Читать книгу A Night Of Royal Consequences - Susan Stephens, Susan Stephens - Страница 9

CHAPTER ONE

AS FUNERALS WENT, this was as grand as it got. As tradition demanded Luca, who was now the ruling Prince, arrived last, to take his place of honour in the packed cathedral. He was seated in front of the altar beneath a cupola with images painted by Michelangelo. Towering bronze doors to one side were so stunningly crafted they were known as the ‘gateway to paradise’. Tense with grief, Luca was aware of nothing but concern that he’d pulled out all the stops for a man to whom he owed everything. Flags were flown at half-mast across the principality of Fabrizio. Loyal subjects lined the streets. Flowers had been imported from France. The musicians were from Rome. A procession of priceless horse-drawn carriages drew dignitaries from across the world to the cathedral. Luca’s black stallion, Force, drew his father’s flag-draped coffin on a gun carriage with the Prince’s empty boots reversed in the stirrups. It was a poignant sight, but the proud horse held his head high, as if he knew his precious cargo was a great man on his final journey.

As the new ruler of the small, but fabulously wealthy principality of Fabrizio, Luca, the man the scandal sheets still liked to call ‘the boy from the gutters of Rome’, was shown the greatest respect. He’d moved a long way from those gutters. Innate business acumen had made him a billionaire, while the man he was burying today had made him a prince. This magnificent setting was a long way from the graffiti-daubed alleyways of Luca’s childhood where the stench of rotting rubbish would easily eclipse the perfume of flowers and incense surrounding him today. The peeling plaster and flyposting of those narrow alleyways replaced by exquisite gothic architecture, the finest sculpture, and stained glass. In his wildest dreams, he had never imagined becoming a prince. As a boy, it had been enough to have scraps he stole from bins to fill his belly and rags to cover his back.

He inclined his head graciously as yet another European princess in need of a husband acknowledged him with an enticing smile. Fortunately, he’d retained the street smarts that warned him of advantage-takers. He wouldn’t be chaining himself down to a simpering aristo any time soon. Though he could do nothing about the testosterone running through his veins, Luca conceded wryly. Even freshly shaved and wearing dress uniform, he looked like a swarthy brawler from the docks. His appearance had been one thing his adoptive father, the late Prince, had been unable to refine.

Well over six feet tall and deeply tanned, with a honed, warrior’s frame, Luca couldn’t be sure of his parentage. His mother had been a Roman working girl. His father, he guessed, was the man who used to pester her for money. The late Prince was the only parent he remembered clearly. He owed the Prince his education. He owed him everything.

They’d met in the unlikely setting of the Coliseum, where the Prince had been on an official visit, and Luca had been stealing from the bins. He had not expected to come to the notice of such a grand man, but the Prince had been shrewd and had missed nothing. The next day he had sent an aide de camp with an offer for Luca to try living at the palace with the Prince’s son, Max. They would be company for each other, the Prince had insisted, and Luca would be free to go if he didn’t like his life there.

Young and street smart, Luca had had the sense to be wary, but he’d been hungry, and filling his belly had been worth taking a chance. That chance had led to this, which was why honouring the Prince was so important to him. He held his adoptive father in the highest esteem, for teaching him everything about building a life, rather than falling victim to it. But the Prince had left one final warning on his deathbed. ‘Max is weak. You will follow me onto the throne as my heir. You must marry and preserve my legacy to the country I believe we both love.’

Clasping his father’s frail hand in his, Luca had given his word. If he could have willed his strength into a man he loved unreservedly, he would have done that too. He would have done anything to save the life of the man who’d saved him.

As if reading Luca’s thoughts, his adoptive brother Maximus glared at him now from across the aisle. There was no love lost between the two men. Their father had failed to form any sort of relationship with Max, and Luca had failed too. Max preferred womanising and gambling to statecraft. He’d never shown any interest in family at all. He favoured the hangers-on who flocked around him, lavishing praise on Max in hope of his favour. Luca had soon learned that, while the Prince was his greatest supporter, Max would always be his greatest enemy.

Picking up the order of service to distract himself from Max’s baleful glare, Luca scanned his father’s long list of accomplishments and titles with great sadness. There would never be such a man again, a thought that made him doubly determined to fulfil his pledge to the letter. ‘You are a born leader,’ his father had told him, ‘and so I name you my heir.’ No wonder Max hated him.

