A Shameful Consequence

by Carol Marinelli

  Loathed it so much her skin crawled in his presence, but she tried to look for the good in things. It was here she had worked through her pregnancy and Henry had hired someone to care for him for three weeks after a very difficult delivery and allowed her to stay there.

  She picked up her babe and held him, closing her eyes against dizzy fatigue, and hoped against hope that the tablets the doctor had given her would work, that the cloud would soon lift and she could start creating a proper future for herself and her son.

  ‘We’ll get there,’ she said to her tiny baby, holding him tight, but he would not be soothed. All he wanted was to be fed. ‘Soon,’ Connie hushed, because first there was a difficult conversation to have, an unexpected visitor to attend to, and, most importantly, Henry must have no idea she had allowed someone to enter his home.

  Nico watched as she came down the stairs, holding the still crying baby, and she pressed her finger to her lips, warning him not to speak. She gestured for him to follow, which he did, down the long hallway to the rear of the house where she pushed open a large door. He found himself in a kitchen area, much brighter than what he had seen of the rest of the house. There was a certain homeliness to it—there was a crib and there was also a sofa decorated brightly with cushions.

  She turned on the television and still she did not speak, placing the baby in his crib and trying to placate him with a dummy. She stacked and turned on the dishwasher and then turned the television up louder and only when there was enough noise filling the room to disguise their words did she speak.

  ‘Please,’ she begged. ‘Keep your voice down.’

  ‘I’m not the one making the noise,’ Nico pointed out, because the baby had spat out his dummy and was again shrieking.

  ‘I need to feed him.’

  ‘Then feed him,’ Nico said. ‘I’ll make a drink.’ He found his way about the kitchen as the woman he had spent but a few hours with picked up her child and sat on the sofa and started to feed her babe.

  It was not as awkward as she expected, just a relief to finally sit and feed him, to let her brain catch up with the turn of events as Nico boiled the kettle and read the instructions on a jar of instant coffee.

  ‘A teaspoon,’ Connie said, ‘and two of sugar.’

  ‘It looks revolting,’ Nico commented, because he had never had instant coffee before and certainly not the powdered home brand that was available to him now.

  ‘Don’t talk about my friend like that,’ Constantine said, because coffee was possibly her only friend at the moment. It was her saviour at two a.m. and again at four, and it woke her up in the mornings, and now, after this one, she could tackle the mountain of washing both Henry and the baby created. She watched Nico’s lips move into a small smile as he got her wry humour.

  He was really rather patient, making her a drink and letting her feed her baby in gentle silence for a little while. Patient was something she would never have expected a man like Nico to be in a circumstance such as this.

  She had read more about him, of course, since then.

  A man who jetted around Europe and America, a man of many lovers and deals, he bristled with restless energy and yet, as she fed the baby, he sat on a barstool and sipped on his coffee. Then he looked, not in an embarrassed or awkward way because she was feeding, he just looked straight into her eyes and his voice when it came seemed to reach into her soul, because he was the first person to ask without accusation, the first person to want to hear her version of events.

  ‘What happened?’

  And she hesitated, because she honestly hadn’t had time to assess—the stocktake of her life had been put into the too-hard basket as she’d merely struggled to survive. Now this beautiful man sat in someone else’s kitchen, and though he must have demands and difficult questions, he did not ask the one she had dreaded most, he did not refer to their son. He just looked to her and after a moment her answer came.

  ‘I don’t know.’ She waited for a caustic comment, for a mental slap in return for her vagueness, but still he just sat. ‘I don’t know how I got to this point.’ She closed her eyes for a moment, felt her child suckle her breast, and was so grateful for that, that even if her milk supply was drying up, for now she could feed him. She loved the moments together where the world disappeared and it was just the two of them, but always she was forced to return.

  ‘You asked for an annulment?’

  Constantine’s eyes jerked up, realising he wanted the full story, and close to a year ago seemed like a lifetime now. It had been a very different life she had led since then, and she’d been a very different person then, too.

