recalled instances from her own childhood when she had felt rejected by her father. Joshua had never meant to be deliberately cruel, but he’d often been self-absorbed and careless of other people’s feelings. As an adult Darcey understood his artistic temperament, but as a child she had been hurt and had believed that she had done something to upset her father.

She leaned down so that her face was level with Rosa’s. ‘Hello, Rosa. My name is Darcey,’ she said gently, speaking the words at the same time as she signed them.

Hello, Rosa signed, but made no attempt to speak. She looked up at her father and asked in sign language, Where is Sharon?

Salvatore hesitated before he signed back: She had to go and visit a friend.

When is she coming back?

Another pause, and then he signed, She isn’t.

Rosa’s lip trembled. Darcey shot Salvatore a glance, willing him to lift his daughter into his arms and reassure her that, although the nanny had gone, he would never leave her.

But instead he signed, Darcey has come to play with you.

That’s right—hand the problem over to someone else, she thought, flashing him a fulminating glare. She did not understand what was wrong with him. His determination to arrange speech therapy for Rosa suggested that he cared about the little girl, but he seemed incapable of expressing his emotions.

Perhaps he really was as hard as his granite-like features suggested and did not feel the normal range of emotions most people felt. Darcey could only guess what effect his detachment would have on his five-year-old daughter, who had to cope with deafness and was growing up without a mother. If any child needed her father’s love it was Rosa, but Salvatore seemed to have a heart of stone.

‘I will need to make a proper assessment to determine the level of speech therapy Rosa needs,’ she told him. ‘It should take an hour or so.’ She frowned when he strode over to the door. ‘I assumed you would want to be present during the assessment.’

‘I’ll leave you to get on with your job while I phone the agency and arrange a replacement for Sharon.’ Salvatore saw no reason to explain that he was in a hurry to go to his study because he had just received a text message asking him to call his brother about an urgent matter.