Why Jake kept choosing girls for their sex appeal alone, Dorothy couldn’t fathom. When she’d complained about this side of Jake to Edward a couple of years back, he’d said not to worry. One day, Jake would meet the right girl, fall head over heels, get married and have a family.
Dorothy wasn’t so sure about that last part. She didn’t think having a family would ever be on Jake’s agenda. Damaged children often veered away from having children themselves.
No, she wasn’t holding her breath over that ever happening.
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ she said gently.
Jake snapped back to reality with a dry laugh.
‘Not worth even ten cents. So when do you want to leave?’
Dorothy smiled. ‘You’re going to drive me up there?’
Jake shrugged. ‘Can’t let my best girl go careering all over the countryside by herself. Besides, I’ve been dying for an excuse to give my new car a proper spin. Can’t do that on city roads.’
‘Jake Winters! I have no intention of dying at the hands of some speed-happy fool in a yellow Ferrari.’
Jake laughed. ‘And this from the wild woman who’s planning to buy some run-down winery in the middle of nowhere! Don’t worry, I won’t go over the speed limit. And hopefully, once you see this dump for real, you’ll be happy to stay right where you are and take up pottery.’
‘Pottery! What a good idea! There’s sure to be room for a kiln at the winery. The ad says there are ten acres of land, and only five under vine.’
Jake gave up at this point. But he was sure that Dorothy would see the folly of her ways and change her mind once she saw the place, and where it was.
‘If we leave around ten,’ Dorothy said excitedly, ‘we’d get up there in time for lunch. Lots of the larger wineries have great restaurants, you know.’
Jake frowned. Mr Mastroianni had been going to build a restaurant at his winery. And guest accommodation. He’d also been going to change the name of the winery from its present unprepossessing name to something more exotic-sounding. Angelina had told him all about her papa’s grand plans, but Jake’s mind had been on other things at the time and he couldn’t remember what the new name was. Or what the old name was, for that matter. Though it hadn’t been Italian.
According to Angelina, the winery had belonged to her mother’s family. Jake did recall her telling him that her mother had been middle-aged when her father married her. She’d died having Angelina.
‘I looked up a few of the restaurants on the internet last night,’ Dorothy was rattling on. ‘There’s this really interesting-looking one on the same road as the place we’re going to inspect. It’s at a winery called the Ambrosia Estate. Isn’t that a wonderful name for a winery? The nectar of the gods.’
Jake’s mouth dropped open. That was it! Ambrosia!
‘What is it?’ Dorothy said. ‘What did I say?’
‘Did Edward ever tell you the story of how I came to be in his court?’
‘Yes. Yes, of course. You…’ She broke off, her eyes widening. ‘Good lord, you don’t mean…’
‘Yep. The scene of my crime was the Ambrosia Estate.’
‘Goodness! What an amazing coincidence!’
‘My thoughts exactly.’
Dorothy gave him a sheepish look. ‘I—er—I’ve already made us a booking at the restaurant there for twelve-thirty.’
Jake couldn’t help being amused. What a crafty woman she was. ‘You were very confident I’d drive you up there myself, weren’t you?’
‘I think I know you pretty well by now. But honestly, Jake, if you want me to change the booking to somewhere else, it’s easily done.’
‘No, don’t worry. I doubt I’d be recognised. I’ve changed somewhat since my bad-boy days, don’t you think? Though it’s just as well you made the booking. If old-boy Mastroianni knew Jake Winters was eating lunch in his restaurant, I’d be fed hemlock. Italians have long memories and a penchant for revenge. He might not know my face but I’ll bet he’d remember my name.’
Oh, yes. He’d bet the name Jake Winters was burned into Antonio Mastroianni’s brain. And whilst Jake really didn’t want another confrontation with Angelina’s father, the possibility of running into Angelina again sparked an undeniable surge of excitement.
She would be what age now? Thirty-one? Thirty-two? Had to be thirty-two. She’d 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