  ‘I couldn’t stay married.’ Connie said. ‘I simply couldn’t …’ And unlike her parents, unlike Stavros, unlike the priest, the lawyer, the maids, everyone, he did not roar or cry or beg or weep or explode, he just accepted her words. ‘I told them that night …’ She looked for his reaction, but he gave none. ‘The night I saw you in the bar …’

  He gave nothing away, did not tell her how long that night had been, of the disappointment he had felt, the regret of waking in an empty bed, or that he had offered her more than he had any other woman.

  Instead he waited for her.

  ‘They didn’t take it well.’

  ‘I can imagine.’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘I know what families are like on the islands.’

  And for a moment she conceded.

  ‘My mother …’ He hesitated after using that word, but he did not change it. ‘She said at first you had moved to Athens …’

  Wearily she nodded. She had been too busy to stop and think of that terrible time, and it was exhausting even now to remember it. ‘I found a job, but it turned out that Dimitri knew the owner, or rather he made it his business to find out who he was and discredit me …’ Connie’s voice was flat. ‘Everything I touched turned to nothing, every door that opened slammed closed as soon as people knew my name. I was told when I left that Dimitri would do his best to destroy me …’ She gave a defeated shrug. ‘I guess they were right.’

  ‘They are cruel and fight nasty when they believe they have been slighted,’ Nico said, because his parents had once attempted the same with him, doing their best to halt any opportunity that presented itself, doing everything they could to get him to return. ‘What did you do?’

  ‘I had enough money to get to London. I thought I would have more chance here given that no one knew me, but my parents cut me off completely, the money I had soon ran out …’ She gave a tense swallow. ‘My pregnancy was starting to show …’ And she did not even attempt to explain it, for this he could not understand—no man could understand the fear of being pregnant with nothing and no one to fall back on. A fear not for yourself but for the life growing inside you.

  He fought down the instinct to pounce, to ask the inevitable, because a deeper instinct told him now was not the time. He could feel her exhaustion, knew the terse, heated debate that it surely would be, and it was not fair to her to have it now.

  She was in not fit state and it could wait, Nico told himself, for facts were facts, and, whoever the father, that would not change.

  Still the question burnt within him and she could not know that he sat and wrestled with himself.

  It must wait, Nico told himself, because, despite his ruthlessness at times, he only ever fought with equals, and at the moment she was weak.

  ‘This was the only job I could get,’ Connie continued as the unvoiced question remained unanswered. ‘I needed something that came with accommodation.’ She closed her eyes in shame, because this was never how she wanted to be seen. ‘And it was somewhere to come home to after the birth …’ She faltered for a moment because, of all the terrible times, that had been the worst. Giving birth in a busy hospital, feeling so alone and frightened, and it had been a complicated, difficult delivery. All she could hear at the end had been Nico’s name, for she had been screaming for him.

  That he did not need to
know.

  All she had to show him was that she would be okay. ‘I am getting things sorted,’ she said. ‘Soon, in a few weeks, I will start applying for better jobs, once I have sorted out a creche and a flat.’ Her voice quivered at the enormity of all she faced. With no references, no money, how on earth could she support her child?

  ‘You don’t have to worry about money. I will—’

  ‘Oh, please …’ Far from comforting her, his words actually terrified her. She didn’t want him to have a hold on her, didn’t want to be tied to a man who, by his own admission, wanted neither a wife nor children. Her one brief foray into marriage had been a clear disaster. As for her relationship with Stavros, while in it, she had thought it bearable, had assumed that was how people lived, but looking back it had been hell. Her self-esteem was shot from the constant rejections and less than veiled criticisms. She wanted her child to have an independent, strong mother, and she would work her way towards being that, and certainly she could not imagine him, so sleek and elegant, sharing access to her son. ‘I want to make my own way. I want to support him myself.’

  ‘It’s not just about you!’

