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‘So your grandfather is proud of the estate?’
‘He has never spent much time here. For him it is a status symbol, no more. The only thing my grandfather loves is money, prestige and power.’
‘He sounds terrible!’ she gasped, then, when he looked at her, made a self-conscious apology.
‘He is what he is...’ he observed phlegmatically. ‘Thanks to him I have learnt a lot, and most families are dysfunctional.’
Anna thought about her mother and nodded, feeling unexpectedly in accord with him on the subject.
‘Actually, my mother rejected me.’ She blinked. She had never said that out loud before, never lowered her defences enough to let anyone see the old hurt.
Perhaps, she mused, there was something in the air in this magical place besides the smell of cypress and wild thyme.
She saw his expression and panic slid through her. ‘Sorry, too much sharing,’ she said, sounding nervous and not quite meeting his eyes, not wanting him to know how vulnerable she felt.
‘Probably better than a kid who grows up thinking the only thing they have going for them is a pretty face.’
She looked at him, startled. She had never thought of it that way before.
‘Sometimes it’s the way you look at things. My grandfather’s methods may have been tough, but I learnt the business from the ground up. I never ask anyone to do anything I have not done myself. I have him to thank for that.’
‘Where does your grandfather live now?’ she said, feeling pleased she was not going to meet the man, who sounded like a total monster to her.
‘Whichever marina the beautiful people are occupying—he has taken up residence on his superyacht. He calls it his retirement.’
‘And your mother, will she be here?’
‘She has a cottage in the grounds. Shemightbe here for the ball.’
‘Ball?’
‘There is the charity ball every year, at the end of the olive harvest, mid-October.’
‘So late?’ She was surprised.
‘It’s still twenty-three degrees here then, and the olives are still on the trees. Historically it was a tradition for all the local families to come together—the farms brought their harvest to the palazzo to be milled and the profit was split fifty-fifty. The ball was a celebration of the harvest, a community thing.’
‘And now?’ She turned away from the illuminated building.
Cynicism crept into his face. ‘Oh, now it is wall-to-wall designer, famous faces. It’s become a PR event, a marketing opportunity.’ His expressive mouth conveyed the depth of his cynicism. ‘You’ll see for yourself.’
‘I’m staff.’ And October was a long way off.
He dragged his eyes off her face, her skin washed to a silver glow by the moon, and directed his stare at the ancient building. ‘Oh, we might let you out of your attic if you’re good,’ he said, thinking he would very much like to see Annabad.
‘Oh, Grandpa would love this...or he would have,’ she tacked on sadly.
Her words killed the intimacy and brought reality crashing back. This was Tor’s granddaughter, which put her out of reach. While he was rebuilding the walls that he’d lowered, beside him Anna gazed raptly and oblivious at the palazzo.
He started up the engine.
He felt her questioning look but didn’t react. Pulling up on the forecourt a few moments later, kicking up gravel as he hit the brakes, he was out of the car before she had unfastened her seat belt and opening the door for her.
She looked confused; he knew he’d see hurt in her eyes if he looked, so he didn’t. ‘I’ve still got work to do,’ he said shortly. ‘It’s late so I’ll get Domenica to show you to your room. You all right having your supper there?’
Confused by his sudden change of attitude, she followed him up the flight of steps and through the porticoed entrance. Around them she could hear the night creatures, the rustle and cries in the darkness. It was a lonely sound.
They stepped into an overwhelming space lit by a massive chandelier, and she blinked. Faces stared back from the ancestral portraits that lined the walls. The fine stucco panels on the ceiling were decorated with pastoral scenes; the detail, even from this distance, seemed remarkably accomplished.
