Seven years ago she’d hurled one accusation after another at the man who had steadfastly refused to confirm, deny or explain his actions. As a result, she’d frequently given vent to angry recrimination which rarely succeeded in provoking his retaliation.
Except once. Then he’d castigated her as the child he considered her to be, and when she’d hit him he’d unceremoniously hauled her back into their bed and subjected her to a lesson she was never likely to forget.
The following morning she’d packed a bag, and driven steadily east until hunger and exhaustion had forced her to stop. Then she’d rung her mother, offered the briefest of explanations and assured her she’d be in touch.
That had been the last personal contact she’d had with the man she had married. Until now.
‘My daughter,’ she enlightened starkly, and watched his features reassemble, the broad facial bones seeming more pronounced, the jaw clearly defined beneath the taut musculature bonding fibre to bone. The composite picture portrayed a harsh ruthlessness she found infinitely frightening.
‘I suggest,’ he began in a voice pitched so low that it sounded like silk being razed by steel, ‘you contact the child’s father.’
Carly visibly shivered. His icy anger was almost a tangible entity, cooling the room, and there was a finality in his words, an inexorability she knew she’d never be able to circumvent unless she told the absolute truth—now.
‘Ann-Marie was born exactly seven months and three weeks after I left Perth.’ There were papers in her bag. A birth certificate, blood-group records—hers, Ann-Marie’s, a copy of his. Photos. Several of them, showing Ann-Marie as a babe in arms, a toddler, then on each consecutive birthday, all showing an acute similarity to the man who had fathered her: the same colouring, dark, thick, silky hair, and grey eyes.
Carly retrieved them, thrusting one after the other into Stefano’s hands as irrefutable proof. ‘She’s your daughter, Stefano. Yours.’
The atmosphere in the lounge was so highly charged that Carly almost expected it to ignite into incendiary flame.
His expression was impossible to read, and as the seconds dragged silently by she felt like screaming—anything to get some reaction.
‘Tell me,’ Stefano began in a voice that was satin-smooth and dangerous, ‘was I to be forever kept in ignorance of her existence?’
Oh, dear lord, how could she answer that? Should she even dare, when she wasn’t sure of the answer herself? ‘Maybe when she was older I would have offered her the opportunity to get in touch with you,’ she admitted with hesitant honesty.
‘Grazie.’ His voice was as chilling as an ice floe in an arctic wasteland. ‘And how, precisely, did you intend to achieve that? By having her turn up on my doorstep, ten, fifteen years from now, with a briefly penned note of explanation in her hand?’
He was furiously angry; the whiplash of his words tore at her defences, ripping them to shreds. ‘Damn you,’ he swore softly. ‘Damn you to hell.’
He looked capable of anything, and she took an involuntary step backwards from the sheer forcefield of his rage. ‘Right at this moment, it would give me the utmost pleasure to wring your slender neck.’ He appeared to rein in his temper with visible effort. ‘What surgical procedure?’ he demanded grimly. ‘What’s wrong with her?’
With a voice that shook slightly she relayed the details, watching with detached fascination as he scrawled a series of letters and numbers with firm, swift strokes on to a notepad.
‘Your address and telephone number.’ The underlying threat of anger was almost a palpable force. She could sense it, almost feel its intensity, and she felt impossibly afraid.
It took considerable effort to maintain an aura of calm, but she managed it. ‘Your assurance that Ann-Marie’s medical expenses will be met is all that’s necessary.’
His eyes caught hers and held them captive, and she shivered at the ruthlessness apparent in their depths. ‘You can’t believe I’ll hand over a cheque and let you walk out of here?’ he said with deadly softness, and a cold hand suddenly clutched at her heart and squeezed hard.
‘I’ll make every attempt to pay you back,’ Carly ventured stiffly, and saw his eyes harden.
‘I intend that you shall.’ His voice was velvet-encased steel, and caused the blood in her veins to chill.
