been two years younger than him and he was thirty-four.
Logic told Jake that a thirty-two-year-old Italian girl would be long married by now, with a brood of bambinos around her skirts.
At the same time he reasoned that even if she was married, she’d probably still be living at the winery, with her husband working in the family business. That was the way of Italians. No, she was sure to be there, somewhere.
The desire to see Angelina again increased. Was it just curiosity, or the need to say he was sorry for what he’d done? She’d been terribly upset at the time.
But what would an apology achieve after all these years? What would be the point?
No point at all, Jake decided with a return to his usual pragmatism. Best he just have his lunch and leave. Maybe he’d catch a glimpse of Angelina. And maybe he wouldn’t.
Who knew? He probably wouldn’t recognise her. It was sixteen years ago after all.
CHAPTER TWO
‘YOU can look for your father when you turn sixteen,’ Angelina promised.
‘But that’s not till November!’ her son protested. ‘Why do I have to wait that long? It’s not as though Grandpa’s around any more to get upset. I mean…Oh, gosh, I know that sounded bad. Look, I miss Grandpa as much as you do, Mum. But this is important to me. I want to meet my dad. See what he looks like. Talk to him.’
‘Has it occurred to you that he might not want to meet you? He doesn’t even know you exist!’
‘Yeah, I know that, but that’s not his fault, is it? No one ever told him. He’s got a right to know he has a son.’
Angelina sighed into the phone. She still could not come to terms with Alex’s sudden obsession with finding his biological father. Every time she rang her son at school, and vice versa, it was his main topic of conversation.
Of course, when his grandfather had been alive, the subject of Jake Winters had been forbidden. In Antonio Mastroianni’s eyes, the tattooed lout who’d seduced and impregnated his daughter was nothing better than a disgusting animal, not worthy of discussion. Alex’s birth certificate said ‘father unknown’.
When Alex had been old enough to ask questions, his grandfather had told him that his father had been bad, and that he was lucky not to have anything to do with him. He, Antonio Mastroianni, would be his father as well as his grandfather. In return, Alex would carry the Mastroianni name and inherit the family estate.
To give her father credit, he had heaped a great deal of love and attention on Alex. The boy had adored his grandpa in return and, in accordance with his grandfather’s wishes, Alex’s father was never mentioned.
But within weeks of his grandfather’s tragic death late last year, Alex had started asking his mother questions about his real father, wheedling Jake’s name out of her, then every other detail about him that she could remember, before finally demanding that they try to find him.
Just the thought of coming face to face with Jake again after all these years had put Angelina into a panic, which was why she’d initially come up with the ‘wait-till-you’re-sixteen’ idea. But since then, she’d thought about the situation more calmly and stuck to her guns.
Because heaven only knew what Jake, the grown man, would be like. The last she’d heard he’d been going to be charged with carnal knowledge and would probably go to jail, something which had given her nightmares at the time. Till another nightmare had consumed her thoughts, and her life.
At worst, Jake might now be a hardened criminal. At best, Angelina still doubted he’d be the kind of man she’d want her son to spend too much time around. She didn’t agree with her father that Jake had been born bad. But maturity—and motherhood—made her see Jake in a different light these days. He had been from the wrong side of the tracks, a neglected and antisocial young man, something that time rarely fixed.
‘I don’t want to discuss this any further, Alex,’ she stated unequivocally. ‘That’s my decision and I think it’s a fair and sensible one.’
‘No, it’s not,’ he grumbled.
‘Yes, it is. By sixteen, hopefully you’ll be old enough to handle whatever you find out about your father. Trust me. I doubt it will be good news. He’s probably in jail somewhere.’
Silence from the other end.
Angelina hated having to say anything that might hurt her son, but why pretend? Crazy to let him weave some kind of fantasy about his father, only to one day come face to face with a more than sobering reality.
‘You said he was smart,’ Alex pointed out.
‘He was.’ Street-smart.
‘And good-looking.’
‘Yes. Very.’ In that tall, dark and dangerous fashion that silly young girls were invariably attracted to. She’d found everything about Jake wildly exciting back then, especially the symbols of his rebelliousness. He’d had studs in his ears, as well as his nose, a ring through one nipple and a tattoo on each upper arm. Lord knew how many other tattoos he’d have by now.
‘In that case, he’s not in jail,’ Alex pronounced stubbornly. ‘No way.’
Angelina rolled her eyes. ‘That’s to be seen in November, isn’t it? But for now I’d like you to settle down and concentrate on your studies. You’re doing your school certificate this year.’
‘Waste of time,’ Alex growled. ‘I should be at home there with you, helping with the harvest and making this year’s wines. Grandpa always said that it was crazy for people to go to university and do degrees to learn how to make wine. Hands-on experience is the right way. He told me I’d already had the best apprenticeship in the world, and that I was going to be a famous wine-maker one day.’
‘I fully agree with him. And I’d never ask you to go to university and get a degree. I’m just asking you to stay at school till you’re eighteen. At the very school, might I remind you, that your grandfather picked out for you. He was adamant that you should get a good education.’
‘OK,’ he replied grudgingly. ‘I’ll do it for Grandpa. But the moment I finish up here, you’re getting rid of that old fool you’ve hired and I’m going to do the job I was brought up to do.’
‘Arnold is not an old fool,’ Angelina said. ‘Your grandfather said he was once one of the best wine-makers in the valley.’
‘Once, like a hundred years ago?’ her son scoffed.
‘Arnold is only in his sixties.’ Sixty-nine, to be exact.
‘Yeah, well, he looks a hundred. I don’t like him and I don’t like him making our wines,’ Alex stated firmly, and Angelina knew her son’s mind would never be swayed on that opinion. He’d always been like that, voicing his likes and dislikes in unequivocal terms from the time he could talk. If he didn’t like a certain food, he’d simply say, ‘Don’t like it.’ Then close his mouth tightly.
No threat or punishment would make him eat that food.
Stubborn, that was what he was.
