So, instead of listening to the story, he savoured the cadence of her voice and the reality that she had still been exactly where he’d left her so long ago. Again, he inhaled the oh, so subtle scent of her herbal shampoo and welcomed the warmth in the air from her body so close to his.
The sudden rush of possessiveness he’d felt when he’d first seen her from the tourist shop door had shocked him. An emotion he had no right to, a stranger very briefly in her life almost six years ago, a stranger still, and one who had told her he would never return after he had broken her heart.
That first time had been Sydney Airport where he’d caught her eye, she’d smiled, and he’d instantly invited her to join him when he’d seen her flight had been postponed along with his.
Then, hours later, because still he wasn’t ready to lose his new companion, they’d shared dinner in an airport bar, jostled by other stranded passengers yet alone in their own world of discovery, and she had captivated him. He’d watched her mobile face as she’d described her beautiful Lighthouse Bay. Her work as a midwife, her hobby of cave tours and her love of life.
Their flights had been rescheduled again and they’d spent the night stranded, and then, imprudently, tangled together making love in an airport hotel, lost to the wild weather outside that had grounded their aircraft.
The crazy urgency had grown until he’d done something so out of character, so reckless and impulsive, even years later he was still surprised. He’d changed his flight to match her re-booked one, delayed his return to Italy for two days, followed her home to the house on the cliff for the one night and two days he hadn’t scheduled and found himself lost in unsophisticated and trusting arms.
This was a world of tenderness he hadn’t known since he’d been a child and his parents had been alive.
When she’d taken him the next morning for a personal cave tour before he’d left he’d been captivated again by her passion for the natural wonders she’d shared. Had silently begun to plan to return and see where this craziness between them might lead.
Then the return to sanity from the craziness that had come upon him with Faith. He could have vanished into it for ever if not for that call from his brother—his grandfather lay dying, the man who had raised them since he was seven. The news had been a deluge of cold water that had dashed his dreams and dragged him home to filial duty and deathbed requests. His brother had warned him what lay in store so he had said goodbye to Faith with finality.
Never to return because they were from different worlds. Because of the commitment he’d made to his dying grandfather—one he would never have broken until it had self-destructed—his fault, his ex-wife’s fault and also partly this woman’s fault because his heart had not been available. His new wife had seen that and hardened her own heart even more. Then his twin brother’s tragedy and the need for Raimondo to shoulder the leader’s role until Dominico could recover.
At the time, returning to Australia had seemed impossible. His brother had agreed that the woman he’d had so brief a liaison with would have married by now, then the years had slipped by so fast after his marriage had dissolved—his new direction into a general practice for the needy, and the occasional international aid work, placating his feelings of failure and he didn’t have the time to fly across the world on a whim.
There had never seemed a future, with Faith settled here and him a son of Italy for ever. Had he been wrong?
* * *
He would never have come back except for the news he’d heard.
News he hadn’t believed.
News he hadn’t been able to risk not investigating.
It had been the mention of a place called Lighthouse Bay in Australia, in a discussion of a wedding one of his colleagues had attended before she’d returned to Florence.
Raimondo had been drawn like a moth to the flame of that conversation.
‘So, you have seen Lighthouse Bay?’ he’d asked, unable to stop himself.
‘Yes, I have been to two weddings there, now. This wedding in the church and one on the beach. Both very beautiful.’
His colleague had appeared mildly curious that he too had seen the place. Again unable to help himself, he had asked about Faith and the answer had stunned him.
‘Yes, I met many people. And yes!’ There had been an amused glance. ‘In fact, I remember Faith, the bridesmaid, and her little girl—so cute.’
He had not known she had a daughter. ‘So, she’s married then?’
‘No, Mr Puritan. She has a daughter without a husband. The child looked about four or five.’
So he’d come.
And on his first sight of Faith, the woman he’d never forgotten but whose charisma had endured as if she were a distant enchanted dream, he’d felt the swell of an emotion he shouldn’t have. Here he was, sitting on the sandy bed of an ancient river, forty-five metres below the earth’s surface, listening to her so-charming voice as it caressed his ears and wishing he had never left.
That voice was still as restful and as calming. She was as beautiful as he remembered, with her slim but curved body poured into that ridiculous T-shirt and so tight jeans. It proved difficult to resist the urge to slide his fingers through the damp earth and find her hand to take in his, as he had when she’d brought him on a private tour of this place.
His empty hand could even remember the warmth and softness of her small fingers interlaced with his from all that time ago. How could that be? He didn’t know. What he did know was that he had not planned well.
A week would not be long enough.
He knew that now from his first sight of her, the way his whole being had come alive from what felt like a deep sleep. And that was without the added possibility that they shared a child.
Faith. He’d lost her and her conviction in the goodness of others and perhaps he would find both again in this place of dark caves and far oceans. He’d forgotten so much about her and he wanted to learn it all over again.
