Scott Mariani - The Armada Legacy

‘I was thinking,’ Brooke said as he led her out onto the terrace, ‘what a beautiful house this is, and how much I’d love to be shown around more of it.’ She’d rehearsed that line a hundred different ways during the night. Saying it now, she was suddenly terrified that it was too obvious; that he’d see through it immediately.

But Serrato only seemed even more delighted. ‘I designed much of the place myself, you know. Of course it would be my pleasure to show you around. It is your home as much as mine, as I hope you now understand.’

‘I do understand,’ she replied softly, then paused. ‘There was something else I was wondering—’

‘Yes, my dear?’

‘The piano I saw the other day … might I be allowed to play it from time to time?’

‘The Steinway? But of course. How you keep your talents hidden from me. I didn’t know you could play.’

Why the hell would you , she thought. He was talking as though he’d known her for years. And after last night, she was beginning to understand why that might be.

What had he done to Alicia? The thought chilled her to the core. You sick, sick bastard .

But she only smiled and replied, ‘Oh, yes, I love music. I had some lessons when I was a little girl and had thought about taking it up again. Maybe you could teach me?’

‘Oh, I only tinker a little,’ he said, beaming. ‘I believe it’s important to be immersed in the arts, so I took it up some years ago. Though I would hardly describe myself as anything more than a dilettante.’

‘You play beautifully,’ she said.

Lunch was served at the little table on the terrace: a light salad with crusty French baguette, along with a crisp white wine. Serrato seemed much more relaxed than she had seen him before, and very pleased with himself, sitting back with his legs stretched out in front of him, pouring glass after glass of wine. It was Brooke’s first taste of open air since her kidnapping, and even in the presence of this man she hated so strongly, she savoured every moment; the sun on her face, the warm breeze in her hair. When she’d finished eating she stood up and leaned on the ornate railing, gazing out at the view with her half-empty glass in her hand.

‘Magnificent, isn’t it?’ Serrato said, joining her and topping up her wine.

‘Spectacular,’ she replied airily. She’d actually been taking careful note of a part of the compound she wasn’t able to see from her rooms.

‘You’re looking at my ancestral heritage,’ he laughed, pointing at the distant jungle. ‘A gift from the King of Spain.’

She looked at him. ‘You’re not joking, are you?’

‘Not in the least. In all, nearly half a million acres,’ he said grandly. ‘And one day it will make us two of the richest people in the world.’

Us . She flinched inwardly, but to show her emotions now would be fatal. ‘Looks to me like you’re already a rich man, Ramon,’ she said.

He chuckled. ‘I admit, I have not done too badly for a boy from the slums, who grew up fighting for scraps. I was determined to do well in life, and thanks to that determination I have been prosperous. But the wealth you see around you here is nothing in comparison to what we will have once my real plans come to fruition. You see,’ he went on, taking another gulp of wine and mistaking her stony silence for curiosity, ‘growing up I was never able to forget my grandfather’s stories, and his belief that our family had noble Spanish roots. But it was not until seven years ago, when I was already a highly successful businessman at the age of thirty-six, that I finally took it upon myself to travel to Spain to find out more. I spoke to so many scholars: historians, museum curators; I spent countless hours buried in ancient archives, tracing back the name Serrato through the ages.’

He poured the last of the wine into his glass, talking freely now that the alcohol had loosened his reserve. ‘That was when I made the four greatest discoveries of my life,’ he went on. ‘The first, that my grandfather had been telling the truth. The second, that my noble ancestry comprised not only Spanish, but also English aristocratic blood. The third, that my English ancestor, Sir Christopher Pennick, had been awarded a vast tract of land by Philip II for, shall we say, various services to Spain.’ Serrato smiled. ‘Sadly, it is not until now, five hundred years later, that the King’s gift to my family has finally been legitimised and passed to me, the sole surviving heir.’ He waved his glass over the distant jungle. ‘I drink to Roger Forsyte, who made it all possible. Welcome to my empire. Nobody can stand in my way any longer.’

Now Brooke understood the connection with Forsyte. That was the key to this whole thing: land. Sam had died for the sake of land. ‘And what was the fourth discovery, Ramon?’ she asked, trying hard not to let the disgust show on her face.

‘Black gold,’ he said triumphantly. ‘The largest untapped oil field in Peru. For five hundred years it has been sitting waiting for me. And now it is mine.’

For the first time in days, Brooke suddenly knew where she was. It seemed surreal to her that she could be in Peru, a country she’d barely ever even thought about.

Well, I won’t be in Peru much longer, she thought to herself, and gazed across the jungle.

After lunch Serrato took her to the salon where the piano was. He graciously pulled out the piano stool for her, fussed over getting it to exactly the correct height, then pressed her to play something for him. Brooke sat down, laid her fingers on the keys and desperately tried to remember the notes of a simple little Bach minuet that she’d played as a twelve-year-old. The piece came back to her, but her fingers were clumsy and her performance was stumbling and filled with mistakes.

Serrato chuckled at the wrong notes. Bending very close over her, he took her hands in his and showed her how to position them on the keyboard. ‘The trick is not to stab the notes. You must caress them with a lover’s touch. There, that’s much better,’ he said as she tried again. She felt his hands rest on her shoulders. ‘You have such beautiful hair,’ he whispered. He bent down even closer and kissed her head. Ran his hands down her arms. She tensed and took her fingers off the keys.

‘You are afraid of me,’ he said.

‘A little.’

‘You have nothing to fear, Brooke.’

She looked earnestly up at him. ‘You have to understand. All this has been a bit of a shock to me. But I’ll try. Just give me time.’

‘You make me very happy, Brooke.’ He paused. ‘You know, you matter to me very much. I will do anything I can to make you comfortable.’

Okay, she thought. You’ve softened him up a little and now here’s your chance. ‘Some ventilation would be nice,’ she said.

‘Ventilation?’

‘In my room. I always used to have the window open at night at my home in London. In my old life, I mean,’ she added.

‘The air conditioning displeases you? You would like your windows to open instead?’

‘It helps me sleep. And I love to be able to smell the flowers when I wake up in the morning. Can you fix that for me?’

‘Anything can be done,’ he said with a casual gesture. ‘But, my dear, you are unused to life here. The mosquitoes will eat you alive while you sleep. They carry malaria.’

‘Then maybe I could have a mosquito net over my bed?’ she asked. ‘Please, Ramon?’

He frowned, then smiled. ‘Bah. What man could refuse such a beguiling lady’s wishes? If that is what you wish, I will have it seen to immediately.’ He summoned a servant and gave very detailed instructions. The man noted everything down, nodded solemnly and left. ‘Now,’ Serrato said, turning to Brooke. ‘You were saying you would like to be shown around?’