Читать книгу Marriage In Peril - Miranda Lee - Страница 8

SOMEHOW Brooke made her way back into the bedroom without alerting the couple on the terrace below, there to collapse onto the gold silk quilt. Both her hands lifted to cover her eyes, as though by blocking out the light she could somehow block out the horror of what she’d just heard.

Leo, in love with Francesca! Leo, once engaged to his brother’s widow! Leo, not at the office, but spending time with his lost love…

It seemed unbelievable, and yet it explained so much. The fact Leo had never actually said he loved her. Not ever! He’d used other endearments, other phrases. Adoration. Desire. Need. But never love.

And then there was his oddly cold behaviour around Francesca. Not dislike or indifference, as she’d imagined. But the other side of love.

Oh, God…

The pain wasn’t just emotional. It was brutally physical. A vice clamped around her heart, pressing down till she simply couldn’t breathe!

Gasping for air, Brooke struggled off the bed and into the bathroom, where she splashed some cold water over her face, then sucked in great gulps of oxygen before straightening. The distressed face staring back at her in the vanity mirror was hardly recognisable. Chalk-white, with huge, hurt blue eyes and an uncontrollably quivering chin. When tears blurred her vision her eyes dropped and her shoulders sagged. She had to clutch at the marble vanity-top to stop herself from sinking to the floor.

Dear Lord, what was she going to do?

Suddenly, and perversely, she wanted her mother.

Yet her mother was the last person she could tell any of this to. She would just say, I told you so! in that scoffing, scornful way of hers.

Brooke could not help thinking that it was almost five years since her mother had prophesied Leo would make her miserable. Next week was their fifth wedding anniversary. And she’d been right!

Or had she?

What if Giuseppe was right and Sophia was wrong? What if Leo wasn’t still in love with Francesca, let alone spending today—or any other day—with her? What if he didn’t give a damn about his brother’s wife, and hadn’t since she’d betrayed his love with his brother?

Brooke’s heart clung to this desperate hope.

It was possible, wasn’t it? Okay, so Leo hadn’t proclaimed his undying love for her. But in the five years she’d known him he’d never given a hint that he was unhappy, or pining for another woman. He’d always seemed very happy to come home to her every night, and very satisfied with their life together, especially their sex life.

Till this last three weeks, that was, she conceded, with a sickening twist in her stomach. Leo hadn’t been himself in that department since coming home for Lorenzo’s funeral.

She’d thought his unusual lack of desire was due to grief and exhaustion. Now, another more awful reason invaded her mind…

Brooke groaned in despair.

Francesca’s abrupt move back to Milan suddenly took on a more sinister meaning, as did Leo’s wholehearted approval of his sister-in-law’s decision. He’d wanted the opportunity to be alone with the woman he still loved and wanted, away from the prying eyes of his family, and well away from her, his wife.

Francesca’s tears that day might not have been grief, but guilt.

She was the type of female to feel guilty, Brooke thought bitterly, but not enough to say no to a determined man. If Leonardo declared his undying love for her, passionately insisting she give him what she’d once withheld, silly, wishy-washy Francesca would probably become as putty in his hands.

Now Brooke’s eyes snapped up, and they were no longer quite so haunted-looking. They were angry. No, not just angry. Livid.

Giuseppe might be able to turn a blind eye to his son’s adultery, but she could not! She would go and confront the pair of them. Right now! This very moment! Borrow Sophia’s car and drive into Milan to Francesca’s place.

She knew the way. Leo had often taken her into Milan to shop during previous visits, as well as to his brother’s fancy apartment for those dinner parties. She herself had driven home on these occasions, forced to concentrate on the roads involved in a way you didn’t when you were a passenger.

Leo liked to have a bottle of wine over dinner, and always gave her the keys at the end of such evenings. It was the only time he allowed her to drive when he was in the car, something which rankled Brooke but which she tolerated. As she’d tolerated Leo’s edict shortly after their marriage that he didn’t like her to drink much. He’d said it made her aggressive.

‘Like your mother,’ he’d added, when she’d been about to object.

