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‘What do you mean?’
‘Come, now. You’ve been shockingly spoiled all your life. You would have needed someone tough to whip you into shape.’
He laughed. ‘You could be right there.’
‘I am right. So, what happened in the end? What were the injuries which forced you to retire before you wanted to?’
‘Too many to enumerate. I broke practically every bone you could break at one time or another. And pulled just about every muscle.’
‘I read that you were a very reckless skier. But very brave,’ she added, not wanting to offend him.
‘I was a risk-taker, that’s true. You have to take risks to win. Apparently, I took after my grandfather in that regard. Though his risks were in business, not on the ski slopes. My uncle inherited his talent for making money, but not my father. He hated the cut and thrust of the business world. When my grandfather died, Papa took his share of the money, put most of it into the bank and bought that hotel down there with the rest.’ He nodded down the hillside to where the Hotel Fabrizzi stood. ‘Papa’s a hard worker but he likes a simple life. Running a small hotel suits him.’
‘And your mother?’ Veronica asked. ‘Does she like life on Capri?’
‘She loves it. So do my sisters. I love it too, but only in small doses. It’s too quiet for me. When they came to live here, I stayed in Milan with Uncle Stephano. I wanted to ski professionally and I couldn’t do that from here. He sponsored me and taught me the textile business during the off season. There’s nothing I don’t know about manufacturing and selling fabrics.’
‘Do you still miss it?’ she asked. ‘The skiing life?’
When he shrugged, she saw that that was what he did when he didn’t want to answer a question, or face something.
‘You couldn’t do it for ever, Leonardo,’ she pointed out. ‘Age would have caught up with you, even if injuries didn’t.’
‘I would have liked to do it a little longer,’ he bit out. ‘I was favourite to become world champion that year.’
‘We don’t always get what we want in life, Leonardo,’ she said with a touch of her old bitterness.
‘True,’ he said, not picking up on her change in
mood. But it had changed, the happiness which Leonardo’s company brought to her spoiled by thinking about Jerome’s treachery.
She stood up abruptly, having found that doing things was the best antidote for unhappy thoughts. At home, she would distract herself with work. Housework, if she wasn’t seeing a client at the time.
‘What are you doing?’ he asked her.
‘Cleaning up,’ she replied as she swept up the dirty plates.
‘I can see that. But why? It can wait, can’t it? You haven’t finished your wine and I was enjoying our conversation.’
‘Really?’
‘Yes. Really. Talking to you is like talking to Laurence. He used to make me open up and tell him my worries. It’s a relief sometimes to confide in someone else, especially someone nice and non-judgemental. And it’s far cheaper than seeing a therapist.’
Veronica stood there, holding the plates, genuinely surprised by his admission.
‘I can’t imagine you ever seeing a therapist.’
‘I did for a while. Being forced to retire affected me terribly. But, in the end, I realised that going over and over my feelings wasn’t doing me any good, so I stopped.’
Veronica put the plates back down and settled back into her chair.
‘Yes, I’m not sure that’s the right way to get over things. The world seems obsessed with celebrating anniversaries at the moment, especially ones remembering quite wretched events. I honestly think it’s a bad thing to dwell on the past. I did it for far too long. You have to accept reality and then move on.’
Even as she said the brave words, Veronica recognised it was a case of easier said than done. After all, until recently she’d hugged her misery around her like a cloak, afraid to move on, afraid of some other man hurting her as Jerome had done. But at least she had finally moved on. And she doubted Leonardo would hurt her. She wouldn’t let him, for starters, this last thought crystallising her decision to end their fling tomorrow. It was too much of a risk to keep on seeing him. He was way too attractive. And way too good in bed.
But she wouldn’t say anything until she had to. Hopefully, he wouldn’t take it badly, or as a blow to his ego, which was considerable.
Veronica picked up her wine glass and took a deep swallow.
