she forced her attention back to the blank sheet of paper on the table in front of her.
Willing the pen to move back and forth, she crafted the words that would convey her appreciation for the kindness of the Crianza Perez household and nothing more. Then, sealing the envelope, she propped it up next to the clock. She would post it on her next shopping trip to Mahon, the island’s capital, and perhaps find some small token in an attempt to appease her formidable neighbour. But first things first; her legal representative on the island would be appearing in a little under an hour.
Taking a fresh sheet of paper, Annalisa began drawing up a list of subjects she wanted to discuss. It was only as she began framing the questions in her mind that a new possibility occurred to her…
‘But, Señorita Wilson, you do not have the money to make the improvements you have just outlined. Why do you not accept the generous offer that has been made for finca Fuego Montoya and buy something more suitable for yourself?’
‘I have decided not to sell.’
‘Not to sell!’
Annalisa was certain the distinguished lawyer could not have looked more shocked if he’d tried. ‘And that is my final decision,’ she confirmed in a low, determined voice.
‘But, no!’ he insisted dramatically. ‘This is impossible. How will you—?’
Annalisa could feel her patience evaporating. ‘Don Alfonso,’ she began firmly, ‘I have always worked for my living and that is exactly how I intend to continue.’
‘To work?’ the silver-haired lawyer exclaimed in horror with a shrug that encompassed the world. ‘But if you sell the finca, Señorita Wilson, you will never need to work again.’
‘But I want to work,’ Annalisa insisted stubbornly. ‘And forgive me, Don Alfonso, but I thought you worked for me.’
‘And so I do,’ he insisted hotly. ‘But it is my duty to tell you that if you were my daughter—’
‘I am no one’s daughter!’ Annalisa’s retorted sharply, regretting the words almost as soon as they shot out of her mouth.
‘I understand that your father is dead, Señorita Wilson,’ Don Alfonso reminded her solemnly.
And always has been to me, Annalisa thought bitterly as she fought to re-order her thoughts. ‘I apologise, Don Alfonso,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Of course I will always be grateful to my father for entrusting me with the future of the finca.’ Even if he never acknowledged me in his lifetime, she added silently to herself. ‘I should not have raised my voice to you,’ she admitted candidly. ‘But you should know that I am quite determined to remain here. I intend to restore the house and all the ancillary buildings. Then I shall return the orange groves to a profitable working concern that will benefit everyone in the village.’
‘The orange groves!’ the elderly lawyer exclaimed in utter amazement. ‘But what do you know about fruit production? Forgive me, Señorita Wilson,’ he added, saving her the embarrassment of admitting the answer to that was nothing at all. ‘I mean no offence.’ Plucking a kingfisher-blue handkerchief out of his top pocket, he began dabbing away at imaginary moisture on his neck and high forehead, his concern all too evident.
‘None taken,’ Annalisa said evenly, wondering what on earth had prompted her insane proposition.
‘But even if you were to proceed against my advice you cannot possibly take on such a task alone,’ Don Alfonso insisted as he replaced the silk square in his pocket.
‘Why? Because I’m a woman?’
He hesitated long enough for Annalisa to know she had struck a Latin nerve.
‘You do not have sufficient money,’ he insisted, bridging the controversial divide with sheer practicality.
‘I can do many of the jobs myself. I shall seek advice in the village…and I am not afraid of hard work.’
‘It is not the hard work that is my major concern—’
‘And I’ll find the money somehow.’
Don Alfonso looked unconvinced as he shook his head. ‘I don’t doubt your good intentions, Señorita Wilson.’
‘Then what is your concern?’ Annalisa demanded.
‘The power and status of the family you have ranged yourself against may prove insurmountable,’ he explained patiently. ‘Please. Leave it a little while longer before you make a final decision to decline their generous offer.’
‘But I have no intention of accepting any offers. And I don’t need more time,’ Annalisa insisted. ‘My mind is made up, Don Alfonso.’
‘I beg you to reconsider—’
‘I cannot imagine why anyone could be so determined to buy up my land now when it has so clearly been neglected for years.’
‘It was in your father’s hands before he died,’ Don Alfonso reminded her. ‘No one knew why he insisted on hanging on to it. There were many offers during his lifetime—’
‘Which he refused?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘As I shall,’ she insisted, though quite where this sudden comradeship with the father who had abandoned her before she was born had come from she had no idea.
‘And nothing I can say will dissuade you from this course of action?’
‘That is correct.’
Don Alfonso made a bemused sound and then murmured distractedly, ‘I cannot understand it…’
‘And I cannot understand why you are allowing yourself to be influenced by anyone’s interests other than mine.’
He looked offended, and when he spoke again it was in a conspiratorial whisper. ‘We are talking about one of the most powerful families in all Spain, Señorita Wilson. Led by a man whom I should not wish to cross.’ He shook his head in a grave show of disapproval.
Well, if that was meant to frighten her off it had missed its mark, Annalisa thought, firming her mouth. ‘You may feel the need to abide by this man’s dicta, Don Alfonso, I do not.’
‘You can have no idea of what you are taking on.’
‘So, tell me,’ Annalisa challenged. ‘Put a name to my opponent. We’re not discussing some mythical villain, I presume?’
Her elderly advisor bowed his head in dignified acquiescence. ‘No, Señorita Wilson. We are talking about an exceptional man with a mind like a steel trap and a will of iron. I fear you will find Ramon di Crianza Perez a most formidable adversary.’
Annalisa’s wide mouth softened, images of sun-kissed flesh and rippling muscles uppermost in her mind.
Misreading her expression, Don Alfonso warned, ‘It would be a mistake to underestimate Ramon Perez.’
‘He’s not such a monster,’ she reflected absently.