A knock at the door provided an unexpected intrusion, and Carly cast him a startled glance as his secretary entered the room and placed a laden tray down on to the coffee-table. It said much for the secretary’s demeanour that she gave no visible indication of having seen the deposed picture frame or the glass that lay scattered on the carpet.
Carly watched the woman’s movements as she poured aromatic coffee from a steaming pot into two cups and removed clear plastic film from a plate of delectable sandwiches.
‘Contact Bryan Thorpe, Renate,’ Stefano instructed smoothly. ‘Extend my apologies and reschedule our meeting for Monday.’
Renate didn’t blink. ‘Yes, of course.’ She straightened from her task, her smile practised and polite as she turned and left the room.
Carly eyed the sandwiches with longing, aware that the last meal she’d eaten was breakfast. The coffee was tempting, and she lifted the cup to her lips with both hands, took a savouring sip, then shakily replaced it down on to the saucer.
The need to escape this room was almost as imperative as her desire to escape the man who occupied it, for despite her resolve his presence had an alarming effect on her equilibrium, stirring alive an entire gamut of emotions, the foremost of which was fear. The feeling was so intense that all her senses seemed elevated, heightened to a degree where she felt her entire body was a finely tuned instrument awaiting the maestro’s touch. Which was crazy—insane.
‘There’s no need to cancel your appointment,’ she told him with more courage than she felt, and she collected her bag and slid the strap over one shoulder in a silent indication of her intention to leave.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Stefano said in a deadly soft voice, and she looked at him carefully, aware of the aura of strength, the indomitable power apparent, and experienced a stirring of alarm.
‘Home.’
‘I intend to see her.’
The words threw her off balance, and she went suddenly still. ‘No,’ she denied, stricken by the image of father and daughter meeting for the first time, the effect it would have on Ann-Marie. ‘I don’t want the disruption your presence will have on her life,’ she offered shakily.
‘Or yours,’ he declared with uncanny perception. His eyes were hard, his expression inexorable. ‘Yet you must have known that once I was aware of the facts there could be no way I’d allow you to escape unscathed?’
A shiver shook her slim frame; she was all too aware that she was dealing with a man whose power was both extensive and far-reaching. Only a fool would underestimate him, and right now he looked as if he’d like to shake her until she begged for mercy.
‘There is nothing you can do to prevent me from walking out of here,’ she said stiltedly.
‘I want my daughter, Carly,’ he declared in a voice that was implacable, emotionless, and totally without pity. ‘Either we effect a reconciliation and resume our marriage, or I’ll seek legal custody through court action. The decision is yours.’
A well of anger rose to the surface at his temerity. ‘You have no right,’ Carly retaliated fiercely. ‘No—’
‘You have until tomorrow to make up your mind.’ He stroked a series of digits on to paper, tore it from its block, and handed it to her. ‘You can reach me on this number.’
‘Blackmail is a criminal offence!’
‘I have stated my intention and given you a choice,’ he said hardly, and her eyes glittered with rage.
‘I refuse to consider a mockery of a marriage, with a husband who divides his time between a wife and a mistress!’
His eyes narrowed, and Carly met his gaze with fearless disregard. ‘Don’t bother attempting to deny it,’ she advised with
deep-seated bitterness. ‘There was a succession of so-called friends and social acquaintances who took delight in ensuring I heard the latest gossip. One, in particular, had access to a Pressclipping service, and never failed to ensure that I received conclusive proof of your infidelity.’
‘Your obsession with innuendo and supposition hasn’t diminished,’ Stefano dismissed with deadly softness.
‘Nor has my hatred of you! ‘
His smile was a mere facsimile, and she was held immobile by the dangerous glitter in his eyes, the peculiar stillness of his stance. ‘It says something for your maternal devotion that you managed to overcome it sufficiently to confront me.’
Angry, futile tears diminished her vision, and she blinked furiously to dispel them. ‘Only because there was no other option!’
Without a word she turned and walked to the door, uncaring whether he attempted to stop her or not.
He didn’t move, and she walked down the carpeted hallway to Reception, her head held high, pride forcing a faint smile as she inclined a slight nod to the girl manning the switchboard before sweeping out to the foyer.
