The Rinucci Brothers

The Rinucci Brothers

Lucy Gordon

www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author

LUCY GORDON cut her writing teeth on magazine journalism, interviewing many of the world’s most interesting men, including Warren Beatty, Richard Chamberlain, Sir Roger Moore, Sir Alec Guinness and Sir John Gielgud. She also camped out with lions in Africa and has many other unusual experiences which have often provided the background for her books. She is married to a Venetian, whom she met while on holiday in Venice. They got engaged within two days.

Two of her books have won the Romance Writers of America RITA® award, Song of the Lorelei in 1990 and His Brother’s Child in 1998, in the Best Traditional Romance category. You can visit her website at www.lucy-gordon.com.

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Prologue

IT WAS four o’clock and almost time for Signora Rinucci’s birthday celebration to begin. Gleaming black limousines were gliding up the hill to the Villa Rinucci in its place of eminence, overlooking the Bay of Naples.

The food and wine were laid out on the great terrace of the villa, best Neapolitan spaghetti and clams, fruit grown in the rich volcanic soil of Vesuvius, wine from the same place. A feast for the gods.

High above, the sky was the deepest blue. Far below, the blue was reflected in the bay, sparkling in the afternoon sun.

‘A perfect day.’ Toni Rinucci joined his wife on the terrace where she was looking down the hill, and laid his arm gently around her shoulder. ‘Everything as it should be.’

He was a stocky man of sixty with grey hair and a heavy face that broke easily into a grin. As always, his eyes were tender as he gazed at his wife.

She was fifty-four but could have passed for her late forties. Her figure was still as slim as a girl’s. Everything about her spoke of grace and elegance, not to mention marriage to a rich man who delighted in spending money on her.

Despite some inevitable lines, her face was still beautiful. Not pretty; it was too strong for that.

Her nose was large for a woman, slightly flattened at the bridge, dominating her features, speaking of character and decision.

Her mouth was wide and generous, and could break into a smile that many men had found breathtaking. She offered that smile to her husband now, her fingers caressing the diamonds at her throat.

‘And your gift to me is the best ever,’ she told him, ‘as it is every year.’

‘But it’s not the gift you really want, is it?’ he said softly. ‘Do you think I don’t know that?’

She seemed to give herself a little shake.

‘That’s all in the past, caro Toni. I don’t dwell on it.’

He knew she didn’t speak the truth. The secret that had lain between them for the thirty years of their marriage was as potent now as always. But, as always, she would not hurt him by saying that her happiness was incomplete. And, as always, he pretended to believe her.

Two men appeared in the doorway that led from the house to the terrace, and stopped at the sight of the couple holding each other tenderly.

Luke, the more heavily built of the two, grinned at the sight.

‘There’s no time for that, you two,’ he said fondly. ‘You have guests arriving in a minute.’

‘Send them away,’ Toni said, his eyes on his wife.

Primo, tall, with brilliant eyes and a laid-back air that proclaimed his Neapolitan ancestry, shook his head in mock despair.

‘Incorrigible,’ he told his brother. ‘Maybe we should leave them alone and take everyone off to a nightclub.’

‘You already spend too much time in nightclubs, my son,’ Hope said, coming over to kiss Primo’s cheek.

‘A man needs a little innocent fun,’ he said, giving her a beguiling smile.

‘Hm!’ She stood back and surveyed him tenderly. ‘My opinion of your ‘innocence’ is best not expressed at this moment.’

‘No need,’ he said wickedly. ‘Not when you’ve expressed it so often before. I’m a lost case. Give up on me.’

‘I never give up on any of my sons,’ she said, adding softly, ‘None of them.’

In the brief silence that followed Primo and Luke exchanged glances, each understanding the hidden meaning of those words.

‘One day, Mamma,’ Primo said gently.

‘Yes, one day. One day he will be here. I know it in my heart, although I cannot tell how or when it will happen. But I will not die until he has come to me. Of that I am certain.’

Toni had drawn close to his wife in time to hear her last words.

‘Cara,’ he said gently, ‘no sad thoughts today.’

