Without another word he walked around to the driver’s side of the car and slid in behind the steering wheel. As he reached to fasten his seat belt his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. His stomach dropped. The only people who knew to contact him on this number were the hospital staff and his younger brother in Italy. It would be the small hours of the morning for Vincenzo—it could not be him. Raffaele quickly flipped the phone open and recognised the number immediately—the hospital. He answered with growing dread.
As he closed the phone moments later and slid it into his pocket he leaned back in the car seat and rested his head against the head rest with a deep sigh. The news was better than he’d hoped for. Maria had stabilised sufficiently to be airlifted to Auckland hospital first thing tomorrow morning.
“Raffaele? Is…is everything okay?”
“Maria is being transferred to Auckland, tomorrow.”
“Transferred? But why? Surely—”
“What? Surely she should remain in Wellington, where you can continue to ignore your responsibility? I don’t think so.”
“That wasn’t what I meant at all.” Lana’s blue-green eyes sparked in indignation. “Is it safe to move her?”
“Do you think I would do anything to hasten my sister’s death?”
“No, of course not. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.” Lana’s hands fluttered helplessly in her lap before she knit her fingers together in a knot.
Raffaele took in another deep breath and rubbed wearily at his eyes. “I’m sorry, Lana. It has been a difficult few days. For all of us.”
She shot him a look almost as if she didn’t believe the sudden warmth in his voice. He felt her begin to relax when she realised he’d meant what he said. Ithad been a difficult few days—for everyone. And it didn’t look as though it would become any simpler any time soon, he conceded. They would continue to live on a knife’s edge until the child was born. Until Maria was dead. He clenched his jaw tight before continuing.
“It is better for the baby to be born here in Auckland. The services in Wellington are stretched to their limit. The doctors have recommended Maria be transferred to ensure the baby’s safety.”
“Do you…?” her voice trailed off uncertainly.
“Do I what?”
“Do you want me to come with you—to the hospital?”
Her offer surprised him. He examined her face carefully, trying to understand where her question had come from, but her features remained empty of emotion. Did she feel nothing about the impending arrival of his sister—the woman who’d supplanted her in her husband’s affections—that she could ask such a question in such an unaffected way? If she did, she hid it well.
“No. That will not be necessary. While the doctors are certain that Maria’s brain injury has left her in a condition where she cannot sense or understand what is happening around her, I do not wish to take the risk that she is aware of your presence.”
Lana broke off eye contact with him and stared out the windscreen to the driveway ahead of them. “I understand,” she murmured quietly.
Raffaele muttered a curse under his breath and started up the car to begin their journey back to the city. So, she thought she understood, did she? He gripped the steering wheel between tightened fingers. Her detachment was absolute proof that she had no idea of the damage she had wrought, nor of her acceptance of her guilt. A more rational man might feel sorry for her, that she could be so coldly unemotional. He did not feel very rational right now.
Eight
Rational or not he knew there were practicalities to be taken care of. The fact that Lana only had two outfits, and both of them more businesslike than casual, needed to be addressed.
“Where do you usually shop for clothing?”
In his peripheral vision he saw her head snap around and he felt her eyes boring into him.
“Why do you ask?”
“You cannot continue to only wear two outfits for the rest of the time we are together. We can gather some things for you now.”
“Must we do that today?”
“I do not expect to have time to meet your needs once Maria is here in Auckland.”
He felt her bristle at his comment but she held her tongue.
“So where do we need to stop?”
“Take the next turnoff and I’ll direct you from there.” Her voice was stiff, as if she were fighting back words that were better left unsaid. He smiled inwardly, she was learning.
When they arrived back at the hotel Lana was happy to discover the inventory lists for the house had already been faxed through. Her experienced eye scanned them in detail, noting the sizes of the beds in the various rooms, and the tables in the dining areas, and she started to make lists for what new linen they’d need. She was oblivious to Raffaele as he looked over her shoulder as she methodically listed each area of the house and made notes, from memory, about the colours and style of each room. When she finally took a break to flex her cramped fingers she was surprised to see it had grown dark outside. Raffaele sat opposite her, dressed more casually than before in dark jeans and a charcoal grey long sleeved polo shirt, that reflected the colour of his eyes. Eyes which were riveted on her.
“I’m sorry, did you say something?” Lana gathered her sheaf of notes together and lined them up between her hands.
“No. I did not. I have merely been watching you. Are you finished?”
“For now. I think I have a good idea of what we need to buy and what we can keep from the existing inventory. If you’ll agree, I’d like to start with replacing all the bed and bathroom linen. We can forward the previous owner’s to the local shelters. They’ll be glad of the donation, I’m sure.”
