while they were skiing, had thrust Drago into the cut-throat world of big business. He had also had to take care of his devastated mother and aunt, and he had assumed the role of a father figure to his then seven-year-old cousin.
Seeing Angelo like this tore at his insides. The waiting, the wondering if the young man would be left with permanent brain damage, was torture. Drago was a man of action, a man used to being in control of every situation, but for the past three days he had felt helpless. His aunt and his mother were distraught, and he wished he could comfort them and assure them that Angelo would recover. For the past fifteen years he had done his best to look after his family, and he hated the feeling that in this situation he was powerless. He had no magic wand to bring Angelo back to consciousness, but he had the name of a woman who might be able to help.
His mother was gently patting her sister-in-law’s shoulder. ‘Dorotea, you must tell Drago what Angelo has done, and why you are so worried about his involvement with the Englishwoman.’
Drago stared at his aunt. ‘What has he done?’
For a few moments she did not answer, but at last she choked back her sobs. ‘He has given this woman money…a lot of money. In fact all of the inheritance that his father left him,’ Aunt Dorotea said in wavering voice. ‘And that’s not all. Jess Harper has a criminal record.’
‘How do you know this?’
‘A week ago Maurio Rochas, who used to be in charge of Angelo’s trust fund and still acts as his financial adviser, phoned me. He was troubled because what he had to tell me was confidential information, but he felt I should know that Angelo had withdrawn his entire inheritance fund from the bank. When I spoke to Angelo I asked him what he had done with the money. He was very abrupt with me,’ Aunt Dorotea explained in a hurt voice. ‘It was most unlike him. But he finally admitted that he had lent his inheritance fund to this woman—Jess Harper—but he did not say why she needed the money, or when it would be repaid.’
Drago knew that the bulk of his cousin’s inheritance was tied up in shares and other investments, but Angelo still had a huge fortune available to him—which he had apparently handed over to a woman who had a criminal record. It was not surprising Aunt Dorotea was concerned.
‘Angelo was very cagey,’ she continued. ‘I felt he was hiding something from me. I was so worried that I phoned Maurio back to discuss the matter. Maurio admitted that out of concern for Angelo he had tried to find out more about this Englishwoman and had discovered that she was convicted of fraud some years ago.’
Drago swore softly and received a reproachful glance from his mother. Dio! He could not help feeling frustrated. Sometimes he wondered if his relatives would ever take charge of their own lives instead of relying on him to deal with their problems. He had encouraged his cousin to go to England to study, believing that it would do him good to be more independent. But it sounded as though Angelo had walked straight into trouble.
‘What has the damned idiot done?’ he muttered beneath his breath.
Unfortunately his aunt had excellent hearing.
‘How can you blame Angelo? Especially when his life hangs in the balance?’ she said tearfully. ‘Perhaps this Jess Harper told Angelo some sob story that he fell for. You know what a soft heart he has. He is young, and I admit a little naïve. But I’m sure you remember how you were conned by that Russian woman years ago, Drago. Although of course that situation was a lot worse, because your actions almost forced Cassa di Cassari into bankruptcy.’
Drago gritted his teeth at his aunt’s reminder of the most humiliating episode of his life. When he had been Angelo’s age his judgement had been compromised by a woman’s beautiful face and sexy body. He had fallen hard for the sensual promise in Natalia Yenka’s dark eyes, and he had persuaded the board members of Cassa di Cassari—the luxury homeware company that had been founded by his great-grandfather—to make a huge investment in the Russian woman’s business venture. But the venture had been a scam, and the catastrophic financial loss incurred by Cassa di Cassari had resulted in Drago only narrowly escaping a vote of no confidence from the board.
Since then he had worked hard to win back their support, and he was proud that under his leadership Cassa di Cassari had grown to be one of Italy’s highest-grossing businesses, with a global export market. At the recent AGM he had announced that the company would be floated on the stockmarket for a record opening share price that would raise several billion pounds. It had been Drago’s crowning moment—one that he had striven for with ruthless determination—but neither the board members nor his family knew of the personal sacrifices he had made in the pursuit of success, or of the emptiness inside him.
He shook his head as if to dismiss his thoughts, although dark memories of his past lingered in the shadows of his mind. Focusing his attention once more on his cousin, he felt a sharp pain, as if a knife blade had been thrust between his ribs. He did not think his aunt would cope if she lost her only son. This desperate waiting and hoping was intolerable, and if there was even the slightest chance that hearing the Englishwoman’s voice would bring Angelo back from the abyss then Drago was convinced that he must persuade her to come to the hospital.
‘Where are you going?’ his aunt asked tremulously as he swung away from the bed and strode across the room.
‘To find Jess Harper. And when I do you can be sure I will demand some answers,’ he replied grimly.
Struggling to carry her heavy toolbox and a bulging bag of groceries, Jess let herself into her flat and stooped to pick up the post from the doormat. There were two bills, and a letter which she recognised was from the bank. For a moment her heart lurched, before she remembered that her business account was no longer in the red and she did not have to worry about paying back a hefty overdraft. Old habits died hard, she thought ruefully. She wondered if the novelty of being financially solvent would ever wear off.
On her way down the hall she glanced into Angelo’s room. It was still unusually tidy—which meant that he hadn’t come back. Jess frowned. It was three days since he had disappeared, and since then he hadn’t answered any of her calls. Should she be worried about him? He had probably moved on to another job, like so many of the casual labourers she employed did, she told herself.
But Angelo had been different from the other labourers who asked for work. Despite his assurances that he had experience as a decorator it had quickly become apparent that he did not know one end of a paintbrush from the other. Yet he was clearly intelligent and spoke perfect English, albeit with a strong foreign accent. He had explained that he was a homeless migrant. His gentle nature reminded Jess of her best friend Daniel, whom she had known at the children’s home, and perhaps that was why she had impulsively offered him the spare room in her flat until he got on his feet. Angelo had been touchingly grateful and it just wasn’t like him to leave without saying goodbye—especially as he had left his stuff, including his beloved guitar, behind.
Reporting him missing seemed like an overreaction, and although it was a long time since her troubled teenage years she still had an inherent mistrust of the police. But what if he’d had an accident and was lying in hospital with no one to visit him? Jess knew too well what it was like to feel utterly alone in the world, to know that no one cared.
If she hadn’t heard from him by tomorrow she would notify the police, she decided as she dumped the bag of groceries on the kitchen worktop and dug out the frozen ready meal she’d bought for dinner. She’d missed lunch. Owing to a mix-up with paint colours, the job she was working on was behind schedule—which was why Angelo’s disappearance was so inconvenient. He might not be the best painter in the world—in fact he was the worst she’d ever known—but to get the contract finished on time she
