rarely been given money and had survived during term time at school through a series of part-time holiday jobs waiting tables and stacking shelves. Studying the list, she dug out Marge’s catalogue to see if any suitable substitutes could be found within those pages. Surely charitable gifts would be more acceptable during a period of economic austerity when most people were feeling the pinch? She did a little homework on the computer to find out what she could about the interests of the recipients and hit pay dirt several times on that score, making helpful notes beside those names. That achieved, she paused only to pin a picture of Harvey to the office noticeboard in the forlorn hope that the dog might take someone’s fancy. Marge had said Harvey could stay only two more weeks in her home as she was expecting the usual influx of abandoned and surrendered animals that followed the festive season. Ava tried to picture Harvey with a bow in his hair as a much-wanted gift and frowned: he just wasn’t cute and fluffy enough to attract that kind of owner. But he was such a loving animal, Ava reflected painfully, knowing that the dog would have to be put to sleep at the vets’ surgery if she could not find him a home. How could she have been so irresponsible as to let herself get attached to him?
When she left AeroCarlton, Ava went straight to buy a pair of shoes because the muscles in her feet were aching at the effort it took to keep the second-hand ones on. As soon as she could she would pay Vito back. Although she then made a start on the Christmas list unfortunate images continued to bombard her brain at awkward moments, scattering her thoughts and disturbing her. She didn’t want to think about the night of the party but suddenly she couldn’t think of anything else.
Every year Vito held a Christmas party for his senior staff, estate employees, tenants and neighbours. It was the equivalent of the local squire of Victorian times throwing open his grand doors to the public. That last year Ava had become so obsessed by Vito that she wouldn’t even go out on a date with anyone else.
‘It’s unhealthy to be so intense,’ Olly had told her in frustration that winter. ‘You can’t have Vito. He’s not into teenagers and never will be. In his eyes you’re only one step removed from a child.’
‘I’ll be nineteen in April and I’m mature for my age,’ she had protested.
‘Says who?’ Olly had parried unimpressed, his blond blue-eyed and open face as far removed from his half-brother’s as day is to night for he had inherited his English mother’s looks rather than his Italian father’s. ‘A mature woman would never have got that tattoo on her hip!’
And, of course, Olly had been correct on that score, Ava acknowledged ruefully. An alcohol-induced decision on a sixth form holiday abroad had resulted in that piece of nonsense. She had marked herself for life over a teenage infatuation and needed no-one to tell her how foolish that was. When she eventually worked up the courage to get naked with a guy she knew she would cringe if there was any need to make an explanation.
In the present her mind careened back to that disastrous party when, for a change, she had gone all out to look sophisticated and had abandoned her Goth attire for the evening. Not that she wasn’t fully aware at the time that her regular appearances in short black leather skirts and boots attracted Vito’s attention! Did that make her a tease? She had seen girls out on the town wearing much more provocative clothing. Admittedly Vito’s frighteningly elegant girlfriends had never appeared in such apparel. But just for once at the Christmas party Vito had been single with no eager possessive beauty clinging to his arm like a limpet and laughing and smiling at his every word.
From the first moment when Ava had met Vito Barbieri when she was sixteen there had been a buzz when their eyes met. It had taken her more than a year to reach the conclusion that he felt that buzz too but that he was fighting it tooth and nail. He had never said a word out of place and had been careful to stay out of reach and treat her more than ever like a little girl. But more than once she had been conscious of his eyes on her and the burn of satisfaction that minor triumph had given her had merely encouraged her to visit the castle when Vito was in residence. That he could be attracted to her and never do anything about it had not once crossed her mind as a possibility. It didn’t matter how often Olly warned her that she was wasting her time dreaming about Vito. As long as Ava was aware that the attraction was mutual she had cherished the hope that eventually he would succumb.
With hindsight that insouciant confidence of hers made Ava recoil in mortification. How could she ever have truly believed that Vito might date her? The daughter of one of his employees, whose father lived with his family near Bolderwood Castle? His little brother’s best friend? An eighteen-year-old still at school studying for her final exams with no experience and no decent clothes? Unfortunately, the depth of her obsession with him had ensured she ignored all common sense when he was around.
Her whole family had attended that party. Ava had worn a silver shift dress, cut down from a maxi that her sister, Gina, had put out for recycling. Somehow there had never been money to buy new clothes for Ava. The dress had been simple, even modest, and she had been careful with her make-up and her hair, keen neither to shock nor repel. She had seen Vito watching her from the doorway while she was dancing with the children she was helping to look after at their separate party in another room. Needing to stoke her confidence, she had been drinking, something she was usually more careful not to do, always fearful that her mother’s weakness might some day turn out to be hers as well.
Ava no longer remembered when she had first appreciated that her mother was different from other mothers. She had often come home from primary school and found her mother out for the count on her bed. But then Ava’s had never been a happy home because her parents fought like cat and dog. Furthermore, her mother had always been distant with her. And with a father who called her ‘Ginger’ if he called her anything, even though he knew how much it hurt her feelings to suffer that hated nickname in her own home, she had never suffered from the illusion that she was a much-wanted child. A full ten years younger than her eldest sister, Bella, Ava had often wondered if she was an unplanned accident resented by both her parents for neither of them had ever had any time for her.
But for all that she had loved her mother, Gemma Fitzgerald’s death while Ava was in prison had been a severe shock and source of grief for she had long hoped that as she got older she might finally forge a closer relationship with her parent. In her teens she had realised that her mother had a serious problem with alcohol and was sober only in the morning, getting progressively drunker throughout the day on her hidden stashes of booze round the house until she was usually slumped comatose on the sofa by early evening. Ava’s father and sisters had studiously ignored Gemma’s alcoholism and done everything they could to cover it up. Divorce had been mentioned but never rehabilitation until the night her mother was caught driving while under the influence by the police and her father’s punitive rage had known no bounds when the incident was reported in the local paper. Gemma had lost her licence and gone into rehab, returning home from the experience pale, quiet and mercifully sober.
Having noticed Vito watching her the night of the Christmas party, Ava had decided to take the bull by the horns, a decision that she would live to regret. She had tracked Vito down to the quiet of the library where he was standing by the fire with a drink in his hand. Tall, darkly beautiful and powerful, he had riveted her from the minute she walked through the door.
‘What do you want?’ he had demanded edgily.
Ava had perched on the side of the desk in a way that best displayed her long shapely legs and put her directly in front of him. As she had carefully adjusted the hem to a decent length she had felt his eyes on her as hot as the flames in the fire and excitement had filled her like a dangerous drug urging her on. ‘I want you,’ she told him boldly, no longer content to only offer lingering looks and encouraging smiles in invitation.
Vito treated her to a brooding look of derision that dented her pride right where it hurt most. ‘You couldn’t handle me,’ he countered drily. ‘Go and find some boy your own
