The Italian's Unexpected Love-Child. Miranda Lee

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      More than liked. She’d been obsessed with the sport for a long time, having been introduced to it as a teenager by a classmate’s family. They’d been very wealthy and had taken her along on their skiing holidays as company for their very spoilt but not very popular daughter.

      ‘I am no longer a famous skier,’ he told her brusquely. ‘I retired from that world some time ago. I am just a businessman now.’

      ‘I see,’ she said, not having skied herself since Jerome had died. Her interest in the sport—and most other things—had died along with the man she’d been going to marry.

      ‘So how may I help you, Mr Fabrizzi?’ It suddenly occurred to her that maybe he’d come here to Australia on business and was in urgent need of treatment after a long flight. He might have looked up Sydney physiotherapists online and come up with her website.

      ‘I am sorry,’ he said in sombre tones, ‘But I have some sad news to tell you.’

      ‘Sad news?’ she echoed, startled and puzzled. ‘What kind of sad news?’

      ‘Laurence has died,’ he told her.

      ‘Laurence? Laurence who?’ She knew no one called Laurence.

      ‘Laurence Hargraves.’

      Veronica was none the wiser. ‘I’m sorry, but that name means nothing to me.’

      ‘Are you sure?’

      ‘Positive.’

      ‘That is strange, because your name meant something to him. You’re one of the beneficiaries in his will.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Laurence left you something in his will. A villa, actually, on the Isle of Capri.’

      ‘What? Oh, that’s ridiculous! Is this some kind of cruel joke?’

      ‘I assure you, Miss Hanson, this is no joke. I am the executor of Laurence’s will, and have a copy of it right in front of me. If you are the Miss Veronica Hanson who lives in Glebe Point Road, Sydney, Australia, then you are now the proud owner of a very beautiful villa on Capri.’

      ‘Goodness! This is incredible.’

      ‘I agree,’ he said, with a somewhat rueful note in his voice. ‘I was a close friend of Laurence and he never mentioned you. Could he have been a long-lost relative of some kind? A great-uncle or a cousin, perhaps?’

      ‘I suppose so. But I doubt it,’ she added. Her mother was an only child and her father—even if he knew of her existence—certainly wouldn’t have an English name like Hargraves in his family. He’d been an impoverished university student from Latvia who had sold his sperm for money and wasn’t even on her birth certificate, which said ‘father unknown’. ‘I’ll have to ask my mother. She might know.’

      ‘It is very puzzling, I admit,’ the Italian said. ‘Maybe Laurence was a patient of yours in the past, or a relative of a patient. Have you ever worked in England? Laurence used to live in England before he retired to Capri.’

      ‘No, I haven’t. Never.’ She had, however, been to the Isle of Capri. For a day. As a tourist. Many years ago. She recalled looking up at the hundreds of huge villas dotted over the hillsides and thinking you would have to be very rich to live in one of them.

      Veronica wondered if Leonardo Fabrizzi was still rich. And still a playboy.

      Not that I care, shot back the tart thought.

      ‘It is a mystery, all right,’ the man himself said. ‘But it doesn’t change the fact that you can take possession of this property once the appropriate papers are signed and the taxes paid.’

      ‘Taxes?’

      ‘Inheritance taxes. I have to tell you that, on a property of this considerable value, the taxes will not come cheap. Since you are not a relative, they stand at eight percent of the current market value.’

      ‘Which is what, exactly?’

      ‘Laurence’s villa should sell for somewhere between three-and-a-half and four million euros.’

      ‘Heavens!’ Veronica had a substantial amount of money in her savings account—she spent next to nothing these days—but she didn’t have eight percent of four million euros.

      ‘If that is a problem, then I could lend you the money. You could repay me when you sell.’

      His gesture surprised her. ‘You would do that? I mean...it could take some time to sell such a property, couldn’t it?’

      ‘Not in this circumstance. I would like to buy Laurence’s villa myself. I often visited him there and I love the place.’

      Veronica should have been grateful for such an easy solution. But for some reason she was reluctant just to say yes, that would be great, yes, let’s do that.

      He must have picked up on her hesitation, despite her not saying a word.

      ‘If you’re worried that I might try to cheat you,’ he said, sounding somewhat peeved, ‘you could get an independent valuation. Which amount I would be happy to pay in full. And in cash,’ he added, highlighting just how rich he was.

      Veronica rolled her eyes, never at her best when confronted by people who trumpeted their wealth. Jerome’s parents had been very rich. And had never let her forget it, always saying she was a very lucky girl to be marrying their one and only child.

      Hardly lucky, as it turned out.

      ‘Perhaps you would like some time to think about all this,’ the Italian went on. ‘I imagine this has all come as a shock.’

      ‘More of a surprise than a shock,’ she said.

      ‘But a pleasant one, surely?’ he suggested smoothly. ‘Since you didn’t know Laurence personally, his death won’t have upset you. And the sale of his villa will leave you very comfortably off.’

      ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ she mused aloud.

      ‘I do hope you don’t think me rude, Miss Hanson, but I noticed your birth date on the will. I know women don’t like to talk about their ages but could you please confirm for me that the details are correct?’ And he rattled off the date.

      ‘Yes, that’s correct,’ she said, frowning. ‘Though how this Laurence person knew it, I have no idea.’

      ‘So you were twenty-eight as of last June.’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘You’re a Gemini.’

      ‘Yes. Though I don’t think I’m all that typical.’ According to a book on star signs she’d once read, she could be light-hearted and fun-loving one day, and serious and thoughtful the next. That might have been true once but she seemed to be stuck these days on the serious and thoughtful. ‘You believe in star signs, Mr Fabrizzi?’

      ‘Of СКАЧАТЬ