JAVIER drove through the large ornate gates and up the
long winding driveway lined with olive trees towards the
distinctive Moorish tower that stood against the backdrop
of the mountains. He pulled the Mercedes he was driving in
a space beside a battered Beetle which stood out like a
sore thumb amongst the other expensive models.
So, Serge still hadn't persuaded Sarah to part with her
old car. An easy-going young woman who would, as a rule,
do anything for her husband, Sarah did have a few blind
spots.
Javier himself was unmarried, but did not lack female
companionship. It had never required much, if any, effort
on his part to have attractive women hanging on his every
word, but no special woman had ever materialised from
these adoring masses. The possibility that if and when he
discovered her she wouldn't be interested had simply not
crossed his mind!
Then he'd met Sarah.
Now he was thirty-two, didn't take anything for granted,
and was, he liked to think, more discerning about women —
too damned discerning, according to his grandfather, who
wanted his chosen heir safely married.
Javier could have taken the easy option and chosen a
suitable consort, a woman from a background similar to his
own that would enable her to cope with the pressures of
being a member of one of the wealthiest families in
Europe, just as his father before him had. That was the
problem, everytime he was tempted to take the easy way out
Javier was confronted by the spectre of his parents'
disastrous union.
Before he'd left the family estate in Andalucia to make
the journey to Majorca the old man had finally issued an
ultimatum.
"Marry before I die or I'll leave everything to Raul or
one of the others!" Felipe Montero had warned his
favourite grandson dramatically.
Javier's immediate reaction to this not very subtle
blackmail had been anger; did his grandfather know him so
little that he imagined he could be bought…?
He turned to Felipe with much of the pride and hauteur his
grandfather was famed for etched on his own chiselled
features. What he saw in the old man's lined face made him
bite back the caustic response hovering on his tongue.
Javier had no illusions about what his grandfather was
capable of. Felipe Montero was devious, he frequently
bullied and connived, he routinely plotted and schemed —
in short, when it came to getting his own way he was
capable of acts of great ruthlessness. However he was
never crude in his manipulations and, even more
significantly, Javier had never seen his grandfather look
frightened before!
"You'll live a long time yet…?"
Felipe smiled; Javier had never needed things spelled out.
He was a sharp judge of character who read people almost
as well as he read the financial markets.
"No, as a matter of fact I won't. The doctors give me six
months at the outside."
Javier didn't tell Felipe that this wasn't possible, he
didn't scream, as people often did when they were
confronted with the mortality of someone they couldn't
imagine life without, that the doctors must be able to do
something.
He wanted to, but he didn't.
Instead after a short pause he nodded, not insulting his
grandfather by questioning the grim prognosis.
"What is it?" 'Cancer. The damned thing's spread from my
lungs. So there's not much point packing these things in,"
Felipe observed with a deep throaty chuckle as he inhaled
deeply on his cheroot. "And don't tell anyone else yet —
nobody. If the news gets out millions will be wiped off
the value of the company…" A flicker of revulsion appeared
in the older man's eyes. "And I don't doubt they'll all
start treating me as if I'm in my dotage," he added, a
tremor in his deep voice. It wasn't dying but the manner
of it that scared Felipe Montero.
"No one will do that."
A silent promise was exchanged in the look that passed
between the two men.
Felipe sighed, satisfied. "Unfortunately this couldn't
come at a worst time, of course, with the Brussels deal…"
An extremely disciplined man, it wasn't often that
Javier's emotions got the better of him, but as he
listened to his grandfather fret about the fate of the
financial empire he'd expanded up over his lifetime
something snapped.
"There is such a thing as a good time to die?" he
gritted. "To hell with the company!" His deep voice
cracked. "You're going to die, Grandfather."
"We're all going to die," came the careless response. "If
you really care," Felipe goaded slyly, "show it. Marry
Aria…she loves you."
A wry laugh was wrenched from Javier. "You never give up,
do you?"
If and when he did marry, Javier knew it wouldn't be to
someone who loved him, someone he might hurt as his father
had his mother. A fragile creature, his mother had never
grasped the fact she was meant to turn a blind eye to her
husband's mistresses; she was meant to look attractive,
bring up their son and be the perfect hostess.
"This is no laughing matter, Javier," the old man
reproached sternly. "Continuity, blood lines are
important; you need sons."
"I'm sorry, but I can't."
The idea of losing his inheritance didn't frighten Javier.
He immediately recognised that there was part of him that
might actually welcome the situation. A man who needed the
constant buzz of physical and mental challenges, he could
think of few things more exciting than the challenge of
starting from scratch, and few things more satisfying than
knowing at the end of the day that everything you'd
achieved was down to your own efforts, nothing to do with
being born into a wealthy dynasty.
Wealth brought its privileges, but Javier had been raised
to believe it also carried responsibilities. His deeply in-
grained sense of family duty would never allow him to do
anything more than occasionally dream about the luxury of
being a free agent.
Deep down, however, he was pretty sure it wouldn't come to
that, his grandfather would never disinherit him for
standing his ground. Nothing in his manner even hinted at
this belief. He couldn't do much for his grandfather but
he could at least let Felipe play the heartless tyrant he
liked the world to see him as.