  ‘I don’t want you in my life.’ It came out all wrong, but so adamant were the words, so strong the effect that for a moment Nico was silent.

  He could feel acid churn in his stomach. It was all very well for her to choose to live like this, but he would not allow it for … He stopped himself from voicing it, even in his head. For now he would try to sort this by removing dangerous emotion, by not even thinking that the baby might be his. He would treat her for now, Nico decided, as he would a client, be objective as he dealt with the issues she faced. ‘Let’s just concentrate on getting you out of here. Are you managing to save?’ Always practical, he tried to steer her to a solution. Perhaps if he could help her get a flat, arrange some child care, at least get on her feet, then, maybe then, they could talk, but his question went unanswered and a frown formed as he saw her swallow. ‘What are you paid?’ He did not care if the question was rude.

  ‘I have accommodation, and I have food,’ Connie said, not revealing that she ate the same as Henry did, that the disgusting porridge and mince and potato was all that was available. ‘In return I look after his home …’

  ‘He doesn’t pay you?’

  ‘A little.’ Constantine revealed the paltry sum that hardly covered the nappies, that gave her no option but to breastfeed, and her milk was already starting to dry up.

  Nico closed his eyes and took a deep breath for a moment, and it was game over.

  He could not treat her as a client.

  ‘It’s the twenty-first century …’ His voice rose and she begged him quiet, but he lowered it only slightly. ‘You cannot be treated like a slave. There are people who deal with single mothers, with wages …’

  ‘And I have qualifications and a wealthy family back home in Greece,’ Connie retorted, for she had looked into that. ‘I’m hardly a priority. There are people far worse off than me.’ It was hard at times to remember that. ‘I’m getting things sorted.’ She was, she meant it. She was doing everything in her power to ensure a better future for her child, to lift herself out of the hole she was in. ‘I went to the doctor today, he gave me vitamins and some tablets. Once they kick in …’

  ‘Tablets?’

  ‘He says I have postnatal depression.’ She watched his eyes narrow. ‘I didn’t want to take anything while I was feeding, but he said they were safe.’

  ‘I’d have postnatal depression if I lived here.’ He wasn’t being derisive, absolutely he wasn’t. ‘You are not depressed, Constantine, you are miserable because you are exhausted. Tablets won’t help that.’

  ‘Oh.’ She gave a tired laugh, absolutely devoid of humour. ‘I’ll take what I can get.’

  A banging on the ceiling had Nico’s jaw clamp down, and it ground tighter as he saw the baby murmur a tired protest as she moved him from her breast.

  ‘He’s still feeding,’ Nico said as she stood. Breastfeeding did not embarrass him, it was that she might interrupt this time to tend to the demands of the greedy man upstairs that caused the gruffness to his voice.

  ‘He’s asleep,’ Connie said, but even though he was, she knew she had stolen some precious food from her son. Henry was still banging, so she sorted out her clothing and without a word headed upstairs.

  ‘What’s all the noise?’ Henry demanded. ‘Who’s down there?’

  ‘No one. I’m sorry,’ Connie attempted. ‘I had the television too loud. Can I get you a drink?’

  ‘Just my pillows.’

  She hated sorting his pillows most, and it was the thing he most often asked. How she hated leaning him forward and arranging the pillows, knowing where his eyes were, where his cheeks were.

  Had Nico been able to see the smile on Henry’s face at that moment, instead of Connie laying the old man back down, he’d have been laying him out, but for now he sat in the quiet kitchen, trying to work out how best to handle things.

  He had not stopped to think since he’d heard the news—after finding where she was he had pretty much stepped on a plane and now he had to sort something out.

  Thankfully the baby was sleeping. Nico did not go over and look. It was almost as if he did not want to see, to know, to have it confirmed.

  Deal with the issue.

  It was his mantra and it never failed him.

  In crises at work, he simply silenced the voices, cut through the tape and dealt with what was, not what might be, not what had been, but what was.

