The Italian Inheritance

by Louise Rose-Innes

  Dear Giovanni,

  I feel I owe you an apology and as I am very ill, this may be my last chance.

  When our paths crossed in Capri we were young and impulsive. The six weeks I spent with you were the most exciting of my life.

  I don’t regret our time together, but I do regret lying to you about Anna. It was wrong of me to mislead you.

  If you want nothing to do with her, I completely understand, however, it is my greatest wish that you do, since she will be destitute when I am gone.

  Please accept my humblest apologies. I wish you all the happiness in the world.

  Sincerely,

  Carmen

  Looking back at Anna, Rafael said, “I’m afraid I’ve never seen this letter. It was before my time.”

  That’s when it dawned on him. The letter was a fake.

  Her mother, if indeed it even was her mother, had probably visited Capri all those years ago and may have even met Giovanni. Now, twenty-six years later they had read that Giovanni Albertosi had died, leaving his vast fortune to an illegitimate daughter he’d never met and they had devised a plan to get their hands on the inheritance.

  A very clever ploy. Had Rafael not spent the last six months up to his elbows in illegitimate daughters, he may even be tempted to believe her. Luckily, he was way too sceptical for that. He supposed he had a childhood full of mistrust to thank for that one.

  “No, unfortunately the letter was never sent.” Anna’s voice quavered impressively.

  Because it was a forgery. Instead he said, “And why was the letter never sent?”

  Anna sighed. “I don’t know why. I can only assume she didn’t get round to posting it before she passed away. I found it a few days ago when I was sorting through her stuff, looking for something else.”

  “I see,” drawled Rafael. “Are you sure it wasn’t because the letter never existed? That perhaps you concocted it to try and weasel your way into the Albertosi family?”

  Rafael was being unduly harsh, but he couldn’t help it. He was worried to death about the shelter, and wanted to cut this meeting short so he could get on the phone to his connections in Naples.

  Anna stared at him. “Why on earth would I want to do that? All I want is to meet my father. I don’t care about his family.”

  She was good. Definitely one of the best. With her big, blue eyes filled with unshed tears he almost believed her himself.

  “Perhaps you’re hoping to inherit some money?” suggested Rafael, cutting to the chase. He wasn’t usually so direct, but he wanted to test her reaction.

  “Oh, for goodness sake,” exploded Anna. “How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t care about any fortune, or family—all I want is to see my father.”

  “Is this all the proof you have?” Rafael asked, distracted by her obvious anger and the deepening violet of her eyes. She really was a strikingly beautiful woman.

  “Yes, but...”

  “Look, I’m sorry,” he cut in. “But it’s not enough evidence. All this letter says is that your mother met Giovanni in Capri and lied to him.”

  “Yes, lied to him about me.” He could hear the slight pitch of hysteria in her voice. She was desperate for him to believe her.

  “It doesn’t confirm you are his biological child,” Rafael pointed out reasonably. Any lawyer would say exactly the same thing. The letter was circumstantial evidence. It could be a fake. There was no way of proving it was real. It didn’t even have a stamp on it to verify the date.

  “My mother only loved one man,” said Anna, frigidly. “Perhaps that is a concept you can’t possibly understand, Signore, but it’s the truth. She never loved anybody else. She died alone. Giovanni Albertosi is my father whether you like it or not.”

  Rafael looked at his watch. He didn’t have the time to continue this conversation now. There were urgent things he had to do. The woman could not honestly expect to waltz in to his office with only an old letter as proof that she was Giovanni Albertosi’s long lost daughter and expect him to believe her.

  Calmly he confronted her, “Until you have some concrete proof, by which I mean a birth certificate, DNA evidence or other legal documentation that you are indeed Giovanni Albertosi’s daughter, please do not bother me again.”

  Anna stared at him, speechless. “Is that really all you have to say?”

  “I’m afraid so, Signorina.” He strode to the door and held it open, waiting for her to leave. “Have a good day.”

