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‘No,’ she replied after a small hesitation. ‘No one at the moment. No one serious, at least,’ she added with a wry little smile.
‘Ah. You like to play the field.’
Her laugh was both light and amused. ‘If you like…’
He did like. Oh, yes, he liked that idea a lot, forgetting all about the antagonism towards the opposite sex that this morning’s confrontation had evoked in him. Suddenly, the prospect of keeping this lovely lady company this coming weekend was not a duty but a pleasure.
‘We have arrived,’ he announced when Franco turned his taxi through the high stone walls into the courtyard of the Hotel Fabrizzi. ‘What do you think, Veronica? Is not my parents’ hotel a delightful little establishment?’
CHAPTER SEVEN
HARDLY LITTLE, VERONICA THOUGHT, glad to turn her eyes away from this extremely handsome and annoyingly charismatic man. Lord, but he could charm the pants off any woman!
Except me, she reassured herself, blithely ignoring her thudding heartbeat.
‘It’s lovely,’ she said as the taxi came to a halt in front of a columned portico.
The hotel itself was two-storeyed and dazzlingly white, with terracotta tiles on the roof and dark wooden frames around the windows and doors. To their right as they alighted was a large pergola covered in grape vines, under which sat a long wooden table with equally long benches on either side and two large cushioned chairs at each head of the table. The closest was occupied by a huge ginger cat, basking in the dappled sunshine. When Leonardo walked over to stroke it, it purred loudly but did not get up.
‘This is Gepetto. He’s my mother’s cat and very old. He was here when my parents bought this place thirteen years ago. The previous owners abandoned him.’ Leonardo smiled a rueful smile. ‘He’s not de-sexed. Mostly because we can never get him into a cage. He doesn’t mind being stroked but don’t ever try to pick him up. He can be quite savage. I’m told there are many ginger kittens on Capri.’
Veronica looked at Leonardo and wondered how many offspring he’d sired over the years. Though perhaps he was too careful for that. Wealthy playboys would learn to practise safe sex from an early age, she imagined. There certainly hadn’t been anything about paternity suits levelled against him on the Internet.
‘Must go, Leo,’ Franco called out as he dropped Veronica’s case onto the portico then climbed back into the taxi. ‘I will see you tonight,’ he directed straight at her.
‘Tonight?’ Veronica echoed but Franco was already gone.
‘My parents will invite you to dinner,’ Leonardo explained. ‘The whole family will be there to meet you. They are very curious over the long-lost daughter of their friend and neighbour.’
‘Oh.’ It sounded like there would be a daunting lot of people gawking at her.
‘Don’t say no,’ he advised. ‘They would be most offended if you did.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of saying no,’ she said, just as two people emerged from the hotel out into the sunny courtyard.
Veronica saw immediately where Leonardo got his looks, because this had to be his parents. Both of them were surprisingly tall for Italians. Despite being obviously in their seventies, they both stood with straight backs, their faces beaming with happiness at the sight of their son.
‘Leonardo!’ his mother exclaimed, and hurried over to throw her arms around him.
‘Mamma,’ he said warmly, holding his mother’s face and covering it with kisses.
His mother laughed and smiled, hugging him even tighter.
Veronica watched with a tightness in her own chest. Was it jealousy she was feeling? Or just envy? She and her mother loved each other dearly but they weren’t much into physical demonstrations of their love. The occasional hug, maybe. Her mother had kissed her goodbye at the airport. Just one kiss. On the cheek.
Of course, Italians were like this. They were a passionate people, given to touching and kissing at the drop of a hat. Australians not so much, though they were improving when it came to showing affection—especially in Sydney, where immigration was the highest, with people from other cultures bringing with them new and possibly better ways.
Finally, Signora Fabrizzi disentangled herself from her son’s arms and turned to face Veronica whilst Leonardo’s father had his turn at hugging and kissing his son.
&nb
sp; ‘And you must be Veronica,’ she said, her Italian accent not as heavy as Franco’s. ‘Laurence’s secret daughter. I am Sophia, Leonardo’s mamma. And this is Alberto, his papa. My, but you are lovely, aren’t you? Let me see your eyes,’ she added, and without a by-your-leave stepped forward and swept off Veronica’s sunglasses.
‘Mamma!’ Leonardo chided, but laughing. ‘Don’t be rude.’
‘I just wanted to see if she had Laurence’s eyes,’ his mother explained sheepishly. ‘See, Leonardo? They are the same violet colour. The same shape. Now I believe she is really his daughter.’
Leonardo muttered something in Italian, having removed his own sunglasses, perhaps so that he could see the colour of Veronica’s eyes more clearly. Their eyes met, with nothing now to mask their feelings. Veronica stiffened at the naked desire which zoomed across the space between them. It was the same way he’d looked at her that night all those years ago. She’d resisted him then. But could she resist him now? Did she even want to?