That thought had stopped the automatic protest bubbling up in her throat, after which she’d curtailed her drinking, restricting herself to just one glass or two. Not once during the last five years of their relationship had she ever told Leo it was his turn not to drink that evening, that she wanted to relax over a bottle of wine for once.

‘Silly, weak cow!’ she sneered at herself in the bathroom mirror. ‘No wonder he thinks he can get away with cheating on you.’

Well, he was in for a shock, wasn’t he? In about an hour she would be arriving at Francesca’s door, and there would be hell to pay!

If by some remote possibility Giuseppe was right, and Leo wasn’t with Francesca, if it proved his car was parked safely in the Milan head office car park, and not where she suspected it would be, then she would simply turn round and drive home.

But some inner female instinct told her Leo wasn’t going to be at the office, just as his mother knew. Women knew about such things, provided they opened their stupid eyes and saw the signs.

‘Well, my eyes are well and truly open now, Leo,’ Brooke seethed aloud. ‘And God help you!’

With cold fury in her heart, Brooke set about brushing her hair and applying some lipstick before going downstairs in search of Leo’s mother.

She found her in one of the large sitting rooms, ostensibly reading a magazine. But her grey head was bowed in a weary fashion, her normally proud shoulders slumped in an attitude of great sadness.

Brooke’s heart squeezed tight. She liked her mother-in-law a lot. Sophia was a warm, generous-hearted woman who’d welcomed her into her home and her heart without question. How wretched she must be feeling, with one son dead and the other involved in a potentially disastrous affair.

Protecting Sophia from unnecessary distress became an instant priority with Brooke, her inner fury temporarily pushed to one side. She was still determined to go and find Leo, but whatever happened after that would be between them and them alone. Sophia was not to be told a thing.

Her mind made up, Brooke moved into the room. Sophia’s head jerked up at the sound of footsteps on the tiled floor.

‘Brooke!’ she exclaimed. ‘I…I thought you were sleeping.’

Brooke adopted what she hoped was a suitably wan expression. ‘I tried. But I have this dreadful headache.’

‘Oh, my dear. What a shame. Can I get you something? A tablet? A drink?’

‘No. I’m afraid they won’t help. It’s a PMT thing. My period’s due tomorrow.’ Which it was, she realised. Being on the pill, such things were very predictable. ‘Happens every month. Sometimes, when I get this back home, I go for a walk or a drive. For some reason that unwinds me and the headache goes away. Would you mind if I borrowed your car, Sophia? I promise to be careful and not to speed.’

‘Of course you can, dear. But where will you drive to?’

‘Oh…just around.’

‘Do you want me to go with you?’

‘No, no. I prefer to be by myself. Would you mind the children for me if they wake up before I return?’

‘Certainly.’

Five minutes later, Brooke was carefully negotiating the tight corners of the curving road which hugged the lake, only the prospect of leaving her children motherless stopping her from speeding.

She couldn’t get to Milan fast enough. She wanted to see the evidence of Leo’s betrayal for herself; wanted to see his car outside Francesca’s apartment block; wanted to storm inside and find them together.

In her mind’s eyes she saw herself tearing strips off Leo, shouting and screaming and doing all those hysterical things she hadn’t done during her last five lily-livered years!

The drive took well over an hour, with traffic building the closer she got to Milan. Brooke got a bit lost before finally turning into the wide, tree-lined street which housed Francesca’s apartment block.

Brooke had thought she was ready for the sight of Leo’s car parked in one of the visitors’ bays by the side of the building.

But she’d been wrong.

Her stomach cramped when her eyes landed on its distinctive make and colour, then heaved when the number-plate confirmed there was no mistake. She only just opened her own car door in time for her lunch to land in the gutter and not her lap. As it was, her dress became a little stained.

At last, she sank back against the leather seat, shaken and still shaking. All she could think of was that the man she loved… her husband…her Leo…was inside that building, inside Francesca’s apartment, in her bedroom, in her bed.

No use pretending he wasn’t. If his presence there was perfectly innocent, why lie about what he was doing today?

He’d probably been lying all week, Brooke accepted, nausea swirling again. He’d probably never been in the office at all. Or only minimally. That was why he’d left his mobile phone number with her, and not the office number.