  Anna got unsteadily to her feet. This time there was no mistaking the tears in her eyes. Rafael was seized by a moment of doubt and had to remind himself that she was acting. She couldn’t be Giovanni’s daughter. It was too much of a coincidence. The timing was too perfect. The inheritance was as yet unclaimed. There was too much money at stake. Rafael knew when it boiled down to this much money, you couldn’t trust anybody. He wanted to believe her. But there were too many reasons not to.

  If, and he seriously doubted it, her claims were true, she could come back with some sort of proof. This wasn’t the dark ages. But he was willing to bet good money that she was a fraud.

  Anna was deathly pale now. She gave him a look that could have blown straight off the polar ice caps, and without another word, turned and walked out of his office.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Rafael was awakened by a soft, scraping sound. He lay in bed and listened.

  There it was again.

  Slowly he drew back the sheets, and without turning on the light, climbed out of bed and made his way across the room to the bedroom window. Staring at the expanse of lawn, he thought he detected a dark shape against the white wall surrounding the property. He strained his eyes. Yes, someone was actually climbing over the wall.

  Rafael pulled on some trousers and within seconds was at the front door. Opening it silently, he stepped out into the night. By the slight incandescence of the sky he guessed it was around five o’clock in the morning. In an hour the sun would be up. Hardly the best time to attempt a break in.

  The shadowy figure dropped with a small grunt into a bush of geraniums which flanked the inside of the wall. Rafael watched silently as the intruder tiptoed across the lawn and around the left side of the house. He followed, his body flush with the side of the house, protected by the shadows. The intruder didn’t look very large and Rafael decided that he could probably take him. It must be a youth, or a very small man.

  He glanced back at the intruder’s point of entry to make sure there was no accomplice and set off around the side of the house in silent pursuit. The intruder moved slowly, cautiously, stopping only when he stumbled into a bush of wild roses by mistake. Rafael heard a muffled “ouch” as the intruder bent down to free himself.

  What kind of criminal breaks into a house and then gets tangled in a rose bush? Not a very good one. This must be an amateur job.

  Stealthily Rafael approached from behind. The intruder had no idea he was being followed. One advantage of growing up on the streets of Naples, Rafael thought wryly to himself, was the ability to dissolve into the shadows. The other was street fighting, a skill he may have to put into practice in a few moments, too.

  In one seamless move, Rafael pounced from the shadows, a well placed arm going around the intruder’s neck, the other pinning his hands behind his back. There was a short gasp of surprise.

  “Hold still and no one needs to get hurt,” Rafael said coldly in Italian, holding the man in a vice-like grip. Damned if he didn’t stop wriggling.

  Suddenly a foot came down very painfully on his toes and the figure spun around and kneed him in the groin.

  “Ah!” he exclaimed as the intruder sped off into the dark extremities of the garden. He didn’t get very far before Rafael was on him, crushing him to the ground under his solid weight.

  “That’s it. Put your hands behind you right now and don’t move,” he ordered, once again in his native tongue.

  “I can’t...” came the muffled reply.

  “What?” Rafael
said, surprised. The voice was decidedly feminine.

  “I can’t understand you,” came the muffled response. “I don’t speak Italian.”

  Rafael shifted his weight and rolled his captive over so he could see her face. Not prepared to give her room to escape, he straddled her, his knees either side of her hips, her arms pinned above her head. He didn’t make mistakes twice.

  The intruder was wearing a dark balaclava-type hood covering her head and he pulled it off none too gently. Half a meter of white blonde hair cascaded down over his hands.

  “You!”

  A fruity, floral scent rose from her overheated body. He recognised it from his office that morning. It was fresh yet at the same time alluring.

  Rafael was suddenly very aware of the fact that he was lying on top of her in nothing but light cotton trousers. The heat from her body was surprising in its intensity. It absorbed into his loins, his stomach and his chest, tempting his muscles to relax and mould to hers. He forced himself to remain taut.

