A Husband's Vendetta

by Sara Wood

  ‘Oh!’ She bit back her pleasure. ‘How do you feel about that?’ Ellen asked, hardly daring to believe what he was saying.

  ‘Ambivalent.’ But he gave her one of his crooked smiles, as if he was rather pleased.

  She caught her breath. ‘Me too!’ She looked yearningly at Gemma’s happy face and wanted to leap into the air. Starry-eyed, she left the decision to him. ‘What should I do?’

  ‘If I say no, I’ll be the big, bad bear, won’t I?’

  ‘I’m afraid you will,’ she said with a grin.

  ‘Then you’d better come with us,’ he said, and Ellen felt sure he was only pretending to be grudging. ‘If it’ll give Gemma and me a good night’s sleep, it’s worth it.’

  ‘I could always dope your tea if you’d prefer,’ she suggested drily.

  ‘Smile sweetly at her friends and come along,’ Luc growled, pushing his sunglasses more firmly on his nose.

  She produced the sweet smile and obeyed, her expression radiant as Gemma took her hand and bounced about happily between the two of them, talking non-stop. Ellen did her best not to bounce along too. Luc really was glad she’d been accepted!

  She also tried not to think that they looked like a proper family, but she failed. It was a wonderful moment.

  Very soon they arrived at a pair of ornate wrought-iron gates. Beyond them she could see a path flanked by red and gold hibiscus bushes and a huge terraced garden which appeared to lead to the edge of the cliff. Just visible in the tropical vegetation, between banana trees and fan palms, was the long outline of a roof—presumably Luc’s villa.

  ‘Ellen,’ Gemma said anxiously, when they paused at the entrance, ‘you…my mamma?’

  Emotion almost prevented Ellen from replying. Luc’s eyes seemed as pained as hers. Confused by his reaction, she crouched down and held both of Gemma’s hot little hands.

  ‘Yes, I am your mamma, darling. I have always been your mamma and I always will. Sempre. Always.’

  Gemma’s eyes grew enormous. ‘And live with Gemma and Papà?’ she said tremulously, with a child’s ability to ask the most awkward question possible.

  Ellen felt Luc stiffen. This was difficult territory. Trying to keep a cheerful smile on her face, even though she knew she was treading on eggshells, she said gently, ‘I have somewhere to live. Up there, in the Villa—’

  Gemma snatched her hands away from Ellen’s and burst into tears. She flung open the gate so violently that it smashed back against the hedge. Before Luc or Ellen could stop her, she was running down the path, her sobs carrying back to them in the silent afternoon air.

  Luc looked agonised, as if his hopes had been dashed. ‘You see what happens whenever you turn up! You confuse her! You haven’t thought this through at all. It won’t work, Ellen!’ Wearily he set off after his daughter. And over his shoulder he flung, ‘You’d better stay away! From both of us!’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  SHAKEN and upset, Ellen sat down on the wall by the villa, wishing she’d handled the situation with more skill. She should have known that Gemma would jump to conclusions. Poor little scrap. Like most children, she wanted her parents to be together…

  Glumly she acknowledged that maybe Luc was right and that she was adding to Gemma’s distress…and his. He’d seemed so pleased to have her around, and then that one remark had upset Gemma and ruined everything.

  She concentrated hard. Somewhere in the mass of information she possessed lay the key to Gemma’s peculiar behaviour.

  It was clear that she wanted a mother. And she wanted her friends to see she had one too. Perhaps that was it, she thought. Gemma felt different, and like most children she only wanted to be normal, with both parents living at home and doing boring parenty things.

  Her first task would be to find out if this was so. Then she and Luc could talk to Gemma and draw out the truth. But, she promised herself, she would observe more discreetly in future. And she’d avoid Luc like the plague.

  Over the next few days she managed to conceal herself successfully outside the school. Each time, Donatello collected Gemma, bending to kiss her on both cheeks, admiring the drawings or models she carried, and hoisting her onto his broad shoulders while she clung happily to his smooth, dark head. Nothing odd there, unless it was Donatello’s familiarity.

  But her earlier fears about Luc’s PA had vanished. She’d seen plenty of signs to know that his affectionate displays weren’t at all unusual. Donatello was only expressing his love for Gemma.

