The Italian Inheritance

Published by The Romance Collective

ISBN:
978-0-9574269-0-0

When something seems too good to be true, it probably is.

Well, that was her opinion anyway. Experience had taught her that. Nothing in life ever came easily, and if it did, it probably wasn’t worth having. She’d worked hard to get where she was today.
Blood, s
weat and tears
, hard
. And no one had given her anything on a silver platter. She’d done it all herself.

So when the owner of the Bella Vista hotel had nodded and written down this address, she’d been more than a tad suspicious.
What were the chances of finding her birth father only hours after arriving
on the island of
Capri? Slim, at best, right?

She glanced thoughtfully at the piece of paper in her hand. Maybe the old guy at the hotel really did know Giovanni. Her father would probably be in his sixties now, just like the old man. Capri wasn’t a very big island. It was feasible that they knew each other, or of each other, at least.

Only one way to find out...

Anna trudged along the quaint cobbled path looking for the romantic sounding Villa San Rosanna.

So far Anna loved everything about Capri. The smells were sweet and pungent, the heat balmy and all-encompassing. She’d never seen sky so blue and peering into the azure depths of the Mediterranean as the ferry
had
docked, Anna was overwhelmed by its shimmering clarity. She could even make out the sandy bottom, which had her fighting the urge to throw her hot, sweaty self overboard and into the inviting depths. Capri was a far cry from the austere greyness of London and Anna felt like she’d landed on another planet. It was such a pity she didn’t have more time (or money) to enjoy it.

The path narrowed and the golden stone walls suddenly grew in height obscuring the residences on either side. Anna slowed down to wipe a bead of sweat from her temple. How much farther was it? The stone pathway seemed to weave nonsensically all over the hilltop.
How she was going to find her way back, she had no idea.
The views were amazing, however. Every now and then
,
between sprawling hibiscus
and palm
trees
,
Anna caught a glimpse of the
cobalt blue Mediterranean
and would stop and stare, mesmerised by its colour and tranquillity.

Finally she rounded yet another corner and saw it.
O
n the wall
, in rusty gold lettering was
a sign
Villa San Rosanna
.
It
glinted in the late afternoon sun as if taunting her.
Anna leant against the cool, whitewashed wall in relief. She’d found it. Now all she had to do was ring the bell.

Yet she couldn’t move. Her knees suddenly felt weak
and her hands were shaking.

Come on, Anna. You haven’t travelled all the way from London to turn back now.

She glanced up.
The
wall surrounding the
villa was high
which
prevented anyone from seeing into the
property
. It seemed to stretch forever in both directions and Anna realised that the property itself was probably much larger than it looked from the outside. Vibrant bougainvillea in every shade of pink swept over the wall and mingled with the wild roses protruding from terracotta urns on either side of
a
tall, wooden gate.

It was picture postcard perfect.
Anna spotted a
smart
intercom system
to the left of the gate.
It looked new.
With a deep breath s
he pushed the buzzer.

Nothing.

Her heart slammed against her ribcage. Would the man that opened that door be her mother’s lover of twenty-five years ago, the mysterious Giovanni?
And if it was, how would she recognise him? Would
he look like her?

She closed her eyes and offered up a silent prayer.
Please let it be him
.

Anna had dreamed of this moment many times
since reading her mother’s letter
. She had visions of the two of them, both tall and blonde, with the same clear blue eyes, gazing at each other in wonder. Then she would whisper, Papa... And he would open his arms and envelope her, and
tell her
that everything was going to be all right. That she was safe. That she belonged. That she had a family.

But those were childish dreams. Reality was nothing like that.
On the off-chance that Giovanni actually lived here, he
wouldn’t recognise her because he had no idea he had a daughter. Her mother had taken that secret with her to the grave.
The only proof Anna had was the letter.

For
Anna, that childish urge to be safe and protected had long gone. She’d learned to survive on her own. Now, fiercely independent and confident in her ability to fend for herself, Anna didn’t need anyone. She’d come a long way from that shy, sad little twelve year old, who
was
sent to boarding school after her mother’s death.

The one thing she did want, however, was a family. Deprived of a father growing up and losing her mother at a young age, Anna had big plans in that department. She wanted a
big
house, a loving husband and lots of dogs and k
ids running around the place—i
n that order.
On this
,
she was non-negotiable.

She pushed the buzzer again, more urgently this time.
A long minute passed in which all Anna heard was the buzzing of the bees in the nearby Frangipani tree.

Perhaps there was no one home?

A little of the tension dissipated, but then disappointment moved in.
Please don’t let this be a dead-
end. Maybe she should have waited until the morning to go scouting the island for Giovanni. She was exhausted after travelling all day.
The flight from Heathrow had taken three and a half hours, then the ferry to Capri added an extra hour to her travel time. She felt hot
and sticky—a
nd she desperately
wanted
a swim. If the man at the hotel hadn’t given her this address she’d be submerged in the refreshing depths of the hotel pool right now. A wave of longing swept over her.

There would be time enough to come back tomorrow. Her appointment at the attorney’s office,
the place
where
her mother’s letter had be
en
addressed, was
n’t until
eleven.
If she got up early enough she could come
back
here en route.

Decision made, she turned to leave.

“Si?” The voice came over the intercom.

Anna froze.

So much for that idea.

Her heart rate escalated. For a fleeting moment she considered bolting, but her feet wouldn’t move. Slowly she turned on her heel to face the gate.

Leaning forward
,
Anna spoke clearly into the intercom. “Is this the residence of Giovanni Albertosi?”

A pause, then, “Who wants to know?”

Anna hesitated. Should she give her name? Her father might recognise her mother’s surname. Maybe it would help. If it wasn’t her father... well, then it didn’t matter anyway.

“Anna Crawford,” she said finally, offering no further
explanation
.

Another pause.

“Un momento.” There was an audible click as the intercom went off.

How Anna got through the next few minutes she had no idea. After twenty-five fatherless years she could be about to face the man who had sired her. She stood her ground as heavy footsteps crunched down the garden path. Blood pounded in her ears. She hardly knew what to think, let alone say.

Anna touched her mother’s sacred letter in her pocket as if it would give her the strength she so desperately needed to get through the next few minutes.

If, and that was a big if, this was her father, she had so many questions to ask him. Like how
had he met
her mother? Why
had
their affair end
ed
?
Did her mother walk away, or did Giovanni end it?
Most importantly, how did he feel
about having
a daughter?
Would
he even care?

Hopefully he’d be as excited as she was and
they’d hit
it off straight away.
Perhaps once they’d got to know each other better she could pop over for long weekends. Italy wasn’t that far away from London.
But she was getting above herself here. First things first
..
.

The tall, wooden gate creaked open and Anna gasped for the man standing there was a good
twenty
years younger than the man she had expected to see. He was tall, taller than her, which was saying something since she was nearly six
feet
, and casually dressed in denim jeans and a
black
t-
shirt
. She must have interrupted him in the shower, because his hair was
wet and spiky
.

“Can I help you?” he asked cordially, but with an impatient edge to his voice. H
is dark eyes
studied her with interest. 

“You
aren’t
Giovanni Albertosi, are you?” blurted
Anna
, then instantly regretted it. Of course he wasn’t. Fifty
-
year
-
old men didn’t look this good. Her eyes
wandered
over his broad chest
straining under the
T
-shirt
and down his smooth, tanned arms. This guy was probably in his early thirties. She raised an eyebrow at the brushed metal Rolex on his wrist. Nice accessory.