  To make matters worse, his captive was scarcely more appropriately dressed in thin, Lycra leggings and a tight black top.

  “What on earth do you think you’re doing?” Rafael asked, angry at his sudden awkwardness and the fact that he had been caught unawares. “I could have hurt you.”

  “Yes, you could have,” gasped Anna, bucking gently beneath him. “Do you mind moving off me? I can’t breathe.”

  Rafael frowned, but adjusted his weight. “Better?”

  She nodded, but her chest still rose and fell erratically.

  Why was he negotiating with a burglar? What did it matter if she was comfortable or not? He must get a grip on the situation. She was watching him expectantly. Her eyes were wide and overly bright, probably from the adrenalin as a result of her attempted break-in.

  “You didn’t answer my question?” he prompted, flexing his shoulder muscles to stop his torso from dropping any lower onto hers.

  “I can explain,” she said eagerly. “If you’ll just get off me, we can talk about this like civil human beings.”

  “You will remain where you are until I hear an explanation,” he growled. “You may not be aware of this, but breaking and entering is a criminal offence. You’d better give me a damn good reason why you’re on my property or I’m calling the police.”

  His captive paled visibly. “No. Don’t do that,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t breaking and entering. Not really. I was just having a look around. I meant no harm.”

  “Dressed like that?” He nodded at her barely-there Lycra clothing.

  She shrugged. “I didn’t want to be seen. This was all I had with me.”

  Rafael looked doubtful. “What were you looking for?”

  She grimaced and said quietly. “Giovanni.”

  Rafael sighed. “Not this again.”

  “I was planning on hiding in the bushes until dawn. I figured if Giovanni lived here he would have to come out of the house at some point during the morning and I’d see him.”

  Rafael shook his head incredulously. “Didn’t it occur to you that in the light of day someone might see you crouching amongst the bushes? That you might be mistaken for a burglar and detained?”

  “I thought you were lying about Giovanni not living here,” she blustered, worry causing her smooth forehead to crinkle. “You were so cagey the other day. You wouldn’t let me see past the garden gate. I was convinced you were hiding something. And then this morning, despite my answering all your questions, you still didn’t tell me where Giovanni was. So I came to see for myself. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “I wasn’t lying,” he said curtly, feeling her move beneath him and trying to prevent inappropriate thoughts from entering his head. Her body was so soft, so pliable. “Giovanni doesn’t live here. I live here and you are trespassing.”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking,” she breathed. “You have to believe me. I’ve never done anything like this before in my life.”

  How could someone who looked so innocent be lying? Her blonde hair spread out around her like a golden halo, mingling with the dark grass. She looked deceptively angelic lying defenceless beneath him. Yet here she was, dressed as a cat burglar, caught red-handed on his property.

  Just goes to show... appearances can be so deceiving. You can’t trust anybody.

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “...Because I’m not spontaneous at all,” she explained earnestly. “You can ask anyone who knows me. I plan everything to the last detail. Climbing over that wall was a ludicrous idea. In fact, I can’t believe I even thought of it.”

  “Neither can I,” he muttered.

  “In fact, coming to Italy was probably a bad idea,” she continued, as if she hadn’t heard him. “I don’t know what I was hoping to find. Certainly not you.” She sniffed, glaring at him. “The lawyer from hell.”

  Lawyer from hell. That was a new one...

  Then she was off again. “Lara was right. This trip has been a disaster since the get-go. I should have known better than to come dashing over here on a whim.” She shook her head as if in a daze. “What was I hoping to find anyway? My father waiting with open arms?” She laughed bitterly.

  “What are you talking about?” Rafael stared at her, confounded. Nothing she said made any sense to him. Who was Lara?

  Her black top had bunched around her waist in the struggle and Rafael could see a smidgen of skin, pale and te in the moonlight. He got an irresistible urge to touch it, to trace the contours of her body with his fingers.

  “I think you’d better come inside so we can talk,” he suggested. Maybe that way he would get some sense out of her. She was babbling now, obviously stressed.

