Rags To Riches: His Wish, Her Command. Annie WestЧитать онлайн книгу.
felt so powerless to do anything to help her that her last weeks were a whirlwind of kind words and fierce anger and frustration, which he took out on everyone and everything around him.
In life she had taught him about respect and hard work. Her death had taught him what it felt like to love someone so much and then have that love snatched away from you.
Her heart had been an open book.
His heart was locked tight closed and was going to stay that way. Other men might be foolish enough to risk falling in love and start a family. Not for him.
The blood pounded in the veins in his neck.
The photograph could have been taken by Luc Castellano, the man he had called his father for the first thirty years of his life. But it could equally have been a friend or relative at the same party. He simply could not know! And yet this photograph had been deliberately left behind when they emigrated!
Possibilities raced through his mind in tune with the blood pounding in his heart. What if his birth parents had been in the same room when this photograph was taken?
This photograph could be the clue he had not even acknowledged that he had been looking for. The first step to finding the answers to so many questions he had buried deep inside about his parentage.
Questions which now burned to be answered.
He had been a fool.
The growing feeling of unease and anxiety that had sat on his shoulders ever since he found out that his dad could not be his natural father suddenly made sense.
It had nothing to do with the business deal, and everything to do with understanding who he truly was, and the decisions his parents had taken to give him a safe family life.
Instead of feeling elation and exhilaration that he was within sight of the greatest business deal of his life, standing at that moment in front of his mother’s portrait, all he could feel was a hollow emptiness that needed to be filled.
The Helene Castellano Foundation meant everything to him going forward and he refused to let that work suffer because he was preoccupied with his heritage and his past. He had to put that behind him.
He had come here to ease his mind before starting work on the greatest adventure of his life. Nicole was not around. So he would have to do the job himself.
It was time to face the facts and get the answers he needed.
There was a rustle of movement behind Seb and he swung around, his mouth hard with emotion and resentful at the intrusion. Ella bustled happily through the patio doors, her arms wrapped around a china bowl packed with a stunning arrangement of fresh early sunflowers and green foliage, which she carefully lowered onto the low coffee table in front of the sofas, turning the bowl from side to side to give the best viewpoint.
Only when she was satisfied did she stand back, nod once, and then march over to the dressoir sideboard and start rummaging around in a long bottom drawer.
‘Thank you for staying and looking after Yvette. Do you like the portrait? I found your mum’s photograph in a box in the attic. Nicole’s designer had some modern abstract above the fireplace but it was totally wrong. Doesn’t she look wonderful? ‘
Her words had emerged with such a gush and a rush that Seb had to take a second to form an answer.
‘Yes, she does,’ he replied, turning back to face the portrait so that Ella could not see his face as he composed himself. ‘I’ve never actually seen that picture before. I don’t have many family photographs so it’s quite a surprise.’
Ella shoved the drawer closed and pushed herself back onto her feet with a satisfied sigh. ‘Here is the original print. These were all in the same box in the attic.’
Seb stared at the brown card wallet that Ella was holding out towards him and steadied himself to accept it from her, only they both stepped forwards at the same time and for a fraction of a second their fingers slid into contact, a gentle stroke of skin against sensitive skin.
Instantly a burst of hot energy ran through Seb’s hand, then arm and body, like a small electric shock. It was so unexpected and surprising that he half coughed out loud, breaking the heavy weight of silence. The awkwardness of the moment made him look up from the folder into Ella’s blue, blue eyes. And found that she was staring back at him. Wide eyed. Startled.
In a blink she sucked in a breath, waved her arms to the air above her head and squeaked. ‘More in the attic. I’ll go and, er, try and find them for you.’
Before Seb could reply Ella fled away into the corridor, her sandals making a light pattering on the wooden staircase.
Clearly he had not been the only one to feel the connection.
Mentally shaking himself for being so obvious in front of a widowed single mother, Seb sighed heavily.
More photographs? He didn’t even know that these photographs existed, and here they were. For strangers to see.
He flicked open the folder, and quickly sorted through the jumble of mostly black and white prints he found inside.
Some of the faces were so familiar to him they were like friends he vaguely remembered but could not name. His grandmother and his parents were in many of them, but in others strangers smiled back from locations and events from a very different world he knew nothing about—a world called the past.
Then he found it. A small colour print with his mother smiling out. Her beauty and life force captured in two dimensions for all time. Only as he picked it up he saw that there was writing on the back.
His heart skipped a beat as he read the faded words in French. ‘Engagement Party. 26 May. Andre’s house.’
That was all. No indication of who had been celebrating their engagement. Or who André was. A friend? A relative?
Perhaps André was one of the young people in the bundle of photographs he had just glanced at? Someone who had known his mother as a young woman and who could tell him who his birth parents had been and what had happened to them.
He had so many questions. And way, way, too few answers.
Seb dropped the folder of photographs onto the sofa and started pacing up and down the room between the fireplace and the garden.
He had known the old house would have mixed memories for him, but this was something new. Something he could not have expected.
Hot resentment flashed through him and his fingers clenched into his palms. His dad had left these precious photographs of his mother and his heritage behind in his rush to abandon everything and leave for a tiny apartment in Sydney.
Seb stopped pacing and picked up the colour print. How could he do it? How could he have left these pictures behind for strangers like Ella Martinez to sort through? Maybe even throw out or burn in the fire? He could easily have made room for these few precious pieces of paper.
Back in Sydney he had three photographs of his mother. Three worn, faded and torn prints, the surface coating worn away by the rubbing of his fingers over the years. His dad had one single wedding photo in a silver frame in his bedroom, which Seb used to sneak in and look at. He never got tired of grinning back at the pretty dark-haired girl in a long white dress and carrying a huge bouquet of flowers that trailed almost to the ground, standing next to his dad in his best banker’s smart suit, as they both smiled for the camera.
Four photographs. And yet here in this house he had already seen more photographs than he ever knew existed.
It was almost as if his dad had deliberately kept these photos from him. Was he trying to hide something? Trying to protect him?
Not any more.
Change of plan.
He was here now. He had the means and the opportunity and he could spare a few hours of personal time. In a few days he would be back to Australia. This could