Falling in Love

by Gudrun Frerichs

  The door opened, and Mackenzie walked into the office. “Lucca asked me to tell you…Anna! Oh, dear!” She came to stand next to Anna’s chair and put her hand on Anna’s back. Her voice softened, like a blanket of comfort. “That…was the twin’s father, wasn’t it? They are the spitting image of him, down to their dark hair, olive skin-tone, straight Roman nose, and high cheekbones. Even their eyes were the same color as his.”

  Anna pulled herself up, took a deep breath, and gazed at her assistant. “Yes, but you can’t breathe a single word about it to anyone.”

  * * *

  Anna leaned on the balustrade of her balcony, soaking up Auckland’s harbor views in the exploding orange-red rays of the setting sun. Sailboats drifted by on the back of the incoming tide, their white sails billowing in the light evening breeze. This picture of peaceful beauty clashed so much with her restlessness that she turned away. This morning’s encounter with Antonio Falcone and his father had left her feeling lost, and she hated nothing more than not knowing which way to turn.

  Goose bumps on her arms drove her back inside, where the living room lamp spread just enough light for her reading corner. She stopped at the bookshelf and reached for the photo of her twins taken at their university graduation. Her fingers caressed their faces. A life without her children was unthinkable. It would be empty and meaningless.

  From the west, the sun painted orange, yellow, and red strokes across the sky, like a lazy, sated lover planting kisses on their beloved’s face before stealing away. She gazed out the window and, for a moment, became lost in the spectacle of the sunset.

  What on earth was wrong with her?

  Feeling emotionally drained, she snuggled into the corner of her couch and chased the early evening chill away with the chocolate-brown mohair blanket spread over her legs. Her apartment high above the city had always been her peaceful oasis, her castle. Today, however, her Waterloo had reared its ugly head and demanded she settle the long-overdue debt. A shiver shook her body. Her peace of mind evaporated.

  There was no point in trying to pretend that seeing Antonio didn’t matter. Part of her wanted him to suffer—as she had. Another part pleaded for him. After all, he’d done nothing wrong. They’d had one romantic, moonlit summer night together, fueled by wild, rhythmic music and too much Chianti—a fleeting coming together that had ended in a moment of bliss and ecstasy unlike anything she’d ever experienced again.

  This morning, she’d met a sophisticated, successful businessman. Gone was the young man who’d captured her heart with his humor, exuberant charm, and wit. She needed to ignore him and focus on his father instead. Her breath caught. Francesco Falcone was her children’s grandfather!

  Enough! She brushed his image away. If it were up to her, she wouldn’t tell the children about Antonio. But it was up to Lucca and Kyra to decide whether they wanted to meet their father. She had no right to make that decision for them.

  Anna rubbed the back of her neck. The kids weren’t due for a while to pick her up for their monthly dinner. Enough time to close her eyes for a moment. Her book fell to her chest, and her eyelids drooped.

  The sound of a door closing woke her, and she looked up as Lucca and Kyra entered the room.

  “You’re asleep in the early evening? What’s the matter? Are you ill?” Kyra came over to the couch and bent to kiss her.

  Anna reached for her glasses and sat up straighter. “You’re here. Come and sit down.” She studied them as they sat next to her on the couch.

  Lucca squinted at her. “You look like shit, Mum. All afternoon in court, you charged around as if the Grim Reaper were chasing you. What’s wrong?”

  She saw the look of alarm on Kyra’s face. “Stop frightening your sister. Nothing’s wrong with me.” She hesitated. “Although, I did have the shock of my life this morning when I met our new client, Francesco Falcone—”

  “What did he do?” Lucca’s voice boomed with protective aggression.

  “Nothing! I wish you wouldn’t interrupt me all the time.”

  “Go on then.” Lucca grinned at his mother and gave her a kiss.

  A painful stab pierced her heart. He looks so much like his father. She took a deep breath. How should she tell them? Was there even a gentle way?

  “The son of our new client, Francesco Falcone, is your father.”

  Silence filled the room.

  Kyra stared at her. “What did you say?”

