The Ravenscar Dynasty. Barbara Taylor Bradford

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СКАЧАТЬ will therefore have the most information. At least, in my opinion he will.’

      Will nodded in agreement, sat down on a chair and folded his overcoat across his knees. ‘Have you ever met him? Or is he a stranger, too?’

      ‘He’s a stranger, just as Dellarosa is, but my father always spoke so highly of Oliveri. He obviously liked the man and I think the feeling was mutual.’ Edward buttoned his three-quarter length jacket, put on his overcoat and said, ‘Shall we go, Will?’

      ‘Perhaps we ought to let Neville know we’re going out,’ Will ventured as they left the room.

      ‘It’s not necessary. The arrangement was for us to meet in the main lounge at the given hour. Let’s leave it at that, shall we?’ Edward’s voice was clipped, almost curt.

      ‘That presents no problem to me,’ Will answered, stealing a glance at Edward. He knew he was suffering inside, filled with apprehension about what lay ahead in the next few hours. As big and strapping as he was, Will knew, nevertheless, that Ned was a sensitive and compassionate man inside. Just contemplating the manner of their deaths must be an agony for him; this aside, Ned was devoted to his family. They came first with him, and he had been particularly close to his brother Edmund, and his father and he had been closely bonded.

      The two men were silent as they went down the wide staircase which led to the grand entrance foyer, and several opulent lounges. Marble abounded, and there were ceramic tubs holding potted palms placed here and there; on the walls hung a number of lovely paintings of Florence displayed in heavy gilded frames, and pieces of sculpture on plinths were placed along each side of the foyer.

      Within a few seconds they found themselves standing outside the Bristol on the Via de’ Pescioni, near the Santa Maria Novella and directly opposite the Palazzo Strozzi. This was one of the most elegant districts in the city, where other important hotels were located as well as fine shops, art galleries and museums.

      ‘Here we are, in the greatest Renaissance city in the world, Ned,’ Will said, taking hold of his arm. ‘Let’s stroll along, go this way, and enjoy the sights for a short while.’

      Edward nodded. ‘I’m sorry, Will, I know I’m being gloomy…’ He did not finish, merely shook his head, his expression suddenly sorrowful. His enthusiasm for life seemed to have fled.

      ‘Think about this,’ Will remarked, ignoring Ned’s comment about gloom of a moment ago. ‘Here we are in the city of Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio. Just think, Boccaccio wrote the Decameron here, and that book became the model for prose the world over, a model that’s been popular for hundreds and hundreds of years. And still is.’

      Ned glanced at his friend. ‘Niccolo Machiavelli lived here and wrote The Prince in Florence, let us not forget about him. We can all learn quite a lot from Machiavelli, you know.’

      Will laughed, catching the mischievous gleam in Ned’s eyes. ‘I know what you mean, still it is a wonder to be here in this city, you know.’ He looked at Ned and then all around him, and up at the sky, and said in a voice full of awe, ‘We are walking along streets where Leonardo Da Vinci walked and Michelangelo and Botticelli, some of the world’s greatest artists…it’s unbelievable really, Ned…how incredible that this city bred such talent, such genius.’

      ‘Poets, princes and politicians,’ Ned murmured. ‘And the Medicis. Their dynasty lasted for several centuries, something of a record, wouldn’t you say?’

      ‘Indeed I would.’

      A silence fell between them, and as they walked Will wondered how to bring a little cheer to Ned, to make him feel better. Instantly he realized nothing could make him feel better at this moment. First he had to deal with the dead, bury his dead, and only then would he be able to move forward, see his way to the future. He needs to close this ghastly affair, Will thought, pick up the pieces and create a life of his own making. A new life.

       TEN

      Neville Watkins was a striking looking man. Tall, though not quite as tall as Ned, he was of slender build, without an ounce of extra fat on him, very strong and athletic. His face was sharply chiselled; he had an aquiline nose and a smooth, rather high brow. His wide-set eyes under curved black brows were a curious pale blue, almost turquoise in colour. Clear and transparent, they were alive with immense intelligence. His colouring was dark, he had black hair, like most of the Watkins clan, and on occasion he had a strong look of his aunt, Cecily Watkins Deravenel, his father’s sister.

      This morning he sat at an antique writing table in the sitting room of his suite in the Hotel Bristol, making notes for himself, trying to put some of his thoughts on paper for the meeting with Fabrizio Dellarosa in a short while.

      After a few moments he put his pencil down, satisfied he had covered the relevant points. He sat back in the chair, staring out into the room.

      Neville’s motto, borrowed from his father, was this: Think with the head, not the heart. This he always did in business, and often in his private life, as well. Long ago his father had cautioned him to be ice cold at all times when he dealt in business. Without emotion, inscrutable, revealing nothing. ‘Never display weakness, never lose face. That is what your grandfather taught me,’ his father had explained when he had first entered the world of commerce. They were words he had never forgotten, and he had always lived by them to this very day.

      I must train Ned to be like me, Neville now thought. Certainly his father taught him many things, but I’m not quite certain Richard knew how to teach Ned to be truly cold-hearted. After all, his uncle had been a warm and loving man who should have moved against his treacherous cousin Henry Grant years ago. Grumbling about inequities, and his rights, and what should have been his, and was, in fact, his, had accomplished nothing and made many enemies within Deravenels. Deadly enemies, if the truth be known.

      Neville’s mind remained focused on Ned. His cousin had a superior intelligence, and he was not afraid of anything or anyone. He had enormous self-confidence and an unbelievable charisma, the likes of which Neville had rarely seen. And he could be utterly ruthless if he needed to be. Furthermore, Ned had always had a good head for business, most especially finance.

      Convinced that Ned could very easily run the Deravenel Company with the right guidance, direction and help, Neville was ready, willing and able to do all of those things to ensure his success. Together they would rule that empire one day, there was no question in Neville’s mind about this. With his own training, knowledge and experience, and Ned’s natural abilities and charismatic presence, they could accomplish almost anything. With a little luck of course. Luck always had to be factored into the equation.

      Folding the piece of paper on which he had made his notes, he slipped it in the pocket of his jacket and rose. Walking across the room in long strides, Neville stood in front of the window, gazing out at the leaden sky. The sun was beginning to filter through the oppressive greyness, and he decided it might turn out to be a better day after all. He loathed dismal weather, used to it though he was, and craved the sunlight, warmer climes. Just as Cousin Ned did, hence their sojourns in the south of France over the years.

      Thoughts of Ned lingered…Neville held him dear, admired him. There was only one problem with Ned as far as he could see and that was his overwhelming addiction to women. Older women. And widows, at that. Blonde widows. As long as he remained single there was no problem about his penchant for romantic and sexual dalliances, but when Ned married, which he would one day, СКАЧАТЬ