скачать книгу бесплатно
‘She certainly did.’ Her answer was crisp, her voice possibly even more businesslike than his own. ‘It seems that Laurence Hargraves was my biological father.’
Leonardo snapped forward on his chair. ‘Mio Dio! How did that happen?’
‘It seems Mr Hargraves came to Australia about thirty years ago to do genetic research at the Sydney University. He was given a house as part of the deal and my mother was hired as his housekeeper.’
‘And what? They had an affair?’ Leonardo found the concept of Laurence being unfaithful hard to believe. Laurence had been devoted to his wife. They’d been an inseparable couple, their love for each other very obvious to everyone who knew them.
‘No, no, nothing like that. Though my mother said that she and Laurence became quite good friends during the two years she worked for him. With Ruth too. She said she was a lovely lady. No, they didn’t have an affair, or even a one-night stand.’
‘I don’t understand, then.’
‘Mum had me through IVF. I thought my biological father was an impoverished law student from Latvia who sold his sperm for money. That’s what I’d always been told. But it was a lie. Laurence was the sperm donor.’
‘I see... Well, that explains everything, I suppose. Though not the secrecy.’
‘Did you know that Laurence’s wife couldn’t have children?’
‘Not exactly. Though I did know they’d never had children. I didn’t know which of them was the cause of their childlessness. Or whether they’d just decided not to have children. It’s not something you can ask without being rude. Obviously, the problem was Ruth’s.’
‘Yes. Mum told me Ruth had very bad cancer genes which ran through her family and had killed off all her relatives. She decided as a young woman not to pass any of those genes on and had a total hysterectomy. She met Laurence through his work on genes and they fell in love. He told my mother he didn’t overly mind about not having children as his love for Ruth was all-consuming. And so was his work. In fact, his work was the reason behind his becoming my biological father.’
‘His work was the reason?’ Leonardo was not quite getting the picture.
‘Yes. When my mother confided to Laurence that she planned to have a baby through IVF at this particular clinic, he was appalled.’
‘Appalled? Why?’
‘Because he thought they didn’t know enough about the prospective sperm donor’s genes. Yes, the clinic records showed the one she’d chosen was tall, dark and handsome. And intelligent. But Laurence questioned his medical and mental backgrounds, the details of which he said were superficial at best. He said she was taking a risk because she didn’t know enough about the sperm donor’s DNA, whereas his own had been thoroughly checked out. By him.’
Leonardo nodded. Now he understood what had happened.
‘So he offered his own sperm instead,’ he said.
‘Yes. When Mum initially refused, he argued with her about it. Made her feel that if she didn’t agree she was being silly.’
Leonardo nodded. ‘Laurence could be very persuasive when he wanted to be. He introduced me to classical music. And opera. I told him I hated opera but he proved me wrong in the end. Now I love it. I can well understand how he talked your mother into using his sperm. He would have convinced her that she owed it to her child to make sure she wasn’t carrying any unfortunate genes. But what about Ruth? I gather she didn’t know anything about this arrangement?’
‘No. He insisted they keep it a secret from his wife. He said it would upset Ruth terribly if she found out. Mum had to promise to put “father unknown” on the birth certificate and go along with the charade of my father being a Latvian university student.’
‘That makes Laurence sound a bit heartless.’
‘That’s what I thought. Mum said he wasn’t but I don’t agree. Okay, so he bought her the house we live in. Big deal! She still had to live on the single mother’s pension until I went to school and she could go back to work. I mean... Okay, so he didn’t want to upset his childless wife... I get that, I guess. But why didn’t he contact Mum and me after his wife died? Why leave me to find out he was my father after he was dead? What good was that?’
‘I’m sorry, I cannot answer those questions, Miss Hanson. I am as baffled as you are. But at least he left you his villa.’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that too. Why leave me anything at all? And why this villa? On the island of Capri, of all places. He must have had a reason. He was a highly intelligent man, from the sounds of things.’
Something teased at the back of Leonardo’s mind. Something about the last day he’d talked to Laurence. But the thought didn’t stick. He would think about it some more later, when he was calmer.
‘Maybe he just wanted to give you something of value,’ he suggested.
‘Then why not just give me money? From reading his will, I gather he had plenty.’
