Читать книгу The Tycoon's Shock Heir - Bella Frances - Страница 9

FRIDAY AFTERNOON. BEST TIME in the world. Working week wrapped up and the party just about to start. And, with the news he’d just heard, Matteo Rossini knew it was going to be some party.

He stepped out of the car, loosened his tie and took the steps into his jet for the last task of the day—the short flight from Rome to London and a call to the Executive Director, Signora Rossini herself. Mamma to him.

He walked through the cabin and sat at his desk, ready to sink his Friday beer. It wasn’t there.

He slung his bag on the empty chair and looked around. Neither was his assistant David. Strange. They had this routine down—the beer, the call, some water, some press-ups, shower and change, the car ready in London, sometimes a woman, sometimes not. Tonight was definitely a ‘sometimes not’ night. Tonight was boxing, a little gambling and all-male bonding—as soon as he delivered the news.

He sat down and keyed in the number. Drummed his fingers. Looked around again for David. Where was he?

At the sound of a beer being opened he turned, just as the call connected. He noticed the legs first, then the red dress. Definitely not David. He frowned and swivelled away from the sight as the bottle was placed beside him. Someone had some explaining to do.

‘Hey, it’s me.’

‘Matteo! Good. I was just going to call you.’

‘Well, here I am. With some news.’

‘OK? You first, then.’

His heart raced. This was it.

‘Arturo is finally selling. And we’ve got first refusal.’ He touched the beer bottle, waited to hear his mother’s response.

‘Seriously? After all this time? That’s incredible news.’

Matteo allowed his fingers to close round the neck of the bottle. Indeed it was.

‘How did you find out?’

‘It wasn’t hard. I heard a rumour and did a little digging. Word is he’s had enough. He wants out and we’re the only ones in the running...’

He let the sentence dangle in the air. Even over the thousand miles that separated them he could imagine the mixture of heartache and hunger on his mother’s face.

‘You’re absolutely sure about that?’

He paused. There was no point in pretending.

‘We’re the only ones properly in the running. I heard Claudio’s going to throw his hat in the ring. But he’s poison. His reputation has travelled to Switzerland, I guarantee it. He hasn’t got a chance.’

‘Matty, I don’t want you to get involved.’

Her tone sank further than the ground beneath the plane.

‘Mamma. You know this is the one that matters. Claudio walked away with half our clients and now I’m going to get them back. If we merge with Arturo we’ll be unstoppable. I can do this. I promise you.’

‘I don’t want you to promise anything, Matty. I don’t want you losing your mind the way your father did. It’s not worth it. Nothing’s worth it.’

He sighed and released his hand from the bottle. He had known she’d feel like this and he couldn’t blame her, but they’d never get another chance.

‘I can’t let it pass—you know that,’ he said quietly. ‘Come on, Mamma. For Dad. We can’t let Claudio get one over on us again.’

He waited for her to speak, but the plane climbed through silence. He could imagine the worry knitting her fine brows, twin tracks of loss and anguish. The look that had haunted her for years.

But she was Coral Rossini. And he was her son...

‘You’re right. We can’t let that happen,’ she said finally. ‘We can’t sit back and let him walk all over us again.’

‘Exactly,’ he said, letting out a breath.

‘But you have to promise me that if he tries to do anything you’ll walk away. Matteo. Promise me. I can’t lose a husband and a son.’

The image of his father lying across the dashboard of his car flashed through his mind and he clenched his jaw so hard he could almost taste metal. Metal that he would use to grind Claudio’s bones to dust. One day.

‘You have nothing to fear, Mamma.’

‘I have everything to fear. I couldn’t bear anything to happen to you.’

The break in her voice killed him. She had more strength and resilience than anyone else alive. The fact that they could even say the name ‘Claudio’ in a conversation now was testament to how far they’d come. That man had been closer than family, his father’s best friend, his trusted lawyer then partner, and he’d sold them out—right under their noses. No one had been able to believe he’d set it all up and got away with it. And the rest. The unspeakable dark shadow he’d cast over their lives.

All they could do was put one foot in front of the other and try to salvage Banca Casa di Rossini—the two-hundred-year-old private bank of the Italian super-rich.

‘Nothing’s going to happen other than us taking the bank back to where it should be. Even if we don’t get all of Arturo’s clients we’ll outrank Claudio. And that’s all that matters, isn’t it?’

The plane hit a patch of turbulence and Matty looked out at the thick grey cloud wrapping itself over the Italian countryside, Not even a thunderstorm was going to dim his spirits. Not with this rainbow on the horizon. Handing their crock of gold back to his mother had been his dream for years.

‘What about the name? We might need to change the bank’s name. Have you thought of that?’

‘I’m ahead of you. If it comes to it, I’ll do it. BAR. Banca Arturo Rossini. How does that sound?’

‘Oh, Matty...’

