The Italian's Pregnant Mistress

‘Talk it over with him. He was pretty angry, yes, but I did tell him that you had wanted to say something. You can sort something out…at least then your conscience will be clear…’ Philosophical pearls of wisdom had never been his forte and he lapsed into silence, stroking her back until he felt she was calm enough for him to pull back.

‘I suppose you thought you were doing the right thing,’ Francesca said grudgingly and Jack breathed a sigh of relief at this little crumb of conciliation. Before she had any opportunity to resume her attack, he decided to take advantage of the temporary laying down of arms.

‘Let me get you something to eat before I go,’ he suggested. ‘I could whip something up. Some good old-fashioned eggy bread, maybe?’

Francesca made a face. ‘I can’t stomach the thought of fried food. I’ll grab myself a few crackers when you’ve gone.’

‘What about this job tonight?’

‘I went shopping yesterday and everything’s in the fridges.’ She looked at him despairingly and he nodded.

‘Okay. But no running away when my back’s turned. Fair enough if he doesn’t get in touch…’

Shying away from the thought of a vengeful Angelo, Francesca clung to this nonsense possibility like a man clinging on to a lifebelt in high seas. The thought that Angelo might decide to walk away from the horrendous situation confronting him was very appealing.

And if he did contact her…

She would deal with it. She could spend the rest of her life running but in the end she wouldn’t be able to hide and, even if she did succeed in disappearing, what good would it do in the long term? Sooner or later the baby would grow into a child and the child would grow into an adult who wanted answers to questions.

It was almost a sense of relief to know that the decision had pretty much been taken out of her hands. All she had to do now was wait.

Not long, if Angelo had his way, but he knew that he had to curb the urge to drive over to her house immediately and lay into her.

His phone rang for the third time that morning, even though it had only just gone nine and, knowing who it was, he snatched it up and said, without bothering with formalities, ‘What do you want?’

There had been five messages on his answering machine when he had returned the night before. All from Georgina. Then three calls this morning, all of which he let the answering machine get. He certainly didn’t feel inclined to be civil to anyone, least of all his ex-girlfriend, who had disappeared only to resurface just when he needed no distractions.

Pregnant.

Angelo had barely been able to take it in when Jack had launched his bombshell. In fact, it had initially crossed his mind that it might have been some kind of ruse to extract money from him, even though he knew her well enough to know that that would not be her style. The self-delusion hadn’t lasted long. The man had been utterly serious. There had been no mistaking his body language and there had been no mistaking the simple truth, which was that he had not come to see him with Francesca’s permission.

Which meant that she had had no intention of telling him about the pregnancy. The treachery involved in her silence had rendered him speechless. He had listened to Jack stutter out one or two excuses on her behalf but he had barely heard them. He had left rather than be fed with further rubbish along those lines. Had returned home to find his answering machine blinking at him.

‘I wondered whether we could meet, Angelo. There’s something I have to talk to you about.’

Meeting Georgina was the last thing he wanted to do. Nor did he care for the barely hidden smugness in her voice. Had she found out about his affair with Francesca? More than likely. London was a big place but not so big in certain circles that word might not have got round. They could have been spotted at any time and the grapevine in the city was as lush and vibrant as any grapevine anywhere else.

And if she had known about the relationship, then it was also possible that she knew of its demise. Was she planning a comeback? Angelo’s mouth curved into a grim smile of contempt. He could barely remember that faraway time when he had been contemplating marriage to her, content to let common sense dictate his judgements. In fact, he could barely remember a time before Francesca had exploded once again into his life, bringing back all the confusion he had thought well left behind.