‘I am not your mother, Ariston.’
She saw him flinch as if she’d hit him, but nothing was going to stop her now. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me,’ she said, her voice trembling, ‘I’m going to pack my things and move out. And if you try to stop me, I’ll... I’ll call the police!’
His expression was unfathomable as their gazes clashed and she knew she’d pushed him as far as she possibly could. All the things she’d said had needed to be said and she’d meant every word of them, but that small glimmer of hope inside her refused to die. Could he read it in her eyes? Could he see the yearning she suspected still lingered there? The hope that maybe this showdown had cleared the air once and for all and he would let her get close enough to be the wife she really wanted to be. To show him all the love which was in her heart and maybe break down some of those formidable barriers he’d erected around his own. She swallowed. He might not ever be able to love her back, but couldn’t he relax enough to like her and to trust her?
But the moment he opened his mouth she knew she had been wishing for the stars.
‘I think, given your current state of hysteria, that you might be better to sleep on it. I will give you some space by moving into a hotel tonight—and hopefully, by morning, you might have calmed down a little.’ His voice suddenly softened. ‘Because getting yourself into this kind of state can’t be good for the baby, Keeley.’
It was the final twist of the knife and Keeley wanted to howl with frustration. And sorrow. That too. She was glad he cared for his unborn son, but suddenly she needed him to care for her, too—and he was never going to do that. Quickly, she turned away from him, terrified he would see the heartbreak on her face or witness the tears which had begun to stream from her eyes as she stumbled her way towards the bedroom.
CHAPTER TWELVE
THE OCTOBER SKY was grey and brooding and Ariston was staring into space when the intercom on his desk buzzed and the disembodied voice of Dora, his assistant, spoke.
‘I have Sheikh Azraq of Qaiyama on the line for you on one, Ariston.’
Restlessly, Ariston tapped his finger against the surface of the desk. He had been waiting for the call to confirm a deal he’d worked hard for. A deal which had the potential to increase the company’s portfolio by many millions of dollars. He was about to accept the call when his mobile phone started ringing and he saw the name which was flashing up on the screen. Keeley. He felt the urgent crash of his heart and the sudden tightening of his throat.
‘Tell the Sheikh I’ll call him back later, Dora.’
‘But, Ariston...’
It was rare for his assistant to even attempt to remonstrate with him but Ariston knew the reason for her unusual intervention. Sheikh Azraq Al-Haadi was one of the most powerful leaders of the desert lands and one who would not take kindly to his refusal to accept a phone call which had taken many days of planning to organise. But one thing he knew without a shadow of a doubt was that talking to Keeley was more important. His tapping ceased and Ariston’s hand clenched into a tight fist as satisfaction hardened his lips into a smile. Was she regretting her decision to walk out on him? Finding that life wasn’t quite so straightforward without the protection of her influential husband? Had she realised that he’d been right all along and that his concern about her associates had sprung solely from a need to protect her? He allowed himself a beat of anticipation. He would accept her back, yes, but she must understand that he would accept no similar tantrums or hysteria in the future—for all their sakes.
‘Please tell the Sheikh I will move heaven and earth to arrange another call,’ he said firmly. ‘But for now I have someone else I need to speak to, so don’t disturb me until I say so, Dora.’
He snatched up the mobile phone and clicked the connection, but took care to keep his voice bland and noncommittal. ‘Hello?’
There was a breathless kind of pause. ‘Ariston,’ came the soft English voice which made his heart stab with a strange kind of pain. ‘You took so long to answer that I thought you weren’t going to pick up.’
Something inside him was urging him to make an attempt at conciliation but the anger he’d felt when she had carried through her threat and walked out on him had not left him.
‘Well, I’m here now,’ he said coolly. ‘What is it you want, Keeley?’
The tone of her voice altered immediately and the stumbled apology he had been expecting was not forthcoming.
‘As I’m having private healthcare, my obstetrician has fitted in an extra check-up for me and I’m due for a scan tomorrow,’ she said, her voice now as cool as his. ‘And I thought you might like to come. I realise it’s very short notice and you might not be able to clear your diary in time—’
‘Is that why you left it so late to invite me?’
He heard the unmistakable sound of a frustrated sigh. ‘No, Ariston. But since you haven’t bothered answering any of my emails—’
‘You know I don’t like communicating by email,’ he said moodily.
‘Yes, I realise that.’ There was a pause. ‘I just... I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d want to see me. I thought about sending you a photo once I’d had the scan done, then thought that wouldn’t be fair and so I—’
‘What time,’ he interrupted brutally, ‘is it happening?’
‘Midday. At the Princess Mary hospital. Where we went before—you remember?’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, before the voice of his conscience forced the next question from his lips. ‘How are you?’
‘I’m fine. All good.’ He could hear her swallowing. ‘The midwife is very pleased with my progress and I—’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, and terminated the conversation.
