CHAPTER EIGHT
THE DRIVE TO Claudia’s villa took under half an hour. He told her that he hadn’t been back to Portofino for a year and a half, and then it had been a flying visit, but he still seemed to remember the narrow roads effortlessly.
They arrived at a house that was twice the size of Alessio’s. ‘Bianca always had a flair for the flamboyant,’ he said drily as he killed the engine and they both stared at an imposing villa fronted by four Romanesque columns, the middle two standing on either side of a bank of shallow steps that led to the front door. ‘When we were married and she discovered that money was no object, she made it her mission to spend. As I said, though, she ended up spending very little time here—too far from the action. A peaceful life by the sea was not her idea of fun.’
Lesley wondered what it must be like to nip out at lunchtime and buy a villa by the sea for no better reason than you could. ‘Is your mother-in-law expecting me?’
‘No,’ Alessio admitted. ‘As far as Claudia is concerned, I am here on a mission to take my wayward daughter in hand and bring her back with me to London. I thought it best to keep the unsavoury details of this little visit to myself.’ He leaned across to flip open the passenger door. ‘I didn’t think,’ he continued, ‘That Rachel would have appreciated her grandmother knowing the ins and outs of what has been going on. Right. Let’s get this over and done with.’
Lesley felt for him. Underneath the cool, composed exterior she knew that he would be feeling a certain dread at the conversation he would need to have with his daughter. He would be the Big, Bad Wolf and, for a sixteen-year-old, there would be no extenuating circumstances.
The ringing of the doorbell reverberated from the bowels of the villa. Just when Lesley thought that no one was in despite the abundance of lights on, she heard the sound of footsteps, and then the door was opening and there in front of them was a diminutive, timid looking woman in her mid-sixties: dark hair, dark, anxious eyes and a face that looked braced for an unpleasant surprise until she registered who was at the door and the harried expression broke into a beaming smile.
Lesley faded back, allowing for a rapid exchange of Italian, and only when there was a lull in the conversation did Claudia register her presence.
Despite what Alessio had said, Lesley had expected someone harder, tougher and colder. Her daughter, after all, had not come out of Alessio’s telling of the story as an exemplary character, but now she could see why he had dismissed Claudia’s ability to cope with Rachel.
Their arrival had been unannounced; they certainly had not been expected for supper. Alessio had been vague, Claudia told her, gripping Lesley’s arm as she led them towards one of myriad rooms that comprised the ground floor of the ornately decorated house.
‘I was not even sure that he would be coming at all,’ she confided. ‘Far less that he would be bringing a lady friend with him...’
Caught uncomfortably on the outside of a conversation she couldn’t understand, Lesley could only smile weakly as Alessio fired off something in Italian and then they were entering the dining room where, evidently, dinner had been interrupted.
Standing a little behind both Claudia and Alessio, Lesley nervously looked around the room, feeling like an intruder in this strange family unit.
For a house by the coast, it was oddly furnished with ornate, dark wooden furniture, heavy drapes and a patterned rug that obscured most of the marble floor. Dominating one of the walls was a huge portrait of a striking woman with voluptuous dark good looks, wild hair falling over one shoulder and a haughty expression. Lesley assumed that it was Bianca and she could see why a boy of eighteen would have been instantly drawn to her.
The tension in the room was palpable. Claudia had bustled forward, but her movements were jerky and her smile was forced, while Alessio remained where he was, eyes narrowed, looking at the girl who had remained seated and was returning his stare with open insolence.
Rachel looked older than sixteen but then Lesley knew by now that she was only a few weeks away from her seventeenth birthday.
The tableau seemed to remain static for ages, even though it could only have been a matter of seconds. Claudia had launched into Italian and Rachel was pointedly ignoring her, although her gaze had shifted from Alessio, and now she was staring at Lesley with the concentration of an explorer spotting a new sub-species for the first time.