Which would require some negotiation with the life he’d left behind. And his need to encourage his twin brother away from his obsessive focus on the business after losing his family. Raimondo’s busy life suddenly seemed far less important than it should, compared to what was happening at Lighthouse Bay.
But that was for later.
He realised the story had finished, the cave silent for those few seconds after a well-told tale, and then soft questions broke out.
Faith answered them quietly then concluded, ‘Okay then. Lights on. Those nearest the entrance can start to crawl back and congregate in the next cavern. I’m sure those waiting will be glad to see us. When we make our way back to the main paths and under the rail again, I’ll do one more head count then you’re free to wander. Just drop your helmets and headlamps back at the shop when you’re finished.’
‘What if we get lost?’ The comedian.
‘You’ll be on the main path. And they’ll switch the spotlights on and off in the cave when it’s shutting, so you’ll know when we are about to close. In about four hours.’ There was a smile in her voice, one he remembered too clearly, and the group laughed.
‘I’m used to the dark now,’ someone said and the person next to them snorted.
He waited. He knew she would be the last to leave this cavern deep in the earth in case someone became lost or panicked. So he waited with her. As he should have waited before.
Six years! She’d been so young, beautiful, excited and as attracted to him as he’d been to her—the two of them like two silly moths mesmerised by the moment—grounded in an airport cocoon of wild weather and overwhelming fascination increased by the improbability of any future. Once he’d finished his business in Sydney he’d be flying home to Italy, her back to her seaside town and her beloved midwifery. She’d been barely twenty and he eight years senior and should have known better.
But they’d talked until
their mouths were dry. Been amazed by the rapport that had sprung between them as if reunited friends from childhood. How could that be? From opposite sides of the world?
From a past life, Faith had said, and he’d hugged her to him for the endearing ridiculousness of that statement.
Though, once she’d laid her head against his chest, it was then that everything had spun out of control. For two full days until his brother had grounded him with familial duty, then he knew their love castles were built on dreams he couldn’t follow. Could never follow. A truth he’d left her with. But was that all he’d left her with?
CHAPTER THREE
FAITH WATCHED THE headlamp lights disappear one by one. Damn, she’d missed her chance to send him first.
She tried telepathy.
Go!
She urged the man beside her to move off with the others but he obviously wasn’t picking up the vibe. She couldn’t go until he had, it was her way, and she broke the silence between them as the last lamp disappeared under the curtain of rock.
‘I need you to go now, please.’
He didn’t say anything, just moved forward and crawled away from her.
Faith took a moment to breathe deeply and centre herself, and here in the arms of the earth on the soft sand of millennia was a good place to do it.
Okay. She’d get them all back to the safety of the walking path and then they could talk. She didn’t have to pick up Chloe until two p.m., just before work, when preschool finished. So she had a couple of hours to discover why Raimondo had returned to rattle her composure and her world.
She wondered what her aunt would say when she told her Chloe’s father had arrived, far too many years too late.
* * *
Twenty minutes later she left the group at the boardwalk and her job was done.
Except one of the participants didn’t stay behind and she could feel the heat from Raimondo’s body as he walked beside her to the exit of the cave. His arm swung beside her arm and she tucked her fingers in close to her body so she didn’t accidentally knock his hand.
Out in the bright sunshine Faith stopped on the path and the man beside her stopped too. She lifted her head and met his gaze steadily. ‘So why are you here?’ She’d done nothing wrong.
His eyes were that deep espresso brown of unfiltered coffee, dark and difficult to see to the bottom of the cup or, more to the point, to the bottom of his heart.
‘I have come because I heard you had a child.’ His cadence was old-fashioned, she remembered that, formally stiff, but it was a way of speaking she’d found incredibly sexy when she’d been young and silly, in its translated whimsy of sentence structure.
Then his words settled over her like the damp leaves had settled over the forest floor. Thick and stealing the light. He had heard?
She blinked. Pushed back his heaviness. ‘I wrote you that. At the beginning and at the end of my pregnancy. Five years ago.’
‘No. I did not see this.’ He shook his head emphatically, but his face stilled and suddenly expression fled to leave an inscrutable mask of blank shock. ‘Madonna.’ A quiet explosive hiss.
‘Chloe, not Madonna,’ she offered with just a little tartness in her voice. She frowned at him. Trying to understand. ‘I wrote twice.’
Again he said, ‘No.’
He shook his head but he must have seen the truth in her eyes because his face softened slightly as he looked at her. The silence stretched between them until he said softly, ‘Then it is as I suspected? You had a child that is mine?’
Unfortunate words if he wanted her to continue this conversation. ‘No.’ She watched him blink. Good.
He’d relinquished that role by his disinterest. ‘You fathered a child who is mine.’ She amazed herself with the steadiness and calmness of the answer while her heart bounced in agitation in her chest. ‘Her name is Chloe and she is almost five. Chloe Fetherstone.’ She needed time to think and her feet moved her forward. He reached out and caught her hand, not tight but with an implacable hold she couldn’t shake off without an undignified tug.
