Читать книгу Falling For The Venetian Billionaire - Rebecca Winters - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTHE NEXT DAY nothing went the way Ginger had planned. First of all, when she arrived in Venice and went to the monastery, she discovered that Father Giovanni, the resident authority on Byron, had been called away for the better part of a week.
One of the other monks showed her around, but he didn’t have the information to certain questions only an expert could answer. Disappointment swept through her before she took a water bus back to Venice. By five in the afternoon she met Zoe’s plane.
Ginger was thrilled to see her friend. They ate dinner and headed for the train station, excited to meet up with Abby and enjoy their month in Switzerland. But another disappointment awaited all of them the next day when they arrived in Switzerland and found out the vineyard where they’d be vacationing had been sold.
Magda’s friend had died.
Though they could stay on while the caretakers ran the place, the girls decided they would prefer to go somewhere else and not be a burden. They were planning to travel to Europe together to make the most of their last few weeks. Then came another shock—Abby had met an attractive French relative of the previous owner staying at the vineyard, and he invited her to travel to Burgundy with him.
The invitation had included Ginger and Zoe, but they didn’t want to intrude if something of a romantic nature was happening to their friend. Instead they agreed to go back to Italy and Greece, where they could spend a week in each place.
After taking the morning to visit a chocolate factory in Switzerland, Ginger and Zoe bid Abby goodbye, wishing her luck, and left in a rental car for Italy with Ginger doing the driving.
A sigh escaped Zoe’s lips en route. “Our famous vacation at the vineyard in Switzerland fell apart fast, didn’t it? Trust a man to ruin our plans.”
Ginger nodded, but to her chagrin, her thoughts weren’t on Bruce. Instead she’d been thinking about Signor Della Scalla. He was constantly in her thoughts. “In all honesty you have to admit that Raoul Decorvet wasn’t just any man,” she reminded Zoe.
“No, I suppose not, but it’s hard to trust someone so attractive.”
Zoe’s unfaithful husband had done a lot of damage. Given time, and hopefully a wonderful man, love would come into her life.
As for their friend Abby, she’d been smitten, an old-fashioned word that seemed to suit. The more she thought about it, the more Ginger began to realize the same thing had happened to her.
Since that unforgettable moment at dinner aboard the passenger liner outside Ravenna where she’d met the gorgeous Italian, Ginger had a lot more insight into why Abby had accepted Raoul’s invitation to travel to France.
“It’ll be interesting to see how that turns out,” she murmured.
“After what Nigel did to her heart, Ginger, let’s pray this Frenchman doesn’t end up breaking it.”
There were a lot of ways a heart could be broken, as all three women had found out. Ginger had been trying hard not to dwell on the fact that in losing her husband, she had lost her chance of happiness. There’d never be a man she could love as she had Bruce. Thanks to his death, Ginger hadn’t had the chance to have children. It had raised the fear that she might never have them, not without a remarkable husband. Ginger couldn’t believe one existed.
Being an only child, Ginger had longed to raise a family with Bruce. They’d talked about it from the beginning, but his death had ended that hope.
Perish the thought of meeting a man she could fall in love with a second time. If something ghastly were to happen to him, Ginger knew she’d never be able to handle it. Ginger shivered as the image of Signor Della Scalla passed through her mind.
On Zoe’s mournful note, they drove on. By the evening they’d arrived back in Venice and had checked in at the Hotel Arlecchino. It was one of the hotels where you could park a car in their garage.
They immediately began exploring the area called Frezzeria, a part of Venice where Byron had lived above a merchant’s textile shop. It was no wonder the poet had chosen to stay here. This was one of the most famous districts of the city and included the Piazza San Marco with its cluster of restaurants, shops and museums frequented by the glitterati of Venice. Perhaps some detail would come to light they could send on to the writers working on Magda’s film.
But the next morning, Zoe broke down and was honest with Ginger. “Venice is fabulous, but as long as I have a little more free time before going back to California, Greece is where I want to be.”
Zoe had fallen in love with Greece, but Ginger knew something else more important was propelling her to go back. So far, Zoe hadn’t told Ginger what was really on her mind. That was all right. Ginger had been entertaining a few private thoughts about the gorgeous Italian that didn’t bear scrutiny.
“I understand completely, Zoe. The trouble is, I hated leaving Venice when I was here before. Now I have a chance to finish up some more research for Magda’s project.” Maybe she’d find that Father Giovanni was back at the monastery.
“Thanks for understanding.” Zoe immediately phoned the airline to make a reservation for an evening flight. After dinner Ginger drove her to the San Marco airport in their rental car. They pulled up outside the terminal. “I wish you’d come to Greece with me, Ginger.”
“After I finish up my research here, I’ll probably fly to Athens and join you. I know you loved it there and it was hard for you to leave.”
