style="font-size:15px;"> He came to a halt, barely a metre away, totally un-perturbed by her claim. His eyes challenged it with ruthless intent as he said, “Because you’re not Lawrence Durant’s daughter?”
Shock reverberated through her. “You know?” The words spilled from her lips before she could catch them back. Had he guessed or had he pushed her into admission? His proposal made no sense if he knew. A churning turmoil of shame and pride robbed her of any movement as he stepped towards her, a mesmerising satisfaction written on his face.
“I knew the day I first met you, Leigh. You didn’t belong to Lawrence, not physically, not mentally, not emotionally. No bond at all and nothing of him in you. Nothing.”
It wasn’t proof, she thought, but he went on, shattering that thought.
“Lawrence confirmed it when you went away and I suggested someone should be hired to keep track of you in case you were in need. ‘She’s my wife’s child, not mine!’ was what he said, then swore me to silence on the subject. A proud man like Lawrence didn’t care to have it known that you weren’t his.”
The power of his total self-assurance held her still, though her heart was pounding wildly and tremors of shock were still running through her.
“Legally, you are his.”
“No.” Her voice sounded hollow but the words had to be said now. “He disinherited me when I left.”
“He made no provision for you in his will, Leigh, but nowhere is there a claim that denies you are his child. And since Lawrence was cremated today, there can be no DNA tests to prove you aren’t. I can marry you in good faith with the terms of his will.”
Instinctively she fought against the relentless beat of his logic. “My mother could name my real father.”
A grim little smile curled his mouth. “It’s not in her best interests to do so.”
The manipulation of wealth! Leigh’s hatred of it spurred her to argue. “What makes you think my real father wouldn’t come forward if he saw money in it?”
That killed the smile. Yet, even more disturbing, his eyes seemed to soften with sympathy. “It won’t happen, Leigh,” he said quietly. “Your mother paid for him and his family to go back to Italy before you were born. From the date of their departure, I’d say he knows nothing of you.”
“Go back to Italy?” she picked up in bewilderment.
“You didn’t know he was Italian?”
She shook her head. On the terrible night she had learnt Lawrence Durant was not her father, her mother had refused to reveal the true circumstances of her birth. The argument between Lawrence and his wife had raged over her head, and had more to do with financial arrangements than the infidelity that had brought her into their world. They had forgotten her in hurling threats at one another. She’d simply slipped away, packed her things and left.
Italian…well, that explained her colouring. There weren’t too many blonde Italians. It probably explained her non-boyish figure, as well. The only Italian actress she could think of was Sophia Loren, whose curvaceous femininity was legendary. Leigh supposed a hot-blooded Italian lover would have made a tempting contrast to Lawrence Durant, but her mother had hardly been wise in having a child by him, risking the possibility of producing the cuckoo Leigh had turned out to be.
“He was the gardener here at the time of your conception,” Richard explained.
It shocked her into speech. “A gardener? My mother took a gardener as her lover?” It seemed unbelievable. Her mother was a dyed-in-the-wool snob who invariably disdained to notice what she considered the lower classes.
“He had four sons, Leigh.”
Ah…the logic of it was instantly crystal clear. No escaping that connection. A man who fathered sons was precisely what was wanted when four daughters had been delivered and a son was required.
Leigh closed her eyes, revolted by the calculation that had gone into her conception…the payment that had been made for a service rendered. No doubt, if there’d been ultrasound scans done all those years ago to determine the sex of the baby, the pregnancy would have been terminated and she wouldn’t even be alive today. Her mother had probably gambled on having a child that took after her in looks and colouring. No wonder she’d been unwanted. She represented failure in every sense.
“How do you know all this, Richard?” she asked, raising lashes that felt unnaturally heavy, but needing to see the answer in his eyes.
“I made it my business to find out.”
“Why?” A weary, aching cynicism prompted her to add, “To ensure there was no wild card that could upset your plan?”
“There was no plan when I set about getting the information. That was six years ago, Leigh.”
She frowned, realising the terms of the will would only have been revealed on Lawrence’s death. “Then what use was it to you?”
His serious expression was softened by a touch of whimsy. “Oh, I thought one day you might like to know who your real father is.”
“You did it for me?” She shook her head incredulously, unable to believe such altruism from a man who clearly calculated everything.
“We have more in common than you think,” he said wryly. “I was not the child of the man my mother was married to. I bear his name but I’m not his child, and I knew it very early on.”
Leigh was dumbfounded. There’d never been a whisper of anything scandalous in his background. Another private family secret? Then it burst upon her that he knew what it felt like…travelling the same road…and he’d seen it all along in her…a fellow traveller.
“The truth of such a situation is not easy to deal with and a name can become important,” he went on. “Your father’s name is Mario Vangelli. He and his family live in Naples. I can give you the address should you ever want to visit.”
Vangelli…Richard was right. It was good to have a name instead of a blank. “What about you?” She eyed him curiously. “Did you find your real father?”
“Yes. He was married to someone else. They had a family. He didn’t know I was his son and I didn’t tell him.” His expression hardened. “As with your father, it was just seed sown that he walked away from.”
Paid to walk away from in her case. “I wouldn’t feel right about visiting, but thank you for telling me about him, Richard. It is better knowing than not knowing.”
He nodded, an understanding in his eyes that shared the scars of being a bastard child who didn’t belong to the marriage of either parents.
“I might never have come back,” she mused. “You might have got that information for nothing, Richard.”
He shook his head. “Information is always useful.”
Cynicism returned in a swift bitter sweep. It was information he could have used against her mother, or Lawrence, for that matter. “Of course,” she drawled. “Knowledge is power.”
“And you were
