Mistress of La Rioja. Sharon Kendrick

would happen to Teodoro now—whether his mother’s memory would be allowed to fade until it was so distant that it was almost forgotten. Sophie bit her lip. What chance would he have of learning about his mother and the land of his mother’s birth?

      And suddenly a sense of duty dulled some of the raw edge of sorrow. Luis shall not take him from us entirely, she vowed. I will fight for the opportunity to get to know him as if he were my own! And he will know me, too. With a trembling hand, she buzzed through to Narell to ask her to book her flight to Spain.

      And then she washed her face, dragged a comb through her hair and called Liam Hollingsworth into the office, who took one look at her and started.

      ‘What the hell have you been doing to yourself?’ he demanded. ‘Are you OK?’

      Her voice still trembling slightly, she said, ‘Not really, no.’

      ‘For God’s sake, Sophie—what’s the matter? What’s happened to you?’

      She framed the unbelievable words. ‘It’s my cousin, Miranda,’ she told him. ‘She’s been…killed in an accident. I’ve…I’ve got to go and break the news to my grandmother—’

      ‘Oh, my God.’

      ‘And th-then fly on to Spain to the funeral.’

      ‘Oh, honey!’ He was round her side of the desk in an instant, staring down at her with a look of dazed concern on his face as she began to cry. ‘Honey!’

      ‘Oh, Liam!’ she sobbed.

      ‘Come here,’ he said gently, and put his arms around her.

      She allowed herself to cry a little more, but after a couple of moments she broke away and went to stand by the window, staring out at a world which no longer looked the same place. ‘I still can’t believe it,’ she said dully.

      ‘What happened?’ he asked.

      ‘I know very few facts. Just that she was in a car crash. I was too…too shocked to ask for any details, I guess.’

      ‘How did you find out?’

      ‘Her husband, Luis—he rang me from Spain to tell me.’

      He frowned. ‘That’s the millionaire guy—the one you can’t stand?’

      ‘That’s the one,’ she said tightly, thinking how much more complex the truth was than a simple case of not being able to stand the man.

      ‘And when’s the funeral?’

      ‘Monday. I’m flying out on Sunday.’ She sighed. ‘Oh, Liam, I don’t know if I can bear it.’

      He nodded understandingly. ‘Well, it’ll be hard, but at least after that you need never meet again.’

      Sophie shook her head. ‘But it isn’t that easy. I wish it was. I can’t just spirit Luis out of my life, however much I might want to. Don’t forget—he’s the father of my nephew, and I feel I owe it to Miranda, and to Teodoro…’ The words seemed to come from an unknown place deep inside her. ‘To fight for him.’

      Liam stared at her. ‘Fight for him?’ he echoed. ‘You surely don’t mean you’re going to apply for custody, Sophie? You wouldn’t stand a hope in hell. Not if he’s as rich and as powerful as you say he is. And he is the father.’

      Tiredly, Sophie rubbed at her temples. ‘I don’t know what I mean—other than knowing I have to get out there. To let Teo know that he has relatives, and that we care.’

      ‘And once the funeral is over? Will you come straight back?’

      She met his eyes. ‘I don’t know. I can’t commit to a time scale. But I’ll still be able to do some work— I can always use my laptop, and you’ll be able to manage here without me for a bit, won’t you?’

      ‘Of course we can manage,’ he said quietly. ‘We’ll just miss you, that’s all.’

      ‘Thanks,’ she whispered, and, gulping back more tears, she began to pack her briefcase.

      She and Liam went way back.

      They had met at university and discovered a shared sense of humour coupled with an ambition to make lots of money while having fun. Which had been how the Hollingsworth-Mills advertising agency had come about. Now they were tipped for the top. A combination of enthusiasm and employing bright young staff with similar high-reaching goals meant that Sophie and Liam were poised on the brink of unforeseen success.

      But what did any of that matter at a time like this?

      Feeling too shaky to drive safely, she took the train to Norfolk, her heart weeping for her grandmother as she walked up the path of her Norfolk country cottage, where she and Miranda had spent part of their school holidays, every summer without fail. They had walked for miles on the vast, empty beaches which were close by, and climbed trees and fed the fat ducks on the pond with pieces of bread.

      And Sophie had watched as Miranda’s beauty had become something more than breathtaking. Had seen for herself the bewitching power which that beauty gave her over men…

      She rang the old-fashioned jingly-jangly doorbell, praying for the right words to tell her grandmother what had happened, and knowing that there were none which would not hurt.

      But Felicity Mills was almost eighty, and there was little of life she hadn’t seen. She took one look at Sophie’s face. ‘It’s bad news,’ she said flatly.

      ‘Yes. It’s Miranda—’

      ‘She’s dead,’ said her grandmother woodenly. ‘Isn’t she?’

      ‘How? How could you possibly have known that?’ Sophie whispered, much later, when tears had been shed and they had sought some kind of comfort in old photographs of Miranda as a baby, then a sunny toddler and every other stage through to stunning bride. But Sophie hadn’t wanted to linger on that photo—not when the dark face of Luis mocked her and stung her guilty conscience. ‘How?’ she asked again.

      ‘I can’t explain it,’ sighed her grandmother. ‘I just looked into your face and I knew. And, in a way, there was a dreadful inevitability about it. Miranda always flew too close to the sun. One day she was bound to get burned.’

      ‘But how can you be so accepting?’

      ‘How can I not? I have lived through war, my darling. You have to accept what you cannot change.’

      She squeezed the old woman’s hand. ‘Is there—is there anything I can do for you, Granny?’

      There was a long silence and Mrs Mills stared at her. ‘There is one thing—but it may not be possible. I’m too old and too frail to fly to Spain for the funeral—but I should like to see Teodoro again before I die.’

      Sophie swallowed down the lump in her throat. Surely that wasn’t too much to ask—even of Luis— not under these circumstances. ‘Then I’ll br-bring him to you,’ she promised shakily. ‘I promise.’

      ‘But Luis might not allow it.’

      Sophie’s eyes glimmered with unshed tears. ‘He must, Granny—he must!’

      ‘It is a big favour to ask him. Tread carefully, Sophie—you know how fiercely possessive he is about his son and you know the kind of man you’re dealing with,’ her grandmother added drily. ‘You know his reputation. Few would dare to cross him.’

      ‘I’m hoping it won’t come to that,’ said Sophie, then stared up at her grandmother, her eyes confused.

      ‘Don’t you hate him, Granny? For making Miranda so unhappy?’

      ‘Happiness is not the gift of one person to another,’ answered her grandmother slowly. ‘It takes two people to be happy. And hate is such a waste of emotion—and a total waste of time. What good would be served if I hated the father of my great-grandson?’

      But