“Only time will tell. Are you sure you’re all right if I leave you?”
“Positive. Who knows?” Father Giovanni still might not be there. “I could be joining you sooner than you think.”
“I’d love that,” Zoe exclaimed before getting out of the car with her suitcase.
Ginger smiled at her. “Text me when you arrive so I’ll know you got there safely.”
“You know I will. Enjoy Venice to your heart’s content. Before long we’ll all be back in class lecturing again and dreaming about days like this.”
At the moment Ginger couldn’t comprehend being anywhere else but here. She watched until Zoe disappeared, then she headed back to the hotel to park the car.
As she passed the front desk at the hotel, Ginger made arrangements to visit Burano, a place Byron loved for its color. The film being made on Byron would be enriched by some scenes from there. After she got back to her room, Ginger had a surprise phone call from Abby.
“Abby? Hey—what are you doing phoning this late?”
“I’m sorry, but I’m flying to Venice tomorrow and will try to plan a flight that fits in with your and Zoe’s schedule.”
“You’re not staying in Burgundy?”
Ginger heard Abby release a shuddering sigh. “No.”
“So the ‘come and see my notebook’ thing turned out not to be for real.”
“Actually there was a notebook with a poem, but it wasn’t an authentic signature of Byron’s.”
“But he really had something to show you?”
“Yes. I met his grandparents and they showed it to me.”
“Then he was on the level.”
“Yes.”
“You sound odd. Are you okay? What’s going on with you two?”
“It’s been a very full day with a funeral and a dinner. He’s a very important man. Don’t let me keep you up any longer. Shall I come early or late? You’d better check with Zoe.”
“She’s not here.”
“What do you mean?”
“Zoe decided to fly to Greece early, so I took her to the airport this evening and now I have the car. Tomorrow is Sunday and I’m going to Burano Island for a couple of days. I’ve already paid for travel and the hotel room for two nights on a special deal. Why don’t you check flights for Tuesday and I’ll meet you whenever you say?”
Ginger heard a hesitation, then, “That sounds fine. I’ll call you Tuesday and we’ll plan from there.”
“Perfect.”
Ginger realized something had gone wrong with Abby’s plans. What a shame for her.
The next morning Ginger left on a water bus for Burano and explored the island. The bright colors of the houses were remarkable, and she was glad she had come. After another productive day, Ginger returned to the hotel in Venice, tired and happy.
The next evening, she was getting ready for bed when she received a text from Abby rather than a phone call.
I won’t be flying to meet you after all. Maybe you should be sitting down. Raoul and I are going to be married in two days in a civil ceremony. We don’t want to wait. I adore him and I know it’s forever. We’ll have a church service later on and I hope you and Zoe will be able to come. I promise to tell you everything later. Love, Abby
Ginger read the text three times. How absolutely amazing and wonderful for their friend. Zoe would have received a text, too. But Ginger was worried for Abby. Wasn’t she nervous about getting married so fast when her engagement to Nigel had ended so painfully?
Abby hadn’t even known that Nigel was married and had children back in England. Now she was going to marry a Frenchman after such a short period of knowing him? It sounded very scary to Ginger. But at the same time she had to admire their friend who’d decided to take the plunge anyway and not let fear prevent her from following her heart.
Ginger got up from the side of the bed, realizing that’s what she was doing, following her heart by wanting to return to the monastery. Of course, she desired to talk with Father Giovanni, but she now knew he was friends with Signor Della Scalla. The monk was her link to the dark-haired stranger who’d mesmerized her.
She could still hear what he’d whispered. “Alla prossima, signora.” Did he really hope to see her again? After asking her to spend another day with him, Ginger had to believe it.
Her heart pounded painfully to imagine seeing him again. The possibility gave Ginger the impetus to follow through with her plan. Abby’s decision had given her a little more daring.
By the next morning Ginger was up early to drink coffee and eat a roll, unable to sleep any longer. She checked her hair and makeup in the mirror.
Today she teamed a short-sleeved pink-and-white-striped blouse with a summery white skirt. After putting a small notebook in her purse, she left the hotel at nine thirty and took a water taxi to the island.
A semicloudy sky covered the lagoon with its boats and ferries. The temperature would be a little warmer today.
Father Giovanni ought to be on the island. He just had to be.
* * *
For the last seven days Vittorio had spent all of his time with family while they dealt with the funeral and interment. Now he had to attend to business. But with his father gone, Vittorio wasn’t prepared for the pang of loss he felt as he arrived at the Della Scalla Shipping and Passenger Line Company.
As Vittorio’s uncle Bertoldo was the general manager, he’d asked the executive secretary to call a June meeting of the fifteen-member board set for 9:00 a.m. His father’s successor would have to be voted in as chairman. Everyone needed to be here, no exceptions.