She stopped and glanced pointedly at his big fingers on her wrist. ‘Let go. I need a minute.’ She wasn’t the timid junior midwife who’d fallen for him years ago. She was a single mother, a senior midwife, a responsible niece to a woman she admired and who had been the rock this man should have been.
She held his gaze with her eyebrows raised.
His fingers released her.
Faith began to walk again and he fell into step beside her.
He hadn’t known?
Had she addressed the envelope correctly?
She’d addressed it so many times until at last she hadn’t torn up the letter. He’d told her his home town and she had based her identity search assuming he hadn’t lied about that or his true name.
‘Where did you send these letters?’ His mind must be running along the same lines as hers.
‘I looked you up. In the town you’d mentioned. Sent it to your house.’ She recited the address. Funny how she could still remember it. She glanced at him. ‘Two letters eight months apart. Don’t get the wrong idea. I knew where I stood. I wasn’t asking for anything. Just giving you information I felt you should have.’
His face had gone back to inscrutable. ‘Did you not think it strange when no answer returned?’
‘Of course. Though “strange” was not the word I would have chosen. Thoughtless. Uncaring. Bitterly disappointing.’ She shrugged.
It was a long time ago now and she was over it. Over him. ‘You said you would never return. I expected little. I did my part and it was not my fault if you defaulted on yours.’
‘I did not...’ His voice had grown harsher, risen just a little. ‘Default.’ Then the last word more quietly. He looked at her. ‘My apologies. This is...difficult.’
She laughed with little amusement. So was meeting a transient lover from years ago when she’d been young and silly enough to fall pregnant. ‘Take your time.’
Faith looked ahead to the tourist shop they’d almost reached. ‘Give me your helmet and headlamp. I’ll get my things and we can go for a coffee somewhere.’
She surprised herself with the stability in her voice when inside she was panicking and fretting. She wished her heart would settle into a cold calm. What did this mean for the world she had created for Chloe and herself? She hated not being in control—even if it didn’t show.
No. He would not cast her into turmoil again. She had this. She had to have it. She was comfortable in her shoes as the one who had done the right thing and as a single mother who loved her child more than life itself. He was the one who had had the shock and would have to change the way he thought.
By the time she returned from the shop the tracks he’d made with his pacing showed dirt underneath the mounds of blue metal road gravel. Worn away with his exasperation. She almost smiled at that but if he hadn’t known about Chloe at all then she could feel sympathy for his shock. She could still remember that cold horror from the unforgettable day her pregnancy test had shown a positive reading.
Yes, she had sympathy, but no, she wasn’t relaxing. She didn’t have the luxury of softness or at least she didn’t have the headspace for it just yet. Would Isabel think her mad or prudent to let him into their lives? Then again, her aunt was a sensible woman with few prejudices.
‘Which is your car?’ Hers was way across the car park under a tree and they’d have to drive to Lighthouse Bay for coffee. She didn’t want him following her straight to Chloe. They’d go somewhere first. Talk. She wasn’t taking him home. Yet.
He indicated the black Mustang Shelby not far from her vehicle, well splattered with dirt and mud from the road into the caves, and even from a distance it seemed to glower at the assortment of vehicles in the cleared space. Like Raimondo had glowered when he’d first arrived. She wasn’t taking attitude
from either of them, gave the car a disdainful look then caught herself.
Silly, she chided. It was just a rental car and she was getting fanciful, but the model was unusual for these parts. Still, to him she raised her brows. Why was she not surprised he’d hire the most expensive and flamboyant one possible?
Years ago, when she’d searched on the web for him, she’d seen the terrifying extent of his family’s influence and power, their pharmaceutical company, backed by a photo of Raimondo and his brother and an elderly, strong-jawed, massive-shouldered man who had to be his late grandfather—long Roman noses making it clear they were all related—and was almost glad she didn’t have to meet that old man, that family, and parade her naïveté.
Though she’d decided when Chloe was older she could make the decision for herself as to whether she would contact her father or not and Faith would support her daughter’s decision.
Well, that was moot now. He was here to talk about Chloe. ‘That car looks like you.’
‘How so?’ His brow quirked.
‘Expensive. Black. Muscly.’ She had to smile. ‘Low to the ground doesn’t fit though.’
He was looking at her as if he couldn’t quite work her out. She guessed she had changed from the agreeable, star-struck twit she’d been when she’d met him all those years ago into a seemingly confident woman. No. Not seemingly. She was confident. She wondered if he was having a problem understanding why she had hadn’t fallen into hysterics when he’d appeared.
Time to show that maturity she had spent years acquiring. ‘We can have coffee at the little café down on the beach at Lighthouse Bay.’
If he’d found her here he could find the town beach. ‘I’ll meet you there.’
‘I will follow you.’ He touched her hand and she looked back at him. ‘When will I meet our daughter?’
The Midwife's Secret Child Page 3