‘But I am not sad. I know that one day my son will find me. That can only make me happy. Ah, there you are!’

With a bright smile she turned away to greet the first guests. The newcomers had been ushered out on to the terrace by three young men whose facial resemblance proclaimed them kin.

‘Mamma,’ the tallest of the three called to her, indicating the guests, ‘look who’s here.’

This was Francesco, who might have been his mother’s secret favourite, or might not. It was marvellous how many of her sons thought he alone was the possessor of the talisman.

The other two were Ruggiero and Carlo, the twin sons she had borne to Toni. At twenty-eight they were the youngest. Although not identical, they were much alike, both ridiculously handsome, with the same air of being ready for anything. Especially if it was a party.

And this was going to be the party of parties. As the light faded and the dark red sun plunged into the bay the lights came on in the Villa Rinucci and the guests streamed up the hill, bearing gifts for Hope Rinucci’s fifty-fourth birthday.

Those present included everybody who was anybody in Naples, with a fair sprinkling of guests who had made the journey from Rome, or even as far away as Milan, for the Rinucci family was one of the more notable in Italy, with extensive connections in business and politics.

The woman at the centre of it was English, even after thirty years in Italy. Yet nobody would have mistaken her for an outsider. She was the heart of the family, not only to her husband but to the five men who called themselves her sons. Only three of them had actually been born to her, but, if challenged, the other two would have fiercely claimed her as their mother.

They were the best-looking men there: all in their prime, all strolling about with grace and unconscious arrogance. They were Rinuccis, even those who did not bear the name.

Throughout the evening Hope moved among her guests, receiving gifts and tributes with great charm, an undisputed queen among her admirers.

Not all the guests would have called themselves admirers. For each one who spoke of charm and generosity another could tell of ruthlessness. Yet even her enemies had not spurned her invitation.

The enemies were easy to spot, as Luke remarked wryly to Primo. They brought the most lavish gifts, showered her with the greatest praise and lingered the longest to say what a wonderful evening it had been.

But finally the last one departed, the staff had cleared the tables on the terrace and the family were free to relax with their various choice of nightcap.

‘That’s better,’ Primo said, pouring himself a whisky. ‘Shall I bring you something, Mamma? Mamma?’

She was looking out over the sea, and although her fingers touched the diamonds about her neck it was clear that she was oblivious to her surroundings.

‘Couldn’t she have forgotten him even today?’ Primo sighed.

‘Less today than at any other time,’ Luke said. ‘Don’t forget that this was his birthday too.’

‘Why can her five sons not be enough for her?’ Carlo asked with a touch of wistfulness.

‘Because she does not have five sons,’ Toni said quietly. ‘She has six, and even now she grieves for the one who was lost. She believes with all her heart that one day she will find him again.’

‘Do you believe she’ll get her wish?’ Ruggiero asked.

Toni sighed helplessly. He had no answer.

Chapter One

‘OK, FOLKS, that’s it.’

The bell for the end of school sounded as Evie finished talking. Fifteen twelve-year-olds did a more or less controlled scramble, and in seconds the classroom was empty.

Evie rubbed her neck and stretched it a little to relieve the tension.

‘Hard week?’ asked a voice from the door. It was Debra, Deputy Head of the school, and the friend who’d asked her to help out for a term.

‘Yup,’ she replied. ‘Mind you, I’m not complaining. They’re good kids.’

‘Do you have time for a drink?’

‘Lead me to it.’

Later, as they sat on a pleasant terrace by the river, feeding scraps to the swans, Debra said in a carefully casual voice, ‘You really like those youngsters, don’t you?’

‘Mm, some of them are smart, especially Mark Dane. He’s got a true feel for languages. By the way, I didn’t see him today.’

Debra groaned. ‘That means he slipped away again. His truancy is getting serious.’

‘Have you told his parents?’

‘I’ve spoken to his father, who said very grimly that he’d ‘deal with it’.’

Evie made a face. ‘I don’t like the sound of him.’

‘No, I didn’t take to him either. Too much assurance. I gather he’s a big man in industry, built it up himself, finger on a dozen pulses, everything under control.’

