The Reluctant Husband

‘What do you want from me?’ Frankie wailed then.

‘I just want you to be you.’

‘I don’t understand...’ she muttered.

Santino closed a long arm round her painfully taut shoulders and slowly walked her through the double doors that opened out into the loggia which ran along the rear of the villa. ‘It’s not important, cara. The fault is entirely mine. I shouldn’t have left you alone for so long.’

Every treacherously susceptible sense urged Frankie to snuggle into that arm like a purring cat, but she wouldn’t even let the back of her head brush against his shoulder. ‘Actually, I appreciated the time alone...and your cartoons made me laugh...but I really just want to get back to my own life now... OK?’

‘No, that’s out of the question,’ Santino said instantaneously.

‘Why on earth should it be?’ Withdrawing hurriedly from the shelter of his arm, Frankie glanced up at him, but she learnt nothing from the nonchalant calm stamped on that lean, strong face. She walked from the shaded loggia with its comfortable seating areas into the beautiful secluded gardens. There she came to a halt in front of a softly playing fountain.

‘You’re thinking about the pregnancy thing again, aren’t you?’ she muttered finally.

Santino dealt her a rueful smile. ‘As opposed to the bed thing?’

‘Be serious...’ She was struggling to barricade her heart from the stunning effect of a casual smile which could send threatening shock waves of response through her. ‘It’s highly unlikely that we’ll be unlucky.’

‘That depends on your interpretation of lucky. When will you know?’ Santino enquired lazily.

She tensed and shrugged. Teresa’s prudish attitude to all bodily functions had left its mark during Frankie’s adolescence. ‘Sooner or later... but don’t ask me how soon or how late because I’m not sure.’

As that particular brief monthly event had never interfered in the slightest with Frankie’s routine, she didn’t bother to keep a note of dates and could only dimly recall that the last one had been two or three weeks earlier.

‘We’re not short of time,’ Santino responded with staggering cool. ‘And it’s pointless to worry about something we have no influence over.’

‘You’ve certainly changed your tune.’

‘Maybe I’ve warmed up to the idea of being a father... maybe I might even be disappointed if you aren’t pregnant,’ Santino murmured rather tautly.

That amazing suggestion left Frankie with a dropped jaw. She spun away, feverishly striving to work out what good reason he could have to say such a thing. And then the proverbial penny dropped. ‘You don’t believe in abortion, do you?’

Right there in front of her, Santino froze. ‘Surely you weren’t thinking along those lines?’

She shook her head, fascinated by his inability to conceal his relief. Then her own face fell. Now she knew why he was being so sincere and pleasant. He was intent on improving relations between them in advance of them finding out. Very practical and sensible, she thought, loathing him for his foresight. Whatever happened, they would still get a divorce. He had made that clear from the outset, hadn’t he? But gaining access to any child might be problematic if he was on bad terms with his ex-wife.

Santino smiled and she wasn’t surprised. Nudged in the right direction, she seemed to have obediently served up the responses he wanted. ‘I suggest we seal our new understanding by having lunch.’

And fifteen minutes later they did exactly that. A light and delicious meal was served informally in the shade of the loggia. They had only just sat down when a marmalade cat, tail held high, strolled towards them. ‘Topsy...’ Frankie whispered, and instantly thrust her chair back to get down on her knees to welcome her former pet. ‘Gosh, she’s looking well!’

‘Pudding’s probably asleep on the window seat in my study. He doesn’t hunt much now...he’s getting too old,’ Santino reminded her gently as he absorbed her uninhibited delight in the reunion.

‘You didn’t use to approve of pets indoors.’

‘The staff pamper the pair of them. They are extremely spoilt cats. I didn’t have much choice,’ Santino told her, modestly downplaying his role while Topsy wrapped herself sinuously round his ankles, purring like an engi

ne and clearly demonstrating her affection.

Smiling, Frankie returned to the table.

‘By the way...I’ve signed those villas over for rental to your business partner,’ Santino advanced, startling her. ‘However, I suspect that you would still find it difficult to work with Matt Finlay again.’

‘But why?’

‘He’s a bad loser. He’ll hold a grudge because you dented his ego—’

‘Matt and I are good friends...’