He sat staring into space afterwards, angry with himself for being so short with her, but what the hell did she expect—that he would run around after her like some kind of puppy? He stared at the sky, whose dark clouds had now begun to empty slanting rods of rain onto the surrounding skyscrapers. After their blazing row he’d spent the night in a hotel to give her time to cool off, returning the following morning and expecting her to have changed her mind. In fact, he’d been expecting an apology. His mouth hardened. How wrong he had been. There had been no contrition or attempt to make things better. Her mood had been flat yet purposeful as she had repeated her determination to move out.
He’d tried being reasonable. He had not opposed her wishes, giving her free rein to move into her own place, telling himself that, if he gave her the freedom she thought she wanted and the space she thought she needed, it would bring her running right back. But it hadn’t. On the contrary, she had made a cosy little nest out of her rented cottage on Wimbledon Common, as if she was planning to stay there for ever. During his one brief visit, he had stared in disbelief at the sunny yellow room, which she had made into a perfect nursery by adorning the walls with pictures of rabbits and such like. A shiny mobile of silvery fish had twirled above a brand-new crib and in the hallway had stood an old-fashioned pram. He had looked out of the window at the seemingly endless green grass of the Common and his heart had clenched with pain as he acknowledged his exclusion. And yet pride stopped him from showing it. He had given a cool shake of his head when she had offered him tea, citing a meeting in the city as the reason why.
She had told him she would be fair and that he could have paternal visiting rights as often as he liked and he believed her, but the idea of living without his son made his heart clench with pain. And yet the thought of an ugly legal battle for their baby had suddenly seemed all wrong.
Why?
Why?
He slept badly—something which was becoming a habit—and he was already waiting when Keeley arrived at the hospital, failing to hide the shock on her face when she saw him.
‘Ariston!’ Her cheeks went pink. ‘You’re early!’
‘And?’
She looked as if she wanted to say something more but smiled instead, except that, as smiles went, it didn’t look terribly convincing. Her mouth seemed strained but he thought he’d never seen her looking more beautiful, in a green velvet coat which matched her eyes and her fair hair hanging over one shoulder in a thick plait.
‘Shall we go up to the scanning room?’ she said.
‘As you wish,’ he growled.
The appointment couldn’t have gone better. The radiographer smiled and pointed out things which didn’t really need pointing out—even to Ariston’s untutored eye. The rapidly beating little heart and the thumb which was jammed into a monochrome mouth. He could feel the salt taste of unwanted tears in the back of his throat and was glad that Keeley was busy wiping jelly from her stomach, giving him enough time to compose himself.
And when they emerged into the quiet London street it felt as if he had stepped into another world.
‘Would you like lunch?’ he questioned formally.
‘I...no, thank you.’
‘Coffee, then?’
She looked as if she wanted to say something important but although she had opened her lips, she quickly closed them again and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. It’s very kind of you but I’m off coffee at the moment and I’m...tired. I’d rather get home if it’s all the same with you.’
‘I’ll have my driver drop you off.’
‘No, honestly, Ariston. I’ll get the bus or the Tube. It’s no bother.’
‘I’m not having you struggling across London on public transport in your condition. I will have my driver drop you off,’ he repeated in a flat tone which didn’t quite disguise his growing irritation. ‘Don’t worry, Keeley. I’ll take a cab. I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to any more of my company since you clearly find the prospect so unappealing. Here. Get in.’
He pulled open the door of the limousine which Keeley hadn’t even noticed and which had drawn to a smooth and noiseless halt beside them. He was watching her as she slid onto the back seat, the scent of leather and luxury seeming poignantly familiar as she stared into Ariston’s blue eyes—those beautiful blue eyes which she had missed so much. Her mouth dried. Should she tell him to come round some time? Would that send out the wrong message—or maybe the real message—that it wasn’t just his eyes she had missed?
‘Ariston,’ she began, but he had closed the car door and given an almost imperceptible nod to his driver as the powerful machine pulled away.
And Keeley turned round, slightly ungainly with her baby bump, wanting to catch a glimpse of his face as the car pulled away. Was she hoping for one of those movie endings, where she would surprise a look of longing on his face and she could yell at the driver to stop the car, and...
But he was walking away, striding purposefully towards a black cab which had just switched off its yellow light, and Keeley turned away, biting her lip as the limousine took her southwest, towards Wimbledon.
She was doing the right thing. She was. She kept telling herself that over and over. Why sit through a torturous lunch or even a cup of coffee when Ariston had a face like dark granite? He didn’t love her and he never could. He was an unreasonably jealous and controlling man. He might have the power to turn her to jelly whenever he so much as looked at her but he was all the things she despised.
So how come she still wanted him with a longing which sometimes left her breathless with regret for what could never be?
And she was doing this for their baby, she reminded herself. Building respect between them and forging a relationship which would demonstrate what two adults could achieve if they only put their minds to it.
