‘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.’
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 was 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
