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‘But surely, Mr Delisantro, you must at least be curious about the De Rossi family? They are, after all, your blood relations.’
‘Look, Henry,’ he countered with deliberate insolence. ‘Why don’t you stop trying to butter me up and tell me what it is you want from me?’
‘All right,’ the man said warily. ‘It’s fairly simple really. We’ve spoken to our client about the results of our research on his behalf.’
‘You mean Eva’s research,’ Nick clarified sharply.
Crenshawe cleared his throat. ‘Yes, that’s correct, Miss Redmond’s research.’ The guy at least sounded a little circumspect. ‘And the duca would like to meet you. He has requested that you visit his estate in Italy, as a guest, and if things go well he would then involve his lawyers. Of course a DNA test will be required at some point, but he’s insisting that he meets you first. On his home turf, so to speak.’
The cagey old bastard, Nick thought wryly. The duca might be looking for a biological heir, but he wasn’t going to accept any Tom, Dick or Harry to inherit his precious real-estate fortune, whether they carried his son’s DNA or not.
The idea of being inspected and deemed worthy or unworthy by some pompous Italian aristocrat whose own son had been a callow playboy, from the little Nick knew of the man who had seduced his mother, made Nick’s temper burn. Who did this duca think he was?
‘We’ll be sending a representative from Roots Registry to accompany you,’ Crenshawe continued. ‘To make the introductions and then set out for the duca and his legal team the research we’ve carried out that supports your claim.’
And to make sure they got their commission out of the old guy, Nick suspected, as he hardly needed an introduction, and any research documents could easily be emailed. But he didn’t contradict Crenshawe, an idea forming in his mind.
‘When does he want me to visit?’ Nick asked.
‘As soon as your schedule will allow,’ Crenshawe replied, his voice perking up. ‘The duca is an elderly man and he wants this matter settled as soon as feasibly possible.’
‘And how long does he want me to stay?’
‘He’s asked for anything up to a month. If things go well, he would like to become properly acquainted with you—and teach you about the holdings you will be inheriting.’
‘A month?’ Nick almost choked. ‘No way. I’m not hanging round in some castle in Italy for a month.’ The truth was he didn’t think the old guy would want him to stay too long once Nick had given him a few graphic details about his past. This wasn’t going to be a heartfelt family reunion, so the quicker they got it over with, the better.
But he was going to go, because he wanted to see Eva again. And if he could get her her job back into the bargain, all the better.
‘The final deadline for my latest script is the end of this week,’ he continued. And now he had an added incentive to make sure he met it. ‘After that there will be rewrites, but that’s only after the producers, the director and the lead actors and their agents and assistants and pretty much every other nobody involved with the production company have read it,’ Nick added, thinking on his feet, and steadfastly ignoring the little voice in his head that was shouting at him to stop and think this through. ‘And it always takes a couple of weeks at least for that to happen.’
‘I understand entirely, Mr Delisantro. Of course, we wouldn’t presume to impinge on your valuable—’
‘Shut up, Henry.’
What kind of pompous jerk used the word ‘impinge’?
‘I’ll book a flight to Heathrow a week tomorrow. Eva can meet me there and you can arrange the connecting flights to Italy. But you’ll have to tell your duca I can only spare a fortnight tops. And I want Eva with me at all times.’
He decided not to worry about the fact that the mere thought of having Eva near him again was making heat spread through his system. She migh
t well hate his guts after the way he’d treated her, which would force him to get over her. And if she didn’t, well… Two weeks in some luxury palazzo in Italy would be a good way to figure out what had got him so obsessed with her in the first place.
‘But, Mr Delisantro, Miss Redmond is no longer in our employ,’ Crenshawe said hesitantly.
‘That’s your problem, Henry. Not mine. But let me give you some advice. If she’s not waiting for me at Heathrow a week from tomorrow, you can kiss your commission goodbye.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
EVA reread the monitor in Heathrow’s Terminal Five for the fiftieth time and tried to even her breathing. She was starting to hyperventilate.
‘In the arrivals hall.’ She whispered the words above the hum of conversation and the indecipherable drone of the terminal announcer’s voice.
Pulling the two tickets to Milan out of her handbag, she studied the flight numbers for the twentieth time. Then shoved them back in and fastened the bag.
Think pretty thoughts.
But instead of puppies gambolling on a bed of wild flowers springing to mind, the less-than-pretty picture of Nick, his eyes glittering with contempt, leapt into her head. Her breath clogged her lungs, taking on the consistency of treacle.