The journey to her cottage took for ever and in truth it would have been quicker getting the train, but the moment she walked up the path to her little house she could feel a slight lifting of her mood. Wimbledon Common had been one of those places she’d always drooled about when she’d lived in New Malden. She used to take the bus there on her day off. It had a villagey feel and a pond, plus lots of lovely little shops and restaurants. She’d seen other pregnant mothers giving her cautious smiles when she was out and about and she wanted to reach out and make friends, but something was holding her back. She shut the front door with a bang. She didn’t want to let anyone close because then she would have to explain her circumstances and tell them that her brief marriage was over. Because if she admitted it to someone else, then she would have to accept it was true.
And she didn’t want it to be true, she realised. She wanted...
She bit her lip as she batted the dark thoughts away. She didn’t dare express what she wanted, not even to herself. All she knew was that she couldn’t go back to that old way of living. Of feeling like a pampered doll in someone else’s life. A decorative asset to be brought out whenever the situation merited it. She wanted to connect with the real world—not sit in her gilded penthouse and look down on it. And most of all she wanted a man who wouldn’t make out that feelings were like poison—and you should avoid them whenever possible.
She lit a fire in the grate and had just made a pot of tea when there was a ring on the bell. She peered through the peephole, shocked to see Ariston standing on her doorstep, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his trousers, his face a dark glower. She pulled open the door and there he was, his black hair ruffled by the October wind and his jaw all shadowed.
Her heart missed a beat. ‘Ariston,’ she said, wondering if he could hear the slight quaver in her voice. ‘What...what are you doing here?’
His shuttered features looked forbidding. ‘Can I come in?’
She hesitated for only a moment before stepping aside to let him pass. ‘Of course.’
She wasn’t going to do that thing of offering him tea—of pretending this was some kind of social call. There wasn’t going to be any of that fake stuff which just wasted time and meant nothing. She would hear him out and then he would go. But a shiver of apprehension whispered over her because an impromptu visit like this didn’t bode well—not when his expression was so serious and so brooding. Had he decided he was being too soft with her and now that she was showing no signs of moving back, he was going to retaliate? Maybe instruct his lawyers to reduce the generous amount of income she was receiving—to shock her into seeing sense. Was he going to starve her out to make her come back to him? It was an unpalatable thought until she thought of one which was even worse.
That he didn’t want her back.
Pain and panic rushed through her like a hot, fierce tide. What if he’d decided that life was easier without a wife who was constantly nagging him because he stayed late at the office? If he’d decided he’d had enough of domesticity and wanted to get back on the party scene. That she had been right all along and the marriage simply wasn’t working.
‘What do you want, Ariston?’ she said, in a low voice. ‘Why are you here?’
Ariston stared at her and the trilingual fluency of a lifetime suddenly deserted him. On the way here he’d worked out exactly what he was going to say to her but all the words seemed to have flown straight out of his head. But he knew what he wanted, didn’t he? He was a man who was skilled in the art of negotiation. So wasn’t it time to go all out and get it?
‘I’m going to reduce my hours,’ he said.
She looked taken aback, but she nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Because I realise that you’re right.’ He rubbed his fingers over the faint stubble of his chin as if only just realising he’d forgotten to shave that morning. ‘I’ve been working too hard.’
He looked at her expectantly, waiting for the praise which such a magnanimous gesture surely merited and for her to fling herself into his arms to thank him. But she didn’t. She didn’t move. She just stood there with her green eyes wary and her pale hair glowing in the thin autumn light which was streaming through the wi
ndow.
‘And your point is, what?’ she questioned.
‘That we’ll spend more time together. Obviously.’
She gave an odd smile. ‘So what has brought about this sudden revelation?’
He frowned, because her reaction was not what he had imagined it would be. ‘I allowed myself to accept that the Kavakos company is in the black and is likely to stay that way for the foreseeable future,’ he said slowly.
She screwed up her nose. ‘And hasn’t it always been?’
Raking his fingers back through his hair, he shook his head. ‘No. I think I told you that when my father died, I discovered he’d blown most of the family fortune. For a while it was touch and go whether or not we’d make it. Suddenly I was looking into a big black hole where the future used to be and I had so many people relying on me. Not just Pavlos but all the staff we employed. People on Lasia whose livelihood depended on our success. People in cities all over the world.’ He sucked in a deep breath. ‘That’s why I put the time in—long hours, every day, way past midnight. It took everything I possessed to turn things around and get the company back on an even keel.’
‘But that was then, and this is now—and Kavakos is arguably the biggest shipping company in the world.’
He nodded. ‘I know that. But hard work got to be such a habit that I let it take me over. And I’m not going to do that any more. I’m going to spend less time at the office and more time at home. With you.’ He looked at her. ‘That’s all.’
The silence which followed seemed to go on and on and when she spoke her voice was trembling.
‘But that’s not all, Ariston,’ she said. ‘The reason you work so hard isn’t because you’ve developed some kind of habit you can’t break or because secretly you live in fear that all your profits are going to disappear overnight. It’s because at work you’re the one in charge and what you say goes. And you like to be in control, don’t you? Work has always provided you with an escape route. It’s there for the taking when your wife wants to get too close or tries to talk about stuff you don’t want to talk about.’
The Pregnant Kavakos Bride Page 14