Luca hadn’t looked for the honour of being heir to the throne of Fabrizio. He didn’t need the money. He could run the country out of pocket change. Success had come when he’d nagged his father to let him bring Fabrizio up to date, and had insisted on studying tech at university. He’d gone on to become one of the most successful men in the industry. His global holdings were so vast his company almost ran itself. This was just as well as he had to turn his thoughts to ruling a country, and to filling the empty space beside him.

‘If you fail to do this within two years,’ his father had said on his deathbed, ‘our constitution states that the throne will pass by default to your brother.’ They both knew what that meant. Max would ruin Fabrizio. ‘This is your destiny, Luca,’ his father had added. ‘You cannot refuse the request of a dying man.’

Luca had no intention of doing so, but the thought of marrying a simpering princess held no appeal. The royal marriage mart, as he thought of it, didn’t come close to his love of being with his people. He would leave here and travel to his lemon groves in southern Italy, where he worked alongside the other holiday workers. There was no better way for him to learn what concerns they had, and to do something to help. The thought of being shackled to a fragile china doll appalled him. He wanted a real woman with grit and fire inside her belly.

‘There are good women out there, Luca,’ his father, the Prince, had insisted. ‘It’s up to you to find one. Pick someone strong. Search for the unusual. Step off the well-trodden path.’

At the time Luca had thought this wouldn’t be easy. Looking around today, he thought it impossible.

* * *

As funerals went, this one was small, but respectable. Callie had made sure of it. It was small in as much as the only people to mourn her father’s passing, other than herself, were their next-door neighbours, the rumbustious Browns. It was a respectable and quiet affair, because Callie had always felt she should counterbalance her father’s crude and reckless life. There couldn’t be two of them wondering where their next meal was coming from. If it hadn’t been for her friends, the Browns, laughing with her at whatever life threw up, and reminding her to have fun while she could without offending other people, as her father so often had, she’d have been tearing her hair out by now.

The Brown tribe was on its best behaviour today—if she didn’t count their five dogs piling out of their camper van to career around the country cemetery barking wildly, but they’d given Callie a glimpse of what a happy family life could be, and, in her heart of hearts, love and a happy family was what she aspired to.

‘Goodbye, Dad,’ she whispered, regretting everything they’d never been to each other as she tossed a handful of moist, cool soil on top of the coffin.

‘Don’t worry, love,’ Ma said, putting her capable arm around Callie’s shoulders. ‘The worst part is over. Your life is about to begin. It’s a book of blank pages. You can write anything on it. Close your eyes and think where you’d like to be. That’s what always makes me happy. Isn’t it, our Rosie?’

Rosie Brown, Callie’s best friend and the Browns’ oldest child, came to link arms with Callie on her other side. ‘That’s right, Ma. The world’s your oyster, Callie. You can do anything you want. And sometimes,’ Rosie added, ‘you have to listen to the advice of people you trust, and let them help you.’

‘Anywhere ten pounds will take me?’ Callie suggested, finding a grin.

Rosie sighed. ‘Anywhere has to be better than staying round the docks—sorry, Ma, I know you love it here, but you know what I’m getting at. Callie needs a change.’

By the time they’d all crammed into the van, Callie was feeling better. Being with the Browns was like taking a big dose of optimism, and, after the lifetime of verbal and physical abuse she’d endured keeping house for her father, she was ready for it. She was free. For the first time in her life she was free. There was only one question now: how was she going to use that freedom?

‘Don’t even think about work,’ Ma Brown advised as she swivelled around in the front seat to speak to Callie. ‘Our Rosie can take over your shift at the pub for now.’

‘Willingly,’ Rosie agreed, giving Callie’s arm a squeeze. ‘What you need is a holiday.’

‘It would have to be a working holiday,’ Callie said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t have enough money to go away.’ Her father had left nothing. The house they’d lived in was rented. He’d been both a violent drunk and a gambler. Callie’s job as a cleaner at the pub just about paid enough to put food on the table, and then only if she didn’t leave the money lying around for him to spend at the bookies.

‘Think about what you’d like to do,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘It’s your turn now, our Callie.’

She liked studying. She wanted to better herself. She aspired to do more than clean up the pub. Her dream was to work in the open, with fresh air to breathe, and the sun on her face.

‘You never know,’ Ma added, shuffling around in her seat again. ‘When we clear out the house tomorrow your father might have left a wad of winnings in his clothes by mistake.’

