quick supper and a shower, he would fall into bed, too tired to make love, a most unusual situation for Leo.
If there was one thing Brooke could rely upon with her husband, it was the unfailing regularity of his need for sex. Yet he hadn’t laid a hand on her since the funeral, almost three weeks ago.
Brooke was beginning to miss the feelings of love and intimacy Leo’s lovemaking always left her with, even when she was faking things. Every woman liked to be wanted that way.
Sighing, Brooke swung her feet over the side of the bed and stood up. Flicking her long fair hair back over her shoulder, she picked up the novel she kept by the bed and padded across the huge Persian rug towards the sliding glass doors which led out onto the balcony. Once outside, in the cooler air, she settled herself in one of the comfy deckchairs and opened her book at the page she’d reached the previous night.
After several minutes scanning the page without a single word sinking in, Brooke closed the book and just sat there, doing her best to relax and enjoy a view coveted the world over.
The first time she’d seen Lake Como she’d been wide-eyed over the scenic beauty of the mountains rising up from the crystalline lake; at the magnificence of the huge villas clinging to the hillsides; at the number of luxury yachts in the water, plus the all-round postcard perfection of the place.
She’d been even more wide-eyed when Leo had pulled up outside his family’s summer home.
The Parini villa was not as large as some, but larger than most, showing evidence of the family’s long-held wealth. The house had been built in the late eighteenth century, then added to and renovated several times since. Multi-levelled, it had acres of marble flooring, more bedrooms than Brooke could count, huge open-plan living areas, several very formal entertaining rooms, expansive terracotta terraces, a solar-heated swimming pool, and perfectly manicured lawns which sloped down to a private dock where three boats were moored. A speed boat, a cruiser and a racing yacht. Inside, monumental paintings filled the walls, and everywhere there were the most incredible antiques.
Brooke had worried over the years that her boisterous and mischievous son might ruin or break something, but oddly he hadn’t, as though he recognised that these treasures were his to inherit one day and had to be preserved.
Although half-Australian, Alessandro was a very Italian child. Openly affectionate, noisy and demanding, he was far too good-looking for his own good, with his father’s dark hair and eyes.
Claudia was dark-haired and dark-eyed too, and very pretty, but much quieter and delightfully amenable, content to follow her mother around, or just to play with her dolls. Her brother had to be always on the move, always doing something. Since the age of two, he’d refused to take no for an answer.
Like father like son, Brooke thought ruefully.
Which brought her thoughts back to Leo. Her darling Leo, whom she still adored but who was not the easiest man to live with, she’d found. He really did like his way in everything. Many were the times she’d been tempted to argue with him, to try to get her way for once, but she never had.
Except once…when Claudia was born.
Brooke had wanted to call her daughter Chloe. She’d also wanted to call Alessandro Alexander, but had given in when Leo had explained that the heir to the Parini fortune should have an Italian name.
Brooke hadn’t really minded, since Alessandro wasn’t so different from Alexander. But when she’d had a daughter, she’d expected to be able to choose the name she wanted. Not so, she had soon found out. Leo had been adamant about Claudia, then angry when Brooke had argued with him. More angry than she had ever seen him.
‘I am the head of this family,’ he’d pronounced dogmatically. ‘What I say goes!’
For a split second, Brooke had been overwhelmed by a deep, violent anger of her own. You’re just like my mother said, she’d almost thrown at him.
Thinking of her mother, however, had forced her to get a grip on herself. You don’t want to end up like her, do you? Bitter and twisted and lonely. It’s only a name, after all. What’s in a name? It’s not worth getting a divorce over.
So, once again, she’d given in.
But it still hurt a little; his not seeing her point of view on something that was important to her; his not meeting her halfway.
Her mother had warned her she would become a doormat. Well, maybe she had in a way, she conceded. But she was a happy and contented doormat. Most of the time.
A telephone ringing somewhere downstairs had her rising from the depths of the deckchair, only to sink down again when it was swiftly answered.
Determinedly, Brooke picked up her book again, and was doing her best to become absorbed in the story when a voice drifted up from the terrace below. It was Leo’s mother. Despite her speaking in Italian, Brooke understood every word.
She’d always been good at languages, and had studied Latin and Japanese at school. After her marriage to Leo, Brooke had made the effort to learn Italian, picking it up quickly from tapes and books, then practising it with Leo in the evenings, plus every time she visited his family. She had no trouble following the conversation below.
‘There you are, Giuseppe,’ Sophia said. ‘I see you couldn’t sleep, either. That was Leonardo on the phone.’
Brooke’s ears immediately pricked.
‘Anything wrong?’ came Giuseppe’s reply.
‘He’s going to be late again. Doesn’t want us to keep any dinner for him this time.’
Brooke groaned. Just when she’d been wanting him to come home a bit earlier.
‘So?’ Giuseppe said with a shrug in his voice. ‘Why the worried frown?’
‘If he has so much work on his plate, Giuseppe, why didn’t he ask you to go in with him? It’s not as though you couldn’t spend a few hours in the office here and there.’
‘I offered, woman, but he refused. Told me one death in the family was enough for this year. But you’re right. He did look tired last night. I’ll insist on joining him tomorrow.’
‘Tomorrow might be too late, Giuseppe.’
‘Too late for what?’
‘I don’t think he’s in the office today…’ Sophia said in more hushed tones.
Brooke leant forward in her chair.
‘…I think he’s with Francesca.’
Brooke’s heart lurched.
‘What?’ Giuseppe exploded. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, woman! Leonardo is not that type of man. He would never be unfaithful to that lovely little wife of his. Never!’
Brooke was glad she was sitting down. If she hadn’t been, she might have fallen down.
‘Not normally, Giuseppe,’ she heard Sophia say. ‘But these are not normal circumstances. Leonardo was in love with Francesca long before Brooke came into his life. He never got over Lorenzo stealing Francesca away from him. He might have pretended to, but I know differently. I’m his mother.’
‘For pity’s sake, that was years ago!’
‘Maybe, but Leonardo is not a fickle man. I always knew that when he fell in love it would be for life.’
‘Leonardo loves his wife!’ his father defended, outrage in his voice.
‘Has he said as much to you?’
An increasingly stricken Brooke strained forward further, waiting to hear Leo’s father say firmly, Yes, of course. Many times!
‘Men don’t talk about things like that, woman. But it’s as obvious as the nose on my face.’
Sophia sighed. ‘I’ve no doubt he does love Brooke, in a fashion. She’s a very beautiful