by Penny Jordan
His gesture surprised her. ‘You would do that? I mean…it could take some time to sell such a property, couldn’t it?’
‘Not in this circumstance. I would like to buy Laurence’s villa myself. I often visited him there and I love the place.’
Veronica should have been grateful for such an easy solution. But for some reason she was reluctant just to say yes, that would be great, yes, let’s do that.
He must have picked up on her hesitation, despite her not saying a word.
‘If you’re worried that I might try to cheat you,’ he said, sounding somewhat peeved, ‘you could get an independent valuation. Which amount I would be happy to pay in full. And in cash,’ he added, highlighting just how rich he was.
Veronica rolled her eyes, never at her best when confronted by people who trumpeted their wealth. Jerome’s parents had been very rich. And had never let her forget it, always saying she was a very lucky girl to be marrying their one and only child.
Hardly lucky, as it turned out.
‘Perhaps you would like some time to think about all this,’ the Italian went on. ‘I imagine this has all come as a shock.’
‘More of a surprise than a shock,’ she said.
‘But a pleasant one, surely?’ he suggested smoothly. ‘Since you didn’t know Laurence personally, his death won’t have upset you. And the sale of his villa will leave you very comfortably off.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she mused aloud.
‘I do hope you don’t think me rude, Miss Hanson, but I noticed your birth date on the will. I know women don’t like to talk about their ages but could you please confirm for me that the details are correct?’ And he rattled off the date.
‘Yes, that’s correct,’ she said, frowning. ‘Though how this Laurence person knew it, I have no idea.’
‘So you were twenty-eight as of last June.’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re a Gemini.’
‘Yes. Though I don’t think I’m all that typical.’ According to a book on star signs she’d once read, she could be light-hearted and fun-loving one day, and serious and thoughtful the next. That might have been true once but she seemed to be stuck these days on the serious and thoughtful. ‘You believe in star signs, Mr Fabrizzi?’
‘Of course not. It was just an idle remark. A man is master of his own destiny,’ he stated firmly.
Spoken like a typically arrogant male, Veronica thought, but didn’t say so.
‘You’re sure you know of no one called Laurence Hargraves?’ he persisted.
‘Absolutely sure. I have a very good memory.’
‘It is all very curious,’ the Italian admitted.
‘True. I’m finding it pretty curious myself. So, do you mind if I ask you a few questions?’
‘Not at all.’
‘Firstly, how old was my benefactor?’
‘Hmm. I’m not quite sure. Let me think. Late seventies, is my best guess. I know he was seventyish when his wife died, and that was some years back.’
‘Quite elderly, then. And a widower. Did he have any children?’
‘No.’
‘Brothers and sisters?’
‘No.’
‘What did he die of?’
‘Heart attack. Though I found out after the autopsy that he also had liver cancer. He told me the weekend before he died that he was going to London to see a doctor about his liver. Instead, all he did was make a will, then dropped dead shortly after leaving his solicitor’s office.’
‘Goodness.’
‘Perhaps a mercy. The cancer was end stage.’
‘Was he a heavy drinker?’
‘I wouldn’t have said excessively so. But who knows what a lonely man does in private?’
Veronica was taken aback at how sad he suddenly sounded. This evidence of empathy made her like Leonardo Fabrizzi a little bit, which was a minor miracle. Playboys were not her favourite species.
Though maybe she was doing him an injustice. Maybe he had changed. It was, after all, several years since the night he’d cast his charismatic eye on her and casually suggested she join him and the blonde dripping all over him for a threesome.
No, she thought with a derisive curl of her top lip, men like that didn’t change. Once a player, always a player.
‘If you give me your email address,’ he continued, ‘I’ll send you a copy of the will and you can get back to me with your decision in a day or two. Alternatively, I could ring you at this time tomorrow and we can talk some more. Would that be suitable?’
‘Not really.’ She and her mother always went down to the local Vietnamese restaurant for dinner early on a Saturday evening. ‘What time is it in Italy at the moment?’ she asked, not liking the idea of waiting to make a decision. ‘You are in Italy, aren’t you?’
‘Si. I’m in Milan. In my office. It is nine-twenty.’
He really did speak beautiful English, very polished with correct grammar, all in a mild but disturbingly attractive accent. Veronica had always found Italian men attractive, having met quite a few during her obsessive skiing years.
One, however, stood out amongst all the rest…
‘Right,’ she said crisply. ‘The thing is, I would like to talk to my mother first. Ask her if she ever knew a Laurence Hargraves. Maybe she can clear up this mystery for us. But, no matter what I find out, I can’t see there will be any problem with your buying the villa, Mr Fabrizzi. Much as it would be lovely to have a holiday home on Capri, I really can’t afford it. I will ring you back in about an hour or so. Okay?’
‘Certo. I will look forward to your call, Miss Hanson.’
They exchanged relevant details, after which he hung up, leaving Veronica feeling slightly flustered. Which irritated the hell out of her. She thought she was over being affected by any member of the opposite sex, especially one with Leonardo Fabrizzi’s dubious reputation.
