in the West End. The one thing Joshua Hart certainly did not lack was self-belief.
‘Acting is in your blood,’ he’d often told Darcey. ‘How could it not be, with the combination of genes you have inherited from your mother and me?’
Her mother, Claudia, was a gifted actress, and Darcey’s brother and her two sisters had all followed their parents into the theatre. She was especially close to her younger sister Mina, and was proud of how she had overcome her disability to become a respected actress.
Only Darcey had chosen a different career path, and Joshua had not hidden his disappointment. Sometimes Darcey felt her father had taken her decision not to uphold the Hart family tradition and train at RADA as a personal affront. He had never been the easiest man to get on with, and in recent years she had sensed a divide between them that she longed to breach.
‘Ms Rivers?’
Salvatore Castellano’s curt voice snapped her back to the present. Without waiting for an invitation he pulled out the chair by her desk and sat down, stretching his injured leg stiffly out in front of him. Darcey decided that she needed to take control of the situation.
‘I’m afraid I can only spare you a few minutes, Mr Castellano,’ she said briskly. ‘I have a busy afternoon.’
His brows rose. ‘You mean you are holding appointments today? James Forbes led me to believe that the speech therapy unit has closed down.’
Flushing, because in actual fact she had nothing planned for the rest of the day, Darcey walked behind her desk and sat down, placing the potted fern in front of her like a barrier. ‘So it has. I’m only here today to clear my office. Once I’ve finished I have...personal things to do.’
What kind of things? Salvatore wondered. Was she going home to her husband? Maybe to spend a lazy summer’s afternoon making love? Glancing at her left hand, he was intrigued to see she was not wearing a wedding ring. He frowned. Ms Darcey Rivers’s private life was of no interest to him. All he was interested in was her professional expertise.
‘I have come to see you, Ms Rivers, because I wish to employ a speech therapist who specialises in working with deaf children, and specifically children who have cochlear implants,’ he said abruptly. ‘My five-year-old daughter had bilateral implants fitted two months ago. Rosa is profoundly deaf. She communicates using sign language but she has no audio-language skills.’
Darcey breathed in the subtle tang of his sandalwood cologne and a quiver of awareness shot through her. She wished now that she had not sat down at her desk, because rather than giving her a sense of authority all she could think was that, close up, Salvatore Castellano was devastatingly sexy.
For heaven’s sake! She gave herself a mental shake and concentrated on what he had told her. ‘Did your daughter have the implants fitted in England?’
‘Yes. James Forbes is her audiologist.’
‘Then James must have explained that although the unit here is closing the speech therapy programme will still continue at the hospital, but on a smaller scale and with fewer therapists—which unfortunately will probably mean a longer waiting list before children can be assessed,’ she said ruefully.
‘James treated Rosa as a private patient. She does not qualify for the post-implant speech therapy programme provided by your National Health Service.’
‘I see,’ Darcey said slowly. ‘In that case, why did James recommend me to you? Even if the speech therapy unit here wasn’t closing, your daughter would not be eligible for me to assess her because I am employed—was employed,’ she amended with a grimace, ‘by the local health authority.’
‘James said that you intend to establish a private practice.’
‘I hope to do so in the future, but my immediate plans are to take a break from work and spend the summer in the South of France. I’m sorry I can’t help you, Mr Castellano, but I can give you the names of several speech therapists who I’m sure would be willing to work with your daughter.’
Nothing on Salvatore Castellano’s chiselled features indicated that he was disappointed by her response, but there was a steely implacability in his voice.
‘James says you are the best in the business.’ He speared Darcey with his penetrating stare. ‘I want the absolute best for my daughter, and I am prepared to pay whatever fee you decide to charge for your expert knowledge.’
She frowned. ‘It’s not about money...’
‘Experience has taught me that it is always about money, Ms Rivers.’
His sardonic reply riled her. Perhaps he thought that her decision to set up a private speech therapy practice had been made because she hoped to increase her earnings, as one of her ex-colleagues had suggested. But nothing could be further from the truth. What she wanted was more freedom to implement her own ideas and hopefully enhance hearing-impaired children’s experiences of speech and language therapy. It was something Darcey cared passionately about, but she had a feeling that even if she tried to explain Salvatore Castellano would not understand.
She tried another approach. ‘Obviously I can appreciate that you and Rosa’s mother must be anxious for her to begin speech therapy as soon as possible. All the evidence shows that children with CI have the potential to achieve good communication and language skills if they receive therapy quickly after implantation.’
She hesitated, wondering where the child’s mother was. It was strange that she was not with him. Alarm bells rang inside her head. She’d had past experience of parents who had not been in agreement over the type of help they wanted for their child.
‘Can I assume that your daughter’s mother agrees with your decision to employ a speech therapist?’
‘My wife died when Rosa was a baby.’
Darcey shot him a startled glance, shocked by his revelation but even more so by the complete lack of emotion in his voice. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. Her thoughts turned to his daughter. The little girl had been locked in a silent world for most of her life, and although she must be able to hear now that she had cochlear implants, sound must be a strange and perhaps frightening concept for her. Given that Rosa already had so much to cope with, the fact that she was growing up without her mother was desperately tragic—particularly as her father seemed as unemotional as a lump of granite.
Thoughts of her own mother flooded Darcey’s mind. Six months ago Claudia had been diagnosed with a malignant melanoma. Luckily she had responded well to treatment, but Darcey remembered how devastated she had felt at the idea of losing her mum, and her heart ached for Salvatore Castellano’s motherless little daughter.
She looked across the desk and found him watching her intently. From a distance his eyes had looked black, but now she saw that they were very dark brown, framed by thick black lashes. She wondered if his eyes became warmer when he smiled. Did he ever smile? Her gaze strayed to the stern line of his mouth. Would his lips soften if he kissed her? No doubt the dark stubble shading his jaw would graze her skin...
Snatching a sharp breath, she said quickly, ‘I would like to help your daughter, Mr Castellano, but as I explained I will be out of the country for the next few months.’
‘You are going to the French Riviera, I believe you said?’
‘Yes. My family own a villa at
