Читать книгу Italian Marriage: In Name Only - Kathryn Ross - Страница 7

‘SO WHAT’S the script on this place?’ Antonio Cavelli asked his accountant as the limousine pulled up outside the glass-fronted restaurant.

Tom Roberts referred to his notes. ‘We purchased the building last summer, the leaseholder is one Victoria Heart. So far she has turned down two offers from us to buy her out, so we’ve increased her rent. She’s now struggling to remain open. So I think she’ll sign on the dotted line this time.’

Antonio frowned. He’d just flown in from his office in Verona, and he’d only been in Australia for a few hours but already he was questioning Tom’s handling of his business. ‘This should have been a straightforward purchase,’ he growled. ‘And we are now six months down the line—what are you playing at?’

The accountant’s face turned an interesting shade of purple and he brushed a hand nervously through his thinning hair. ‘It’s all under control, I assure you,’ he muttered nervously. ‘We’ve had a few problems, I know…but…’

Antonio’s mobile phone rang and he halted Tom’s stuttering apologies midsentence as he saw that it was his lawyer on the line. Right now he had more pressing problems than the simple takeover of an insignificant little restaurant. Right now the whole future of his company was hanging in the balance, as his father attempted to play out the most bizarre and ridiculous charade in order to bend him to his will.

Antonio’s mouth tightened in an angry line. Nobody told him what to do, he thought as he snapped open the phone. Nobody—least of all the one man in the world for whom he felt nothing but contempt.

‘Ricardo, have you got good news for me?’ He switched to his native Italian language as he addressed his lawyer.

The silence at the other end of the line was answer enough.

‘I’ve been through all our options a million times, Antonio,’ the lawyer said finally, his voice heavy with regret. ‘And there’s not much we can do. We could take him to court—human rights, and all. But in my opinion all that’s going to do is make for one hell of a media splash. You’ll be sensationalizing the family’s personal business, opening up the rift between you and your father for the world’s scrutiny, and at the end of the day we probably won’t win. The fact of the matter is that you may have built up the company into the success story it is today, but your father still owns sixty percent of Cavelli Enterprises. It’s his to do what he wants with.’

Antonio’s dark eyes flared with fire. He didn’t care if the entire world knew what he thought of his father, but he did care that it would be opening up his mother’s name to the humiliation of the past—and he couldn’t do that. She’d suffered enough at the hands of his father already. Her memory should be left with dignity.

So how should he handle this? As Antonio’s anger simmered, his sharp business mind kicked in to look for an answer. He wasn’t going to allow his father to win this battle. Luc Cavelli may be the chairman of the company but he was a mere figurehead these days—Antonio was the brain, the one who had turned his father’s provincial chain of Italian hotels into a global success story. He smiled to himself, because he had done so very much against his father’s will. Luc hadn’t wanted to expand the company—he had liked being a big fish in a small pond, able to control and manipulate everyone. But Antonio had forced his hand when he’d inherited his mother’s shares, had dragged the company forward and had enjoyed doing it—had enjoyed seeing his father get further and further out of his depth until he was floundering.

So what now? He could call his father’s bluff, sell his forty percent and walk away, leaving the old man to follow through with his threat and sell off the rest of the company. He would find it wasn’t worth as much without him at the helm, anyway. But why should he, he thought furiously, when he had put so many years of his life into building it all up? ‘There will be a way around this.’ He spoke in a low tone, almost to himself.

‘Well, if there is I can’t see it. I’ve read your father’s correspondence to you and the bottom line, Antonio, is that if you are not married and have not produced a child by the time you are thirty-five your father will sell his shares. He thinks that, as you are his only son, you have a duty to ensure the future of the Cavelli family. He also says that he wants to see you happily settled down.’

A curl of contempt swirled inside of Antonio. What a hypocrite! This was the man who had walked out on him and his mother when he’d been just ten years of age. He hadn’t given a damn about family commitment back then, had been too busy humiliating his wife by parading his string of mistresses in public.