Felipe searched his grandson's unyielding face with
growing frustration. "This is about that silly blonde you
let Serge snatch right from under your nose, I suppose…
Don't look so stunned, boy." He laughed. "Do you think I'm
blind? If you want my opinion, she'd have been a
disastrous match for you…"
Javier swallowed his anger with difficulty. "…Far too
sweet and malleable. You need someone with a bit more
fire…" 'Like Aria," Javier cut in drily. Felipe conceded
this point with a grunt. "Well, it doesn't have to be her…
but if you want to be my heir you'll marry someone and
soon…"
"We shouldn't be arguing…not now…" 'Why change the habit
of a lifetime? If you start agreeing with me the family
will know something's wrong straight away, and I won't be
able to move for everyone being nice to me," he observed
with a shudder.
When two people who were congenitally incapable of
compromise worked together there were bound to be some
sparks. Javier's combustible relationship with his
grandfather was not without its moments of conflict, often
vocal conflict, at least on Felipe's side — Javier was
more inclined to smouldering silences. Javier knew his
rivals within the family frequently crossed their fingers
and hoped he'd over-step the mark one day and alienate the
old man totally. What they failed to understand was the
deep mutual respect the warring parties felt for each
other.
"I'm sorry." 'You're a stubborn idiot!" the old man railed
at his tall grandson's retreating back.
A man with extraordinary self-discipline, Javier pushed
aside the personal issues that filled his mind as he
stepped out of the air-conditioned luxury of his Mercedes.
He barely registered the blast of baking heat which
immediately hit him; Majorca had been experiencing one of
its hottest Julys on record.
He consulted the discreet but expensive metallic banded
watch on his wrist and nodded; he had a few minutes to
spare. He couldn't abide poor time-keeping in others and
always made a point of never abusing his position of power
by keeping others waiting himself. To his mind punctuality
was a matter of simple good manners.
As he made his way towards the rear entrance of the large
mellow stone building even his well-known critical eye for
detail could find no fault in the delightful terraced
gardens and wide, well-tended sweeps of green tree-dotted
parkland. The pool area, when he reached it, was almost
deserted but for a few stalwart — or was it foolish? —
tourists sunning themselves in the fiery Majorcan midday
sun.
"Did you see who that was?" a female guest hissed
excitedly as she clambered wetly out of the pool.
Her sleepy husband opened his eyes reluctantly as wet
hands urgently grabbed his shoulder. "Who…what…?"
"There, it's Javier Montero!" she hissed as the tall man
in the exquisitely cut suit shook hands in a friendly
manner with the elderly gardener before moving away.
"Sure, Javier Montero is on first name terms with all the
casual labourers on the island…"
"There's no need to be sarcastic. I tell you, it was him.
I mean, there can't be two men who look like him."
"Don't drool, Jean. And think, woman, what would Ja-vier
be doing here?"
"Why wouldn't he be here?" she responded, with a gesture
that encompassed the extensive grounds of the thirteenth-
century Majorcan manor house with its distinctive Moorish
tower. "He owns the place."
An army of local craftsmen had returned the once neglected
building to its original splendour. Tucked away in the
Sierra de Tramuntana the exclusive hotel now provided a
hideaway for those people who liked their retreats to
combine the most up to date modern conveniences with
historic ambience, top-class Mediterranean cuisine and
personal attention from helpful staff.
Naturally this combination was very costly, but no more so
than the other two hotels the Monteros owned on the
island. Each establishment was aimed to appeal to specific
clientele. People who wanted the cosmopolitan
sophistication of Palma would find everything they could
want in the elegant surroundings of the hotel situated
right in the middle of the medieval old town; and those
who liked a resort that offered them the choice of six top-
class restaurants on site, a spa and every sporting
facility known to man, with top-class tuition thrown in,
would adore the resort hotel on the beautiful undeveloped
northern coast of the island.
"Sure, this hotel and God knows how many others around the
world, and then there's the airline, the racehorses and
the interests in property development. Is there any pie
the Monteros don't have a finger in…?" he wondered
enviously. "I really doubt someone like Javier Montero
involves himself in the day-to-day running of hotels," he
announced, settling himself back down to sleep.
"It was him." 'If you say so," her husband agreed,
reapplying sunscreen to his peeling nose — it was too hot
to fight.
He had been right on one count; though Javier was known to
occasionally subject individual hotels to gruelling spot
inspections, it wasn't part of his remit to involve
himself in the day-to-day running of individual
establishments. Javier's talents lay elsewhere.
Early on in his career he had displayed a remarkable
ability for spotting untapped niches in the markets. This
talent had been recognised and exploited, but he wasn't
just an ideas man; when a project was beset by
difficulties, be it labour disputes or legal wranglings,
Javier was the person who could be relied upon to get
things running.
The information that had brought him hot-foot to the
island hardened the naturally severe cast of Javier's stag-
geringly handsome features as he knocked on the heavy oak-
studded door of Serge's office.
Though of average height, due to his massively broad
shoulders and deep barrel chest, the swarthy-skinned man
behind the desk gave the impression of being much
taller. "Javier!" Serge rose to his feet with a welcoming
smile and the two men clasped hands and hugged. "It's been
too long."
"It has." Javier responded with the sort of smile that
would have shocked rigid those members of the press who
had dubbed him Mr Deep Freeze. "How are little Raul and…
Sarah?" Nobody seeing him smile would have guessed that he
experienced any difficulty saying this name. "Where is
she? I saw the car…"
"It broke down the last time she was here," his friend
admitted ruefully. "You can laugh, Javier, but it isn't
you that ends up pushing the cursed thing. Other than a
stubborn, irrational affection for that old tin can on
wheels, Sarah is fine — though your godson is keeping us
both up nights."