  Anna swallowed hard. Kyra, her gorgeous baby, looked lost.

  “Your father’s in Auckland.”

  His hands shaking, Lucca filled a wineglass. He closed his eyes and loosened his collar. Anna could almost see his mind racing.

  She rubbed her forehead. “I’m handling his father’s divorce. Until today, I never realized how much you both look like him.”

  She stroked Kyra’s cheek and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. Silence fell, interrupted only by Lucca’s labored breathing. Kyra jumped up to pace the room before returning to the couch and slumping down again.

  “How dare he show up now? I needed him when…” She stopped, her face shrouded in grief.

  Lucca put his arm around her shoulders and placed a gentle kiss on her hair. “He can go to hell. Sorry, Mum, but I have no need for a father now.”

  “What does he want? Will he…?” Kyra looked up at her brother.

  “I don’t know. You’re afraid he’ll tear our family apart? Just let him try.”

  “Stop it, Lucca. He won’t tear our family apart. He doesn’t even know you two exist. It wasn’t his fault that things turned out the way they did. We were two careless young kids who never expected to meet again.” Anna combed her fingers through her hair. It was painful to see her twins unsettled. She wished there were scripts one could follow in situations like this.

  “Did you tell him?” Lucca spoke in his quiet, contained courtroom voice, but he couldn’t fool her. He was upset.

  “No. He didn’t recognize me. I put on my ‘Ice Queen’ act and pretended I’d never seen him before. I wanted to talk to you two first.”

  “Claudia told us how much you struggled in the first few years. Whether or not he knew, he won’t get any mercy from me.” Lucca’s anger threatened to spill over or was it stubborn hurt?

  “We didn’t exchange addresses. It’s not fair to blame him. I know this is hard on you, and if I could go back and change things, I would.” She grabbed Lucca’s hand and squeezed it. “I’m as much to blame as he is. Maybe…maybe you should give him a chance.”

  “Our father! It’s hard to believe he’s turned up after so many years. I must admit, there were times when I was curious about him.” He swallowed and looked out of the window. “I guess I wouldn’t mind meeting him and checking him out.” Lucca looked at her. “Would it bother you?”

  Anna shook her head but said nothing. How could she admit that it bothered her a lot? She’d messed it up once. This time, she had to get it right for the sake of her kids.

  Kyra looked at her mother. “I’m curious too, but I’m also afraid. What if it changes our lives? I can’t say I’ve missed having a father, except for the bullying. You and our other mums were the best parents a child could have, and I love you guys to bits.” She put her arm around Anna and squeezed.

  She loved her children’s passion and loyalty, but it would be wrong to pretend nothing had changed.

  “I’ve always been furious with him for not being in our lives, Mum. I am a little curious to know what he’s like, but maybe it’s too late now. I vote for not meeting him.”

  “Are you sure, Lucca?” It was hard to see her kids struggle. She would love to soothe the frown from her son’s forehead and erase the pain in his eyes. When had she lost the power to make everything better for her children?

  “Yes. No. I don’t know. How about you?” Lucca grabbed his sister’s hand. “What do you say, Shorty?”

  “I’ve lived for more than thirty years without him. It’s a little too late for him to play Dad
dy now, don’t you think?” Kyra hesitated, and the well-respected cardiothoracic surgeon who performed microscopic cuts under high-risk conditions in the theater, turned into a lost child in front of Anna’s eyes. “I always envied the other girls when they talked about their daddy this and their daddy that.” What started as a strong statement ended in a whispered, “What’s he like, Mum?”

  “Yes, tell us, what’s he like?” Lucca’s eyes challenged her.

  “I don’t know much. I only met with him and his father for twenty minutes at the most. He lives in Tuscany, Italy, and operates the family vineyard. He’s here to help his father with his divorce.”

  She hesitated. What else should she tell them? It would be better if they formed their own opinions. “I remember a playful young boy on the cusp of becoming a man, and this morning, I met a successful, self-assured, middle-aged businessman. If you want to know more about him, you’ll have to meet him.”