‘He seems very determined,’ his lawyer added softly.

‘Yes, well, not as determined as I am to thwart him.’

‘Hmm…’ There was a moment’s silence. ‘The good news is that if you do comply with his wishes he will immediately sign over all of his shares in the company to you. I have it in writing.’

‘Have you now…’ A cold hard resolve closed around Antonio’s heart. OK, if his father wanted to play these games, then he would rise to the challenge. But he would not allow him to win. He would find a way around this and gain control of everything—and then he would make him regret the day and hour he had tried to dictate terms to him. ‘And I will be pleased to take control of his shares, but not by doing exactly as he wants.’

‘Well, I can’t see any other way around it. Your father wants you to get married and produce a child. And, in effect, he’s served notice on you. Given you two years.’

‘There is a solution to every problem Ricardo. Email or fax me with the relevant documentation so that I can see exactly what he has put in writing, and I’ll speak to you later.’ Antonio hung up and looked across at the man sitting opposite. ‘So where were we…?’ he enquired, switching to perfect English as he compartmentalized the problem of his father and focused on the business at hand.

Tom looked at him warily. He hadn’t understood a word his boss had just said but he’d seen the anger in his eyes and he knew he should now tread very carefully. Antonio Cavelli had a reputation for being fair in business but also a reputation for being ruthless when it came to getting rid of people who didn’t attain his high standards or displeased him in any way. ‘I…I was just saying that I will sort the purchase of the restaurant out—’

‘Ah, yes,’ Antonio cut across him. ‘This is dragging on too long, Tom. And frankly I’m starting to question your handling of the situation.’

‘Sir, I realize this is taking longer than you would want but I assure you I am handling the matter in the best way possible.’ The accountant shifted earnestly forward on the leather seat. ‘For instance, I’ve made sure that Ms Heart doesn’t realize your involvement or interest in her business. I’ve used your subsidiary company, Lancier, for all communications with her.’

‘What’s the point of that?’ Antonio’s eyes narrowed. ‘I don’t do business by the back door, Tom.’

‘I can assure you that this is all perfectly legal and above board!’ The man sat up straight now. ‘What I have managed to do is keep the price down for you, as she has no idea of the strategic importance her building has for us.’

‘Just increase the offer, Tom, and wrap the deal up,’ Antonio told him dismissively. He had more important matters to deal with than this.

‘With respect, sir, we don’t need to increase the offer. I think Ms Heart’s reticence to sell has been down to the fact that she is emotionally attached to her business—oh, and she’s worried about her staff losing their jobs.’

‘Well, then, arrange for their redeployment somewhere else within my company. I’m opening a new hotel next door to her, for heaven’s sakes. I’ll leave it with you.’ Antonio picked up his briefcase and reached for the door handle. ‘Meanwhile I’ll take lunch here.’

‘Here?’ Tom looked startled.

‘Why not, it looks like a fairly decent restaurant and I’m right outside it. I suggest you go back to the office, crunch numbers and finalize the agreement this afternoon.’

The heat of the street hit Antonio like warm nectar after the air-conditioned cool of the car. It was pleasant to be outside after the long flight from Europe, pleasant to be away from Tom Roberts. The guy really was a barracuda. But then that was why he was employing him, Antonio reminded himself sharply. He needed men on the ground at each location overseeing things. Tom was his man in Sydney. His remit was to keep the company lean, mean and able to survive the tough economic climate. And on the whole he was doing a good job. They had expanded down under; this was their tenth hotel on the Australasian continent. However, the man did need reining in—he seemed to enjoy the power trip of his position too much at times.

Antonio took his time and strolled across the wide pavement, taking in the aspects of the restaurant. Ms Heart certainly had picked herself a good location; the restaurant was on a main road beside a small leafy park, yet close enough to the sea to have sweeping views of it from the upstairs terrace. Pity it happened to be practically tagged onto the side of the building he had just purchased. If he raised his head he could see the new Cavelli hotel towering behind her restaurant, taking up more than two blocks of the Sydney street. He was having the place completely remodelled with no expense spared. The Cavelli name was synonymous with luxury and elegance and it was already booked out ahead of the doors opening in two months’ time.