He heard the wistful note in her voice. He felt it too. The bank went back generations, was respected the world over. But it was live or die. There was no third way.

‘It’s not what I want, but if it’s the only way... We really do have a chance with this, don’t we?’

Matty looked up as the woman in red walked past him down the aisle, the satin of her dress catching the light with every slow, steady step. His eyes zoned in on her legs again. They were quite something. And the way the skirt swished gently above her elegant calves with every step she took triggered a strong response. An unwelcome response.

‘Matty?’

‘We’ve got a really great chance,’ he said, refocusing. ‘There’s no other private bank that reeks of old money and old values like ours. Claudio has turned his bank into just another sales-driven call centre. There’s nothing sure and solid and honest about it. We’re unique. Second only to Arturo in terms of stature.’

‘I know. We just have to hope that stature and honesty are what he’s looking for.’

‘It’s going to be all about the chemistry. And the fact that we’ve still not floated on the stock exchange. That’s why we’re ahead of Claudio—no matter what kind of offer he makes Arturo. I’m sure of it. In fact, I’m so sure I’m going to bet you that I land an invitation to Arturo’s villa when we’re at the Cordon D’Or Regatta. It’s going to be a slow burn, but that’s where I intend to start.’

He turned at the sound of water being poured. A squat crystal glass was placed down. He saw long, elegant fingers. Long, slim arms bare in the strapless red dress. And beaming down at him the dimpled smile of an angel.

‘Thanks.’ He frowned, automatically turning his head to watch her walk away. Mistake. His eyes narrowed on the smooth white skin above the red bodice of her dress, the delicate bones and long, swanlike neck. She was absolutely beautiful.

He was far too busy to allow himself any distractions. What the hell was David playing at?

‘That’ll be a start. But it’ll take more than a little corporate hospitality at the Cordon D’Or to win him over. He’s the last of the old guard. You’d better make sure your social media profile is squeaky clean. If there’s a hint of any more scandal he’ll pull up his drawbridge before you get within a mile of it.’

‘There won’t be any more. You can rely on that.’

He bitterly regretted there being any at all. And the timing was a disaster. He drummed his fingers on the window, traced the water droplets as they shook their way across the glass. His media presence had never been an issue before. Not until his most recent ex, Lady Faye, had started to feed the story of their break-up to the press. Now he was the ‘City Love Rat’, destroying the life of any woman who got close, stringing her along with promises of marriage and then dumping her disgracefully.

The truth was nothing like that. He never promised anything beyond the first date—as every one of his ex-girlfriends could testify.

Over the years he had carefully developed the symptoms of full-blown commitment phobia—the best possible illness for any confirmed bachelor to suffer from. Married to the job. Workaholic. Unashamedly, indubitably yes. He didn’t commit to anything he couldn’t see through to the end and he would never, ever commit to a woman the way he had once committed to his first love, Sophie.

He had lost his dad, lost his path in life and then lost her. There would be no more loss. He’d never be that vulnerable again.

‘I wish you’d let David handle it. We could have done some damage limitation at least.’

‘It’s not my style. I refuse to play the games those trashy media sharks want me to play. And I won’t get involved in any tit-for-tat about something that is nobody’s business. Faye was ill. That’s the only explanation. She believed something that wasn’t real and then when it didn’t fall into place the way she imagined she took it to the press the way she did with everything else. If she wasn’t minor royalty no one would have cared, and me weighing in with “my story” would have been the last thing to make it better. That would have just prolonged the whole sorry mess.’

‘I know that. But because you refused to even make a statement people think you’re some sort of pariah. I hate anybody to think badly of you when I know what you’re really like. It upset me reading that stuff.’

‘So do as I do and don’t read it.’

He heard her sigh and it cut him. It was easy for him to brush it off. What did he care what a bunch of people who didn’t know him thought? It was ridiculous, worrying about stuff like that. But his mother was different. She cared. Deeply. About him and the bank. And everyone else too. She cared too much.

‘I’m sorry, Mamma. But I can’t turn the clock back. It’ll all blow over and then it’ll be some other poor sod’s turn to be vilified.’

The woman in red was reaching up to put linens in the cupboard. Her arms were as slender and pale as long-stemmed lilies, her moves graceful and elegant. Her hair hung in a dark ponytail down her back, shiny and thick and long. She turned to glance at him, her dark eyes coy and unsure. He knew that look. He knew where it could go...

‘Hang on.’ He walked to the bedroom at the other end of the cabin and closed the door. ‘Have you heard from David? He’s not here and some woman is in his place. It’s totally out of character for him just to send in agency staff like this...’

‘Ah, I think you must be talking about Ruby. What do you think? Isn’t she lovely?’

His mother had that excited tone in her voice that made him instantly aware...

‘That’s not in dispute,’ he said. ‘But I was hoping David would be looking after things for me until I said otherwise. What’s going on?’