A lift arrived within seconds of being summoned, and it wasn’t until she reached ground level that reaction began to set in.
CHAPTER THREE
IT TOOK AN hour for Carly to reach Manly, and she uttered a silent prayer of thanks to whoever watched over her as she traversed the car-choked arterial roads leading north from the city. Concentration was essential, and her own was in such a state of serious disarray that it was a minor miracle her sedan survived the drive intact.
Sarah answered the door at once, and Carly cast her a grateful glance as she entered her friend’s apartment.
‘Thanks for collecting Ann-Marie. I got held up, and the traffic slowed to a complete halt in places.’
‘Sarah read me a story, and we watched television. I’ve already had my bath,’ Ann-Marie informed her as she ran into her mother’s outstretched arms.
Carly hugged the small body close, and felt the onset of emotion-packed tears. For more than six years she’d fought tooth and nail to support them both without any outside financial assistance. Soon that would change, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready for the upheaval Stefano Alessi would cause in their lives.
‘Would you like some coffee?’ Sarah queried. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’
Carly shot her friend a distracted smile. ‘Why not come over and share our meal?’ It was the least she could do, and besides, it would be lovely to have company. Then she would have less time alone in which to think.
Sarah looked suitably regretful. ‘I’d love to, but I’m going out tonight.’
Carly glimpsed the indecision apparent, the pensive brooding evident in Sarah’s lovely blue eyes.
‘I take it this isn’t the usual casual meal shared with a female friend?’ she queried slowly. ‘Who’s the lucky man?’
‘A doctor who performed emergency surgery several months ago while I was on night duty. He’s recently moved south from Cairns. We ran into each other a few days later, in the supermarket of all places, and we chatted. Then I saw him again at the hospital.’ She paused, and effected a faint shrugging gesture. ‘He’s…’ She paused, searching for the right words. ‘Easy to talk to, I guess. Last week he asked me out to dinner.’ Her eyes clouded, then deepened to cerulean blue. ‘I said yes at the time, but now I’m not so sure.’
Aware that Sarah’s disastrous first marriage and subsequent messy divorce had left her with a strong dislike and distrust of men, almost to the point where she refused to have anything to do with them other than in a professional capacity, Carly could only wonder at the man who had managed to break through her friend’s defences.
‘I’m delighted for you,’ she declared with genuine sincerity.
‘I’m terrified for me,’ Sarah acknowledged wryly as she filled both mugs with boiling water.
The aroma of instant coffee was no substitute for the real thing, but the hot, sweet brew had a necessary reviving effect and Carly sipped the contents of her mug with appreciative satisfaction.
‘What time is he picking you up?’
‘Seven.’ An entire gamut of emotions chased fleetingly across Sarah’s attractive features. ‘I’m going to ring him and cancel.’
If he was at all intuitive, he would have deliberately left his answering machine off with just this possibility in mind, Carly reflected as Sarah crossed to the telephone and punched out the requisite digits, only to listen and replace the receiver.
‘Damn. Now what am I going to do?’
Carly viewed her with twinkling solemnity. ‘Go out with him.’
‘I can’t. I’m nuts,’ Sarah wailed. ‘Nuts.’ Her expression assumed a sudden fierceness. ‘If the situation were reversed, would you go out with another man?’
Her heart lurched, then settled into an accelerated beat in the knowledge that she would soon be inextricably involved with someone she’d sworn never to have anything to do with again, coerced by a set of circumstances that denied any freedom of choice. Yet her academic mind demanded independent legal verification of Stefano’s threat of custody, even as logic reasoned that in a court of law the odds would be heavily stacked against Stefano being denied access to his daughter. Tomorrow was Saturday, but there was a friend she could contact outside office hours who would relay the vital information she needed.
‘Carly?’
She proffered a faint smile in silent apology and shook her head. ‘Not all men are made from the same mould as our respective first husbands,’ she managed, evading Sarah’s close scrutiny as she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped from it.
