Читать книгу The Italian's Unexpected Love-Child - Miranda Lee - Страница 12

CHAPTER THREE

VERONICA LAY ON her bed, her head whirling with what she’d discovered. She found it almost impossible to process her feelings. Was she still angry or just terribly sad? What her mother had told her had sort of made sense, and was much better than her mother having slept with a married man. And, yes, she understood why her mother had promised to keep her father’s identity a secret, even if it still upset her.

What puzzled her the most, however, was the will. Now, that didn’t make sense. Why leave her anything at all? Her father must have known it would stir up trouble and leave so many questions unanswered.

Her father...

Tears filled Veronica’s eyes. She’d had a father. A real father, not some unnamed sperm donor. He hadn’t been a nobody, either. He’d been a famous scientist, a groundbreaking geneticist with a brilliant brain. Oh, how she wished her mother had told her years ago.

But of course she hadn’t been able to. She’d given her word. Down deep, Veronica understood that. Good people honoured their promises. And her mother was a good woman. But, dear God, her father was dead now. Dead and gone. She could never see him or talk to him. Never know what he was like.

‘Are you all right, love?’ her mother asked tentatively from the doorway.

Veronica blinked away her tears then turned her head to smile softly at her very stressed-looking mother. She was well aware that her mother had suffered a big shock too. She had to be worried that her much-loved daughter might never forgive her.

Whilst Veronica still harboured some natural resentment at the situation, she could not blame her mother for what she’d done. If anyone was to blame, it was Laurence Hargraves. The stupid man should have gone to his grave with his secret intact and not left her anything at all! Then she could have gone on being blissfully unaware of having a father whom she would now never have the opportunity to know.

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said with feigned composure. ‘It’s just a shock, that’s all.’

‘I know. And I’m so sorry. I don’t know what possessed Laurence to put you in his will. I truly don’t. It was sweet of him, in a way, but he must have known that the truth would come out, and that then you’d be upset.’

‘People do strange things when they’re dying,’ Veronica said with a degree of understanding. She’d seen it time and time again in her work. Once, when she’d been treating an old lady, the woman had confessed she was dying and on impulse had wanted to give Veronica a beautiful ring she was wearing. Veronica had declined, knowing that the woman had a daughter who would have been most hurt by such a gesture. But the old lady hadn’t thought of that. Maybe this Laurence hadn’t thought through the consequences of his will.

Or maybe he’d known exactly what he doing.

The trouble was she would never really know either way. Because she didn’t know the man.

‘Would you like me to make you some coffee, love?’ her mother asked.

‘Yes, that would be nice,’ she replied politely, thinking what she really wanted was to be left alone. She needed to think.

Her mother disappeared, leaving Veronica to ponder the reason why her father had chosen to make his identity known at this late stage, when he could no longer be a living presence in her life. What she wouldn’t have given to have a real father when she’d been growing up, when she’d been at school, when her bitchy so-called friends would tease her about having come out of a test tube. She’d laughed at the time. But she hadn’t found their jibes funny at all. The hurt had struck deep. Teenage girls, she’d found, had a very mean streak. It was no wonder she’d always gravitated to boys when making close friends.

Thinking of boys reminded Veronica that there was one very grown-up boy she would have to ring back shortly.

Leonardo Fabrizzi.

She wasn’t looking forward to telling him that Laurence Hargraves was her biological father. He was sure to ask her lots of questions.

Still, she had lots of questions she wanted to ask him. After all, if he was close enough to her father to have been made executor of his will, then he had to have known him very well. Maybe he had a photo or two that he could send her. She would dearly love to know what this Laurence looked like.

Veronica was nothing like her mother in looks. Nora Hanson was quite short with brown hair, grey eyes and a rather forgettable face and figure. In truth, she was on the plain side. Veronica had always assumed she’d inherited her striking looks from her biological father. Maybe now she’d have the opportunity to see the evidence for herself.

This last thought propelled an idea into Veronica’s brain which had her sitting up abruptly then scrambling off the bed. She raced out into the hallway and bolted down to the kitchen, where she snatched up her phone which she’d left lying on the counter.

‘Goodness!’ her mother said, startled perhaps by her sudden exuberance. ‘Who are you ringing?’

‘The Italian I told you about. Leonardo Fabrizzi. I promised to ring him back once I’d talked to you.’

‘Oh,’ Nora said, looking pained. ‘You’re not going to tell him everything, are you? I mean, does he have to know about your being Laurence’s daughter? Can’t you just sell him the villa and leave it at that?’

‘No, Mum,’ Veronica said firmly. ‘I can’t just leave it at that. And I am going to tell him I’m Laurence’s daughter. For one thing, it makes a difference to the inheritances taxes if I’m a relative. On top of that, I won’t be selling Mr Fabrizzi the villa straight away. There’s something else I have to do first.’

‘What?’

Veronica told her.