‘I must admit that thought had occurred to me too, Miss Hanson.’
‘Oh, please stop calling me that. My name is Veronica.’
‘Very well. Veronica,’ he said, and found himself smiling for some reason. ‘And you must call me Leonardo. Or Leo, if you prefer. I know Australians like to shorten names.’
‘I prefer Leonardo,’ she said. ‘It sounds more... Italian.’
Leonardo laughed. ‘I am Italian.’
‘You speak beautiful English.’
‘Grazie.’
‘And grazie to you too. Now... I have made a decision about the villa. I appreciate your offer to buy it, Leonardo. And I will sell you the villa. Eventually. But, first, I want to come and stay there for a while. Not too long. Just long enough to find out all I can about my father...’
CHAPTER FIVE (#u1fb875c8-6713-5890-9303-ec164a92ab67)
EXCITEMENT FIZZED IN Veronica’s stomach as the ferry left Sorrento on its twenty-minute ride to Capri. The day was glorious, not a cloud in the sky, the water a sparkling and very inviting blue.
It had taken two weeks for her to organise this trip. She hadn’t wanted to leave her patients in the lurch by departing abruptly so she’d seen them all one more time—or contacted them by phone—telling them that she was taking a much-needed holiday.
Naturally, she hadn’t been about to blurt out the truth behind her trip to Italy. That would have set a cat among the pigeons, sparking far too many questions. They’d all been sweetly understanding, bringing her to tears on a couple of occasions, because they mistakenly thought she was still grieving Jerome’s death.
Which she had been, in a way. For far too long.
But not any more.
Finding out about her real father had been a big shock. But it had also given her the impetus to stop living her life like some mourning widow. Hence her new and rather colourful wardrobe, which had put a serious dent in her savings. But how could she come to this gorgeous and glamorous island looking drab and dreary?
Veronica refused to concede that the effort she’d made with her appearance had anything to do with Leonardo Fabrizzi. As nice as he’d been to her on the phone, he still was what he’d always been. A player.
Curiosity had sent Veronica looking him up on various social media sites and there’d been plenty to look at. Since his retirement from competitive downhill racing, Leonardo had made a name for himself in the world of fashion, Fabrizzi being considered the name in active wear. His company had boutiques in all the main cities in Europe, as well as one in New York. Veronica noted that the press articles didn’t call them shops or stores. No. Boutiques they were called, the kind where only the rich and famous could afford to shop.
Aside from news about his business acumen, it showed Leonardo had also led a very active social life, his name connected with many beautiful women of the type wealthy playboys invariably attracted. Models. Actresses. Heiresses. He’d had countless gorgeous creatures on his arm over the years—and undoubtedly in his bed. Leopards didn’t change their spots. And neither had Leo the Lion.
It was feminine pride, Veronica told herself, which had made her put her best foot forward today. And her best face. All women liked to feel attractive, especially when in the company of a man as handsome and as charismatic as Leonardo Fabrizzi.
And she would be in his company within the next half an hour. Leonardo had made all the arrangements with Veronica over the phone. He was going to meet her at the dock then take her straight to the villa which, she’d learned, was perched above the Hotel Fabrizzi, a small establishment which Leonardo’s parents had been running for over a decade.
This news had surprised Veronica as she’d learned via the Internet that the Fabrizzis were from Milan, Leonardo’s grandfather having set up a textile manufacturing company after the war, becoming extremely wealthy over the years. He’d had two sons and heirs, Stephano and Alberto. What she hadn’t learned—though admittedly she hadn’t looked very hard—was what had happened after the grandfather had died. After all, she was coming to Capri to find out about her own father’s history, not Leonardo’s.
Thinking once more of the reason behind this trip made her heart beat faster. Soon, hopefully, she’d have answers to all the questions this unexpected inheritance had raised. Soon, she’d find out everything she wanted to know about her biological father. What he’d looked like. What he’d liked. What he’d been like!
Veronica no longer harboured any lingering anger over her mother’s lies. What was done was done. No point in going on and on about it. The blame—if there was any blame—lay at her father’s feet. Okay, so she was still upset at his not having contacted her earlier. After all, if he had wanted to keep his identity a secret, why leave her his home in his will?
This was the question which bothered her the most. His leaving her this villa.
