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As the sunlight dazzled him and the door shut behind him he knew it was over. Whatever it was between them, it was gone. All that was left was his one-sided desire for a woman who thought he’d set her up and who held him responsible for her brother’s accident.
This really was goodbye.
He got into his car and reversed hastily backwards, tyres squealing in protest, then he sped off, wanting only to get as far away from her as possible. The sooner she returned to England, the better.
* * *
Embarrassment washed over Charlie as she suddenly became aware of someone standing at her side. She was still looking at the closed door, could still hear the screech of tyres that suggested Alessandro couldn’t get away fast enough.
‘Scuzi,’ the man at her side said; thankfully, he seemed unaware of her emotional turmoil. ‘We will leave for Milan in one hour, but you may wait in Signor Roselli’s office.’
She smiled at his heavily accented English, as appealing as Sandro’s, but it didn’t have the same effect on her. It didn’t melt her from the inside, making her want to close her eyes as he spoke. ‘Thank you; I will be ready.’
She turned and walked to the office, nerves cascading over her. This was the one place she hadn’t been able to look for evidence of Alessandro’s guilt. Was this where she could find out the secret he was keeping?
She opened the door and immediately felt Alessandro’s presence. How could he affect her so, even when he wasn’t anywhere near her? She took a gulp of air into her lungs, focusing on what she’d come to Italy for in the first place. Proof of who was to blame for her brother’s death.
She sat in the chair at his desk, unable to shake the feeling of unease, and glanced out at the workshop to see the team working on other cars. Her presence at Alessandro’s desk didn’t seem to worry them and she relaxed a bit.
At first she flicked through some design drawings, spread out and pushed to one side, then turned her attention to the files on the shelf above the desk. One stood out, as if calling for her attention, and she reached for it, feeling more and more like a spy.
The first few sections held nothing but engine reports but, as she flicked through the file, one unmarked section at the back caught her attention. She opened the page and looked at the photo of the car, a grey prototype the same as she’d driven, its specification listed below. With trembling fingers she turned the page.
Accident Report.
The words rushed at her and her stomach lurched sickeningly. She blinked, as if doing so would erase the truth that was set out in black and white before her.
‘Oh, Seb,’ she whispered and closed her eyes, but the words were imprinted there already. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
The question bounced around the office and she glanced at the team beyond the window, sure they would have heard it. Satisfied they hadn’t, she looked back at the page, the words still a shock.
‘Driver error.’ She whispered the words, then paused before continuing. ‘The driver was found to have significant levels of alcohol and drugs in his system.’
She leant her elbows on the desk and pressed her hands against her face. Could this be true? Could she believe it? She read the rest of the report, each point stating the car was in good working order.
With a heavy heart she closed the file and pushed it away from her, not wanting to read another word of it and wishing Alessandro was here to explain why he was using her brother as a scapegoat.
Alessandro had already shown how calculating he could be with the photo of the launch. Had this accident report been fabricated too?
The man she’d spoken to earlier knocked on the office door, dragging her from her thoughts. ‘Now we shall leave.’ He’d discarded his overalls and was every inch the Italian in his jeans and leather jacket, but he was far from the Italian she really wanted. The one she hated and loved.
Did that mean it wasn’t hate? Or did it mean it wasn’t love? Two powerfully strong emotions and they were tearing her apart. So what did she want it to be? Hate would mean staying in the past, never moving on, and she couldn’t do that any longer. Love would mean forgiveness.
She stood and smiled, pushing her jumbled thoughts about all she’d just read to the back of her mind. ‘Yes, I have a plane to catch.’
‘Sì, sì,’ he said as he walked towards the same door Sandro had left from an hour earlier. Where was he now? In his meeting, not giving her a second thought? Or was he relieved she would now be about to leave Italy and his life?