‘And that includes his son?’ Evie said sympathetically.

‘I think it includes everything—you, me, Mark—’

‘And the little mouse in the corner,’ Evie said whimsically.

‘Justin Dane wouldn’t have a mouse,’ Debra said at once. ‘He’d hire a tiger to catch it. But enough of him.’ She took a deep breath and said with an air of someone taking the plunge, ‘Look, Evie, I had an ulterior motive in asking you out.’

‘I was afraid you might,’ Evie murmured. ‘But don’t spoil the moment. Seize it. Relish it.’

She leaned back on the wooden seat, one elegantly booted ankle crossed over the other knee. Her eyes were closed and she threw her head back, letting the late afternoon sun play on her face, where there was a blissful smile. With her boots and jeans, her slim figure and dark cropped hair, she might have been a boy. Or an urchin. Or anything but a twenty-nine-year-old schoolteacher.

‘Evie,’ Debra tried again in the special patient voice she kept for coping with her wayward friend.

‘Skip it, Deb. I know what you’re going to say, and I’m afraid the answer’s no. One term I promised, because that’s all I can do. It’ll be over soon and then you won’t see me for dust.’

‘But the Head’s knocked out by the way you’ve clicked with the pupils. He really wants you to stay.’

‘Nope. I just filled in while the language teacher had her baby. She’s had him now, a bonny, bouncing boy, which means it’s time for me to go bouncing off into the sunset.’

‘But she doesn’t really want to return, and I have strict instructions to persuade you to stay on, full time.’

Evie’s response to this was to back away along the bench with an alarmed little cry, like somebody fending off an evil spirit.

‘What’s up with you?’ Debra demanded.

‘You said the fatal words,’ Evie accused her, wild-eyed.

‘What fatal words?’

‘Full time.’

‘Stop fooling around,’ Debra said, trying not to laugh.

Evie resumed her normal manner. ‘I never do anything full time, you know that. I need change and variety.’

‘But you said you like teaching.’

‘I do—in small doses.’

‘Yes, that’s the story of your life, isn’t it? Everything in small doses. A job here, a job there.’

Evie gave a grin that was wicked and delightful in equal measure.

‘You mean I’m immature, don’t you? At my age I ought to be ready to settle down to a nine-to-five job, one offspring and two-point-five husbands.’

‘I think you mean that the other way around.’

‘Do I? Well, whatever. The point is, you think I should be heading for a settled life, suitable for a woman approaching the big ‘‘three’’. Well, nuts to it! I live the way I want. Why can’t people accept that?’

‘Because we’re all jealous,’ Debra admitted with a grin. ‘You’ve managed to stay free. No mortgage. No ties.’

‘No husband.’ Evie sighed with profound gratitude.

‘I’m not sure that’s something you should rejoice about.’

‘It is from where I’m standing,’ Evie assured her.

‘Anyway, the point is that you just up and go when the mood suits you. I suppose that might be nice.’

‘It is nice,’ Evie said with a happy sigh. ‘But as for no mortgage—what I pay on that motorbike is practically a mortgage.’

‘Yes, but that was your choice. Nobody made you. I bet nobody’s ever made you do anything in your life.’

Evie gave a chuckle. ‘Some have tried. Not with much success, and never a second time, but they’ve tried.’

‘Alec, David, Martin—’ Debra recited.

‘Who were they?’ Evie asked innocently.

‘Shame on you! How unkind to forget your lovers so soon!’

‘They weren’t lovers, they were jailers. They tried to trick me up the aisle, or soft soap me up the aisle, or haul me up the aisle. One of them even dared to set the date and tell me after.’

‘Well, you made him regret it. The poor man was desperate because you’d kept him wondering long enough.’

‘I didn’t keep him wondering. I was trying to let him down gently. It just turned out to be a long way down. I never even wanted him to fall in love with me. I thought we were simply having a good time.’

‘Is that what you’re doing with Andrew?’ Debra asked mischievously.

‘I’m very fond of Andrew,’ Evie said, looking up into the sky. ‘He’s nice.’