Why, Dad? Why?
Her heart caught at finding herself calling him Dad like that. Caught, then turned over. She’d never called the student from Latvia Dad, not even in her thoughts. He’d just been the sperm donor. Not a real person. Just some tadpoles in a test tube. She’d never tried to picture what he looked like. She’d blanked her mind to him. Not so Laurence Hargraves. He was real in her head. Very real. She couldn’t stop thinking about him.
Tears pricked at her eyes, filling them quickly then threatening to spill over. When the girl seated across from her on the ferry started staring at her, Veronica found a smile from somewhere, blinking the tears away before pulling her phone from her straw bag. She’d promised her mum she would take photos of everything and send them to her.
So she did, starting with the ferry, the sea and the approaching island.
* * *
Leonardo wasn’t on the pier waiting for her. Instead there was a middle-aged man holding a sign with her name on it. He looked very Italian, with curly black hair and dark eyes. Clearly, he didn’t know what Veronica looked like, as he was scouring the crowd of tourists with a worried look on his face.
When she walked right up to him and introduced herself, his face broke into a radiant smile.
‘Signora Hanson,’ he said with a thick Italian accent, dark eyes dancing. ‘Why, you are molto bella! Leonardo should have told me.’
Veronica smiled. She didn’t speak Italian but she could recognise a compliment when she heard one.
‘Where is Leonardo?’ she asked, disappointed at his no-show.
‘He said to tell you he is sorry. He was held up. Business. He is flying in soon.’
‘Flying in? But there is no airport on Capri.’
‘There is a helipad. At Anacapri. I am to give you a sightseeing tour then take you there to meet him. Here. Let me take your luggage.’ He tossed the sign with her name on it in a nearby bin.
Veronica didn’t have the heart to tell him she didn’t really want a sightseeing tour, so she just smiled and said, ‘How lovely,’ then climbed into the back of a long yellow convertible that looked like a relic from an early Elvis Presley film.
She was glad after less than a minute that she’d put her hair back into a secure ponytail. The breeze coming off the sea—plus the wind caused by Franco’s rather cavalier driving—would not have made for a pretty result. Veronica tried to appreciate the sights but she really wasn’t in the mood. She’d been so looking forward to meeting Leonardo her disappointment was acute. She politely declined a visit to the Blue Grotto, admitting at that stage that she had been to Capri once before, many years ago, her one-day tour having included a visit to the grotto.
‘It’s a lot busier these days,’ she said, noting the long line of boats waiting to go into the famous cave.
Franco frowned. ‘Too busy. But, come the end of September, things will be better. The cruise ships. They will stop coming. Will you be here then?’
‘Unfortunately not.’ September had only just arrived and her return flight was for just over three weeks’ time.
‘It is too warm for the top to be down,’ Franco decided at this point, and pressed a button which sent a canvas top up and over, shading her from the sun. Which was perhaps just as well, Veronica’s pink-and-white striped top having a deep boat neckline which might catch the sun on her neck. She always lathered herself in sunscreen. She didn’t want to burn.
Once Veronica put aside her disappointment over Leonardo’s no-show, she enjoyed the tour. Franco was a very agreeable guide, his knowledge of the island that of a man born and bred there. It turned out he was also married to Leonardo’s older sister, Elena. They had three children, a boy and two girls.
She wondered if Leonardo had told him she was Laurence’s daughter. Possibly not yet, she decided, swallowing back the questions she was dying to ask about her father. Maybe another day...
Finally, after getting a text on his phone, Franco headed for Anacapri and the helipad.
Despite telling herself there was nothing to be nervous about, Veronica’s stomach tightened and her heartbeat quickened. By the time Franco reached the top of the hill and parked, she found she could not sit in the back of the taxi any longer. Leaving her straw carryall on the back seat, she climbed out and walked around, lecturing herself all the while about her upcoming meeting with Leonardo.
Yes, he’s very attractive, but he’s a playboy, Veronica. Quite a notorious one. Don’t ever forget that. Play it cool when you come face to face with him. Don’t, for pity’s sake, let his good looks—and his undoubted charm—distract you from your quest. You’ve come here to find out about your father, not flutter your eyelashes at Leonardo Fabrizzi.
