Phantom Marriage

Hopefully, he wouldn’t put that question to the test. Because, for whatever reason, she didn’t feel as strong today as she had back then. Which was odd, really, since she had her experience with Jerome to help immunise her against the attractions of men such as Leonardo Fabrizzi. She wished now that she hadn’t suggested she was the free and easy type when it came to men. The urge to seem sophisticated in his presence had been acute. Female vanity, she supposed. But it had been a mistake.

Leonardo finally extracted them from his parents’ overwhelming welcome with the excuse he should take Veronica up to see her villa.

‘I will see you soon, Mamma,’ he said, shepherding them both back inside whilst he retrieved Veronica’s luggage, and her sunglasses, at the same time. ‘After I’ve got Veronica settled in I’ll come back down and you can tell me all the gossip.’

His mother called out something from the hotel foyer in Italian. His reply was in Italian also. Despite only knowing limited Italian, Veronica gleaned it was about dinner tonight.

‘Haven’t you been home for a while?’ she asked as he handed over her sunglasses, which she popped into her shoulder bag. Their eyes met again and something lurched inside her. He just stared at her for a long moment, and she stared right back, thinking how beautiful he was. Not just handsome. Beautiful.

Oh, dear…

‘It’s been a month since my last visit,’ he said at last.

Not so very long ago, Veronica thought. She’d been imagining it must have been much longer, judging by the prodigious joy of his parents’ welcome. Clearly, Leonardo was the apple of his mamma’s and papa’s eyes.

‘This way,’ he said, then took off through the paved pergola, pulling her case behind him. Veronica had to hurry to keep up with him, his stride fast and long.

‘It was my father’s seventy-fifth birthday,’ he tossed over his shoulder. ‘It was also the weekend before Laurence died. Now, watch your step on this path. It’s very steep but it’s the quickest way up to your villa from here. There’s another road for deliveries and such, but you have to drive a fair way round to get to it, and I don’t keep a car on the island.’

It was steep, but she was fit and didn’t have much trouble with the incline, or the rather uneven stone steps. Clearly, they’d been there a long time, as had the inhabitants of this island. Franco had given her a history lesson this morning during her sightseeing tour, telling her how the Roman emperor Tiberius had moved to Capri ages ago and had used the Blue Grotto as his private swimming pool. She’d possibly heard the same story when she’d been here before as a tourist but she’d long forgotten it. But she hadn’t forgotten how impressed she was by all the beautiful white villas which dotted the island. Now one of them belonged to her. For a while, at least.

Her eyes lifted but the villa was hidden from view by a grove of olive trees. She could just glimpse the roof, which had terracotta tiles just like the Hotel Fabrizzi.

‘Did you see Laurence that weekend?’ she asked, glad to return her attention to the reason why she was here. Which wasn’t to go gaga over Leonardo but to find out all she could about her father.

‘I did,’ was all he said.

‘And?’ she prompted.

‘I’ve been trying to recall what we talked about. I knew you’d ask me,’ he added with a wry glance over his shoulder.

‘And?’

He stopped walking and turned to face her. ‘It’s difficult to remember. We spent many hours together over the last few years, Laurence and I. He taught me to play chess. But I never could beat him. He was way too good.’

‘I’ve never played chess.’

‘It’s not an easy game to master,’ he said, and started walking up the steps again, this time by her side rather than in front.

‘Do you like red wine?’

‘Not really.’

‘Laurence was a red wine buff. He has the most incredible cellar.’

‘I noticed he left you his wine collection in his will. Have you collected it yet?’

‘No need. You’re selling me the villa, remember?’

‘Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I forgot. Oh!’ Veronica exclaimed in surprise as the villa came into view.

It wasn’t what she’d been imagining. Somehow she’d been picturing a smaller version of the Hotel Fabrizzi. But it wasn’t like that at all. Yes, it was mainly white. And, yes, the roof tiles were terracotta. But that was where any resemblance ended. The building was rectangular, and all on the one level, with a cloistered veranda which ran the entire length at the front. Beyond this shaded area, the main wall of the house had a lot of sliding glass doors with no obvious front door.

‘Come,’ Leonardo said, and led her up a small cement ramp onto the wonderfully cool veranda. Once there, Veronica stopped and turned to gaze out at the Mediterranean.

‘Oh, Leonardo,’ she said with a sigh of both amazement and contentment. The olive grove stopped one looking down and perhaps having the magnificent vista spoiled by the sight of buses, towns and tourists. All you could see from where she was standing was crystal blue water all the way to the horizon, with just the occasional sailboat or yacht, which hardly seemed to be moving. Everything was peaceful, soothing and, oh, so beautiful.

‘Perhaps now you understand why I want to buy this place.’