  He rolled off her and stood up in one smooth movement. Cool air flooded the space between them giving him goose bumps. He saw her shiver, also feeling the loss of his body heat.

  Rafael offered her a hand which she pointedly ignored, getting easily to her feet. She dusted herself off. “Now that’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

  “Come with me.” Rafael turned towards the house.

  Anna followed the lawyer wordlessly across the lawn. They passed dimly lit statues staring vacantly into space, witnesses to her foolish antics. She was acutely aware of her narrow escape. She was trespassing and Vialli would have been well within his rights to call the police. Luckily for her he’d decided not to. The concept of spending time in a foreign jail did not appeal to her at all. She could just imagine having to call Lara to come and get her out with the bail money.

  What the hell was she thinking? This sort of erratic behaviour was very unlike her. It must be the tension of the trip and the frustration yesterday that was causing her to act so out of character.

  She stared at Vialli’s smooth bare back as he walked up the meandering path in front of her to the house. It was all his fault for giving her the run-around. If he hadn’t made her so angry, she probably wouldn’t have resorted to such drastic measures.

  Vialli opened the enormous wooden front door and stood back to let her enter. Then he locked it deliberately behind them. Anna obviously wasn’t in the clear, yet. She’d better be careful.

  They walked across a tiled entrance hall, through a big arch typical of Mediterranean style properties and into a dark kitchen. Vialli flipped a switch and Anna gasped in delight for the kitchen could have been from one of her Italian cookery books. It was rustic, with wooden beams in the ceiling, sporting a couple of different sized hanging baskets. The floor was like the entrance hall, laid with big, textured terracotta tiles. The stove was modern, set amidst wooden cupboards with granite tops which doubled as work surfaces. There were even strands of hanging garlic and drying herbs.

  “Have a seat.” Vialli motioned to a table positioned beside a huge wooden framed window. “I don’t know about you, but I need a cup of coffee.”

  Without waiting for a reply he put the kettle on and grabbed two mugs from an overhead cupboard.


  Anna sat at the sturdy table and looked out of the window. The kitchen overlooked a little courtyard decorated with an assortment of pots and urns. Outside the sky was brightening. It would soon be morning.

  “This is a lovely kitchen,” remarked Anna trying to make conversation as he spooned filter coffee into a glass plunger. No such thing as instant for this guy. She wondered briefly if there was a Mrs. Vialli around. The kitchen was so neat and tidy and the hanging garlic and herbs definitely reflected a woman’s touch.

  Vialli grunted, clearly not in the mood for small talk, so Anna lapsed into silence. She watched as he plunged and poured the steaming dark liquid into two mugs, one of which he set in front of her.

  “Thanks.” She wrapped her hands around the warm mug, letting the heat fortify her.

  Vialli leant against the counter, sipping his coffee and surveying her. Anna waited for him to speak. Her eyes fluttered to his chest. Why didn’t he go and put on a shirt? His naked torso was distracting. Perfectly formed pectorals merged with bulging deltoids and an impressive trapezius. Okay, she was a maternity nurse, but her training still meant she was well placed to admire such superior muscular definition. Basically, the man was build like a god. Lucky Mrs. V, if there was one.

  “I think you’d better start from the beginning,” he said eventually. “And please tell me who this Lara is and what baring she has on this case?”

  “Lara?” Anna laughed in surprise. “Lara is my house mate. We live together in London. She has nothing to do with this, except she tried to convince me not to come.”

  “I see...” said Vialli, still looking confused. “So why did you come to Italy against your friend’s advice?”

  Anna rolled her eyes. They’d been through all this before. He probably hadn’t paid any attention yesterday. Come to think of it, he had been rather distracted. “I told you yesterday. I was going through my mother’s things when I found a letter.” She looked at him pointedly. “The one I showed you.”

  “The one addressed to my office?”

  “Yes. And once I’d read it, I realised Giovanni could be my biological father. So I came to Italy to check it out.”