Callie smiled wryly. She knew they’d be lucky to find a few coppers. Her father never had any money. They wouldn’t have survived at all without the Browns’ bounty. Pa Brown had an allotment where he grew most of their vegetables himself, and he always gave some to Callie.

‘Don’t forget you can stay with us as long as you need to, until you get yourself sorted out,’ Ma Brown called out from the passenger seat.

‘Thank you, Ma.’ Leaning forward, Callie gave Ma’s cheek a fond kiss. ‘I don’t know what I’d do without you.’

‘You’d do more than all right,’ Ma Brown insisted firmly. ‘You’ve always been capable, and now you’re free to fly as high as your mother always intended. She used to dream about her baby and what that baby would do. It’s a tragic shame that she didn’t live to see you grow up.’

She’d soon find out what she could and couldn’t do, Callie thought as the Browns and their dogs piled out of the steamed-up van. She couldn’t stick around for long. She’d be a burden to the Browns. They had enough to do keeping their own heads above water. Once her father’s debts were paid, she’d go exploring. Maybe Blackpool. The air was bracing there. Blackpool was a traditional northern English seaside town with bags of personality, and plenty of boarding houses looking for cleaning staff. She’d research jobs there the first spare minute she got.

* * *

It would have been a grim task sorting through her father’s things the next morning, if it hadn’t been for the cheerful Browns. Ma checked every room, while Callie and Rosie sorted everything into piles for the charity shops, things that could possibly be sold, and those that were definitely going to the dump. The sale pile was disappointingly small. ‘I never realised how much rubbish we had before,’ Callie admitted.

‘Mean old bugger,’ Ma Brown commented. ‘He probably took it with him,’ she added with a sniff.

‘I doubt there was anything to find in the first place,’ Callie placated. She knew her father’s ways only too well when it came to money.

‘Nothing left after he’d been gambling and boozing, I expect,’ Ma Brown agreed, disapprovingly pursing her lips.

‘Well, that’s where you’re both wrong,’ Rosie exclaimed with triumph as she flourished a five-pound note. ‘Look what I’ve found!’

‘Well, our Callie!’ Ma Brown began to laugh as Rosie handed it over to her friend. ‘Riches indeed. What are you going to do with it?’

‘Nothing sensible, I hope,’ Rosie insisted as Callie stared at the grubby banknote in amazement. ‘It’s not even enough to buy a drink, let alone a decent meal.’

She would rather have her father back either way, Callie thought, which was strange after all the years of trying to win his love, and coming to accept that there was no love in him. ‘I’ll put it in the charity tin at the corner shop,’ she mused out loud.

‘You’ll do no such thing,’ Ma Brown insisted. ‘I’m taking charge of this,’ she said as she snatched the banknote out of Callie’s hand.

‘Think of it as an early Christmas present from your father,’ Rosie soothed when she saw Callie’s distress. ‘Ma will do something sensible with it.’

‘It would be the first gift he’d ever given her,’ Ma Brown grumbled. ‘And as for doing something sensible with it?’ She winked. ‘I’ve got other ideas.’

‘Sounds good to me,’ Callie said with a weak smile, hoping the subject would go away now.

Knowing her friend was upset beneath her humour, Rosie quickly changed the subject and it wasn’t spoken of again. The next Callie heard of their surprise find was at supper with the Browns. When the girls had finished clearing up, Ma Brown folded her arms and beamed, a sure sign of an announcement.

‘Now then, our Callie, before you say anything, we know you don’t gamble and we know why you don’t gamble, but just this once you’re going to take something from me, and say thank you and nothing else.’

Callie tensed when she saw the five-pound scratch card Ma Brown was holding out.

‘You’ll need something to scratch the card,’ Pa observed matter-of-factly as he dug in his pocket for some loose change.

‘Close your eyes and imagine where all that money’s going to take you,’ Rosie urged, glancing at the other Browns to will them to persuade Callie that this could be a good thing if she got lucky.

‘All what money?’ Callie had to smile when the Browns fell silent. Silence was such a rare occurrence in this household, she couldn’t let them down.

‘It’s time for a change of luck,’ Rosie pressed. ‘What have you got to lose?’

The Browns had been nothing but kind. The money she’d get from the scratch card would likely take her as far as the hearth to toss it in the fire when it proved a dud. ‘Close my eyes and imagine myself somewhere I’ve always dreamed of...’

‘Open your eyes and scratch the bloody card,’ Ma Brown insisted.

As everyone burst out laughing Callie sat down at the table and started scratching the surface of the card.