  “Maybe we should meet him?” Kyra looked at Lucca as if waiting for his approval.

  “Let’s sleep on it. I need to digest this happy news and clear my head.”

  She enjoyed seeing Lucca apply his motto of ‘Think before you act.’ This was the son she knew: the young hotshot lawyer who’d conquered the Auckland law community’s hearts with his charm and thorough approach to solving problems.

  “I won’t force you to meet him. You don’t have to if you don’t want to; just know we can organize a meeting should you want to get to know him.”

  What else could she say? Her twins were adults. They must decide their future paths, which may or may not include Antonio Falcone.

  “It’s time to go. We don’t want to be late.”

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  Preview of A Case For Love

  Freedom. For Thea, this word had a truly exquisite ring to it.

  August 19 had become her Independence Day. No more hoping for a kind word from her husband or waiting for his approval. Thirteen years ago to the day, she’d opened her café: the Cinnamon. Today, the sign on the baker’s bike outside reads:

  The Cinnamon is thirteen years old today!

  Celebrate with us.

  Indulge in the prices of 2004

  and enjoy a dessert on the house.

  August 19, 2004, marked the day Thea stopped trying to salvage her marriage. From that day on, the café had become her symbol of liberation; her escape from her philandering husband. Few had believed she’d succeed. But she had. From the opening onward, the popularity of the café—and her cooking—grew exponentially, as did her confidence.

  Saturday morning crowds packed the cafés along Auckland’s busy Ponsonby Road, and the Cinnamon was no exception. A set of windows framed a row of tables along the pavement, and an old baker’s bike—an enormous bunch of marguerite daisies peeking out of its basket—leaned against the wall. The first rush of the morning was over, but the café still brimmed with patrons coaxed from their homes by the golden sunbeams’ promise of a splendid winter day.

  Thea breathed a sigh of satisfaction before heading inside. Aromatic whiffs of rich, bold coffee danced from the machine behind the counter and floated through the air. One couldn’t miss the festive mood spread throughout the café.

  Thea stepped around the glass cabinet filled with delicious sandwiches and little cakes and looked straight up at a black eye patch.

  Pirate!

  “How may I help you?” As her voice trembled with a hint of humor, it was all she could do not to laugh. Everything she’d ever heard about pirates flashed through her mind. His dark brown hair, peppered with generous gray streaks at the temples, framed a square face dominated by a nose broken at least once, judging by its slight bend. One blue eye squinted at her from under a bushy eyebrow.

  Of course, she’d never seen a picture of a pirate with dimples before, and he lacked the obligatory parrot and golden earring too. In fact, little about him fit the classic cliché. Not the tight-fitting jeans or the white T-shirt molded to his muscular chest. Nor the leather bomber jacket. Should she tell him his outfit was all wrong? She struggled not to smile at the thought.

  He must have noticed her amusement because he straightened to his full six foot, something inches, tipping his head and raising his eyebrow as he seemed to search for words.

  “Please, take all the time you need while I serve the other customers,” she said, hoping he’d step aside.

  “Thank you. I’d like to speak with the owner, Mrs. Cameron.” His voice—deep, resonant and commanding—reinforced her first impression of him. A faint shiver ran down her spine.

  Straightening her shoulders, Thea smoothed her white apron. With a quick movement, she tucked a rebellious strand of her short blonde hair behind her ear. Dressed in their Independence Day outfits of red pencil skirts and pink blouses, she and her staff looked like cupcakes come to life. She had no reason to be nervous.

  “I’m Thea Cameron. And you couldn’t have chosen a worse time.” She pointed at the long line of customers waiting behind him. “Please come back around three when the rush is over. Monday morning after ten suits too. We’re busy right now as you can see.” Keeping her expression neutral, she gestured toward the twenty occupied tables and the customers queuing for service. A couple of waitstaff rushed back and forth between the tables, carrying trays stacked with breakfast dishes.

  “My name’s Mark Cheltham. I’m a private investigator.” He handed her his business card before adding in a friendly but determined tone, “I’d like to speak with you about your husband.”

