Tempestuous Reunion

‘I’m a frightful coward…you ought to know that by now.’ It was an uneasy joke that was truth. ‘And anyway, I didn’t want to spoil the wedding,’ she muttered, not looking at him, too aware that it was a pathetic excuse.

The silence stretched, dragging her nerves unbearably tight.

‘How much of a chance is there that this last week will threaten to extend the family circle?’ he asked tautly.

As his meaning sank in, she licked her dry lips nervously, conscious that she would very soon have confirmation one way or another. ‘Very little chance,’ she proffered honestly, strangely, ridiculously embarrassed all of a sudden by the subject. Luc’s attitude was a far cry from his attitude that day at the pool, and that day seemed so long ago now.

If he wasn’t quite tactless enough to heave a loud sigh of relief at the news, he wasn’t capable of concealing that she had alleviated a fairly sizeable apprehension. The most obvious aspects of his strong tension dissolved. ‘I want you to know that I didn’t think of repercussions either those first few days that we were together. I am not that unscrupulous,’ he asserted, even managing a faint smile. ‘I didn’t plan to make you pregnant.’

‘That’s OK.’ Catherine gave a jerky shrug, couldn’t have got another word out, she was so desperately hurt by his reaction. The idea of another child had taken surprising root, she discovered belatedly. She saw Luc’s withdrawal of enthusiasm as the ultimate rejection. It was only a tiny step further to the belief that he no longer saw their marriage as a permanent fixture. A second child would only have complicated matters.

‘I was very careless,’ he remarked.

Catherine wasn’t listening to him. She was on the edge of bursting into floods of tears and bitter recriminations. A strategic retreat was called for. She cut a wide passage round him. ‘I’m tired. I’m going to bed.’

‘I won’t disturb you.’

It was no consolation at all to discover that Luc’s possessions had been removed from the main bedroom at some stage of the evening. He hadn’t even given her the chance to throw him out! Grabbing a pillow, she punched it and then thrust her face in it to muffle her sobs.

CHAPTER TEN

‘CAN I get you anything else, Mrs Santini?’

Catherine surveyed her plate guiltily. One croissant, shredded into about fifteen pieces, not a toothmark on one of them. ‘No, thanks.’ She forced a smile. ‘I’m not very hungry.’

Her appetite was no more resilient than her heart. Luc had taken Daniel to Paris with him very early this morning. They would be back by evening. In Daniel’s hearing, Luc had smoothly suggested that she might like to accompany them. Her refusal had been equally smoothly accepted. The invitation had clearly been for Daniel’s benefit alone.

The past four days, she conceded numbly, had been hell upon earth. She had learnt the trick of shortening them. She went to bed early and slept late. Yet she could not fault Luc’s behaviour. He was being scrupulously polite and considerate. Indeed, he was making a very special effort. It didn’t come naturally to him. She could feel the raw tension behind the cool front. She could taste it in the air. He couldn’t hide it from her.

He didn’t love her. How could she ever have been foolish enough to believe that he might? Then again, she had a talent for dreaming, for believing what she wanted to believe, she conceded with bitter self-contempt. Luc had chased an illusion for almost five years and he had suddenly woken up to the truth. Daniel had been the catalyst, but even if Daniel hadn’t existed Luc would inevitably have realised that he had made a mistake.

In her absence, Luc must have built her up to be something more exciting than she was. When he’d found her again, her reluctance and the challenge of apparently taking her away from another man had provoked that dark, savage temperament of his. All that mattered to him was winning. Having won, he’d found that the battle had not proved to be worth the prize.

He was in a quandary now. It would look exceedingly strange if their marriage broke up too soon. There was also Daniel to be considered. At least, however, there would be no other child. She sat rigidly in the dining chair, a tempest of emotion storming through her slight body.

She was not carrying his child. The proof had come that very night when she had abandoned herself to grief. There would be no other baby, no further tie by which she might hold him. Her sane mind told her that was fortunate, but more basic promptings rebelled against that cooler judgement.

She could not picture life without Luc again. That terrified her. The more distant he was, the more desperate she felt. She couldn’t eat, she couldn’t sleep, she couldn’t do anything. What was there now? she asked herself. What had he left her? Daniel adored him. Daniel could hardly bear Luc out of his sight.

Her future stretched emptily before her. Daniel would start school in Rome. Initially she would be there as well but, little by little, the marriage that had never quite got off the ground would shift into a separation. Luc would make lengthy business trips and she would no doubt do what was expected of her and make regular visits back to England. Certainly it would be impossible for her to withstand continual exposure to Luc as he was now.

It was torture to be so close and yet so far, to shake with wanting him in the loneliness of her bed at night, to exhaust herself by day keeping up a pretence that she was quite happy with things as they were. Damp-eyed, she lifted her head high. She would not let Luc see how much he was hurting her. Pride demanded that she equal his detachment and make no attempt to break it.

Not that she thought she was managing to be totally convincing. In between all the pleases and thank-yous she had never heard so many of before, she occasionally encountered searching stares. His tension spoke for itself. Luc wanted her to let go with finesse. He was willing her not to force some melodramatic scene. Rage and despair constrained her in an iron yoke of silence, creating an inner conflict that threatened to tear her apart. Why couldn’t he have left her alone? Why had he had to thrust his way back into her life? Why had he laid a white rose on her pillow? Why had he had to force her to admit that, far from hating him, she loved him? Why? Why? Why?

Angered by her own desperation, she stood up, determined not to spend another day wandering about like a lost soul. For starters, it was time she saw Drew, time she stopped avoiding that iss

ue. After all, she had already contacted his godmother. Mrs Anstey had ranted down the phone at her, refusing her apologies and telling her with satisfaction that she had given the flat to a great-niece, who would be far more suitable. Catherine had taken the verbal trouncing in silence. It had lightened her conscience.

She didn’t expect her meeting with Drew to be quite so straightforward. Did she tell him that she was responsible for the nerve-racking experiences he must have endured in Germany? Or did he already know? Would he even want to see her now?

It was early afternoon when she entered the compact offices that housed Huntingdon Components. Drew’s secretary phoned through an announcement of her arrival. Drew emerged from his office, his pleasant features stiff and almost expressionless. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘I felt I had to see you.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t know quite how to greet Mrs Luc Santini.’

She tilted her chin. ‘I’m still Catherine,’ she murmured steadily.