A helicopter approached from the direction of the mainland. Veronica shaded her eyes to watch it, despite already wearing sunglasses. The helicopter was black with red writing on the side and tinted glass, so she couldn’t see who was sitting in it. As it came in to land, the wind from the huge rotor blades hit her like a mini tornado. Thank God she’d chosen to wear her new white jeans, and not the sundress with its gathered skirt. As it was, a few strands of hair came loose from her ponytail, whipping across her face. Finally, the helicopter’s noisy engine shut down and the blades slowed. A side door on it slid open and out jumped a man, a tall dark-haired man in a pale grey suit and a blinding white shirt open at the neck with no tie.
Veronica recognised Leonardo instantly, despite his hair—which he’d worn disgracefully long back in his skiing days—now being cropped short. It suited him, however, showing off his face to better advantage, highlighting his sculptured features and strong jawline. Still, she’d already known about his new haircut, having studied many images on social media during the last two weeks.
He was, however, even better looking in the flesh than in recent photos, two-dimensional images not able to capture the total essence of this man. He was, Veronica accepted as she watched him stride towards her, not just the stereotype of tall, dark and handsome. Leonardo was more than that. Much more, as evidenced by the way her heart began racing within her chest. Aside from his looks, there was the way he moved. The way he walked. The set of his broad shoulders. The angle of his head. He was the total male package. Arrogant. Confident. And super sexy.
As he drew nearer, her heartbeat accelerated further.
Did he do this to all women? she wondered with exasperation. Did he make them forget everything that life had taught them about males of the ‘player’ species? Did he make them want to act like fatuous female fools?
Possibly.
Probably!
Veronica sarcastically renamed him ‘tall, dark and dangerous’ in her head.
It was a good thought to have. A sensible, soothing thought, giving her the willpower to draw in several deep, gathering breaths, consciously slowing her heartbeat and untangling the knots in her stomach. No way was she going to have her head turned by Leonardo Fabrizzi. She’d avoided that trap all those years ago. Surely she was better equipped not to fall for it this time.
All you have to do is think of Jerome...
He was staring at her, she knew, despite his sunglasses hiding the expression in his eyes. She could sense his penetrating gaze behind the opaque lenses, perhaps because his dark brows were drawn slightly together, forming two little frowning lines. It made her glad she was wearing sunglasses herself. That way he wouldn’t see into her eyes which she knew were, indeed, the windows to her soul.
Not that her soul was bothered by Leonardo Fabrizzi. It was her body which was bothered currently. Her silly, possibly frustrated female body which had been too long without the comfort of a man’s arms around her, without the wonderful feeling of being held, kissed and caressed.
‘Veronica?’ he said in that sexy voice which by now she was familiar with.
Her smile felt forced. ‘Yes,’ she confirmed.
His smile was light. And wry. ‘I should have known you’d be beautiful,’ he said. ‘Laurence was a very handsome man. Welcome to Capri,’ he added, stepping forward to draw her into a very Italian hug.
Her arms were trapped by her side as he pulled her close, the strength and warmth of his body bypassing her resolve to be sensible around him. Oh, God. She could feel herself melting in his arms. Feel her blood charge hot and heady around her veins. Her neck flushed. So did her face.
‘Goodness!’ she exclaimed, pulling back out of his embrace before she combusted. ‘I’d forgotten how very demonstrative Italians were.’
Leonardo’s eyebrows arched. ‘You don’t hug hello in Australia?’
‘We do. Though usually just relatives and close friends.’
‘How very odd. If I overstepped the mark, then I apologise. Come. It is too hot to be standing out here in the sun.’ He took her elbow and turned her back towards where the taxi waited for them, Franco still behind the wheel.
She resisted pulling her arm away, thinking that would be too rude. And too telling. He was just being a gentleman, after all. But, oh, it worried her, that wildly pleasurable sensation which had charged up her arm at his touch.
‘You don’t have any luggage?’ she asked when he dropped her arm to open the back door of the taxi.
‘No need. I keep spare clothes here at my parents’ hotel. My Capri clothes, I call them. No business suits for me when I stay here, isn’t that so, Franco?’ he said as he handed her into the car and climbed in after her.
‘Si, Leo. You are a different man once you come here.’
‘Have you been looking after our visitor? Shown her the more famous sights?’