‘When he arrives, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind,’ Sarah declared, and, placing a light hand on Carly’s arm, she queried softly, ‘Are you OK?’
There was no time for confidences, and Carly wasn’t sure she was ready to share Stefano’s ultimatum with anyone. ‘I’m fine,’ she assured quietly as she deliberately forced a slight smile. ‘Let me give Ann-Marie dinner, then I’ll come and help with your hair.’
Sarah shot her a dark musing glance. ‘He’s seen me in denim shorts, a T-shirt, trainers, and no make-up.’ Her expression became faintly speculative as she took in the paleness of Carly’s features, the edge of tension apparent. ‘Give me twenty minutes to shower and change.’
Once in her own apartment, it took only a few minutes to heat the casserole she’d prepared the previous evening, and although Ann-Marie ate well Carly mechanically forked small portions from her plate with little real appetite.
Afterwards Ann-Marie proved an interested spectator as Carly used hot rollers to good effect on Sarah’s hair.
‘Why do I feel as nervous as a teenager about to go on a first date?’ Sarah queried with wry disbelief. ‘No, don’t answer that.’
‘All done,’ Carly announced minutes later as she stepped back a pace to view the style she’d effected with critical favour. ‘You look really great,’ she assured her gently, her eyes softening with genuine feeling for her friend’s state of panic. ‘Are you going to tell me his name?’ she prompted with a faintly teasing smile.
‘James Hensley,’ Sarah revealed. ‘Surgeon, late thirties, widower, one son. He’s slightly aloof and distinguished, yet warm and easy to talk to, if that makes sense.’ Indecision, doubt and anxiety clouded her attractive features. A deprecatory laugh merged with an audible groan of despair. ‘Why am I doing this to myself? I don’t need the emotional aggravation!’
The intercom buzzed, and Carly reached out and caught hold of Ann-Marie’s hand. ‘Have a really fantastic time,’ she bade Sarah gently. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’
It was after eight before Ann-Marie fell asleep, and Carly gently closed the storybook, then gazed at her daughter’s classic features in repose. She looked so small, so fragile. Far too young to have to undergo extensive surgery. Her beautiful hair—
A lump rose in Carly’s throat, a painful constriction she had difficul
ty in swallowing. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Dammit, she wouldn’t cry. Tears were for the weak, and she had to be strong. For both of them. At least her daughter would have the best medical attention money could buy, she consoled herself fiercely.
Carly remained seated in the chair beside Ann-Marie’s bed for a long time before she stirred herself sufficiently to leave the room, and after carefully closing the door she crossed the lounge to the phone.
Twenty minutes later she slowly replaced the receiver. With a sinking heart she attempted to come to terms with the fact that any claim for custody by Stefano could succeed. Sole custody was not a consideration unless he could prove indisputably that Carly was an unfit mother. However, he could insist on joint custody—alternate weekends, half of each school holiday—and be granted any reasonable request for access.
On that premise, Carly was sufficiently intelligent to be aware of what would happen if she contested his claim in a court of law, or what emphasis his lawyer would place on her decision to leave Stefano in ignorance of Ann-Marie’s existence.
She closed her eyes, almost able to hear the damning words uttered with appropriate dramatic inflexion. The moral issue would be played out with stunning effect. With the added weight of Stefano’s wealth, she wouldn’t stand a chance of him being refused custody.
Without conscious thought she sank into a nearby chair in despair. Dear God, she agonised shakily. How could she do that to her daughter? Ann-Marie would be pulled and pushed between two people who no longer had anything in common, torn by divided loyalties, and unsure whether either parent’s affection was motivated by genuine love or a desire to hurt the other.
In years to come Ann-Marie would understand and comprehend the truth of her parents’ relationship. But what damage would be done between now and then? It didn’t bear thinking about.
There was really no choice. None at all.
Impossibly restless, she flung herself into completing a punishing few hours of housework, followed by a stint of ironing. At least it provided an outlet for her nervous tension, and she tumbled wearily into bed to toss and turn far into the early hours of the morning.
The Helen Bianchin Collection Page 85