her problem through with a woman who would comprehend it. “We have disasters here in the tropics, too. You have drought. We have cyclones. I lost my son to a cyclone. That was a very difficult time…Roberto gone, the plantations flattened…”
A time of loss in every sense.
“I sometimes think it’s disasters that forge character,” Elizabeth mused. “To rise above them, to endure…”
“To fight. To keep what you have,” Isabella strongly agreed.
Perhaps it was the vital conviction in her voice that caused Elizabeth to look at her consideringly. What did she see—this niece by marriage to the Kings of the Kimberley? They were both white-haired, dark-eyed, and sat with straight backs. Isabella was almost two decades older, but she didn’t feel old. Her face might be more wrinkled and she probably had more aches and pains than the younger woman, but inside, the fire for life was still there, the fire for more to be chalked up in whatever time she had left before death stole her away.
“You have done your father proud, Isabella,” came the quiet summing up. “Holding it all together for your grandsons to grow into men and achieve all they have. The tour of the plantations yesterday…both Rafael and I are very impressed.”
“But it can so easily come to an end. The cyclone that took Roberto and his wife…” She shook her head and shot a keen look at Elizabeth. “I want my grandsons married with children to safeguard the future, but they are not obliging me.”
“Alex…”
“You met his fiancée, Michelle Banks, at dinner last night. What did you think of her?”
A hesitation, then slowly, “Very charming…very polished.”
Isabella grimaced at the careful comment, her eyes flashing a sharp mockery. “Like a diamond, all sparkly, with a heart and will that’s just as hard. There is no real giving in this young woman.”
“You’re unhappy with his choice.”
“She will not make him a good wife.”
An instant understanding. Appreciation, too, of the dilemma Isabella found herself in. Sympathy. And finally advice. “Then you must find him another woman, Isabella, before it’s too late.”
“I? How do I do that? It is not as though Alessandro would ever accept an arranged marriage. He has the devil’s pride.”
“My eldest son, Nathan, was frittering away the years with unsuitable women. His real life was bound up in the land, as I suspect is the case with Alex.”
“True. And Michelle Banks does not share it. To her it is a source of wealth. Nothing more.”
“I went looking for a woman who could answer Nathan’s needs. I found her. And as it turned out, Nathan answered her needs, so it is a very happy match.”
“You found Miranda for Nathan?”
“Yes. And I put them in each other’s paths. I prayed it would work and it did.”
“Ah! The paths must cross…with perhaps, some clever angling?”
“Nothing too obvious. Some little pushes to put them together. It’s impossible to control everything. If there’s no chemistry…”
“Ha! What woman wouldn’t want Alessandro?”
“The critical point is…he would have to want her, too. Miranda is quite strikingly beautiful. And Michelle is…”
“Ah, yes. A very artful beauty. Skin-deep.”
“Sexually attractive,” Elizabeth reminded her.
“Skin and bones. He needs a woman with child-bearing hips and a bosom to suckle the babies. A woman who knows what a proper meal is for a man. And I do not mean lettuce leaves.”
Elizabeth laughed. “Well, don’t forget Alex would have to find her physically attractive, too. If Michelle is any guide, don’t choose a woman on the plump side.”
“She can surely have the right curves?”
“You know him best, Isabella. I think someone with the right attitude might be more important. A woman who could be a partner in every sense.”
“A partner. Yes. That’s what Alessandro needs. A true partner. Who will be happy to have his children.”
Isabella was highly satisfied with this conversation.
It was good that Elizabeth had come to visit with her new man, the Argentinian, Rafael Santiso. A fine man, too. He reminded her of her father…a man of vision.
Alessandro could also be a man of vision…if he just opened his eyes and saw what had to be seen to make everything right. She would make him see. She would find the right woman to show him.
CHAPTER TWO
“GINA! You’re wanted out front!”
It was more a command than a call. Gina Terlizzi quickly set aside the greenery she was sorting for the floral arrangements and hurried from the back room to answer it, wondering why her presence was required out front. As the owner of the florist shop, her aunt preferred to deal with the customers herself.
The reason was instantly evident and punched her heart with shock—Marco, her two-and-a-half-year-old son, firmly in the grip of an elderly woman. And not just any elderly woman. Recognition of Isabella Valeri King came hard and fast, doubling the shock.
This shop was in Cairns and King’s Castle was in Port Douglas, seventy kilometres further north, but the whole Italian community in far North Queensland knew this remarkable woman and held her in the highest respect. A quiver of apprehension ran down Gina’s spine at being put on the mat in front of her.
“Are you the madre of this boy?” she demanded, her aristocratic bearing taut with disapproval.
Gina tore her gaze from the piercing dark eyes to look down at her son who was gazing up at his captor with something like awe. “Yes,” she answered huskily. “What have you done, Marco? Why aren’t you in the backyard?”
He gave her his triumphant achievement look, his brown eyes dancing with mischief, an appealing smile flashing from his adorable little face, his mop of dark curls bobbing as he proudly confessed, “I got boxes an’ climbed up an’ opened the gate.”
Which meant he wasn’t safely contained here at work anymore. Gina heaved a deeply exasperated sigh. “Then what?”
“I rode my bike.”
“He was out on the street, pedalling his tricycle at wild speed, and almost ran into me,” came the telling accusation.
Gina stood very straight, facing the music as best she could. “I’m terribly sorry that his lack of control put you at risk, Mrs. King, and I’m grateful you’ve brought him in to me. I thought he was playing safely in the backyard.”
“It seems your son is an enterprising child. Boys will be boys. You must always keep their very active ingenuity in mind.”
This softer piece of advice reduced Gina’s tension considerably. “I will. Thank you again for returning him to me, Mrs. King.”
She was subjected to more scrutiny, as though everything about her was being meticulously catalogued; her long streaky-brown hair, the bangs that swept across her forehead, her thickly lashed amber eyes, her too wide mouth, the bone structure of her face, her long neck, the obvious curves of her full breasts underneath her sleeveless blouse, the neatness of her waist, emphasised by the belt on her skirt, the breadth of her hips, the shape of her bare legs and her feet, which were simply encased in sandals.
It was embarrassing, as though she was being measured for being a careless creature who didn’t have enough interest in looking after her son properly. Which wasn’t true at all. Gina prided herself on being a good mother. It was just that Marco could be