A Clash with Cannavaro. Elizabeth Power

had crashed her car during a blazing row with Angelo, when she’d been driving him back to his own car after a lunch meeting to discuss their divorce.

      Only a matter of weeks later, after that upsetting visit from Angelo, Lauren had moved with Danny from her cramped little bedsit, back to the farmhouse, and, until today, had never seen or heard from Emiliano Cannavaro again.

      CHAPTER THREE

      COMING OUT OF Heathrow Airport, Emiliano congratulated himself on having had a successful week.

      A dispute between the management and electrical engineers that had threatened to delay the launch date of Cannavaro Lines’ newest cruise liner had been resolved. Shares over the company as a whole were showing record levels. And only that afternoon he had finalised negotiations for the takeover of a European passenger ferry line, which had been on the table for some time now. All in all, he thought, as he stepped out into the dreary greyness of an English autumn afternoon, he felt justified in flying off to his private retreat and taking the break he had been promising himself for a long time—and with only one hurdle to jump. He intended to take his nephew with him.

      It was pouring with rain as he set off on the long journey northwards, his car’s powerful tyres cruising through the spray as they covered the miles in the fast lane of the busy motorway.

      He knew he should have telephoned Lauren to let her know that he was coming, but he hadn’t, and for a very good reason. When he had spoken to her from his Rome office earlier in the week to advise her of his wishes, they had been met with fierce opposition. There had, however, never been any problem he couldn’t overcome, or any challenge he couldn’t meet, but the most difficult, he’d learned from an early age, were often best dealt with head-on.

      No one answered when he knocked on the door of the farmhouse several hours later and, going around the back, he found the rear door slightly ajar.

      A toddler’s tricycle was abandoned in the little lobby to the kitchen, he noticed as he allowed himself to go through, calling her name.

      Again, he was struck by the poor conditions she was living in, which were a far cry from the chic modern flat he’d imagined the woman he’d met at his brother’s wedding called home. He still couldn’t quite equate the glamorous creature who had set out to seduce him two years ago with the tousle-haired, natural-faced, but nonetheless desirable female he had confronted when he had driven up here over a week ago, because there was no doubt that he still found her desirable. More so, if that was possible...

      His heart kicked over as he heard footsteps on the flagstones in the hall beyond the kitchen. A woman about the same age as Emiliano, with dark hair tied severely back in a ponytail, strode in, balancing a toddler on her hip.