Giving herself a mental shake, she retreated down the hallway and made her way up the stairs to the extension her mother had had built a few years back, a necessity once Nora had started up her home-help business on the Internet. The upstairs section included a small sitting room, a well-appointed office and a spacious bedroom and en suite. As it turned out, the extension had become a real blessing after Jerome’s death, with Veronica able to convert her mother’s old front bedroom into a treatment room for her own home-based physiotherapy business.
It wasn’t until Veronica reached the upstairs landing that her thoughts returned to the annoyingly fascinating Italian and the astonishing reason behind his call. All of a sudden, an idea of who Laurence Hargraves might be zoomed into her head. An astonishing idea, really. Not very logical, either, knowing her mother. But the idea persisted, bringing with it a strange wave of alarm. Her heartbeat quickened and her stomach tightened, sending a burst of bile up into her throat. She swallowed convulsively, telling herself to get a grip.
What you are thinking is insane! Insane and illogical! The man was English, not Australian. Besides, Mum would not lie to me—not over something like this.
Finally, after scooping in several deep breaths, she lifted her hand to tap on her mother’s office door, annoyed to see her hand was shaking. Her mouth went dry. And her heart started pounding again. Not quite a panic attack, but something close.
‘Yes?’ came her mother’s impatient query.
It took an effort of will to turn the knob and go into the room.
‘Mum,’ she said on entering, pleased that her voice wasn’t shaking as well.
Her mother didn’t look up from where she was frowning at the computer screen.
‘Yes?’ she repeated distractedly.
Veronica walked over to perch on the corner of her mother’s desk, gripping the edges with white knuckles. ‘Mum, does the name Laurence Hargraves mean anything to you?’
Ve
ronica had seen people go grey with pain in the course of her work; seen all the blood drain from their faces. But she’d never seen her mother go that particular colour.
Strangely enough, as she watched her mother’s reaction, Veronica no longer felt panic. Just dismay. And the fiercest disappointment. Because now she knew the answer to the mystery, didn’t she?
‘He was my father, wasn’t he?’ she said bleakly, before her mother admitted to anything.
Nora groaned, then nodded. Sadly. Apologetically.
Veronica groaned as well, her face screwing up with distress, her hands balling into fists in defence of the flood of emotion which threatened to overwhelm her. Not since she’d discovered the awful truth about Jerome had she experienced such shock and anger. Funny how you could suspect something, but when you were actually faced with some awful truth your first reaction was still pained disbelief, quickly followed by outrage and anger.
‘Why didn’t you tell me the truth?’ she threw at her mother in anguished tones. ‘Why give me that cock-and-bull story about my father being some impoverished sperm donor from Latvia? Why not just tell me you had an affair with a married man?’
‘But I didn’t have an affair with Laurence!’ her mother denied, her face flushing wildly. ‘It wasn’t like that. You don’t understand,’ she wailed, gripping her cheeks with both hands as tears filled her eyes.
For the first time in her life, Veronica felt no pity for her mother’s tears.
‘Then how was it, Mum?’ she asked coldly. ‘Make me understand, especially why you didn’t tell me the truth about my father’s identity.’
‘I… I couldn’t tell you. I gave Laurence my word.’
Veronica could not believe she was hearing this. She’d given her word to some adulterer? The mind boggled.
‘Well, your precious Laurence is dead and gone now,’ Veronica snapped. ‘So I don’t think your giving him your word matters any more. I dare say you’ll also be surprised to hear that my errant father has left me something in his will,’ she finished up caustically. ‘I’ve just received a call from the executor. I’m now the owner of a villa on the Isle of Capri. Lucky me!’
Nora just stared at her daughter, grey eyes blinking madly.
‘But…but what about his wife?’
‘She’s dead too,’ Veronica said bluntly. ‘Quite a few years ago, apparently.’
‘Oh…’
‘Yes. Oh.’
Her mother just sat there, stunned and speechless.
‘I think, Mum,’ Veronica bit out, her arms crossing angrily as she tried to contain her emotions, ‘That it’s time you told me the truth.’
CHAPTER TWO
LEONARDO EMAILED OFF a copy of the will then settled back down at his desk, trying to put his mind to studying the designs for next year’s winter range. But his mind wouldn’t cooperate. It remained firmly on the call he’d just made to Sydney, Australia.
Who in hell was Veronica Hanson? And why had Laurence never mentioned her?
A great-niece, perhaps? Leonardo speculated. Most people did like to leave their estates to relatives.
Though, if that were the case, why not leave her some money as well? Why just leave her the villa, then leave the rest of his considerable portfolio of cash, bonds and shares to cancer research?
It was a mystery all right.
Hopefully, Miss Hanson’s mother would provide some pertinent information.
Glancing at his watch, Leonardo saw that less than ten minutes had passed since he’d hung up. He could hardly expect a call back this soon.
Unfortunately.
Leonardo’s sigh was one of exasperation. He had no hope of concentrating on anything until he heard back from Miss Hanson. Patience had never been one of his virtues. But he had no alternative on this occasion but to wait.
Still, he didn’t have to wait in here, at his desk, pretending to work. Jumping up, he decided to get himself some coffee, bypassing his PA’s offer to get it for him with the excuse that he needed some air.