Vittorio was the financial director for the company. He would prefer to stay in that position. But with the funeral over, it was necessary to restructure the business. Now there would have to be changes. One by one the board members arrived and took their place around the conference table.
Vittorio was the youngest board member and was probably resented by some of the older men. Maybe a few of them, like his uncle, had a hard time realizing he was the new Count Della Scalla. He despised the whole title business. Bertoldo, two years older than Vittorio’s father, never had children.
There were other problems. Bertoldo had his own ideas on how the company should be run. The two brothers had argued over the company’s direction for a decade, but it had never been full-out war.
Long ago Vittorio’s grandfather, the former Count Nunzio, had secretly influenced the board to vote in his son Mario instead of Bertoldo when he’d stepped down because of ill health. Of course, it didn’t stay a secret, and Bertoldo had always carried a grudge.
As Vittorio grew older, he recognized the wisdom of putting Mario in charge. His father had vision and knew when to take the necessary risks. Which is why he’d kept the business in the black at a time when Italy was going through economic crisis.
But now the situation had changed. Vittorio knew Bertoldo hoped to be made chairman. Both Vittorio and Gaspare liked their uncle well enough despite his view of limiting company expansion beyond Italy’s borders. His ideas would have held them back. In that regard, Vittorio had his own ideas about venturing further afield and knew his father had been in agreement, as well as Renaldo Coronna, his father’s friend and Paola’s father.
With Mario gone and their grandfather no longer alive to influence the vote, it was possible Bertoldo would finally achieve his dream. Vittorio could live with that if he had to. But there were other men on the board perfectly qualified to run the company.
In a few minutes the executive secretary called the meeting to order. Everyone in the room took a turn to express their sympathy over Mario’s passing. They’d all been to the funeral and had talked to Vittorio and his family, but he was touched by the outpouring of praise for his father.
Finally, the secretary called for the vote to elect the new chairman. Vittorio knew whom he wanted and wrote down the name Salvatore Riva, one of the directors. Within ten minutes the ballots were collected and tallied.
Their secretary cleared his throat and stood up. “Without question, the will of the group has prevailed. Congratulations, Vittorio. Please stand and say a few words.”
The possibility that he could be voted in had come to pass. Vittorio’s only consolation at the moment was that his father would have been happy about it.
Vittorio looked around. Nobody had jumped up and run out of the room, but he knew there were several people there, including his uncle, who couldn’t wait to leave and vent in private.
“Signori,” Vittorio began. “This is a great honor, but overwhelming since I’m still grieving over the loss of my father. No one could ever take his place. Please be patient and give me time to take on a mantle that could fit the shoulders of anyone in this room more qualified than I am. We’ll meet in a week or so when I’ll have had an opportunity to take a good look at everything. Mille grazie.”
Now it was Vittorio who left the room in a hurry. His brother, Gaspare, had known this meeting was going to happen and was waiting for him. With business concluded, he headed for the speedboat. His brother sat on a banquette reading. When he saw Vittorio, he stood up. The two men eyed each other before he gave him the news.
“I knew you would be chosen.”
“Then you knew something I didn’t. I’m aware you don’t want to hear me say it, Gaspare, but you should have been the one voted in to head the company.”
“It would never have been me. There’s greatness in you. Don’t forget you have your calling. I have mine.”
Yes, he did. Gaspare had known by his early teens he’d wanted the religious life. To show his approval, their father had established a perpetual fund to help support the monastery.
Still it didn’t help the wrench of separation from the family, Vittorio reflected, as he started the engine and they left for the monastery. Once they reached the jetty, he tied up the boat and they headed for the building.
Because Gaspare had taken family bereavement leave, his presence had helped all of them to begin the healing process. But Vittorio needed his ideas and counsel more than ever about the direction of the company. “How soon can I visit you, Gaspare?”
“Any time.”
“Then I’ll come soon and plan to stay overnight so we can really talk about more foreign investments.”
Vittorio also had a personal matter to discuss to do with the situation with Paola, which had grown serious. Meeting Signora Lawrence had increased his guilt and anguish because he knew he couldn’t marry Paola even if it was expected. He needed some objective advice on that subject. No one had a more level head than Gaspare.
The abbot had granted Vittorio special privileges to stay inside the clausura, the heart of the cloistered monastery where the public wasn’t allowed to enter. He followed his brother to his room.
Gaspare lowered his suitcase to the floor and smiled at him. “I always look forward to your visits and will expect to see you when you can make it. As you know, I also need someone to confide in and have done a lot of that in the last year. I’m unworthy in so many ways, but when I’m with you, I feel better.”
“I could tell you the same thing.”
At that moment one of the monks appeared in the open doorway. “Father Giovanni? A tour group has arrived to speak with you. They’re waiting in the museum. And there’s an American college teacher from California who has been here before and is also waiting in the garden, hoping to talk to you.”