A puzzled look crossed Raffaele’s face.
“What’s wrong?” Lana asked.
“Nothing is wrong. I merely expected you to dispense with the unwanted items, not to distribute them.”
“But that would be a terrible waste.”
“I agree.” He surveyed her with a new expression on his face, one that made her feel like an insect under a microscope.
“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You were upset that I didn’t let you pay for the baby’s things. Why?” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees, bringing his face closer to hers, enveloping her personal space with the power of his presence.
“I just wanted to buy them myself, that’s all.” Lana leaned back into her chair. She wasn’t going into her personal details now. Not with Raffaele. How would he ever understand?
“I think there is more to what you say. Tell me,” he probed with a steady quiet voice.
“All right then, if you insist on knowing. When I take on a project I do it a hundred percent. I wanted to be able to give the baby something from me.” Not something with money she’d been paid for agreeing to accept guardianship, money that was tainted by a brokered arrangement. She’d lost everything in the past week, her whole life as she knew it. Buying those simple items for Raffaele’s niece was about as close as she was going to get to motherhood, and he’d taken that from her.
“She is a project to you?”
Lana thought about his question carefully before answering. He watched her intently, his eyes slightly narrowed. If Lana was going to be capable of walking away from this whole situation unscathed she had to depersonalise the baby as much as possible.
“For want of a better word, yes.”
Raffaele sighed and leaned back in his chair again. “Thank you for being honest. If you’d told me you were doing it out of some misguided desire to have a child, when you quite clearly never wanted any, I would have known you for a liar.”
Lana flinched as if he’d slapped her. Never wanted a baby? How on earth had he reached that conclusion? But no matter what, she wasn’t about to disabuse him of his belief now. She didn’t want to highlight her failures any more than the ten-foot high neons that publicised her failures in every newspaper that had hit the stands since Kyle�
�s death.
She’d given her word she’d see this thing through. Today had been a perfect example of just how much it would cost her on an emotional level to do so. She needed to keep her distance—from the baby, and from Raffaele—as much as possible.
She pushed to her feet, that distance could start right now. As she stood one of her sheets slipped and fluttered to the floor. Raffaele reached down to pick it up, his brow furrowed as his eyes scanned the sheet.
“What is this?” he enquired, his voice a deep rumble.
Lana took the paper from him. “Exactly what it says. A list of nursery items we need to get.”
“The list is extensive. How do you know we will need all of these things? This for example?” He poked a long neatly manicured finger at an item on the list.
“The apnoea monitor? It’s a safeguard. Any baby can stop breathing during sleep, but premature babies are more prone to do so.”
“Stop breathing?” His strong face blanched at the words.
“This monitor will sound an alarm and also has a tummy tickler, to stimulate the baby to breathe again.” Lana had done her research thoroughly during their last round of IVF treatment. If she’d been so lucky as to have a baby she swore she’d do everything in her power to keep the child safe.
“How do you know about these things? You have no child of your own. Kyle said you never wanted any, so why would you have such knowledge?” Raffaele insisted, colour slowly returning to his face.
“Kyle said that?” Lana took a step back. It shouldn’t still have the capacity to hurt her that he’d lied about this part of their lives too. How dare he have diminished what they went through? The pain of what they’d endured in the vain endeavours to have a child of their own, and the pain of knowing she could never bear a child, all came flooding back with heart-breaking intensity.
She chose her next words with careful deliberation. “Has it ever occurred to you that perhaps he lied?”
With as much dignity as she could muster, Lana turned and started to walk across the room. Her eyes glazed with tears, her heart aching anew with loss.
Raffaele watched her go, an uncomfortable niggle digging at his brain. No-one could have faked the soul-deep expression of sorrow that had crossed her face when he’d delivered his last words. A kernel of doubt opened. If Kyle had lied about something as important as having a family, what other truths had he been capable of twisting? While everything Lana had said and done since Raffaele had met her pointed to confirm her as the villain of the piece, it suddenly occurred to him that it was entirely possible he’d been thoroughly to reach such a conclusion. The thought brought anger rising to the surface. Had he been played for a fool?
As Lana quietly and firmly closed the bedroom door behind her Raffaele resolved to bide his time and see what he could discover about the marriage of Kyle and Lana Whittaker.
Over the next few days Lana busied herself with the necessary shopping for the move out to the house. Raffaele had authorised her to use one of his credit cards for the purchases and had also opened an account in her name, into which the allowance he’d agreed to pay her would be deposited each week. As much as it galled her to accept the money she consoled herself with the fact that she was doing a job, just like any other job. But that didn’t explain the rawness that stung in the area of her heart every time Raffaele left the hotel to visit with his sister.