  Ellen had noticed that children here were chucked on the chin, stroked, kissed and teased by waiters and shopkeepers, friends and relations alike. The kiddies showed off their designer clothes, toted designer bags larger than they were and tended to be admired unstintingly.

  It had been one of her pleasures to watch the endless parade in the evenings, as parents brought out their children and proudly put them on show in the small square. Donatello was in the clear.

  Avoiding Luc proved to be more difficult than she’d imagined. It seemed he dined out every night in Capri town. Hunting for somewhere inexpensive to eat each night, she kept coming across him, either strolling into one of the dozens of restaurants scattered around the little square and the medieval streets beyond, or sitting at a table in La Piazzetta. And he was always with a woman.

  Miss Ski Slope seemed to hang on his arm more frequently than Miss Caribbean Beach, but he wasn’t averse to escorting other women as well. They all sported haughty cheekbones and endless legs and were beautiful, chic and dressed in classic Italian style in elegant black or taupe.

  Briefly Ellen wished her hair was glossy and simply cut in a timeless bob, instead of hugging her head in a thick, curly cap. She wished she had expensive, understated clothes instead of her cheap and cheerful gear. But, she sighed, what if she had? Luc wouldn’t treat her any differently. To him she was cheap. And only occasionally cheerful.

  And yet it annoyed and upset her that he could enjoy the company of other women. That his arm would occasionally slip around the shoulders of Miss Ski Slope, or his hand would hover on the small of Miss Caribbean Beach’s back as they negotiated their way through the busy square.

  She despaired of her jealousy. It was something she realised she’d have to cope with if she did come to live in Capri. Her stomach lurched. How would she manage if she and Luc divorced and she kept bumping into him and his wife…and family?

  Ellen went pale, her hands trembling as she pushed her plate of half-eaten pizza away. How would that scenario affect Gemma? She’d be more insecure than ever. Luc couldn’t do that to his daughter!

  And yet… Fumbling with the change in her purse, she paid the bill, alarmed at where her thoughts were taking her.

  Gemma wanted a mother. Luc loved Gemma and it was likely that he was actively searching for a substitute one. Gemma would be thrilled. Her eyes widened in horror. He’d have other children. He loved them. Oh, God!

  ‘Signora? You all right?’ asked the waiter anxiously, when Ellen staggered to her feet.

  ‘Yes!’ She managed a smile, left a tip she couldn’t afford and quickly stepped into the crowded Via Roma, wishing her imagination didn’t run away with her so badly.

  This evening, she decided, she needed a drink and the company of hundreds, rather than the isolation of her lodging house. Numbly she walked to the lively piazzetta. It was early—eight-thirty—and Luc dined late, like most Italians, so there’d be an hour and a half before he’d appear.

  She found a table with a commanding view of the gently lit square and set about calming her agitated mind. Several men eyed her, some flirted, two even approached her, but she gave them her coldest dead stare, and they vanished in search of friendlier prey.

  ‘Ah! Hello!’

  Someone was lifting her hand and kissing it. Indignantly she pulled it away without looking up and made sure her wedding ring was on display. ‘Goodbye.’

  There was a laugh she recognised. The man who’d carried her luggage! He had pulled out
a chair and was sitting down beside her and ordering a cognac before she could stop him. Married women presented no barrier to him, it seemed. She frowned.

  ‘You are too beautiful to do that,’ he murmured, his face very close to hers.

  And then she wished she’d jumped up immediately and walked away, because Luc was passing close by with Miss Ski Slope, his dark eyes full of anger as he took in the situation and—as usual—jumped to the wrong conclusion.

  Ellen stared miserably after him. This couldn’t go on, she thought a few moments later, thumping her way up the hill to the Villa Maria. She had to stop caring about him and wanting him to think well of her.

  It didn’t matter. There was no hope for her and she was stupid to even wish there might be. All she could do was find a way to live near her daughter and help Gemma—and herself!—to accept that she and Luc would never be together.

  That night she lay awake in the tiny, bare room, convincing herself that she could live near Luc and not mind how many women he dated. After an hour, she gave up. She would mind. She loved him; it was as simple as that.