‘I thought maybe you were in love with him.’

‘I am—I think—sort of—maybe.’

‘Any other woman would think he was a catch—good job, sweet nature, sense of humour. Plus you’re in love with him, sort of, maybe.’

‘But he’s an accountant.’ Evie sighed. ‘Figures, books, tax returns—’

‘That’s not a crime.’

‘He believes in the proper way of doing things,’ Evie said in a tone of deepest gloom.

‘You mean about—everything?’

Evie gave her a speaking look.

‘One day,’ Debra said, exasperated, ‘I hope you’ll fall hook, line and sinker for a man you can’t have.’

‘Why?’ Evie asked, honestly baffled.

‘It’ll be a new experience for you.’

Evie chuckled. It was the happy, confident laugh of someone who had life ‘sussed’. She had her job, translating books from French and Italian into English. She was free to travel and did so, often. She had all the male company she wanted, and female company too for, unlike many women who attracted love easily, she also had a gift for friendship with her own sex.

It wasn’t immediately clear why people were drawn to her. Her face was charming but not outstandingly beautiful. Her nose tilted a little too much and her eyebrows were rather too heavy, adding a touch of drama to her otherwise perky features.

Perhaps it was something in the richness of her laugh, the way her face could light up as though the sun had risen, her air of having discovered a secret that she would gladly share with anyone who would laugh with her.

‘Time I was going,’ she said now. ‘Sorry I couldn’t help you, Deb.’

They strolled to the car park, where Debra got into her sedate saloon and Evie hopped on to her gleaming motorbike, settling the helmet on her head. A wave of her hand, and she was away.

She enjoyed riding through this pleasant suburb of outer London. Speed was fun, but dawdling through leafy roads was also fun.

Then she saw Mark Dane.

She recognised him from behind. It wasn’t just the dark brown hair with the hint of russet. It was the fact that he was walking with his head down in a kind of dispirited slouch that, she now realised, she’d seen often before.

Mark had a bright, quick intelligence that pleased her. In class he was often the first to answer, the words tumbling over each other, sometimes at the expense of accuracy.

‘Take it a bit slower and get it right,’ she often told him, although she was pleased by his eagerness.

But out of class he seemed to collapse back into himself, often becoming surly.

No, she thought now. Unhappy.

She slowed down and tooted her horn. The boy turned swiftly, glaring, but then smiling as he recognised the goggled, helmeted figure pulling up beside him.

‘’lo, Miss Wharton.’

She uncovered her head. ‘Hallo, Mark. Had a busy day?’

‘Yes, I’ve been—’ He stopped, reading the irony in her eyes and gave up. ‘I didn’t exactly come to school.’

‘What did you do—exactly?’

He shrugged, implying that he neither remembered nor cared.

‘It’s not the first time you’ve played truant,’ she said, trying not to sound like a nag.

Again the shrug.

‘Where do you live?’

‘Hanfield Avenue.’

‘You’ve wandered quite a way. How are you going to get home?’

Shrug.

‘Wanna lift?’ She indicated the bike.

He beamed. ‘Really?’

‘As long as you wear this,’ she said, removing her helmet.

He donned it eagerly and she checked that it was secure.

‘But now you don’t have a helmet,’ he said.

‘That’s why I’m going to go very slowly and carefully. Now, get up behind and hold on to me tightly.’

When she felt him grip her she eased away from the kerb. It took half an hour to reach his home, which was in a prosperous, tree-lined street, full of detached houses that exuded wealth. She swung through the gates and up the drive to the front door, mentally preparing what she would say to Mark’s parents, who would be home by now, and worried.

But the woman who opened the door looked too old to be his mother. Her eyes were like saucers as she saw his mode of transport.

‘What on earth—?’

‘Hallo, Lily,’ Mark said, climbing off the bike.

‘What do you mean, coming home at this hour? And on this thing?’ She glanced sharply at Evie. ‘And who are you?’

‘This is Miss Wharton, a teacher from school,’ Mark said quickly. ‘Miss Wharton, this is Lily, my dad’s housekeeper.’