Ms Heart was literally a thorn in his side. Her restaurant had to go to make way for some designer boutiques and a new side entrance.

As he entered the main reception area he noticed with some surprise the polished wooden floors and the pale sofas strategically placed to overlook the greenery of the park. Ms Heart had good taste; the layout and design was impressive. And from what he could see the main body of the restaurant was fairly busy, with a clientele that seemed to consist mainly of business people taking lunch. But there were a few spare tables.

There was no one behind the reception desk and he was about to go straight through to the restaurant when the door behind the desk opened and a young woman came out. She had a pile of files in one hand, a pen in the other and looked as if she were deep in contemplation.

‘Good afternoon, sir, can I help you?’ She asked the question distractedly without looking over at him as she put the files down.

‘Yes, I’d like a table for lunch.’

‘How many for?’ Still she didn’t look at him; she seemed to be searching for something amongst the files.

‘Just for one.’ His gaze moved slowly over her. He guessed she was in her early twenties but the dark suit she wore was more the preserve of an older woman and did nothing for her slender figure, whilst the white blouse beneath was buttoned securely up to the neck.

She looked rather like an old-fashioned schoolmarm, or a librarian from the early nineteenth century, he thought with amusement. Her long dark hair was swept severely back from her face and secured into a tight chignon, and she was wearing dark-rimmed spectacles that seemed too heavy for her small face.

Victoria found the file she was looking for and glanced up, intercepting his detailed critical analysis of her appearance. And suddenly she found herself blushing.

She’d already decided he was Italian with an accent that was bone-meltingly sexy, but the fact that he was also incredibly attractive made her feel even more acutely embarrassed. Why was he looking at her like that? How dare he!

‘So do you think you could fit me in?’ he asked nonchalantly.

‘Maybe…just one second and I’ll take a look.’ She knew very well that she had several spare tables. But it didn’t do any harm to bluff a little. ‘Yes…’ She traced an imaginary line in her appointments book. ‘Yes, you are in luck.’

He looked amused at that. And she had the feeling that he knew very well that she hadn’t really needed to consult the book.

He was very irritating, she decided vehemently. And those bold, piercing dark eyes of his were unnerving her completely.

OK, he was probably the most handsome man she had ever set eyes on—but didn’t he just know it. The suit he was wearing looked designer and expensive and he had the most perfect, powerful physique.

Quickly she pulled herself together; she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of thinking that she was interested in him, because she wasn’t. He was well out of her league—a man like him would only date the world’s most beautiful women and that certainly wasn’t her.

But anyway, she had more important things to think about— namely, trying to save her restaurant. She had a meeting with her bank in an hour and she needed to be able to convince them that she could ride out this recession, otherwise…well…otherwise she could lose everything.

‘I’ll get someone to show you to your table.’ Hastily she looked around for her receptionist, Emma, but she was nowhere in sight.

Where was she? Victoria wondered anxiously. She really didn’t want to leave the security of the desk. There was something about the way this man was looking at her that was making her unbearably self-conscious.

Their eyes clashed across the counter. ‘Sorry about this—won’t be a minute.’

‘Perhaps you should show me to the table,’ he said briskly. ‘I’m on a tight schedule.’

‘Oh…yes, of course.’ Annoyed with herself for being so pathetic, Victoria tipped her chin up and moved. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. One of her strengths was that she had good people skills. She dealt with customers every day without a bother; in fact, her regular clientele loved it when she was front of house because she always remembered them and was able to engage them in conversations about themselves.