  Sentimentally she went over everything he’d said and done since they’d spoken on the phone, recalling every detail, every gesture. And something odd happened. Whenever she saw his face it had a certain look about it. His eyes held a hidden message which she couldn’t ignore. And there was his body language…

  She sat up, her heart thudding loudly at an extraordinary thought which kept popping into her mind. He did care. He cared very much.

  She racked her brain for proof. He’d desired her, that was for sure. Whenever he’d touched her there’d been an amazing charge of electricity between them—and that meant there was something special which pulled them together, no matter what he said, however coldly he looked at her sometimes.

  Carefully she recalled each occasion they’d met recently. He’d often been angry. Could that have been pure jealousy? It seemed possible—even from that moment he’d shouted at her on the phone because he’d thought Cyril—Cyril!—had been her lover. Surely he’d overreacted, even if he had been worried about her morals because of Gemma?

  Her hand went to her mouth. There’d always been a strong undercurrent between them. She knew that he’d been drawn to her as much as she’d been drawn to him. There had been moments of tenderness and yearning. She couldn’t be mistaken on that.

  And yet he’d resisted her and taken his revenge because he believed she was selfish and would poison Gemma’s mind.

  Ellen became very still. If this was true, if she could prove her innocence—and if she could heal Gemma’s emotional wounds—then he’d be free of his prejudice and he’d be able to admit to his own feelings. She smiled wryly. So many ‘ifs’!

  Her breath shortened with tension when she remembered something she’d read a long time ago. Apathy was the opposite of love, not hate. Hate was a distortion of love. And Luc felt passionately about her; she knew that.

  She stared into the darkness, her head spinning with hope. She had a chance. This was what her instincts were telling her. Almost at once, a coldness seized her spine. Supposing she was wrong?

  She’d be humiliated again…and yet that seemed better than the alternative: never to know if she’d been right, never to have tried to win him back and always to watch him sauntering around Capri with a beautiful woman tottering beside him, gazing into his eyes…

  ‘Damn it!’ she muttered decisively, her eyes blazing with battle. ‘He does love me! I know it!’

  Much too agitated to sleep, despite her attempts, she finally slipped out of bed and washed, before dressing in a pair of old jeans and a simple T-shirt. It was six o’clock.

  She walked down to the Punta Tragara and gazed out at the Faraglioni: three extraordinarily beautiful pinnacles of dazzling white limestone rising sheer from the black sea.

  As she gazed at them in the silent beauty of the Mediterranean dawn, she promised herself that she would do everything in her power to bring about her own happiness, Luc’s and Gemma’s.

  Feeling dizzy with excitement, she sat on a bench and watched the sun rise. Later, after a hot croissant and coffee in a nearby café, she ambled along, exploring a path bordered by walls foaming with purple and red bougainvillaea, blue morning glory, honeysuckle and jasmine. Capri was stunning. An enchanting mixture of sophistication and wild beauty. And she meant to live here with the people she loved.

  The sound of children’s laughter made her turn in surprise, and she realised she must be somewhere below Gemma’s school. On an impulse she hurried towards the sounds.

  For a while she remained partially concealed by a house wall and watched the children with an affectionate smile. She was about to turn away when she saw Donatello arrive by the gate with Gemma. He kissed her goodbye. Ellen frowned to see how tightly Gemma clung to him, though he led her firmly to the school gate, gave her a gentle push and left.

  Ellen held her breath. Her daughter clung onto the bars of the gate as if reluctant to go in. Misery was etched on her little face. Then something happened which turned Ellen to stone.

  Petra and Miranda ran up and started yelling at Gemma. They seemed to be taunting her. And then one of them punched her hard in the stomach.

  Oh, my God! she thought in horror. They’re bullying her!

  Ellen erupted with rage, racing towards the children, grabbing Gemma and protecting her with her own rigid and furious body while she yelled angrily at the two startled little girls.

  ‘Don’t you dare hurt my child!’ she cried, white with distress, completely forgetting that neither of them would understand. ‘How could you do this? She’s smaller than you, you bullies! Leave her alone! If you ever dare…’

  The girls had run off, crying. Ellen subsided a little and turned her attention to Gemma, cuddling her and stroking her hair tenderly. ‘It’s OK, darling. It’s OK. There. Hush. It won’t happen again. We’ll see your teacher,’ she said, shaking like a leaf.

