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‘He gave it to me when I was staying here with my broken ankle. I couldn’t sleep some nights so I would get up and play poker on the computer. What are you hoping to find?’ he asked as he came over and tapped in the password, which wasn’t exactly obscure. Just Ruth with her birthdate after it. Of course, he had to lean over her shoulder to do that, his nostrils immediately assailed with a faint but tantalising scent. Not perfume. Possibly just shower gel.
‘Anything, really,’ she said, and quickly stood up. ‘Would you like some coffee?’
‘Si. Grazie.’
‘Why are you speaking Italian all of sudden?’ she demanded to know.
He shrugged. ‘Does it matter?’
‘No. Yes. I mean, I understand a few words, but I’d prefer you to use English.’
‘Fine.’ He smiled at her then sat down in front of the computer. ‘Let’s see if I can find anything enlightening for you.’ He brought up Laurence’s email account and tapped in the same password, guessing that it would be the same.
It was. Of course, there was a whole heap of spam, sent after Laurence’s demise. He deleted it all then backtracked to the days before Laurence had left for London. One email jumped out at him. It was from a private investigation firm in Sydney and was accompanied by a PDF. Leonardo downloaded it, frowning as he began to read, his frown deepening by the time he’d read the report, which wasn’t overly long, but which included an attached photograph.
‘I remembered from lunch that you liked your coffee black and strong,’ Veronica said as she set a steaming mug down on the desk next to him. ‘Have you found something?’
Had he found something? Dio, had he ever!
Veronica peered over Leonardo’s shoulder at the computer screen.
‘My God,’ she gasped, pointing at the screen. ‘That’s me.’
‘That it is,’ Leonardo said slowly.
‘But…but…’
‘It’s attached to a recent report from a private detective agency based in Sydney,’ he explained. ‘Clearly Laurence wanted to find out how you were faring before he died. Also clearly,’ he added, glancing up into her widening eyes, ‘What he discovered made him decide to change his will and leave you his villa here on Capri.’
‘What…what does it say about me?’ she asked, obviously shaken by this news.
And well she should be, Leonardo thought, not sure if he felt sad for her. Or furious that she had deceived him.
‘I think it best that I print out the report and let you read it for yourself,’ he said with creditable composure.
‘All right,’ she agreed.
‘Perhaps you should also sit down.’
* * *
Veronica sank onto the nearest dining room chair, her heart sinking as well. She knew exactly what the report would say, her mind scrambling to find some excuse she could give to Leonardo as to why she’d let him think she’d been out there, socialising and having an active sex life, one that required her to take the pill. Oh, Lord! She had to keep that lie going. Leonardo would be understandably furious if she told him she wasn’t on the pill.
Her stomach tightened as the printer spat out the report.
She wondered if the investigator had found out the whole truth about Jerome as well.
Possibly not. He’d hidden his affair well.
‘Here,’ Leonardo said, and slapped the pages down on the dining table. He was angry with her, she could see. Which was understandable.
The report wasn’t long. Only three pages. But it spelled the situation out exactly as she’d feared. It made her sound like some grieving widow, not the bitter wronged woman she actually was. Or had been.
But she wasn’t that woman any longer, was she? Leonardo had shown her she’d been a fool to hide away, nursing her grievances and shunning the opposite sex. Okay, so he wasn’t the kind of man to pin any future hopes on. Which was bad luck. She did so like him. But he’d still been good for her, giving her back her libido, along with a more optimistic way of looking at the opposite sex. She would remember him for the rest of her life.
Veronica decided then and there to embrace the truth. Though, not as far as Jerome’s affair. Leonardo had already said he didn’t want to hear any man-bashing. And, really, it was none of his business. Neither would she be telling him she wasn’t on the pill.
‘Well?’ Leonardo prompted, having drawn out a chair opposite her and sat down. ‘What have you got to say for yourself?’