Antonio watched as she walked around from behind the desk and then led him through the busy restaurant. She was wearing flat heels that did nothing for her. But she did have nice ankles, he noticed, and her legs looked decent enough…well, the little he could see of them. His eyes moved upwards over her body. It wasn’t that she looked a mess, because she didn’t; in fact, she was smartly dressed. It was just that she was—what was the word for it?—staid, yes, that was it. For a young woman she was definitely staid. It was as if she were afraid that a man might look at her in any way that was sexual.

The notion intrigued him.

As she turned to pull out a chair for him she caught the way he was looking at her and immediately a red-hot wave of embarrassment seared through her. She’d imagined she could feel his eyes on her, assessing her from top to toe as they walked through the restaurant, but she’d told herself not to be silly. Now she was sure he had been looking at her, weighing her up with that gleam in his dark eyes as if she were some sub-species worthy of amusement.

Obviously he thought she was a real plain Jane. Not that she cared whether he found her attractive or not. She didn’t have time for such things, but strangely it still hurt.

‘I’ll get a waitress to take your order,’ she mumbled.

‘No.’ He detained her before she could move away, his manner firm, as if he were used to issuing orders and having them obeyed. ‘As I said, I’m in a hurry. So you can take my order.’

She watched as he reached for the menu that was sitting on the table. Part of her wanted to just walk away and ignore the command. But for the sake of good customer relations the sensible side of her wouldn’t allow it. ‘OK…’ She tried to snap back into work mode and forget everything else. ‘I can recommend the chef’s lunchtime specials. The Penne Arrabiata and the cannelloni.’

‘Is that so?’ He looked up at her with that gleam in his dark eyes again and she could feel the precious grip she had on her composure starting to slip. Probably recommending Italian dishes to an Italian wasn’t her best move.

‘They are very good.’ She tried to angle her chin up further. She had the utmost confidence in her chef. ‘Better than my Italian pronunciation of them, I assure you.’

He laughed at that. ‘Actually, I didn’t think your Italian pronunciation was too bad. You just need to roll your tongue around the words a little more.’ He proceeded to pronounce both dishes again in a slow smooth tone that made her blood start to heat up to boiling point. How did he manage to make two ordinary dishes from a menu sound like some kind of prelude to lovemaking? she wondered distractedly. ‘Well…I’ll…I’ll bear that in mind,’ she retorted stiffly.

‘Yes, you do that.’ Once more there was that glimmer of amusement in his eyes and then he returned his attention to the menu.

She knew her manner was uptight, yet she couldn’t seem to help it. He was having the strangest effect on her. He made her feel gauche and unsure of herself…and he made her aware of herself as a woman…

The knowledge trickled through her like ice.

Antonio glanced up and caught the vulnerable light in her green eyes. It was only there for a second before it was hidden behind a sweep of long dark lashes, replaced by that wary, guarded look of hers.

‘So have you made up your mind?’ she asked him, now fiddling nervously with the pair of glasses that sat perched on the end of her nose.

For a second he was distracted from thoughts of food as he wondered what had prompted that expression in her eyes—strange really, because he wasn’t interested in her. She certainly wasn’t his type.

He snapped the menu shut and handed it back to her. ‘Yes, I’ll go with your recommendation and have the Penne Arrabiata.’

‘And to drink?’ She pushed the wine list in his direction.

‘Water, thanks, I need to keep a clear head for business this afternoon.’ ‘OK.’ She started to turn away from him but he detained her. ‘By the way, is your boss in today?’ he asked idly.

‘My boss?’ She looked back at him with a frown.

‘Yes. The owner of the establishment,’ he enunciated clearly.

‘You’re looking at her.’

The surprise on his handsome features amused her.

‘You’re Victoria Heart?’

‘That’s right. Was there something you wanted to speak to me about?’

‘No, not really.’ For a second his eyes held with hers. For some reason he’d expected her to point out the woman now standing by the front reception area. ‘You’re younger than I expected you to be.’

‘Am I?’ She looked at him in puzzlement. ‘I’m twenty-three. Sorry…but why are you interested?’

‘Just curious.’ His mobile phone rang and he took it out to answer it. ‘Thanks for the lunch recommendation.’ He gave her a brief smile and turned his attention to the call.

