me reassure you that I slept alone. Now, get in the shower before I throw you over my shoulder and hose you down myself!’
During the meeting in Don Alfonso’s dignified wood-panelled office it soon became clear that Ramon’s legal team was picking holes in every suggestion made by the older man. Or perhaps it was just that he represented a different age and things had moved on, Annalisa thought, glancing around the table. The average age of Ramon’s team couldn’t have been more than thirty, and, boy, were they sharp. She was being forced to jump in constantly to defend her corner, knowing that many a fatal barb could be clothed in legalese.
The old adage, ‘Why pay a dog and bark yourself?’ sprang to her mind, but Don Alfonso had come highly recommended by… No. That was it. Don Alfonso had written to her stating that he had been one of her father’s most trusted legal representatives. Everything about the bequest had come as such a bolt from the blue and she had had no reason to doubt him. However, the situation concerning agreed boundaries and water rights was far more complicated than she could ever have imagined…perhaps even beyond Don Alfonso’s capabilities.
But with Ramon’s gaze likely to fall on her at any moment it was the wrong time to admit that she had made so little enquiry into the details before jumping headlong into her new life. And after last night’s fiasco she was determined to keep what little remained of her pride intact. She tensed as Ramon stopped the meeting with an imperative gesture.
Looking straight at her across the table, he said, ‘I take it that Señorita Wilson has been fully apprised of every aspect of this dispute?’
Dispute? Annalisa looked questioningly at him and then at Don Alfonso. Out of respect for her mother’s feelings she had made no enquiries whatever during her lifetime about the mysterious Spaniard who was her father, let alone any disputes that might have affected him. And Don Alfonso had volunteered no information beyond what she had requested.
Don Alfonso’s warning glance urged her to let him speak for her as he rose to his feet. At once Ramon yielded the floor to the older man.
‘Señorita Wilson would no doubt benefit from hearing your interpretation of the problems you both face,’ Don Alfonso began vaguely.
So they shared some difficulty, Annalisa thought, wondering what it might be. She watched Ramon incline his head in gracious assent. She might have expected him to jump down Don Alfonso’s throat for suggesting he suffered problems just like any ordinary mortal. But there was not so much as a flicker of impatience on his face. How attractive he was, she thought, relishing the chance to gaze at him without attracting curiosity as he rose to speak. What a tragedy to find herself ranged against him! And worse still to know he was spoken for…
‘As Señorita Wilson is already aware,’ Ramon began, his low, resonant voice commanding the whole room’s attention, ‘our fathers were partners. When my father died,’ he added, directing his gaze straight at Annalisa, ‘I inherited his share of the business.’
He paused, and that moment seemed like an eternity to Annalisa. She stared fixedly at a small knot of wood on the polished table while shockwaves pummelled her mind. She struggled to take in this latest breathtaking revelation. The only thing she had known about her Spanish father was that he had deserted her mother shortly before she was born. As far as she was aware they had never heard from him again. To discover that he had not only been a man of property, but had been involved in business with one of the most powerful families in Spain, was a staggering discovery… But why hadn’t Don Alfonso mentioned this to her when he must have known? Feeling Ramon staring at her, she glanced up distractedly, but as his focus sharpened she looked away.
‘On her twenty-fifth birthday,’ he continued, ‘Señorita Wilson discovered that she had inherited a large tract of land here in Menorca. Land that had been left in trust for her by her late father, Don Pedro di Fuego Montoya.’
A wave of emotion broke over Annalisa as Ramon mentioned her father’s name. His voice contained such affection and respect. There had clearly been a bond between the two men, a bond that both thrilled and frightened her. It made Ramon Perez part of her life whether she liked it or not. And now all the men around the table were bowing their heads, as if they remembered her father quite differently from the way she had always imagined him. Her mother’s refusal to talk about him had always led Annalisa to suppose that her absentee Spanish father must have caused some dreadful hurt. Wasn’t his neglect proof enough of that?
She looked up again to hear Ramon say, ‘This land was his to give freely. I have no dispute over title with Señorita Wilson.’
Don Alfonso made another discreet signal to silence Annalisa. ‘You wish to purchase a piece of this land in order to advance your plans for development in the area?’ he asked.
‘That is correct,’ Ramon agreed. ‘I had imagined the new owner of the finca would be eager to sell. But that was before I met Señorita Wilson. Now I realise Señorita Wilson has plans of her own. However, in order for the orange groves to be restored to full production she will require a constant supply of fresh water: water that runs across my land.’
He stopped, his expression unfathomable. But Annalisa had heard enough. She sprang to her feet. ‘I admit my intentions are still in the planning stage, but I can tell you two things: whatever difficulties are placed in my way, I intend to make my home in Menorca, and finca Fuego Montoya is not for sale.’
‘Is the property viable?’ one of Ramon’s young lawyers asked doubtfully. ‘Even forgetting the problem you will have obtaining sufficient fresh water for your commercial activities, I heard the house was in a terrible state.’
Emotionally, Annalisa was wrung out. Deciding to keep the finca had left her stranded on an island of uncertainty, where she was bombarded by facts and revelations and, worst of all, the scrutiny of a man who seemed capable of seeing beyond her professional façade to the vulnerable core beneath. Her glance flashed up as he began to speak again.
‘You have not seen the finca recently,’ he said, glancing first around the table and then back at her.
His eyes, Annalisa saw, had warmed past a point that was safe. And his voice when he spoke again wrapped around her like a comfort blanket, even though he directed his comments to everyone.
‘Señorita Wilson has made many improvements already—’
Feeling an ominous pricking at the back of her eyes, she pulled herself together fast. Ramon as adversary was bad enough… Ramon back-pedalling out of concern for her feelings was really worrying.
‘And Don Alfonso assures me that she has sufficient funds,’ Ramon finished, with a ‘so that’s an end of it’ shrug.
Then either Don Alfonso knew something she didn’t, or he had stretched the truth past breaking point, Annalisa thought uncomfortably as she sank back in her chair. When the sale went through for her modest home in England she might just be able to scrape together enough money to mend the roof, and perhaps even lay some sort of proper road to the property. But as for purchasing land from Ramon to secure irrigation for her fruit?
Picking up her pen, she stabbed at her notepad as if trying to pin down an idea. ‘I will restore the orange groves to full production,’ she insisted stubbornly, feeling her throat dry as she gave voice to her plans—plans that even she knew were ambitious to the point of being reckless. She had come to the island knowing nothing at all about agriculture, and even less about oranges. But she could learn… She would learn. ‘It is my intention to live and work at the finca,’ she went on, conscious that she had everyone’s full attention now. ‘And I mean to provide employment for as many
