Ria
She wandered downstairs after a fitful sleep, rubbing her eyes and yawning as she entered the kitchen, expecting to see her mother, bustling about.
To her astonishment, it was a grim-faced Camille and Beatrice who sat at the well-scrubbed, spotlessly clean kitchen table, sipping coffee. Beatrice looked as though she had been weeping and Ria rushed forward in alarm, hurrying to wrap her arms around the old woman’s shoulders. That was when she became aware of Philippe Diaz lounging in the doorway, a mug of steaming coffee in his large hands. She felt the flush rise up in her cheeks. She was in her short shorts and her T-shirt, a well-worn one and her golden hair was in an untidy braid, over a shoulder.
But he helped her out; Philippe turned to place the mug on the counter and with a nod at her and a ‘See you later, Bea,’ he strolled out into the hallway, heading to her father’s study.
She felt ridiculously bereft and tried not to look after his disappearing back. But then, she remembered why she had rushed to Beatrice and exclaimed,
“Bea, what’s wrong?’
“Youse Mumma ‘s feeling poorly’ mumbled the old woman and Camille’s lips tightened.
‘Where is…?’ began Ria in alarm.
Camille spat out something abusive in her language and Ria had a feeling it was highly uncomplimentary.
‘That bas*ard?’ she spat.’ He was taken away. I mean, the Boss had him shifted.’
And she pursed her lips and Ria knew that neither of them would tell her another word.
Ria looked from one to the other of the women.
‘I am going to see Mumma,’ she declared and made to move away but Beatrice and Camille called out at the same time,
‘No!’ and Camille added,
‘She …had to take a mild sedative. She was…ummm…not well..’
Beatrice added sharply,
‘Let the woman sleep. You can’t go barging in and disturbing her.’
Knowing that neither of them was going to tell her anything more, she turned and fled to her father’s study. Odds were, he would not have left for the Club yet, although she knew that he was opening another couple of similar exclusive clubs in the suburbs and was preoccupied with the expansion. But if her mother was unwell, he would hang around till she came awake…
*
*
“Pappa!’ she cried breathlessly, throwing open the door and her father frowned. Schwartz was there and Philippe, who was, she remembered belatedly, the Capo in waiting, but now, she was only concerned about her mother.
Ignoring her father’s disapproving look, for he did not like his family, even his wife, to interrupt him at work, she rushed to him and cried, grabbing his thick muscular arm and kneeling beside him on the floor,
“Pappa, what s wrong? Is Mumma alright?’
She knew something was off when she saw a dark shadow pass over her father’s face but he smiled tightly.
‘Pumpkin,’ he growled and she rested her head on his thigh, shutting her eyes briefly as he absently stroked her head of blonde curls. She knew she was his favourite and he called her by that pet name, only her. Tara came second although he loved her too and was fiercely protective of her, unlike his affection for the boys.
They were treated in a slightly colder manner and Claude still addressed her father as Sir.
She sighed.
Of course, her Pappa would never let anything happen to her Mumma again. He loved her passionately, his eyes never leaving her when she was in the room. He would shout for his wife the moment he entered the house. No, he would not let her be hurt.
Eyes brimming with unshed tears, she blurted out, looking up into her father’s face,
‘Pappa, I do not like to have Cole in our house. And that woman Britney, why should she stay at the Townhouse?’
As soon as she had said it, she bit her lip, how could she have said it? her tongue had run away with her and she had said something unforgivably rude.
Cole was, all said and done, his son…
And that wh*re had been her father’s…
*
But her father gazed into her eyes, the cold blue-grey eyes hard with anger, a deadly kind of anger as he said in a low growl,
“Cole is not welcome here anymore, pumpkin. And Britney will be shifted out this morning.’
She looked into his eyes, reading something. But she knew from his impassive face that he would not tell her anything more.
“What happened to Mumma?’ she asked softly, the tears threatening to spill over.
He leant down and gripped her upper arms gently and hauled her to her feet.
Chucking her under the chin, he said,
‘Your Mumma is good. She was feeling a little unwell last night.’
She threw her arms around him, hugging him and she felt him signal to the others that he wanted to be alone.