She knew she was being dismissed and she would gratefully have hurried away, except before she could move she heard him say, ‘Yes, Antonio Cavelli speaking.’

Antonio Cavelli. She stood rigidly where she was. Was this the Antonio Cavelli who had purchased the hotel next door to her? She didn’t pay much attention to gossip sheets, nor did she get much time to watch TV programmes, so she really wouldn’t know him if she fell over him. But now she came to think about it she had heard that the multimillionaire was very attractive, very sought after by the opposite sex.

As she still made no attempt to move away, he covered the receiver of his phone and looked up, ‘Thank you but I would like my lunch as quickly as possible.’ His voice was curt.

‘Yes…yes, of course.’ Pulling herself together she hurried across to place his order with the kitchen.

It was quite a relief being within the warm busy hustle of the kitchen.

‘Everything all ready for your meeting with the bank, Victoria?’ Berni, the head chef, asked her as he put two plates down on the counter top, ready for one of the waitresses to collect.

‘Yes, all the paperwork is in order.’

He nodded. ‘You’ve been running a highly successful business here for the past few years. They can’t say that you don’t know what you are doing.’

‘No, they can’t say that.’ Victoria smiled. When Berni had first come to work for her a year and a half ago he’d treated her with a kind of wary disdain. Then one day a few members of staff hadn’t turned in and she’d rolled up her sleeves and worked alongside him. Since then they’d rubbed along together very well. And telling her she knew what she was doing was indeed an accolade coming from the temperamental chef.

‘I’m sure it will all be fine,’ he said blithely now.

The words made the tension that had been escalating inside her all morning twist. She didn’t want to tell Berni that she wasn’t quite as optimistic as him. His wife had just had a baby and he needed this job—but then so did all the other members of her staff. Not that the bank would care a damn about that. Neither would they care that she was a single mother of a two-year-old little boy and that she would be practically destitute if the business went under. All she was to the bank was a number on a sheet of paper.

Berni was right, her business had been very successful, and the bank had got more than their pound of flesh out of her in bank charges and interest over the years. But all they would look at now was the fact that her takings were down and her expenditure was significantly up, thanks to her new landlord—Lancier. So she had a horrible feeling that her visit to the bank today wasn’t going to be pleasant. And given the present economic climate the odds were against them extending her loan.

Which meant she either sold up to Lancier or went bankrupt.

The very thought made her feel sick. She’d rather have sold to a flesh-eating monster than to the company who had deliberately tried to squeeze her out. But if the bank said no, then Lancier’s offer was her only alternative.

Unless.

She moved back to the kitchen door and glanced out of the round porthole window towards Antonio Cavelli’s table.

He could be her salvation.

She’d devised a whole new business plan around the fact that the Cavelli hotel was opening up next to her. The simple fact was that her premises would be an ideal access point for his hotel. She got a lot of passing trade on the busy main road, whilst his hotel was set back in secluded gardens. She’d been trying to get in touch with Antonio Cavelli for the past three months to tell him this and to run a few ideas by him—ideas that would give his customers a side access to his hotel, in return for her still being able to operate her business under the umbrella of his. They wouldn’t even need to make any structural changes; there was already a connecting small patio garden off the back of her restaurant. They could just open the doors and walk through.

She’d emailed both him and the chairman of the company, Luc Cavelli, practically every week. Had even sent spreadsheets and business projection figures. But to no avail—they hadn’t replied to one of her emails.

But now here he was, sitting in her restaurant about to have lunch.

Maybe it was fate. Or maybe he’d read her ideas and liked them. After all, he had enquired about the owner of the restaurant—he had known her name.

‘Berni, take special care with the order for table thirty-three, will you?’ she murmured absently as she moved to get a jug of ice water. Berni glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow.

‘I take special care with all the orders,’ he said gruffly.

She smiled. ‘Yes, I know—it’s just that this lunch might be the most important of the year.’