wife, and hadn’t since she’d betrayed his love with his brother?
Brooke’s heart clung to this desperate hope.
It was possible, wasn’t it? Okay, so Leo hadn’t proclaimed his undying love for her. But in the five years she’d known him he’d never given a hint that he was unhappy, or pining for another woman. He’d always seemed very happy to come home to her every night, and very satisfied with their life together, especially their sex life.
Till this last three weeks, that was, she conceded, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Leo hadn’t been himself in that department since coming home for Lorenzo’s funeral.
She’d thought his unusual lack of desire was due to grief and exhaustion. Now, another more awful reason invaded her mind…
Brooke groaned in despair.
Francesca’s abrupt move back to Milan suddenly took on a more sinister meaning, as did Leo’s wholehearted approval of his sister-in-law’s decision. He’d wanted the opportunity to be alone with the woman he still loved and wanted, away from the prying eyes of his family, and well away from her, his wife.
Francesca’s tears that day might not have been grief, but guilt.
She was the type of female to feel guilty, Brooke thought bitterly, but not enough to say no to a determined man. If Leonardo declared his undying love for her, passionately insisting she give him what she’d once withheld, silly, wishy-washy Francesca would probably become as putty in his hands.
Now Brooke’s eyes snapped up, and they were no longer quite so haunted-looking. They were angry. No, not just angry. Livid.
Giuseppe might be able to turn a blind eye to his son’s adultery, but she could not! She would go and confront the pair of them. Right now! This very moment! Borrow Sophia’s car and drive into Milan to Francesca’s place.
She knew the way. Leo had often taken her into Milan to shop during previous visits, as well as to his brother’s fancy apartment for those dinner parties. She herself had driven home on these occasions, forced to concentrate on the roads involved in a way you didn’t when you were a passenger.
Leo liked to have a bottle of wine over dinner, and always gave her the keys at the end of such evenings. It was the only time he allowed her to drive when he was in the car, something which rankled Brooke but which she tolerated. As she’d tolerated Leo’s edict shortly after their marriage that he didn’t like her to drink much. He’d said it made her aggressive.
‘Like your mother,’ he’d added, when she’d been about to object.
That thought had stopped the automatic protest bubbling up in her throat, after which she’d curtailed her drinking, restricting herself to just one glass or two. Not once during the last five years of their relationship had she ever told Leo it was his turn not to drink that evening, that she wanted to relax over a bottle of wine for once.
‘Silly, weak cow!’ she sneered at herself in the bathroom mirror. ‘No wonder he thinks he can get away with cheating on you.’
Well, he was in for a shock, wasn’t he? In about an hour she would be arriving at Francesca’s door, and there would be hell to pay!
If by some remote possibility Giuseppe was right, and Leo wasn’t with Francesca, if it proved his car was parked safely in the Milan head office car park, and not where she suspected it would be, then she would simply turn round and drive home.
But some inner female instinct told her Leo wasn’t going to be at the office, just as his mother knew. Women knew about such things, provided they opened their stupid eyes and saw the signs.
‘Well, my eyes are well and truly open now, Leo,’ Brooke seethed aloud. ‘And God help you!’
With cold fury in her heart, Brooke set about brushing her hair and applying some lipstick before going downstairs in search of Leo’s mother.
She found her in one of the large sitting rooms, ostensibly reading a magazine. But her grey head was bowed in a weary fashion, her normally proud shoulders slumped in an attitude of great sadness.
Brooke’s heart squeezed tight. She liked her mother-in-law a lot. Sophia was a warm, generous-hearted woman who’d welcomed her into her home and her heart without question. How wretched she must be feeling, with one son dead and the other involved in a potentially disastrous affair.
Protecting Sophia from unnecessary distress became an instant priority with Brooke, her inner fury temporarily pushed to one side. She was still determined to go and find Leo, but whatever happened after that would be between them and them alone. Sophia was not to be told a thing.
Her mind made up, Brooke moved into the room. Sophia’s head jerked up at the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor.
‘Brooke!’ she exclaimed. ‘I…I thought you were sleeping.’
Brooke adopted what she hoped was a suitably wan expression. ‘I tried. But I have this dreadful headache.’
‘Oh, my dear. What a shame. Can I get you something? A tablet? A drink?’
‘No. I’m afraid they won’t help. It’s a PMT thing. My period’s due tomorrow.’ Which it was, she realised. Being on the pill, such things were very predictable. ‘Happens every month. Sometimes, when I get this back home, I go for a walk or a drive. For some reason that unwinds me and the headache goes away. Would you mind if I borrowed your car, Sophia? I promise to be careful and not to speed.’
‘Of course you can, dear. But where will you drive to?’
‘Oh…just around.’
‘Do you want me to go with you?’
‘No, no. I prefer to be by myself. Would you mind the children for me if they wake up before I return?’
‘Certainly.’
Five minutes later, Brooke was carefully negotiating the tight corners of the curving road which hugged the lake, only the prospect of leaving her children motherless stopping her from speeding.
She couldn’t get to Milan fast enough. She wanted to see the evidence of Leo’s betrayal for herself; wanted to see his car outside Francesca’s apartment block; wanted to storm inside and find them together.
In her mind’s eyes she saw herself tearing strips off Leo, shouting and screaming and doing all those hysterical things she hadn’t done during her last five lily-livered years!
The drive took well over an hour, with traffic building the closer she got to Milan. Brooke got a bit lost before finally turning into the wide, tree-lined street which housed Francesca’s apartment block.
Brooke had thought she was ready for the sight of Leo’s car parked in one of the visitors’ bays by the side of the building.
But she’d been wrong.
Her stomach cramped when her eyes landed on its distinctive make and colour, then heaved when the number-plate confirmed there was no mistake. She only just opened her own car door in time for her lunch to land in the gutter and not her lap. As it was, her dress became a little stained.
At