  And she knew why she’d reacted so fiercely. Tears began to stream down her face, mingling with Gemma’s. She’d suffered years of bullying herself. And now her daughter was suffering too. It was too awful to bear.

  ‘Go home,’ mumbled Gemma into her shirt.

  ‘Yes,’ Ellen said with a sympathetic sniff, deciding that Luc must deal with this. Her Italian wasn’t up to it. And she lifted the child into her arms, perching her on her hip. ‘Let’s find your papà,’ she said into the mass of blonde curls, and Gemma nodded and buried her head in Ellen’s shoulder, her small arms nearly throttling her.

  Near to tears again, Ellen stumbled along the pretty little lane to Luc’s villa and boldly let herself in.

  ‘Luc!’ she yelled frantically. ‘Luc, are you there?!’

  Reading the morning papers on the terrace, Luc heard Ellen’s voice and jumped up in amazement. Now what? Would she never leave him alone? He stormed into the hall, ready for a tough confrontation.

  ‘What the—?’ He glared, infuriated that she should be holding Gemma in her arms. The child should be in school! ‘Put her down at once!’ he ordered. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  ‘Rescuing her!’ To his astonishment, Ellen stalked into his drawing room and sat down, nursing Gemma on her lap. ‘I’ve made a discovery,’ she said in a strange, excited voice. But he saw that she’d been crying and her eyes were bright with tears. And her hands trembled uncontrollably.

  ‘What?’ he asked grudgingly, torn between grabbing Gemma and stroking Ellen’s furrowed brow.

  ‘Gemma’s being bullied. Talk to her. Ask her all about it. And then you must go to the school and tell them that it must be stopped!’ Ellen cried hysterically.

  Luc stared. ‘Bullied?’ he said, feeling his throat seizing up in horror.

  ‘By two little girls. Petra and Miranda.’ He watched Ellen’s shaky fingers smoothing Gemma’s hair in a gentle, rhythmic fashion but he was still too stunned to move. ‘I saw them taunt her— I think it was something about me.
I heard the word ‘‘mother’’.’ Ellen lifted her head up high and fixed him with one of her direct, accusing stares, her eyes welling with tears. ‘Find out what they said!’ she insisted. ‘They p-punched her in the stomach,’ she said tremulously. ‘I think they’ve hurt her before. She had a bruise on her back—’

  ‘Oh, God!’ he whispered, appalled. ‘Gemma. Gemma, carita…’

  He sank to the floor and his child stumbled over to him, encouraged by Ellen’s helping hands. Tenderly he held his daughter’s hot little body close and cursed himself for being so blind.

  ‘There were all the signs,’ he said huskily, the evidence running through his mind with alarming clarity. ‘She had a stomach ache every morning before school. She preferred England to staying here and going to school.’ He drew in a ragged breath. ‘When…when I told her that we were leaving England and returning to Capri—’

  ‘She had hysterics,’ Ellen finished shakily.

  He squeezed his eyes shut. ‘God, I’ve been so stupid!’ he muttered in anguish.

  Gemma kissed him again and again, as if she was forgiving him. But he couldn’t forgive himself.

  ‘What kind of father am I? I’m supposed to protect her from all harm,’ he said hoarsely. ‘And I let her down!’

  ‘I think,’ Ellen ventured, ‘that you were certain her erratic behaviour was something to do with me and that I unsettled and confused her.’

  Luc wiped Gemma’s tear-stained face, appalled by his refusal to see beyond his nose. Yes. Ellen was right. He’d been so sure that she lay at the bottom of Gemma’s troubles that he hadn’t stopped to consider anything else. His poor baby. How could he ever forgive himself?

  ‘Tell me about those naughty girls,’ he said quietly to Gemma.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Ellen whispered.

  She looked dreadful. For a moment he thought it was because she’d witnessed her child’s distress. Then he remembered her terrible stories of when she was bullied at school, and he realised that Ellen was finding this very hard to cope with.

  ‘Stay,’ he said gently. ‘I think she needs you. And you need me.’