‘Don’t get upset, Matty. I’m up to my eyes and I needed David to finish off the branding work with the new advertising agency. No one knows our business better than him.’

‘You’ve pulled rank and left me with a newbie?’

‘I met Ruby,’ she said, ignoring him, ‘and I was very impressed. She’s a fast learner—I think you two will get along fine. And you’ll have David back on Monday.’

His mother was still holding something back. He was sure of it.

‘You know she’s dressed in a cocktail dress? A very nice cocktail dress, but it’s not exactly work wear. Is there something else you’ve forgotten to tell me?’

Like last month, when she’d only remembered to tell him he had to make an after-dinner speech at the International Women in Finance dinner an hour before the canapés were served. Or the time when he’d had to present a prize at a kindergarten they sponsored on the way home from the casino. It was getting to be a bit of a habit, her asking him these last-minute ‘favours’ now that she was neck-deep in charity work.

‘Ah. Now you mention it...’

Here it came.

‘I’m afraid I’m still in Senegal, and there is one tiny engagement that needs to be covered tonight. You’re in London anyway—so it’s right on your doorstop. And who knows? Maybe you’ll net some good press coverage from it too! Wouldn’t that be lovely? Matty? Are you still there?’

Matty’s fingers slid down the veneer of the door as one by the one all his party plans burst like bubbles in champagne.

‘It’s for charity, darling. The underprivileged.’

Of course it was. It was what she did. While he took care of the nuts and bolts of the business she got on with all the charity and philanthropy. She was amazing at getting the rich and famous to part with cash and favours for the various charities the bank sponsored. It worked perfectly well—if only she would remember to tell him when she needed him.

‘OK. You’ve guilt-tripped me. I’m in.’ He sighed. ‘What’s involved?’

‘It’s an arts benefit premiere at the King’s.’

‘As long as it’s not dance. You know I can’t stand men in tights.’

‘Did you say dance? Yes, it’s my favourite company—the British Ballet. Don’t groan, darling. All you have to do is a quick photo-call on the red carpet and shake some hands afterwards. Everything is arranged. I know you like to be prepared, so I’ve asked Ruby to look after things. She has your itinerary, and there’s nothing she doesn’t know about dance. She’s one of the British Ballet’s soloists, but she’s recovering from injury at the moment—a dreadful year she’s had, poor thing.’

He opened the door into the cabin and right on cue the gorgeous Ruby appeared. So she wasn’t agency staff—she was a dancer. Well, that checked out. Her posture was perfect...her body was perfect. But why on earth was she serving him iced water at twenty thousand feet?

Suddenly it all became clear.

He went back into the bedroom and closed over the door.

‘This is a roundabout way of saying that you met someone with another hard luck story and took her under your wing.’

‘I know what you’re thinking and I’m not going to lie. Ruby’s had a tough time, but she’s not a victim. This isn’t all a one-way street, so you can relax.’

‘Well, what is it, then?’

His mother was always feeling sorry for some waif or stray, and they didn’t all have the best of intentions. He’d had years rooting out the swindlers and the chancers from the genuinely broken people who seemed to flock towards her. For all she was a shrewd businesswoman, she was also immensely gullible when it came to anyone with a hard luck story.

‘Matty, there is nothing for you to worry about! Ruby is not going to trick me out of my millions. She’s completely dedicated to the British Ballet, but she’s off with an injury so this is her way of keeping involved. But if you’d rather have one of the men in tights I’m sure that can be arranged...?’

He shook his head in disbelief. Once again she’d twisted him around her little finger. How could he resist anything his mother said? After all she’d done for him, holding it together all these years. They were tight—a unit. They had been since his father’s death and always would be. It was that simple.

And if ever he had a moment when he doubted anything he heard his father’s voice—his conscience, whatever—whispering in his ear. There was no way his mother’s wishes would go unheeded. Ever.

‘OK. As long as she doesn’t get the wrong idea.’

‘That part’s entirely up to you, Matteo.’

He caught the slight note of censure in her voice—and the double meaning. She knew his vices as much as he did himself. The fact that he didn’t want a long-term relationship didn’t mean that he wanted to spend his evenings alone.

‘OK, Mamma. I didn’t mean with me, but we’ll let that pass.’

‘I’m sorry, darling, I don’t mean to have a dig. But it upsets me that women are so disposable to you. I know you could have a happy life if only you’d let yourself settle down with someone. At the end of the day I’m your mother, and I only want what’s best for you.’

‘What’s best for me is what’s best for the bank. That’s all I’m interested in. Not settling down with a woman. I’m not saying that I’ll always feel this way, but for now, until I’ve got past this hurdle, the bank is all there is.’

The words were out. As plain as numbers on a balance sheet. Irrevocable. No room for misinterpretation. Profit. Loss. Black. White. No shades of grey, no emotion colouring things. Just following the dream. His father’s dream. And now it was his. Like it or not.