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‘That could happen here too,’ Harriet pointed out.
Una looked tragic. ‘I suppose it could.’
‘But he’s only twenty-two…I doubt if he’ll go rushing into anything too heavy for a while yet.’ Harriet watched the forlorn brunette pick up strength from that forecast.
‘I love Fergal so much…’ Una wiped her streaming eyes dry. ‘I’d lock him up in a tower if I could.’
Harriet knew the feeling, but thought it wisest not to empathise too much.
‘If I want to see more of Fergal I’ll have to get Rafael to take me to the stud farm, and to the races…’ Una remarked thoughtfully.
Harriet thought the teenager would find that a tall order.
Una heaved a sigh. ‘That means I’ll have to learn how to be a swot.’
Harriet blinked, all at sea. ‘Sorry?’
‘You have to know how to handle Rafael. He’s always telling me about the rewards of hard work, so if I swot like mad he’ll have to take me to the races if I ask. He can’t say no if that’s all I want.’ Watching Harriet’s face reflect sudden comprehension, Una sighed. ‘When you want some hints on how to nail Rafael to the church door, and you’re ripe for Father Frank’s famous talk on the trials of marriage, just ask.’
Harriet knew how truly low she could sink when she found herself tempted.
‘I mean, Rafael’s a sitting duck right now.’
*
Rafael was waiting in a limo at Charles de Gaulle airport for Harriet.
Her dress was the colour of blueberries, and a neat fit over her bosom and her hips for she had rounded up a little in Italy, but the rich shade flattered her copper hair and fair skin. When she met Rafael’s stunning dark eyes her heart literally jumped inside her chest, but he made no move towards her. As they drove through the busy, atmospheric streets of Paris he seemed preoccupied. He listened carefully to the story which Tolly had shared, and even smiled.
‘I should have guessed there might be a link between you and Tolly,’ he murmured.
She waited, but he added nothing more, and she thought that perhaps he was not that interested. She felt rather cut-off for imagining that he might be. Having been assured that she was not his half-sister, she reckoned that he probably couldn’t care less who her father was.
‘I should warn you that my mother can be hot-tempered.’ Harriet felt she had to speak up before they entered Eva and Gustav’s apartment. ‘And Gustav is very protective of her.’
‘Let me handle this.’
Eva’s bored expression evaporated when she caught a glimpse of the tall handsome male behind her daughter.
‘My name is Rafael Flynn,’ Rafael murmured softly. ‘Rafael…Cavaliere…Flynn.’
Eva’s jaw dropped inelegantly wide. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Gustav did a doubletake at their visitor. ‘Cavaliere? Valente Cavaliere’s son?’
‘You can’t be his son!’ Eva protested.
Without further ado Rafael settled a document on the gilt and marble coffee table. ‘The results of DNA tests. Harriet is not my father’s child!’
‘That’s impossible,’ Gustav announced. ‘I’ve known he was Harriet’s father for several years—’
‘But it’s simply not true,’ Harriet stated. ‘Valente Cavaliere wasn’t my father!’
‘Why don’t you tell your daughter the truth?’ Rafael asked her mother.
‘I’m feeling faint…’ Eva gasped.
‘Faking a faint won’t get me off your case,’ Rafael drawled icily.
