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It pleased her, then made her sad.
She would have loved to know her father when he had still been alive. Instead, all she could do was pick over other people’s memories of him. And stare at old photos. Suddenly, the tears came, rolling down her cheeks and dripping off her nose. Thankfully, they didn’t last long, Veronica pulling herself together by turning and looking through the mainly glass wall at the view beyond.
What was it about that view? It was only water, after all. Did the Mediterranean possess some kind of magic? Or was it Capri that was magical?
Whatever, it did the trick, bringing a sense of peace to her soul and an acceptance of the situation. At least she had some sense of her father’s memories now. And photos. And this lovely villa. For a while, anyway. What a shame she could not live here permanently.
‘Don’t start wishing for the moon, Veronica,’ she told herself sternly, then turned and went to discover the rest of her father’s home.
* * *
Two hours later, after taking more photos than she could count, Veronica sent them to her mother’s phone then rang her.
‘Hel…lo?’ came a very fuzzy voice after several rings.
‘Oh, dear,’ Veronica said, wincing. ‘I’ve woken you up. Sorry, Mum. I forgot about the time difference.’
‘No trouble,’ she said, sounding a little more awake.
‘What time is it?’
‘Er…just after four. In the morning. What’s up?’
‘I’m here on Capri, in the villa.’
‘What’s it like? Not a crumbling ruin, I hope.’
Veronica laughed. ‘Hardly. I’ve taken heaps of photos and sent them to you. Have a look and see for yourself.’
‘Just a sec. Oh, yes. I’ve got them. Oh…wow! That is some view. Is that the view from the villa or somewhere else?’
‘No, that’s the view from the villa.’
‘No wonder the place is worth heaps. That view alone is worth millions.’
‘I agree. And the villa is fantastic.’
‘Yes, it’s lovely. Not very Italian-looking inside.’
‘No. The decor is more English but the bones are Italian. Lots of marble on the floors and in the bathrooms. And the fireplace is very Italian. The kitchen is modern, despite the wooden benches. And the huge cooker.’
‘Four bedrooms, I notice. Yet they didn’t have children.’
‘Leonardo said they used to entertain when his wife was still alive.’
‘What’s he like, this Leonardo chap?’
Veronica swallowed. To lie or not to lie? She didn’t want her mother worrying about her. And she might, if she said he was utterly gorgeous and she fancied him like mad.
‘Oh, he’s a typical Italian. You know the type. Very charming.’
‘And very good-looking,’ her mother said, startling her.
‘How would you know that?’
‘After you left I looked him up on the Internet. He’s quite the playboy, isn’t he?’
‘Yes,’ Veronica admitted. ‘But harmless, once you know the species.’