Perversely, now that she had proof of his lies, her courage failed her. Suddenly she was afraid of what would happen if she did go inside and confront them both.

Because there would be no going back then: no pretending it was just a passing problem—or a passing passion; no turning that blind eye Giuseppe had perhaps wisely said was the only solution.

If she confronted them, her marriage would be over. Even if Leo didn’t want that—and Brooke believed that Leo would not want to hurt or lose his children—then pride would come into it.

Her pride.

It was one thing to go on living with a man you knew didn’t love you. Quite another to go on living with a man who knew you knew he didn’t love you. That would be beyond the pale. Totally unendurable.

But she could drive away now, go back to the villa and pretend she knew nothing. Then, if Leo took them back to Australia this Friday—confirming he’d made the decision to give up Francesca for the sake of his family—they might be able to go on as before. Because that would mean he did love her, in a way.

Who knew? Maybe his being with Francesca today was just a sex thing, a hangover from the past, an old, unrequited passion which he hadn’t been able to let go. Maybe he was doing exactly what his father said, getting the woman out of his system.

Much as it killed Brooke to think of Leo in the arms of another woman, it was better he take the creature to bed a few times then ask for a divorce.

The truth was she simply could not bear it if Leo divorced her. Brooke knew she would never love another man as she loved him. On top of that he was the father of her children. They adored him. Heavens, even her mother had grown to like him.

Better she swallow her pride and turn that blind eye. Better she ignore the pain, hide the overwhelming feelings of humiliation and pretend nothing had changed.

But oh, dear Lord, it was going to be hard…

Brooke swallowed, reached forward, and turned on the engine. Slowly, wretchedly, she turned the car and made her way back to Lake Como.

‘My dear, you look terrible!’ was Sophia’s first remark on her return. ‘And what’s that on your dress?’

‘I…I was sick,’ Brooke mumbled, feeling wretched and utterly exhausted. ‘Must be a migraine, not PMT.’

‘You poor thing. I know how terrible they are. I’ve suffered from migraines for years. You simply must go back to bed. And draw the curtains. I’ll bring you up some very good tablets the doctor prescribed for me. They’ll make you sleep, but that’s for the best. Now, don’t you worry about the children. Giuseppe has taken them out for a boat ride on the lake. Nina’s gone with them, so they’ll be quite safe.’

Brooke was having a battle not to cry. ‘You’re very kind,’ she choked out.

‘Not at all. Leonardo rang again. I didn’t tell him you were out driving. I said you had a headache and were having a sleep. I hope I did the right thing.’

Brooke met the woman’s worried eyes and wondered why they were both protecting Leo.

For the sake of the children, she supposed.

‘Yes, Sophia, you did the right thing,’ she said in a flat, dead voice.

‘Good. Now, upstairs with you and into a nice refreshing shower. I’ll put the tablets by your bed, along with a drink and something light for you to eat. It’s not good to take these tablets on an empty stomach. And don’t worry about anything. If you’re still asleep when Leo comes home, I’ll tell him not to disturb you.’

Now the tears came, and Sophia looked alarmed. ‘Are you sure it’s just a headache, Brooke? There’s nothing else wrong, is there?’

Brooke refused to add to the woman’s worry. She’d had enough on her plate lately. This was her problem and she would deal with it.

‘I think I’m a bit homesick,’ she said, not untruthfully.

Sophia nodded. ‘It’s time Leo took you home.’

Brooke just smiled sadly and turned to go upstairs. Her legs felt like lead, each step a mammoth effort. By the time she came out of the shower, two rather big white pills were sitting on the near bedside table, along with a glass of water. A small and very elegantly set out tray rested on the other table, with two tempting-looking sandwiches and a tall glass of iced milk.

Her mother-in-law’s sweet thoughtfulness brought another rush of tears. Brooke knew Sophia would be devastated if she and Leo broke up. So would Giuseppe. Brooke could not do it to them, or to her children, or to herself. She loved Leo. She would always love him, no matter what. Life without him was unimaginable!

Brooke fell asleep with tears still wet on her cheeks. But they had long dried when she woke many hours later to the sounds of someone in the en suite bathroom, in the shower.

Her errant husband, it seemed, had finally deigned to come home.