Schwartz’s cultured tones drifted over,
‘Mate, I shall wait here for a while before I leave.’
Lucien grunted, holding his daughter in his arms.
She was so like her mother sometimes, he reflected fondly, the trusting nature of hers reminded him of Proserpina.
When he felt that she was calmer, he helped her to her feet and they crossed to sit at the large couch overlooking the lawns. Ria smiled; she had such wonderful memories of growing up in the house, playing in the garden.
She turned to her father who was observing her shrewdly and said simply,
Pappa, you gave us a wonderful childhood, you and Mumma.’
His grey-blue eyes flashed and then he smiled, just a wry twist of his lips as he kissed the top of her head as he rose to his feet, the shirt stretching across his powerfully muscled chest. She knew that he had been to the basement gym, as he did regularly.
“I am going to check on your Mumma before I leave, pumpkin.’ he said in a gruff voice but Ria caught an undercurrent of anger, of anxiety.
What had happened, she wondered as she stepped away from her father, smiling slightly, scrubbing away her tears. He sighed.
‘Your Mumma…’ he began and then he stopped, rubbing a large hand over his face. Her eyes flew to his knuckles, bruised and raw.
Pappa had hit someone, badly…
She took in a sharp breath and Lucien immediately looked at her, the grey eyes boring into her, into her very soul.
She tried to hide her expression as she said,
“Maybe I shall run along and check on Mumma.’
Lucien’s eyes narrowed as he caught on that she had figured out that something unpleasant had happened, had guessed that he had been fighting. He nodded curtly as he spoke in a clipped tone that brooked no questions,
‘Do not tell that hot-headed fool anything.’ he growled.
And Ria knew he meant Claude.
Ria’s head was in a whirl. But she was astute enough to guess at what must have transpired.
So Pappa had beaten up Cole and sent him away She nodded as she went out, closing the door behind her, her instincts alerted. Something had happened with Mumma too.
*
Philippe watched her, his hungry eyes following the slightly curvy figure as she bounded up the stairs, taking them two at a time in her haste to get to her mother. He loved her desperately, he thought and turned away, only to meet the perceptive gaze of Handsome James on his face. The older man said nothing but Philippe knew that he had read the situation rightly.
*
Schwartz sighed.
The famous lines of Walter Scott came back to him.
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave…’
He turned away and sightlessly stared across the lawn where old Diaz was supervising the trimming of the lawn.
Young Philippe was head over heels in love with Ria and Schwartz suspected that she felt the same way about him. Warily he wondered what would happen when Lucien discovered the fact. When it came to his children, the Boss was notoriously possessive and Ria was his favourite.
Would he take kindly to the son of his gardener and now, his Capo , becoming his daughter’s husband?
Schwartz sighed. he was not too sure.
*
Schwartz sighed again and thought of his own life.
He loved Proserpina, the fool that he was and still carried a torch for her. No, it was not a savage desire to possess like what his best friend and mate, Lucien Delano, felt for the same woman; it was a gentle love, a love that was prepared to stand by and watch her from the wings, to make sure that she was safe; to feel happiness in her happiness…
Yes, he was content with that.
*
He sighed, broodingly.
Aiyana had given him an ultimatum. If he still wished to continue as Lucien Delano’s second in command, she was not interested in continuing the relationship with him.
The unsaid message was of course, that if he continued to pine for Proserpina, she was not going to wait for him.
He shook his head, exasperatedly. Lucien did not deserve Proserpina, he thought wretchedly, she was too good for him. But they loved each other, in a peculiar fashion; the one was incomplete without the other. Even after all these years, the sizzling chemistry between them was the talk of envious patrons at the Club. The ageing Don and his luscious younger wife, the way he still could not take his eyes or hands for that matter, off her, a total contrast to the Casanova-like reputation he had harbored before he married her.
And what about himself?
James Schwartz was destined to be like the man looking in through the window at a Christmas party, standing in the cold, looking in, forever, if he did not do something about his life. The sad fact, he thought as he sank onto one of the soft upholstered chairs, was that he did not know if he wanted to do anything about it