‘Thank you.’
‘Did your mother go to the funeral?’ Miranda asked.
‘No,’ he said. ‘They hadn’t spoken since the divorce.’
Miranda wondered if his father’s funeral would have brought back painful memories of his estranged relationship with him. No son wanted to be rejected by his father. But apparently Vittorio Allegretti hadn’t wanted custody after the divorce. He had handed over Leandro as a small boy and only saw him on the rare occasion he’d been in London on business. She had heard via her brothers that eventually Leandro had stopped meeting his father because Vittorio had a tendency to drink to the point of abusing others and/or passing out. There had even been one occasion where the police had had to be called due to a bar-room scuffle Leandro’s father had started. It didn’t surprise her Leandro had kept his distance. With his quiet and reserved nature he wasn’t the sort of man to draw unnecessary attention to himself.
But there was so much more she didn’t know about him. She knew he was a forensic accountant—a brilliant one. He had his own consultancy in London and travelled all over the globe uncovering major fraud in the corporate and private sectors. He often worked with Jake with his business analysis company and he had recently helped Julius in exposing Holly’s ghastly stepfather’s underworld drug and money-laundering operations.
Leandro Allegretti was the go-to man for uncovering secrets and yet Miranda had always sensed he had one or two of his own.
‘So this job...’ she began. ‘Where’s the collection?’
‘In Nice,’ he said. ‘My father ran an art and antiques business in the French Riviera. This is his private collection. He sold off everything else when he was first diagnosed with terminal cancer.’
‘And you want to...to get rid of it?’ Miranda asked, frowning at the thought of him selling everything of his father’s. In spite of their tricky relationship, didn’t he want a memento? ‘All of it?’
The line of his mouth was flat. Hardened. Whitened. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I have to pack up the villa and sell that too.’
‘Why not use someone locally?’ Miranda knew she was well regarded in her job as an art restorer even though she was at the early stages of her career. But she wouldn’t be able to do much on site. Art restoration was more science now than art. Sophisticated techniques using x-rays, infrared technology and Raman spectroscopy meant most restoration work was done in the protective environment of an established gallery. Leandro could afford the best in the world. Why ask her?
‘I thought you might like a chance to escape the hoo-hah here,’ Leandro said. ‘Can you take a couple of weeks’ leave from the gallery?’
Miranda had already been thinking about getting out of London for some breathing space. It had been hell on wheels with her father’s dirty linen being flapped in her face. She couldn’t go anywhere without being assailed by press. Everyone wanted to know what she thought of her father’s scandal. Had she met her half-sister? Was she planning to? Were her parents divorcing for the second time? It was relentless. Along with the press attention, she had also been subjected to her mother’s bitter tirades about her father, and her father’s insistence she make contact with her half-sister and play happy families.
Like that was going to happen.
This would be a perfect opportunity to escape. Besides, October on the Côte d’Azur would be preferable to the capricious weather London was currently dishing up. ‘How soon do you want me?’ she said, blushing when she realised her unintentional double entendre. ‘I mean, I can probably get away from work by the end of next week. Is that okay?’
‘Fine,’ he said. ‘I don’t collect the keys to the villa until then anyway. I’ll book your flight and email you the details. Do you have a preference for a hotel?’
‘Where will you be staying?’
‘At my father’s villa.’
Miranda thought about the expense of staying at a hotel, not that Leandro couldn’t afford it. He would put her in five-star accommodation if she asked for it. But staying in a hotel put her at risk of being found by the press. If she stayed with Leandro at his father’s villa she could work on the collection without that looming threat.
Besides, it would be an opportunity to see a little of the man behind the perpetual frown.
‘Is there room for me at your father’s place?’
Leandro’s frown deepened until two vertical lines formed between his bottomless brown eyes. ‘You don’t want to stay in a hotel?’
Miranda snagged her lip with her teeth, warm colour crawling further over her cheeks until her whole face felt on fire. ‘I wouldn’t want to intrude if you’ve got someone else staying...’
Who was his someone else?
Who was his latest lover? She knew he had them from time to time. She had seen pictures of him at charity events. She had even met one or two over the years when he had brought a partner to one of the legendary parties her parents had put on at Ravensdene for New Year’s Eve. Tall, impossibly beautiful, elegant, eloquent types who didn’t blush and stumble over their words and make silly fools of themselves. He wasn’t as out there as her playboy brother Jake. Leandro was more like Julius in that he liked to keep his private life out of the public domain.
‘I haven’t got anyone staying,’ he said.
He hadn’t got anyone staying? Or he hadn’t got anyone?
And why was she even thinking about his love life? It wasn’t as if she was interested in him. She was interested in no one. Not since Mark had died. She ignored attractive men. She quickly brushed off any men who flirted with her or tried to charm her. Not that Leandro was super-charming or anything. He was polite but distant. Aloof. And as for flirting...well, if he could learn to smile now and again it might help.
Miranda wasn’t sure why she was pushing so hard for an invitation. Maybe it was because she had never spent any time with him without other people around. Maybe it was because he had recently lost his father and she wanted to know why he hadn’t told anyone before the funeral. Maybe it was because she wanted to see where he had spent the first eight years of his life before he had moved to England. What had he been like as a child? Had he been playful and fun-loving, like most kids, or had he been as serious and inexpressive as he was now? ‘So would it be okay to stay with you?’ she said. ‘I won’t get in your way.’
He looked at her in that frowning manner he had. Deep thought or disapproval? She could never quite tell. ‘There isn’t a housekeeper there.’
‘I can cook,’ she said. ‘And I can help you tidy things up before you sell the place. It’ll be fun.’
A small silence ticked past.
Miranda got the feeling he was mulling it over. Weighing it up in his mind. Doing a risk assessment.
He finally drew in a breath and then slowly released it. ‘Fine. I’ll email you those flights.’
She rose from the table and began to shrug on her coat, tugging her hair free from the collar. ‘Do you mind if I walk out with you? There was a pap crew tailing me earlier. I ducked in here to escape them. It’d be nice to get back to work without being jostled.’
‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I’m heading that way anyway.’
* * *
Leandro walked beside Miranda on the way back to the gallery. He was always struck by how tiny she was. Built like a ballerina with fine limbs and an elfin face, with big tawny-brown eyes and auburn hair, yet her skin was without a single freckle—it was as white and pure as Devon cream. She had an ethereal beauty about