into strengths—’
‘—and threats into opportunities. Got it,’ she finished dryly.
‘Good. See you Saturday. My office, seven thirty. Ciao.’
And he walked out of her bedroom.
Before he could give in to the temptation of her unspoken offer to stay.
ON THE Monday afternoon, Carenza came back to her office with a pile of notes following a trip to a competitor’s gelateria, to discover a book smack in the middle of her desk, with a note stuck to it. More homework: analyse your sales for the last five years. What are the trends and why? Split it by outlet. Dante. His handwriting was bold and spiky and confident, like the man himself. And she was so disappointed to realise that she’d missed him.
Ha. How pathetic was she? For all she knew, he could’ve sent the book over by courier.
She emailed him swiftly.
Thank you for the book. All homework in progress.
Though first she needed to get the sales figures. Broken down by outlet.
That was when she discovered that her grandfather didn’t have everything on a computer spreadsheet, the way Amy always had at the gallery. Everything was in paper format only. Which left her with no choice; she was going to have to talk to Emilio Mancuso and ask him for the information.
He frowned when she called in to see him and made her request. ‘Why do you want to see the last five years’ figures?’
‘So I can see the trends.’
He shrugged. ‘There’s no need. I’ve looked after things for your grandfather for the last five years.’ He paused, and gave her a significant look. ‘Since he had his heart problems.’
Heart problems? What heart problems? Why didn’t she know anything about this? Though the last thing she wanted was for Mancuso to think that she’d been kept in the dark, so she kept her worries under wraps. She’d talk to her grandmother about this later.
‘I know sales have been down, but there’s really nothing to worry about. It’s just the recession, and everyone’s in the same boat.’ He gave her a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. ‘You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about it, carissima.’
Darling? She wasn’t his darling. And he’d just used the phrase that always made her see red. Her pretty little head, indeed. Why wouldn’t men take her seriously? Was she going to have to dress in frumpy clothes, stop wearing make-up, dye her hair mouse-brown and scrape it back into a bun, and don a pair of thick glasses before anyone would notice that she did actually have a brain?
And why wouldn’t he just give her the figures and let her see them for herself? ‘Nonno’s put me in charge, and I can’t do my job unless I have all the facts,’ she said, more rudely than she’d intended, but his attitude infuriated her. ‘I can see you’re busy, Signor Mancuso, and I’d hate to disturb you unnecessarily. Just tell me where the paperwork is and I’ll find it for myself.’
He went a dull red. ‘I already told you. You don’t need to do this.’
Another refusal. Did he have something to hide? She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘If it’s a problem for you, I could always ask Nonno.’ And she had some other questions to ask her grandparents, too. Such as why they hadn’t breathed a word about her grandfather’s heart problems.
Tight-lipped, he took her through to a dusty-looking office, rummaged on a shelf and handed her several books.
‘I hope you don’t mind me taking these back to my own office.’ Before he had a chance to say he did mind, she added, ‘Of course, I’ll take great care of them. And I’ll return them personally when I’ve finished.’ And she called a taxi to take her back to her office; no way was she going to ask him to help her get the books back to her place.
But when she looked closely at the figures, it seemed to be just as Mancuso said: sales were simply dropping, year on year. Maybe her instinctive dislike of him had been wrong. Maybe he had nothing to hide after all, and he was just fed up because Nonno had handed the reins over to her instead of letting him continue to run the business.
Though surely he realised that, if Nonno had sold the business, Dante Romano would’ve brought his own management team in—maybe even taken over the reins himself, at first? So this was pretty much the same thing.
Well, she’d make her peace with him later in the week. Right now, she had more important questions to ask.
She arrived at her grandparents’ house that evening with flowers for her grandmother and some of the little marzipan fruits she knew her grandfather adored. After dinner, she insisted on helping her grandmother in the kitchen.
‘Nonna, why didn’t you tell me about Nonno’s heart problems?’ she asked softly.
Elena Tonielli looked flustered. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about, tesoro.’
‘Emilio Mancuso told me today. The ones Nonno had five years ago.’ She couldn’t help the hurt spilling out. ‘The ones you didn’t tell me a thing about.’
‘You were in London, cara. You were happy. We weren’t going to drag you back here.’
She bit her lip. Had her grandparents really thought that she’d need to be dragged home? ‘Nonna, you surely can’t think that you and Nonno would ever take second place in my life? If I’d known he was ill, I would’ve got on the first plane from London.’
‘And disrupted your life. I know. But you were doing so well in London and we didn’t want to worry you. Nonno’s fine.’
So had Mancuso been lying to her? ‘So are you saying Nonno didn’t have heart problems?’
‘He had chest pains, yes, but it was more of a scare than anything else.’
But it had happened five years ago, and she hadn’t had a clue about it. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’ she asked. Her grandmother’s awkward expression told her the answer, and she closed her eyes. ‘I wish I’d never left Naples. If I hadn’t gone abroad, hadn’t been so selfish and stayed away … I should’ve come back and taken over from Nonno years ago. Like Papa would’ve done.’ They both heard the words she left unspoken: had he lived.
‘We only wanted to see you happy, tesoro,’ Elena said softly. ‘It was right you should spread your wings and see a bit of the world. And you needed to meet the English side of your family. We’d been selfish in keeping you to ourselves. We should’ve sent you over before.’
Carenza swallowed hard. ‘You weren’t selfish. You took me in, you gave me a home, gave me everything I wanted.’ They’d been in their fifties when her parents had died, and dealing with a young child on top of their own grief must’ve been such a strain on them.
‘We took you in because we loved you. And having you meant—well, it meant we still had some of Pietro. We could see him in you as you grew up.’
‘So