‘Well?’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Don’t tease us. Tell us what you’ve got.’

‘Five. Thousand. Pounds.’

No one said a word. Seconds ticked by. ‘What did you say?’ Rosie prompted.

‘I’ve won five thousand pounds.’

The Browns exploded with excitement, and the next few hours were spent in a fury of mad ideas. Opening a pie and peas shop next to the pub, a sandwich bar to serve the local business park. ‘I want to give my money to you,’ Callie insisted.

‘Not a chance.’ Ma Brown crossed her capable arms across her capacious chest, and that was the end of it.

Callie made up her mind to put some of it aside for them, anyway.

‘You could buy all the rescue dogs in the world,’ one young Brown called Tom said optimistically.

‘Or a second-hand car,’ another boy exclaimed.

‘Why don’t you spend it all on clothes?’ one of the girls proposed. ‘You’ll never get another chance to fill your wardrobe.’

What wardrobe? Callie thought. Her worldly possessions were contained in a zip-up bag, but she smiled and went along with this idea and they all had some fun with it for a while.

‘It isn’t a fortune and our Callie should do something that makes her happy,’ Pa Brown said. ‘It should be something she’s always dreamed of, that she will remember for ever. She’s had little enough fun in her life up to now, and this is her chance.’

The room went quiet. No one had heard Pa Brown give such a long speech before. Ma Brown always spoke for him, if the dogs and his brood weren’t drowning him out.

‘Well, our Callie,’ Ma Brown prompted. ‘Have you got any thoughts on the subject?’

‘Yes, I do,’ Callie said, surprising herself as she thought of it.

‘Not Blackpool,’ Rosie said, rolling her eyes. ‘We can go there any weekend we like.’

‘Well?’ the Browns chorused, craning forward.

Reaching for the television guide, Callie opened it out flat on the table. There was a double-page spread, a travel feature, showing vibrant green lemon groves hung heavily with yellow fruit. A young family of husband, wife and two children capered across the grass, staring out towards unimaginable adventures. The headline read: Visit Italy.

‘Why not?’ Callie said as all the Browns fell silent. ‘I can dream, can’t I?’

‘You can more than dream now,’ Ma Brown pointed out with her usual common sense.

But by this time, Callie was already putting her dream on the back burner in favour of a far more realistic plan. Perhaps a weekend in a small coastal resort nearby. She could look for a job while she was there.

‘Think big. Think Italy,’ Rosie insisted.

‘That would be a proper memory, all right,’ Pa Brown agreed.

Callie stared out of the window at a grey, dismal scene. Like the rented house where she’d grown up, the Browns’ opened out onto the street, but the people passing by outside had their shoulders hunched against the cold. The photo in the magazine promised something very different. Rather than traffic fumes and bed socks, there’d be sunshine and fruit trees. She glanced at the page again. It was like a window opening onto another world. The colours were extraordinary. The people in the shot might be models, but they surely couldn’t fake that happiness, or the sense of freedom on their faces.

‘Italy,’ Ma Brown commented, her lips pressing down as she thought about it. ‘You’ll need some new clothes for that. Don’t look so worried, our Callie. You won’t need to spend much. You can do very well on the high street.’

Rosie clearly had other ideas and frowned at her mother. ‘This is Callie’s chance to have something special,’ she whispered.

‘And she should,’ Pa Brown agreed, picking up on this. ‘Goodness knows, she’s gone without long enough.’

‘A mix, then,’ Ma Brown conceded. ‘High Street with designer flourishes.’ And with that healing remark the family was content.

‘Amalfi,’ Callie breathed as copying the idea in the magazine took shape in her mind. The thought of a short trip to Italy made her head reel with excitement. A change of scene was what she needed before she started the next phase of her life, and the win had made it possible.

‘All that wonderful sunshine and delicious food, not to mention the music,’ Rosie commented with her hand on her heart as she thought about it.

All that romance and the Italian men, Callie’s inner devil whispered seductively. She blanked out the voice. She had always been cautious when it came to romance. She’d had too many duties at home to be frivolous, and too many opportunities to witness first-hand how violent men could be.

‘Come on, our Callie. Where’s your sense of adventure?’ Ma Brown demanded as all the Browns murmured encouragement.

She was free to do as she liked, so why not don a glamorous dress and designer heels for once? A few days of being not Callie was more than tempting, it was a possibility now. Just this once, the good girl could unleash her fun side—if she could still find it.