‘And who are you?’ She tossed her hair back, a mane of long, dark hair similar to the woman’s in the portrait, although the resemblance ended there. Rachel had her father’s aristocratic good looks. This was the gangly teenager whose leather mini-skirt Lesley had stealthily tried on. She reminded Lesley of the cool kids who had ruled the school as teenagers, except now a much older and more mature Lesley could see her for what she really was: a confused kid with a lot of attitude and a need to be defensive. She was scared of being hurt.
‘Claudia.’ Alessio turned to the older woman. ‘If you would excuse us, I need to have a quiet word with my daughter.’
Claudia looked relieved and scuttled off, shutting the door quietly behind her.
Immediately Rachel launched into Italian and Alessio held up one commanding hand.
‘English!’
It was the voice of complete and utter authority and his daughter glared at him, sullenly defiant but not quite brave enough to defy him.
‘I’m Lesley.’ Lesley moved forward into the simmering silence, not bothering to extend a hand in greeting because she knew it wouldn’t be taken, instead sitting at the dining room table where she saw that Rachel had been playing a game on her phone.
‘I helped to create that.’ She pointed to the game with genuine pleasure. ‘Three years ago.’ She dumped the backpack onto the ground. ‘I was seconded out to help design a website for a starter computer company and I got involved with the gaming side of things. It made a nice change. If I had only known how big that game would have become, I would have insisted on putting my name to it and then I would be getting royalties.’
Rachel automatically switched off the phone and turned it upside down.
Alessio had strolled towards his daughter and adopted the chair next to her so that she was now sandwiched between her father and Lesley.
‘I know why you’ve come.’ Rachel addressed her father in perfect, fluent English. ‘And I’m not going back to England. I’m not going back to that stupid boarding school. I hate it there and I hate living with you. I’m staying here. Grandma Claudia said she’s happy to have me.’
‘I’m sure,’ Alessio said in a measured voice, ‘That you would love nothing more than to stay with your grandmother, running wild and doing whatever you want, but it is not going to happen.’
‘You can’t make me!’
Alessio sighed and raked his fingers through his hair. ‘You’re still a minor. I think you will find that I can.’
Looking between them, Lesley wondered if either realised just how alike they were: the proud jut of their chins, their stubbornness, even their mannerisms. Two halves of the same coin waiting to be aligned.
‘I don’t intend to have a protracted argument with you about this, Rachel. Returning to England is inevitable. We are both here because there is something else that needs to be discussed.’
He was the voice of stern authority and Lesley sighed as she reached down to the backpack and began extracting her folder, which she laid on the shiny table.
‘What’s that?’ But her voice was hesitant under the defiance.
‘A few weeks ago,’ Alessio said impassively, ‘I started getting emails. Lesley came to help me unravel them.’
Rachel was staring at the folder. Her face had paled and Lesley saw that she was gripping the arms of the chair. Impulsively she reached out and covered the thin, brown hand with hers and surprisingly it was allowed to remain there.
‘It’s thanks to me,’ she said quietly, ‘That all this stuff was uncovered. I’m afraid I looked through your bedroom. Your father, of course, would have rather I didn’t, but it was the only way to compile the full picture.’
‘You looked through my things?’ Dark eyes were now focused accusingly on her, turned from Alessio. Lesley had become the target for Rachel’s anger and confusion and Lesley breathed a little sigh of relief because, the less hostility directed at Alessio, the greater the chance of him eventually repairing his relationship with his daughter. It was worth it.
It was worth it because she loved him.
That realisation, springing out at her from nowhere, should have knocked her for six, but hadn’t she already arrived that conclusion somewhere deep inside her? Hadn’t she known that, underneath the arguments about lust and learning curves, stepping out of comfort zones and finding her sexuality, the simple truth of the matter was that she had been ambushed by the one thing she had never expected? It had struck her like a lightning bolt, penetrating straight through logic and common sense and obliterating her defences.
‘You had no right,’ Rachel was hissing.
Lesley let it wash over her and eventually the vitriol fizzled out and there was silence.
‘So, tell me,’ Alessio said in a voice that brooked no argument, ‘About a certain Jack Perkins.’