  The unpleasant taste of bile rose in her throat. A PI? What business could he possibly have with Graham? She gave him a quick once-over, hoping for a clue, but his face gave nothing away.

  “Please, take a seat.” She pointed to the table marked Reserved at the back of the café. “I’ll be with you as soon as possible.”

  Once she’d dealt with all the customers waiting for service, Thea called into the kitchen, “Barbara, could you take over at the counter for a while?”

  “Give me a sec to finish decorating this batch of cupcakes, Mum.”

  Minutes later, Thea’s daughter appeared. Taking after her father, Barbara bore little resemblance to her mother. While Thea was slim, petite, and blonde, Barbara sported long chestnut-brown hair and a solid figure in keeping with her five-foot-eight height.

  “What’s the emergency?” With a sparkle in her brown eyes, she added a the tray of pink cupcakes topped with red and white hearts made of frosting to the displayed food cabinet. “For the Independence Day -lovebirds.” She winked and pushed a lock of hair out of her face.

  “There’s a PI here who wants to talk to me about your father.”

  Barbara’s eyes narrowed. “What on earth for? Can’t they let him rest in peace? He’s dead, for goodness’ sake. Doesn’t that put paid to any issues? But at least a PI’s not another nosy reporter like those pushy guys yesterday. I love how you told them to take a hike.”

  Grateful for her daughter’s support, Thea exhaled loudly, feeling the tension fall from her shoulders. “We’ll find out what he wants once I’ve talked to him.” She started toward Mark Cheltham but turned back. “Table five outside’s still waiting for their Bircher muesli.” She blushed; annoyed she’d let the PI’s unexpected presence rattle her so much that she’d forgotten a customer’s order.

  Thea walked over to the corner, carrying a tray with two cups of coffee. As she approached, the PI stood and pulled out a chair for her. A pirate with manners? Interesting. When she sat, he held her gaze with an expression of…sympathy?

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your busy morning, but I’m afraid this is an urgent matter. Otherwise, I would have returned on Monday.”

  Thea blew across the surface of her hot coffee.

  “Help yourself,” She pointed to the small sterling silver tray with white sugar and creamer in the middle of the table. “What’s so pressing that you felt the need to look me up on a Saturday morning, when norm
al people are still lazing in bed reading the weekend papers? My husband’s funeral was a week ago.”

  “I was there. And I’ve read all the articles. I’m sorry for your loss.” He sipped his coffee.

  Not again! She’d had enough of stories featuring Graham’s affairs. “You must lead a boring life. I wouldn’t have picked you for a Woman’s Weekly fan.”

  His smile spoke of pity and understanding. Needing neither, she fixed him with a glare.

  “Oceania Life Insurance has contracted me to look into a few anomalies. What can you tell me about Mr. Cameron’s last few weeks?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “If you want information about my late husband, you’re asking the wrong person. I stopped paying attention years ago. We shared a house—when he bothered to come home instead of sharing someone else’s bed. Maybe one of his secretaries can tell you more. I’m sure if you ring his office on Monday, they’ll be able to help you further.”

  “Yes, I know where his office is.”

  “Well, if you’ll excuse me; I have work to do.” She stood and turned to walk away but hesitated when his deep voice called her back.

  “Your husband took out a three-million-dollar life insurance policy six weeks before his accident. I hoped you could tell me about it.”

  She swung around. Three million dollars? That was a crazy amount. She scanned the pirate’s face, wondering if he was having her on, but he seemed serious. Frustration boiled inside her.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You must have the wrong man. My husband hated insurance companies. I’m sorry; I can’t help you.” She struggled to keep the emotion out of her voice. “I am puzzled, though. Why is it so urgent?”

  “Someone who claimed to be a police inspector visited Oceania Life for information about the policy. He didn’t have a search warrant, so OLI sent them away. When we checked his credentials with the police, we found nobody by that name. The insurance company asked me to look into the situation for them. Whoever this person is, he could mean trouble for you and your daughter, Isabella, who’s the sole beneficiary of the policy.”