desk in her office or on the ornate chair in her receiving room, refusing to slow down despite having achieved her seventieth birthday a few years before. But since Alessandro’s death she tended to spend more and more time in her private rooms and it was towards these Nico headed, up the grand staircase, along the balcony that overhung the famous hall, the oldest part of the original castle, and through a discreet—at least it would have been if it weren’t for the two heavily armed soldiers guarding it—door that led to the royal family’s private apartments.
The door led into another corridor, as luxurious as the main hallway that bisected the palace in two, but less ornate. These rooms weren’t designed to impress and, although Nico personally found the rose velvet and cream a little cloying, it was a refreshing contrast to the pomposity of the gilt and purples in the public parts of the palace. His own rooms were on the top floor but his grandmother’s were on the first, and it only took a minute before he was rapping gently on her door to hear her voice bid him ‘Enter’. He did as he was told, sweeping a low bow before her and taking her hand in his and raising it to his lips. ‘Your Grace.’
Graziella didn’t look at all impressed by his display of manners. ‘Don’t humbug me, young man.’
Nico rocked back on his heels and grinned unrepentantly down at her. Her silver hair was in its usual elegant chignon and she was dressed with her customary chicness but the shadows under her eyes—and the shadows in her eyes—were new. No wonder, she had lost her husband, youngest son and grandson in the space of five years.
His grandfather’s heart attack had come as no real shock, the warning signs had been there for years, but Nico’s own father’s untimely death in a helicopter crash followed shortly by Alessandro’s sudden collapse had rocked the family—and the island—to the core. Nico still didn’t understand how a man as healthy, as strong as Alessandro could just drop down dead—and none of the reading he’d done on Sudden Arrhythmic Death Syndrome could convince him that he couldn’t have done something, anything, to prevent it if only he’d known.
In that way he was still well and truly stuck in the first stage of grief—denial. He could have held several medical degrees and been right there and still he couldn’t have done anything to save his cousin.
The remaining members of the family still all suffered, still all grieved, but his grandmother had been the slowest to return to some semblance of normality. Nico tried to hide his concern as his smile widened. ‘Not humbugging, just showing respect.’
‘Hmm, and did you show your uncle the same degree of respect?’ She waved him towards the uncomfortable-looking sofa that sat at right angles to her own chair and Nico obediently perched on the edge of the slippery satin.
‘Of course. At least,’ he amended, ‘I refrained from calling him a fool in public.’
‘Nico, he doesn’t like change, you know that.’
She might closet herself away in her rooms but she still knew everything that went on in every hidden palace corner. ‘Grandmamma, we have no choice. Change will come whether we like it or not. Better that we control it rather than let it control us.’
‘But tourists, Nico.’ His grandmother couldn’t have sounded more disgusted if he’d suggested tearing down the ancient woodlands to build a nuclear power station. ‘With their noise and their litter and their shorts and all they can eat. It’s never been our way.’
‘It depends on the tourists, Grandmamma.’ He’d already made exactly these points to his uncle. Nico took a deep breath and re-embarked on the speech he’d prepared. ‘We already get a few who make the journey here because we’re unspoilt, to walk or swim or relax. We just need more of them. We won’t be able to compete with the established Mediterranean resorts and nor should we, but if we market ourselves to honeymooners and couples as a luxury holiday destination and to the thrill seekers who will love our mountains and lakes then we won’t need to change too much. Invest in some new hotels, enable our cafés and restaurants to cater for more people, improve our transport links. Nothing too scary, I promise.’
‘But...’
‘Our people need jobs. Our schools and hospitals need investment. Our youth need a reason to stay. We don’t want them all heading off the island to start their lives elsewhere.’
As he had done.
‘But why, Nico? You’ve only just come home. Why shake things up now with your consultants and plans? Give your uncle some time.’
‘There is no time, Grandmamma.’ He paused, unsure how much to tell her. ‘Look. You know I spent the last year at Harvard doing an MBA. As part of that I studied our finances really carefully.’
The island monarchy wasn’t purely constitutional and the royal family still took a very active role in government. Once Nico had begun to comprehend how much rode on his new position as heir to the throne he’d realised how ill equipped he was for such a responsibility and so had given up his research position at MIT to study business at Harvard instead. It hadn’t taken him long to realise how much work he had ahead of him. A lifetime’s work.
‘I loved my grandfather, you know that, but he was a lavish spender, his father too. Look at how they redecorated the palace—all that marble imported in. And the rest: planes, cars, villas, ski lodges...’
‘And an apartment for every mistress, an annuity for every mistress, jewellery for every mistress—and there were a lot of mistresses.’ Bitterness coated his grandmother’s voice for one unguarded second.
‘For two generations the island was ignored in favour of jet-setting and pleasure. L’Isola dei Fiori needs a lot of careful managing to make up for fifty years of neglect.’
‘And you think tourism will do that?’
‘I think it’s a start. We need more, some kind of real industry as well but that’s a whole other step. One day I would like to see the island a beacon of innovation for renewable energy and other forms of eco-friendly engineering. Expand the university, bring in the expertise, offer the right companies, the right entrepreneurs the right deal so they settle here, build here and create jobs here.’ That had always been his dream. That was why he had put in the hours at MIT, made the right contacts, had worked towards his PhD, never giving up hope that, even if he couldn’t persuade his uncle to throw the weight of the government behind him, he could still return in his own time, at his own will, to start up his own research company.
But the current crisis needed a quicker fix and his own dreams had to be set aside, just as he’d set his research aside.
‘Tell me how I can help, Nico.’
He patted his grandmother’s hand gratefully. ‘You’re a key part of my strategy, Grandmamma. First of all I need you to work on my uncle. I know he’s done his best to put things right but selling the odd yacht and ski lodge isn’t enough. He needs to give the tourism campaign his full backing and ensure the rest of his ministers do as well.’
‘What did he say today?’
‘The usual. That I’m too young to understand, that I’ve been gone too long, that I think fancy degrees from fancy universities make up for my own lack of sense.’ He grinned at her. ‘Nothing he hasn’t said a million times before.’ It didn’t stop the words from stinging though. He was thirty-two, not twenty, and he was proud of his degrees. He’d worked damn hard for them. But his uncle preferred to believe the rubbish in the papers than the evidence before him. Nico had been labelled a playboy Del Castro in
