LITMIR.BIZ

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had he got hold of her mobile-phone number?

      Without saying another word she cut the call and then checked the number of the last caller. The number had been withheld. She switched off her phone and dropped it into her handbag as if she feared it were an explosive device.

      ‘What was that about?’

      She met Constantin’s curious gaze, unaware of the unease reflected in her eyes.

      ‘Nothing.’ Her response was automatic. There was no reason to involve Constantin. She would make a note of the call and file it with the other nuisance calls she had received from David as the police had advised her to do. More importantly, she would contact her network provider and change her mobile-phone number.

      Constantin frowned. ‘Your reaction suggested it was more than nothing. When you answered the call, you looked worried.’ He placed his hand on Isobel’s arm to prevent her from sidling out of the door. ‘Do you have a problem with whoever called you?’

      ‘No—it was just someone playing a joke.’ She quickly thought up the excuse. Her problem right now was the way her body was reacting to Constantin’s nearness. Her heart was racing and she could feel the pulse at the base of her throat beating erratically. She fought a crazy temptation to tell him about David—a fan who had developed an unhealthy obsession with her. The police were aware of the situation and everything was under control, she reassured herself. There was no point in involving her soon-to-be ex-husband.

      In a matter of weeks she and Constantin would be divorced and it was likely that she would never see him again. The knowledge felt like a knife-blade through her heart. She pulled her arm free and stumbled into the hall. Her stiletto heels sounded like staccato gunfire on the marble floor as she half ran towards the front door.

      ‘Goodbye, Constantin.’ She could not resist one final glance over her shoulder at him. ‘I hope one day you’ll meet someone who can give you whatever it is you’re looking for.’

      * * *

      ‘The role of Chairman of DSE has historically always passed to the eldest son of the next generation of the family. It is my birthright, dammit!’

      Constantin paced around his uncle’s office at the Rome headquarters of DSE, his body taut with suppressed fury like a caged tiger enraged by its captivity. His eyes glittered as he stared at Alonso sitting calmly behind his desk. ‘If I had been a year older when my father died I would have become Chairman a decade ago, but because I was seventeen, company rules dictated that the chairmanship must go to the next De Severino male who was of age—in this case, you, my father’s brother. But now you wish to retire, and the chairmanship should revert to me. I intend to combine the role of Chairman with that of CEO, as my father did.’

      Alonso cleared his throat. ‘It is the belief among many members of the board that the two roles should be separated. An independent board chairman can better protect shareholder interests, leaving the CEO free to concentrate on running the business—which you do extremely well, Constantin.’

      ‘Profits have risen year on year since I became CEO, but many times I have felt that I am working against the board rather than with their backing.’ Constantin could barely contain his frustration. ‘It is crucial for our continuing success that DSE takes advantage of emerging markets in Asia and South America. The board are slow to embrace change, but we must move fast to keep ahead of our competitors.’

      ‘There is a concern that in your rush to take the company forwards, you have forgotten the standards and moral ethics of DSE that have been the backbone of the company since it was established by your great-grandfather nearly a century ago.’

      Constantin slammed his hands down on his uncle’s desk. ‘I have forgotten nothing. I have lived and breathed DSE since I was a small boy, in the expectation that I would one day be fully responsible for the company. In what way have I forgotten the company’s moral ethics?’

      Instead of replying, Alonso looked pointedly at a copy of a popular gossip magazine lying on his desk. The front cover carried a photo of his nephew and an Italian glamour model, Lia Gerodi, emerging from a casino. From the amount of naked flesh on display, Miss Gerodi appeared to be experiencing a wardrobe malfunction, Alonso noted cynically.

      Constantin shrugged as he glanced at the picture that had been taken a week ago. The only reason he remembered that particular evening was because it had been the night he had returned to Rome from London after his unexpected visit from Isobel. He had been in a foul mood, he recalled. The image of her walking out of the house in Grosvenor Square and climbing into a taxi, without once looking back, had been stuck in his mind. He’d felt churned up inside and, unusually for him, unable to rationalise his thoughts.

      Lia had been phoning him for weeks, ever since they had met at a social event the details of which he did not remember. When he’d received a call from her as his jet had landed in Rome he had agreed to have dinner with her purely to take his mind off Isobel. The trip to the casino had been Lia’s idea, and he suspected that she had tipped off the paparazzi, knowing that a picture of her with one of Italy’s wealthiest businessmen would give her valuable media exposure that might boost her modelling career.

      ‘This is not the image of the company that the board wishes to see advertised around the world,’ Alonso said, tapping the photo with his forefinger. ‘The public’s perception of DSE must be of a company that delivers excellence, reliability and honesty. But how can the public trust that the company believes in those values, when the CEO, despite being married, leads a playboy lifestyle?’

      ‘My private life has no bearing on my ability to run DSE,’ Constantin growled. ‘Shareholders are only interested in profits, not in my personal affairs.’

      ‘Unfortunately that is not true, especially as you seem to have so many affairs.’

      ‘You know how the press like to exaggerate.’ Constantin’s jaw clenched. ‘If you are seriously considering not appointing me Chairman, who else do you have in mind?’

      ‘My sister’s son, Maurio. Since I have no son of my own,’ Alonso continued when it became evident that Constantin was too stunned to comment, ‘I have taken great interest in your younger cousin. I believe Maurio has many qualities that make him suitable for the role of Chairman, not least the fact that he is a happily married family man who is never likely to be photographed staggering out of a casino, clutching a bottle of Scotch in one hand and a half-naked bimbo in the other.’

      ‘Maurio is spineless. He would be completely out of his depth as Chairman,’ Constantin said harshly.

      He swung away to stare out of the window while he fought the temptation to shake some sense into his uncle. He was the best person to take on the combined role of CEO and Chairman. It was what he had been born to do.

      DSE was more than a business; it was his life, his identity. After he had witnessed the deaths of his father and stepmother when he was seventeen, Constantin had focused exclusively on the company as a way of preventing himself from thinking about the shocking tragedy. For ten years he had planned for the day when he took absolute control of DSE, but now there was a real danger that his destiny was going to be snatched away from him.

      The hell it was, he thought grimly. DSE was his, and he was not going to lose it. He turned back to his uncle. ‘So, if the only problem you and the board have is with my image, I’ll change it. I’ll become a recluse. I’ll live the life of a hermit if that’s what it takes for you to choose me as your successor.’

      Alonso looked at him steadily. ‘I don’t expect anything quite so drastic, Constantin. I simply ask that details of your love life are not a matter of media curiosity and titivation. I suggest that you resume your marriage. Prove that you can uphold the personal commitment you made when you married, and you may convince me that I can entrust complete control of DSE to you rather than your cousin.’

      Constantin’s eyes narrowed. ‘That sounds like blackmail.’

      His uncle’s gaze did not falter. ‘I don’t care what it sounds like. The

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