Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent. Jacqueline Baird

opened it and walked in.

      It had not been a pretty sight…There was her dad, leaning over his desk with his half-naked secretary, half his age, sprawled across the desk beneath him.

      No wonder they hadn’t heard her knock…

      Her father…the slick seducer…the serial adulterer…the slimy lying toad…the man her mother loved and thought could do no wrong—the man Sally had slowly grown to despise.

      The elevator arrived and she stepped in and pressed the button. Leaning back against the wall, she closed her eyes.

      As a young child she supposed she had loved her father, even though he hadn’t been around a lot. Their home in Bournemouth had been a large detached Victorian house overlooking the sea. But her father, as chief accountant for Westwolds Components, was based in the London headquarters of the company, and kept a studio apartment in the city where he stayed during the week.

      As an idealistic teenager, anti-war of any kind, she had been horrified when she’d realised the firm her dad worked for manufactured essential parts for weapons. She had announced that it was morally wrong to work in the arms industry, and he had told her she was a silly girl, and to stick to looking good and leave the running of the world to men.

      To call him a male chauvinist pig was to insult pigs! Dark haired, handsome and charming to those who did not know him, her father was at the top of his game in the accountancy stakes—but in Sally’s book he was a spineless apology for a man.

      Well, today he was going to hear just what she thought of him—yet again, and demand he accompany her to visit her mother in the private nursing home in Devon that had been her mum’s home for almost two years.

      It was over six weeks since her father had shown his face, and she blinked tears from her eyes as she pictured again the look on her mum’s face every time Sally arrived to visit. The gleam of hope that faded as she realised her latest visitor was not her husband yet again. Sally’s excuse for her dad that ‘pressure of work’ kept him in London was wearing very thin.

      Her mother knew about his affairs, because Sally at eighteen had blurted out what she had seen. And her mother had admitted she had always known about her husband’s other women—in the plural!

      Sally had been horrified when her mother had actually made excuses for him. Explaining how it was difficult for him as a virile man, because she had not been a very able wife in the bedroom department for quite some time even before she had been diagnosed with breast cancer, and that he was a good and generous husband and father and she loved him.

      Nothing Sally said had affected her mother’s opinion or her love for her husband, and, not wanting to upset her mother, she had been forced to drop the subject.

      As for her father—she’d told him exactly what she thought of him, and he had simply responded with the usual: that she was a silly girl who knew nothing of the wants and needs of adults, and that she should mind her own business and concentrate on her studies, because he was paying enough for them…

      Immediately, she had wanted to give up her place at Exeter University, where she’d been in her first year studying Ancient History, but her mother would not hear of it. Reluctantly, Sally had to agree, but she could barely bring herself to be civil to her father when he did occasionally return home the same weekend as her.

      As it happened, her mother had been right to insist on her continuing her education, because her mum had recovered from the breast cancer remarkably well. Sally had watched her slowly begin to grow in confidence and hope as test after test had come back with positive results.

      When her mum had reached the five-year point and still been in the clear she had told Sally it was time for her to spread her wings a little and strike out on her own. After graduating Sally had initially worked at a small local museum near home. But after her mother’s encouragement she had applied and secured a job as a researcher at the British Museum in London.

      Sally had loved her new job—and the fully furnished one-bedroom apartment she had rented over a bakery in the city. For the first six months life had been good. Her mum had been well, and had occasionally visited her in London. Sally had gone home most weekends, and, excluding her dad, the future had looked rosy. Then the horrendous tragedy of her mum’s accident had destroyed their fragile happiness.

      Even now Sally could not get her head around how fate could be so cruel…She shook her head as a huge black cloud of sadness enveloped her. It was so unfair. After five years her mum had virtually recovered from the cancer. Only to be knocked down by a car as she walked out behind the bus she had taken to the centre of Bournemouth to shop. After months of treatment she had been left a paraplegic, with no hope of further improvement.

      Now every weekend Sally travelled down to Devon, where she stayed in a small hotel near the nursing home so she could spend as much time with her mother as possible. Last Saturday evening Sally had been sitting with her mother and had watched her face light up at the sound of her husband’s voice on the telephone, had seen in her eyes the pain and sadness she’d tried to hide as she replaced the receiver, and had listened with growing anger as her mother repeated the conversation.

      Apparently her father had called to tell her he could not make it on Sunday, nor the next weekend…His excuse was that with the takeover of the company by the Italian firm Delucca Holdings, he was up to his ears in work.

      Sally opened her eyes and took a deep breath. She needed to calm down, and she needed to plan what she was going to say to her father. Yelling at him would be futile. For her mother’s sake she needed him to go to the nursing home with her willingly, for once in his selfish life, to act the part of loving husband.

      God knew it wasn’t as if he was going to have to do it for long…If the consultant was to be believed, her mother’s life expectancy was limited.

      On her last visit the doctor had called Sally into his consulting room and informed her that her mother’s heart was weakened beyond repair, probably as a result of the cancer treatment she had undergone combined with the accident that had followed. He was sorry, but there was nothing more that could be done, and in his opinion her mother had maybe a year at best. But in reality she could go at any time.

      The doors opened and Sally exited the elevator. Her dad’s office was at the far end of the corridor, and, squaring her shoulders, she tightened her grip on her red clutch purse and made straight for his door.

      Zac Delucca crossed to where the security guard stood, pressing the button for the elevator.

      ‘Sorry, sir, she got away. But this elevator only goes to the top floor, where the boardroom and Mr Costa’s office is situated. The only other office is Mr Paxton’s, the company accountant, but that wasn’t his girlfriend—secretary,’ he quickly corrected himself. ‘Maybe the lady is looking for you?’ he suggested, trying to sound positive after having failed in his duty to register all visitors.

      So the accountant was having an affair…Zac filed the information away. ‘Do not worry, Joe,’ he said, glancing at the name tag on his uniform. ‘You were distracted—and if what you say is true the lady is not going anywhere. I suggest you get back to you desk.’

      The elevator doors glided open, and Zac and Raffe entered.

      ‘Is the lady likely to be looking for you?’ Raffe asked with a grin. ‘Or should I say chasing?’

      ‘I should be so lucky,’ Zac drawled, though it was a common occurrence for women to chase him. He was an incredibly wealthy man and, as one reporter had once written, with his kind of wealth, good looks and height—a broken nose notwithstanding—he was a magnet for women the world over. Not that he thought of himself as such…

      Concentrating on the task at hand, he asked, ‘It is the accountant whom you suspect of fraud, is it not, Raffe?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘I take it he is a married man?’

      ‘Yes—married with one child, I believe.’

      ‘And