“Thank you, Father.”
Vittorio’s head reared. Could he possibly mean Signora Lawrence? Was it possible she’d come back from Switzerland?
He’d already made up his mind to call Dr. Manukyan and get more information on Signora Lawrence. But if she was here at the monastery for some miraculous reason, then he didn’t have to go to the trouble of contacting the other man.
His heart thundered so hard in his chest, he feared his brother could hear it. Was she the person outside?
After the other monk walked on, Gaspare smiled at Vittorio. “I’m afraid I have to get to my duties.”
“Then I’ll walk you as far as the museum.” Vittorio wouldn’t be leaving the monastery until he knew the identity of the woman. When they reached the doorway, he put a hand on his shoulder. “Take care, Gaspare.”
“God keep you, Vittorio.”
* * *
Ginger was excited because she’d just learned that Father Giovanni was here. She already knew that he was the most knowledgeable about Lord Byron’s life when the poet had spent time at the monastery.
Ginger wanted to pick his brains. That’s what she kept telling herself, but she also knew there was another reason. Signor Della Scalla was a friend of the monk’s. Ginger wanted to know who he really was. She couldn’t rest until she found out.
While she waited, Ginger took a walk around the colonnaded courtyard. A ledge with tubs of flowers placed between the columns enclosed the lush green garden where Byron had strolled during his studies.
Ginger didn’t care if the monk was busy for a long time. She would stay until she’d spoken with him. After a few more minutes, she sat on the garden bench. Before long someone came and sat down near her.
When she looked up, Ginger almost fainted to see a certain unforgettable black-haired Italian male. She’d never expected to see him again. This morning he was wearing a luxurious dark gray suit and tie. He turned in her direction. His left arm slid along the top of the bench.
On the third finger of his hand gleamed a gold and red signet ring that looked royal for want of a better word. He hadn’t been wearing it the night of the shipboard dinner. It isn’t a wedding ring. Those fabulous cobalt eyes stared into hers in recognition. Her pulse was racing.
“We meet again, Signora Lawrence. I thought you only had one day to be in Venice.”
She could hardly breathe. “My plans changed.”
“So did mine,” he said in a gravelly voice.
“What do you mean?”
“After the night we met, I’d intended to find you here the next day, but fate intervened.”
Before she could ask him anything else, he stood up because a monk had walked out to the garden and approached them. When she turned around, she let out a quiet gasp.
The monk bore such an amazing resemblance to Signor Della Scalla, she realized they had to be brothers. But the latter had longer, wavy hair and might have been a little younger.
Both men were tall with similar features and black hair that shouted their blood relationship. They had a solid build and presence that made them stand out from other men.
“Father Giovanni? May I introduce you to Signora Lawrence. She was with Dr. Manukyan’s group aboard the Sirena the other week and we met. I told her I knew you well.”
The monk’s eyes smiled at Ginger. “Good morning. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait. There’s still another tour group ahead of you.”
Ginger was so dumbstruck, she couldn’t find words. In a daze, she slowly got to her feet. “Good morning, Father. I was told you might be here today.”
“Please forgive the difficulties. Summer is a particularly busy time.”
“I understand and it doesn’t matter. If or when you’re free, I’d appreciate it if you had time to discuss Lord Byron’s preface to the grammar book with me.”
“It would be my pleasure. I’ll be available shortly and can give you an hour before I have to take charge of another tour. Until then, continue to enjoy the garden.”
Ginger had just walked past it. “Thank you.”
After Father Giovanni headed for the museum, she turned to his brother. Again, she felt his all-encompassing gaze study her.
“I’m afraid I’m the person who prevented you from seeing Father Giovanni the first time.”
She found his Italian accent irresistible. “Why was that?”
“Our father died in the early-morning hours on the day you were coming to Venice a week ago. I drove to the island to inform my brother and take him home, where our family was waiting for him.”
“I’m so sorry,” she said on a rush of emotion. “How terrible for all of you.”
“It’s been the most painful shock of my life so far. As I look back on the events of the night before, I realize you and I weren’t properly introduced.” A faint smile appeared, causing a fluttering sensation in her chest. “My name is Vittorio Della Scalla.”
Vittorio.
Ginger knew the Della Scalla name, but it wasn’t until she’d returned to the hotel the night of the dinner and pulled the menu out of her purse that her questions were answered. They’d been honored to eat aboard one of the Della Scalla passenger liners docked in the port.
Later in Switzerland when she’d been in her room at the farmhouse watching the news, she’d heard that the head of the company, a count of the old Della Scalla aristocracy, had died recently. Suddenly the signet ring on his finger took on significance for her. Everything fit and all the pieces fell into place.
Vittorio personified the quintessential nobleman of the modern-day Italian aristocracy.
