The Italian's Unexpected Love-Child

‘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?