  Constantine, for now, was the issue.

  If it was not his son … He looked around the kitchen, heard her footsteps walking above and knew that even if the baby were not his, he couldn’t simply walk away.

  And if it was … Nico sat still for a long moment, wrestled with indignation, with the betrayal at not being told, which led to more anger against a woman who wanted to go alone, so he clamped his mind closed on those issues and fought to get to the vital point. If this was his child, what then?

  She did not want him in her life.

  His mind raced for an instant solution.

  Declare her unfit?

  Take the child?

  To what?

  For what?

  Raw was his honesty.

  His lifestyle was lavish, he ate out most nights, hopped on planes, and the only thing he had to think about changing was the time on his watch.

  He looked at the dark hair on the back of the child’s head, to the white sheet over his shoulders, and it was a relief not to see his face, safer by far not to love him.

  Love did not last. Something deep inside told him that.

  ‘You must go.’ Constantine was at the door.

  He should, Nico realised. He should get up now and let her continue her miserable life and get on with his—except he could not leave it there.

  ‘Come with me.’

  She gave a tired smile, but Nico wasn’t joking.

  ‘I mean it,’ Nico said. ‘Come back to my hotel.’ He saw her eyes shutter, no doubt thinking he was about to add to her exhaustion. ‘Separate rooms,’ he added.

  Which just made her feel worse. Oh, she wasn’t up for a sexual marathon, but for him to so quickly discount her …

  ‘I’m not your problem.’

  The baby might be, but he did not want to broach that, so he tried another approach. ‘I feel that I engineered this, that you would be married to Stavros if it were not for me.’

  ‘And I’d no doubt be feeling exactly the same,’ Connie pointed out, ‘with my little IVF baby and a husband that couldn’t stand to touch me—a little less tired perhaps, but still on the happy pills!’ She hated this, hated to be seen like this. Pride was her downfall, because she could beg and weep to her family, could go online tomorrow and tell the world how she was living and shame would move her family to bring her home, but she would not force charity. ‘It would be just as bad …’

  ‘It could not be as bad,
’ Nico refuted. ‘It could not be worse.’

  There were unexpected prices for pride, and she paid one now—because here was the man who had seen her so beautiful. Here was the man she escaped to in weary snatched dreams, looking more beautiful than she had dared ever remember, yet she had seen the shock in his eyes when she had opened the door, the bewildered start as he’d realised the swan had reverted, and now he was seeing her at her very worst.

  ‘If I had led you back to your room instead of mine, if I had not said those things about choices …’

  ‘I’m glad that you did.’ Her admission surprised even her, but now she thought about it, now she looked at how her life would have been without Nico’s intervention that night, despite all her problems, it was still here that she would rather be. She felt better for him being there, better for their talk, better now that she could see more clearly, and spirit rose within her. ‘Things aren’t great now,’ she admitted. ‘I know there will be struggles ahead, but I will get there.’

  And there was still a glimmer of fire in her tired, dull eyes, and Nico was in no doubt now that with or without him she would.

  ‘This is temporary,’ Connie said, her voice firmer now. ‘Had I stayed I would have felt like this forever.’

  ‘Why didn’t you call?’ Nico asked the question he had when he had first arrived at her door, for he had given her his private number that morning at breakfast. Even then he had been worried to leave her.

  ‘Why didn’t you?’ Connie asked. She could never tell him the real reason so she went on the defensive instead—after all, he would have surely heard from his family the scandalous outcome to the wedding. Why should it be her that picked up the phone? Had he cared, even a jot, if their one night together had meant even a fraction of what it had to her, surely he could have called in those days and weeks as the news broke, just to see that she was okay. That he had not spoke volumes.

  The only reason he was here was because of the child and she must remind herself of that.

  He was here for his son, nothing else.

  ‘I did not hear about this till today,’ Nico said. ‘The moment I found out I had my PA track you down and I got on a plane.’