by June Tate
Rachel shook her head. ‘I’m sure he knew. Now, my dear, as your adviser, I suggest that tomorrow you and I go forth and find some premises to open another Club Valletta.’
Lily brightened. ‘I’m so glad you think we should keep the name.’
‘We have to,’ retorted Rachel. ‘It will be a definite part of our success. A continuation. And, awful though it may seem, the dramatic events that led to the fire will only add to the attraction. After all, the spread in the papers will have, in its own funny way, been good publicity.’
Lily remembered the headlines and shuddered. ‘I would like to move away from the docks.’
‘You can’t do that!’ Rachel was adamant.
‘Why not?’
‘Because the area only serves to make it more exciting. We must have our first place in the docks. The second one can be in a smarter area, but never the Club Valletta. It has to be there.’
As Lily sat gazing into the firelight, she gave a wry smile. It seemed that, even as a wealthy woman, she was never to be rid of the docklands. But perhaps that was fair. If she had a lot of money maybe, in her own way, she could help the people who, brought up in similar circumstances to her own, were unable to rise above them. She had been lucky, thanks to Rachel, Fred and Vittorio. Without them, what would have become of her? There must be youngsters on the street in similar circumstances with nowhere to go. Maybe that was to be her way forward in life.
She would be successful, Lily knew. She would have several hotels. And she would bring up her daughter the way Vittorio wanted, but maybe she could do much more. After all, Vittorio had helped her; it seemed only fair to use his money to help others.
Gazing at the emerald on her finger, she wondered just what Vittorio would have thought of her idea. What was it he had once said about lame dogs? No more … but then she always did get her own way in the end.
Looking at her sleeping child, she whispered, ‘Well, Victoria Teglia, it seems your father left us quite a legacy. Now we have to use it wisely.’ She gazed across at her dearest friend.
‘Right, Rachel! Tomorrow we start again.’
Rachel raised her glass. ‘L’chayim. To life!’