He spent hour after hour at the hospital, returning late each evening, uncommunicative and with his face grey and drawn. Several times while Lana had been out she’d had the uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched, but when she’d looked around nothing had prompted her as out of place or unfamiliar. Because Raffaele’s visits to Maria were quite obviously taking their toll on him, she was reluctant to bring up her fears with him, convincing herself instead that she had become paranoid since Kyle’s death.
They were almost ready for the move out to Whitford, a change in lifestyle that Lana found herself anticipating with an enthusiasm that caught her unawares. For the first time in what felt like a long while, she was looking forward, not back.
After finalising the delivery of supplies to the new property, Lana arrived back at the hotel suite late and was surprised to hear the sound of a loud, agitated male voice from inside. She pushed open the front door and dropped her purchases inside the vestibule, rushing inside to see what was wrong. Raffaele paced the length of the sitting room, a telephone clutched to his ear with one hand while the other gesticulated wildly in the air.
“What’s wrong?” Lana mouthed as he turned and gave her a brief sharp nod of acknowledgement.
He gestured toward the tabloid paper sprawled on the coffee table. Lana straightened the sheets of newsprint as she looked to see what had upset him so much. Her blood turned to ice when she saw the front page headline emblazoned across the top.
Fraudster’s love child!
Beneath the heading was a half-page colour photo of an unconscious pregnant woman in a hospital bed. While the picture was grainy, Lana immediately spotted the familial likeness to the angry male who stood silently, drumming the fingers of one hand against his hip, as he listened to the person on the other end of the telephone.
This was Maria Rossellini? Lana stared hard at the photo, waiting for the anger and hatred she’d expected to feel to come foaming to the surface of her emotions. This was the woman who had stolen her husband—the woman who now sustained the life of his baby daughter within her dying body. But instead of anger, all she could feel was an overwhelming and decimating sense of loss.
The unmistakeable proof of Kyle’s infidelity distorted the smooth fall of the bed covering. Lana’s fingers gripped the paper so tight it began to tear. Beneath the covers and within the woman lying unknowing on the hospital bed lived Kyle’s child. The child Lana could never give him. She sank to her knees, her whole body shaking with reaction to the physical evidence of the death of her marriage—of her failure. After several shuddering breaths she dragged her eyes from the photo to scan the article.
Whoever had written it had done their homework only too well. It was all there—every detail about her marriage to Kyle together with statements from people who’d been their neighbours and their friends. People she’dthought were her friends. The sense of betrayal cut even deeper. And worse, they’d closed the article with a promise to next week’s readers for more dirt on Lana’s privileged upbringing and the shadow of her own family’s hidden secrets including details of a mystery man she was reportedly living with since her husband’s death.
Raffaele’s angry voice penetrated the fog of shock that held her wrapped in disbelief.
“This is unacceptable. I want the person responsible for allowing that photo to be taken of my sister to be found. If your hospital cannot protect her sufficiently, I will provide my own security for her.”
He fell silent as the person on the other end of the phone spoke.
“See that you do!” Raffaele enunciated with deadly precision. “Or I will holdyou personally responsible.”
He snapped his cell phone shut with an angry flick of his hand and thrust it back in the breast pocket of his jacket.
“Maledizione!” he uttered as he spun around to face Lana. A frown creased his brow as he saw her kneeling on the floor, her fingers white with the tight grip she had on the paper. No-one was that good an actress. What kind of fool was he to think that she wouldn’t have such a shocked reaction to the news? He’d been thinking solely of Maria and her safety; he hadn’t spared a thought for how Lana would feel. It was only a week since she’d heard news of the baby and now here she was, faced with the proof. As much as he’d schooled himself to distrust Lana Whittaker, his own sense of honour should have asserted itself and softened the blow from which she was obviously reeling.
“Lana?” he coaxed, reaching for the tabloid that had so raised his ire and left him insensible to anything but the most immediate of action. Prising the paper from her fingers was easier said that done.
In the end he ripped it gently from her grasp then, supporting her by her elbows, coaxed her to her feet before settling her more comfortably on the sofa.
She felt cold to his touch, her face void of expression. He cursed under his breath and turned to the sideboard, splashing a measure of brandy from the crystal decanter into a tumbler and bringing it over to her. He pushed the glass into her hands and coaxed her to raise the glass to her lips and take a sip, then another.
Twin flashes of colour appeared on her alabaster pale cheeks, a sheen of moisture in her blue topaz coloured eyes. She dragged in a deep breath, and put the glass back on the table.
RossellinisRevengeAffair Page 9