Leonardo needed some air a lot. He’d described himself as a businessman to Miss Hanson. But whilst Leonardo had quite enjoyed setting up his top-of-the-range sportswear company—and making a huge success of it—being just a businessman was not the way Leonardo ever saw himself. He was a sportsman, a man of action. A doer, not a pencil pusher. He actually hated offices and desks. Loathed meetings of any kind. And despised sitting for too long.
His spirits lifted once he was outside the building and into the fresh air. The sun was shining and a mild breeze was blowing. Milan in late August was glorious, though too busy, of course, the streets filled with tourists.
Leonardo breathed in deeply and headed for his favourite cafe, which was tucked away down a cobbled side street and never too crowded. There, his espresso was already waiting for him by the time he reached the counter, the female barista having spotted him as he strode into their establishment. He drank the strong black liquid down in one gulp, as was his habit. She smiled at him as he smacked his lips in appreciation, her big brown eyes flashing flirtatiously. She was a very attractive girl, with the kind of dark eyes and hair which Leonardo especially liked.
‘Grazie,’ he said, then placed the empty cup back on the counter, keeping his own smile very brief and not in any way flirtatious. Best not to encourage the girl. She might think he wanted more from her than good service.
There was a time in his younger years when he would have jumped into bed with her weeks ago. But he had more control over his hormones these days. And he was miles more careful, having narrowly escaped being trapped into marriage by a fortune-hunting female a few years back, shuddering whenever he thought of how close he’d come to being shackled for life to a girl he didn’t love.
Leonardo shuddered anew as he strode from the cafe and headed back to his office.
Of course, he could have refused to marry the girl, even if she had been pregnant. Which it had turned out she wasn’t. But Leonardo hadn’t been brought up that way, having it drummed into him as a young man that, if he ever fathered a child, he’d better marry the mother pronto. Because if he didn’t do the honourable thing then he wasn’t ever to bother coming home again.
Such an outcome would have been untenable to Leonardo. His parents meant the world to him. So, yes, he would have married the girl. And loved his child. But his life would not have been the life he’d planned for himself, which was no marriage and children until he was ready to settle down. Which he certainly hadn’t been back then.
Thank God his uncle had stepped in and demanded another pregnancy test by an independent doctor. Leonardo’s relief at the news there was no baby had been a lesson well learned. After that he never believed a girl when she said she was on the pill. And he always used a condom. Always!
As an added precaution, he only dated women these days who were less likely to be looking at him as a meal ticket for life. Women with careers of their own. Money of their own. And minds of their own.
On Leonardo’s part, he had no intention of marrying until he met the love of his life. Which he hadn’t so far. Strange, given all the clever and attractive girlfriends he’d had. But none had captured his heart. None had inspired the kind of wild passion he’d always imagined being truly in love would engender. Yes, sex with them was satisfying. But not mind-blowing. It never compared to the thrill of hurtling down a snowy mountain, knowing that he was going faster than any of his competitors.
Leonardo sighed. Ah, those were the days. Days which would never be repeated, his many falls and injuries having caught up with him by the time he’d turned twenty-five, forcing his retirement from the sport. Yes, he’d been a famous skier, as Miss Hanson had pointed out. But fame was fleeting and life moved on. Seven years had passed since then; seven successful but, perversely, frustrating years. He should have been satisfied with his life. Fabrizzi Sport, Snow & Ski wa
s doing very well, with stores in all the major cities in Europe. He’d become a wealthy man in his own right, not just the spoiled only grandson of a billionaire.
But Leonardo wasn’t satisfied. Sometimes he was consumed with the most awful emptiness, the result perhaps of not having been able to fulfil his ambitions on the ski slopes, injury always having got in the way of success in major championships. There was a restlessness living inside him, a manic energy at times which refused to be quelled, no matter what he did.
And he did plenty. He still skied in the winter, though not competitively. He went yachting and waterskiing in the summer, along with mountain climbing and abseiling. Recently, he’d gained his pilot’s licence for both small planes and helicopters. His frequent holidays were hectic with activity, but he inevitably returned to work still burning with a fire undimmed.
The only time Leonardo had really relaxed was when he’d been on Capri, sitting on Laurence’s terrace, looking out at the sparkling blue sea and sipping one of his friend’s excellent wines.
Thinking of Capri sent his mind back to Laurence’s mystery heiress. Hopefully she would ring him soon and tell him that he could buy the villa. Because he not only wanted it, he needed it. Life without Laurence’s company would be bad enough. Life without the calming influence of his friend’s beautiful home would be a bitter disappointment.
Leonardo glanced at his Rolex once more, then headed back to his office, not wanting to take Miss Hanson’s call in the street.
CHAPTER THREE
VERONICA LAY ON her bed, her head whirling with what she’d discovered. She found it almost impossible to process her feelings. Was she still angry or just terribly sad? What her mother had told her had sort of made sense, and was much better than her mother having slept with a married man. And, yes, she understood why her mother had promised to keep her father’s identity a secret, even if it still upset her.
What puzzled her the most, however, was the will. Now, that didn’t make sense. Why leave her anything at all? Her father must have known it would stir up trouble and leave so many questions unanswered.