‘You’d better come in,’ Lily said, eyeing Evie dubiously. ‘Mark, your supper’s in the kitchen.’

When she was in the hall Evie said quietly, ‘Can I talk to Mark’s parents?’

Lily waited until Mark was out of sight before saying, ‘His mother’s dead. His father won’t be home for a while yet.’

‘I’d like to wait for him.’

‘It could be a very long wait. Mr Dane comes home at all hours, if he comes home at all.’

‘What does he do that takes so long?’

‘He takes over.’

‘He does what?’

‘He’s in industry. Or rather, he owns an industry, and his industry owns other industries, and if he doesn’t own them he takes them over. If he can’t take them over he puts them out of business. That’s his way. Get them before they get you. I’ve heard him say so.’

‘So that’s why he’s not here,’ Evie mused. ‘After all, if you’re busy taking over the world it wouldn’t leave much time for other things.’

‘That’s right. I’m usually all that poor kid has, and I’m not enough. I do my best, but I’m no substitute for parents.’ She checked herself, adding hastily, ‘Don’t tell Mr Dane that I said that.’

‘I’m glad you did. But I won’t tell him, I promise.’

‘I’ll make you some tea. The living room’s through there.’

While she waited for the tea Evie looked around and understood what Debra had told her about Justin Dane, plus what Lily had just revealed. This was the home of a wealthy man. He could give his son everything, except the warmth of a welcome.

It dawned on her that there was something missing in the living room. She began to look more closely, but without success. She started again, examining every ledge and bookshelf, searching for some sign of Mark’s mother. But there wasn’t a single photograph, either of her or her and her husband together: nothing to remind her child that she had ever lived.

‘Who the hell are you?’

The outraged voice from the doorway made her jump.

There was no doubt of the identity of the man standing there. If the hint of russet in his dark brown hair hadn’t proclaimed him Mark’s father she would still have known him from Debra’s description.

Pride and assurance personified, she thought. Everything under control. And when it wasn’t he hit the roof.

His lean face was set in harsh lines that looked dangerously permanent and there was a ferocity in his eyes that she refused to let intimidate her.

‘I’m Miss Wharton,’ she said, determinedly pleasant. ‘I teach languages at Mark’s school.’

He made a wry face. ‘Really!’

‘Yes, really,’ she said, nettled.

‘Dressed like that?’

She looked down at her colourful outfit and shrugged.

‘A verb conjugates exactly the same, however I’m dressed, Mr Dane.’

‘You look like some crazy student.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, giving him her best smile. She knew he hadn’t meant a compliment but she couldn’t resist riling him. ‘At my age that’s a really nice thing to hear.’

‘I wasn’t flattering you.’

‘You amaze me. I’d assumed you went through life winning hearts with your diplomacy.’

There was a flicker in his eyes that suggested uncertainty. Was she, or wasn’t she, daring to mock him?

Let him wonder, she thought.

‘How old are you?’ he demanded.

‘Old enough not to tolerate being barked at.’

‘All right, all right,’ he said in the voice of a man making a concession. ‘Maybe I was hasty. We’ll start again.’

She stared at him in fascination. This man was so lacking in social skills that he was almost entertaining.

‘I suppose that’s as much of an apology as I’m going to get,’ she observed.

‘It wasn’t meant as an apology. I’m not used to coming home and finding myself under investigation by strangers.’

‘Investigation?’

‘It’s a politer word than spying. Are you here to report back to the social services? If so, tell them that my son has a good home and doesn’t need anyone’s interference.’

‘I’m not sure I could say that,’ she replied quietly.

‘What?’

‘Is this a good home? You tell me. What I’ve seen so far looks pretty bleak. Oh, it’s comfortable enough, plenty of money spent. But after all, what’s money?’

Now it was his turn to be fascinated. ‘Some people think money amounts to quite a lot.’

‘Not if it’s all you have.’

‘And you feel entitled to make that judgement, do you?’

‘Why not? At least I looked at the whole room. You judged me on the basis of my clothes and my age.’