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Ramon reached out to touch her arm in a gesture of support. ‘Are you OK? You did know your father was married?’ he asked gently.
Struggling to control her emotions, Annalisa pressed her hand to her mouth. Words were inadequate to describe her feelings, and it was a few moments before she could answer him. ‘Yes—yes, of course,’ she managed finally. She knew the stark facts only too well. But reality was proving to be far more of an ordeal than she had ever imagined.
His grip on her arm tightened a little. ‘I think you’ve seen enough.’
She wrapped her arms around her waist in a defensive gesture. ‘No. I’m OK… Honestly.’
‘Come…come, Annalisa,’ he said again, when still she didn’t move.
‘You said you’d explain,’ she said, her glance fixed on the woman who had kept her father from her.
‘In the car,’ Ramon promised tersely.
His resolve swallowed up the last of her objections and she offered no resistance when he led her away.
But when they were both settled back inside the Porsche, Ramon only hugged the wheel and frowned.
‘What’s the matter?’ Annalisa prompted.
The look he shot her was one of concern and incredulity. ‘During the meeting today I began to suspect that you knew very little about your Spanish heritage,’ he said. ‘And now I wonder if you know anything at all.’
Annalisa felt her emotions building up like water behind a leaky dam. She wanted to trust him. And she longed to fill in the missing pieces of the jigsaw. But all her life the subject of her father had been taboo. How could she let down the drawbridge now? And it would be complete madness to let it down for Ramon. She knew nothing about him beyond the fact that he wanted her land…maybe a lot more besides. And he was married just as her father had been. Surely he didn’t think she would make the same mistake as her mother?
‘I’m right, aren’t I?’ he prompted.
‘You certainly know more than I do,’ she admitted carefully.
‘I hope you feel you can ask me anything,’ Ramon said gently. ‘Speak to me at any time.’
Annalisa was sure any woman would jump at the chance to share confidences with Ramon Perez. But it was far too dangerous for her…and she had Don Alfonso to answer her questions. ‘I appreciate you taking the time to show me my father’s house—’ She broke off as he made an incredulous sound.
‘Your father never lived there. I’m sorry if I gave you that impression. He lived at the finca. And when he became ill…when the estates and the orange groves became too much for him…he moved into a small apartment in Mahon over our offices. He built the house I just showed you for his wife, Claudia—built it to her design, not his.’ He stressed the name so there could be no mistake.
‘I don’t understand,’ Annalisa admitted, shielding her eyes with her hand. ‘I’m not even sure I want to.’
Ramon’s lips formed a flat line of disbelief as he shook his head. ‘Don’t you want to breathe some life into your memories, Annalisa?’
‘That’s just it,’ she said, finding it increasingly difficult to hold her feelings in check. ‘I don’t have any memories to breathe life into… Not of my father, at least.’
‘Will you let me be the one to help you?’
Annalisa turned and gazed blindly into the darkness. Ramon Perez was the last person on earth she should choose for a confidant.
‘You know, you look just like him,’ he said softly. ‘The same wonderful black hair, the same strong features—’
‘Please. Stop it,’ she warned in a tense whisper.
But Ramon was unaware of the tension building up inside her, and instead of letting up he gave a short, affectionate laugh. ‘I would have known you anywhere, Annalisa…even before I learned how stubborn you were—’
‘Stop it!’ Her agonised shout was amplified in the silence, and the pain seemed to eddy around them long after the last sound wave had died away. ‘Take me home. Please.’
Ramon made a move as if he would have liked to touch her…to reassure her…but then thought better of it. With a flick of his wrist he switched the engine on, released the handbrake and eased the powerful black car back onto the road.
Everything Ramon had said lingered in her mind…exerting a powerful fascination over her, Annalisa realised later as she sat gazing into her dressing table mirror. At least she was fleshing out the man to whom she owed her looks and temperament. Her mother had been a typical English rose, with fluffy blonde hair, fair complexion and pale green eyes. Only Annalisa’s pale skin betrayed her share of Anglo-Saxon roots. For the rest she was wholly Spanish, with flashing eyes the colour of treacle and midnight-black hair. And, though she was tall with long slim legs, her figure was pure Mediterranean down to the last generous curve…
