‘Where were you last night?’ Isabel demanded accusingly. ‘We’ve been worried sick about you.’
‘Now, now…’ Joe Hales interposed, striving to give his daughter a reassuring smile from blue-tinged lips as Caroline squeezed his hand affectionately. ‘We don’t want her sitting home every night at her age.’
‘I had a meeting with Valente,’ Caroline responded, striving to stick to the truth as far as she could. ‘I knew you were staying with Uncle Charles and I switched my phone off. I’m so sorry you weren’t able to get in touch with me.’
‘You went behind our backs to see that Italian?’ her mother hissed, in a tone of furious disbelief.
‘But you knew that I was seeing Valente yesterday morning,’ Caroline pointed out in a quiet, defensive tone, aimed at reminding Isabel that raised voices could be clearly heard through the rest of the ward. ‘How are you feeling, Dad?’
‘Tired, that’s all. Your mother’s been a tower of strength,’ Joe declared, endeavouring to calm his wife down with a change of topic.
‘We can’t just let this go. It’s a matter of decency,’ Isabel pronounced truculently. ‘I refuse to have any conversation with you at all, Caro, until you tell us why you didn’t come home last night.’
A pulsing silence fell while Caroline attempted to come up with a convincing story. Could she pretend that she had been at Winterwood all along and simply hadn’t heard the phone ringing? Shouldn’t she be adult enough to stand her ground and insist on her right to some privacy? It was not the time or the place. The look in her mother’s cold blue eyes cut like glass through Caroline’s frantic guilty thoughts, panicking her, making her feel like the worst daughter in the world, while once again making her painfully aware that she would never know happiness until she had garnered the strength to stand her ground against such domination. The ensuing awful silence, which she did not know how to fill, cut at her nerves like a slashing whip.
Valente brushed back the curtains and took up position by her side, greeting her parents with a cool and calm that knocked Caroline sideways before saying, ‘Last night I wouldn’t let Caroline go back to an empty house. Winterwood is remote, with your nearest neighbour living a considerable distance away. In your absence, I thought it made more sense for Caroline to spend the night at the hotel.’
Her eyes fiery, Isabel Hales opened her mouth to speak and closed it again only when her husband leapt thankfully on that explanation, which fitted in beautifully with his old-fashioned outlook. He found it perfectly acceptable that Valente should be protective towards his daughter. ‘That was the best idea in the circumstances. No harm done,’ Joe pronounced with relief, his eyes sliding shut, as if he was struggling to stay awake, and then slowly opening again.
‘Of course Caroline protested,’ Valente quipped.
‘Y-yes,’ Caroline stammered, overpowered by his intervention and his ready wits. ‘Dad, you look like you need to get some sleep.’
‘Let me offer you a lift home.’ Valente addressed Isabel Hales. ‘You must be exhausted if you’ve been here all night.’
‘Joe needs me,’ Isabel delivered, with a suspicious look at the tall, broad Italian.
‘I’ll be all right. You should come back later,’ her husband urged, reaching out a hand to grasp his wife’s in a reassuring gesture.
Valente noted the glitter of tears in Isabel’s gaze and registered that she had a human side after all. For all her seeming superficiality and affectation, she was deeply attached to her husband.
Isabel was stiff and sore after sitting for so long, and required her daughter’s support to stand up and walk with her stick. She spoke to the ward sister on the way out, and they left the hospital at a much slower pace than when they had arrived. Caroline was amazed that her mother had agreed to accept a lift home from Valente, but, spotting the tremulous line of the older woman’s mouth, recognised that her energy resources were dwindling.
Once Isabel Hales became aware that Valente’s preferred mode of travel was a limousine, with accompanying security staff, she was much more forthcoming and chatty. Caroline was astonished when her mother broke into animated conversation and smiled, as if Valente was an old friend rather than someone she had only recently professed to despise. It soon dawned on her that her mother was hopelessly impressed by Valente’s evident wealth and she was mortified, painfully conscious that Valente was quite capable of making the same shameful and embarrassing deduction.
Having insisted on assisting her mother from the car and walking her to the front door, Valente rested a lean, possessive hand on Caroline’s slight shoulder and bent down to say, ‘I’ll phone you tomorrow.’
Looking up to find black-lashed dark golden eyes intent on her, Caroline trembled and felt the pound of her heartbeat behind her breastbone. All of a sudden it was a challenge to speak or breathe, and instinct made her pull away as if he was crowding her-which indeed he was. ‘There’s no need.’
‘There’s every need,’ Valente contradicted, without a second of hesitation.
‘I’ll be at the hospital with Dad.’
‘But you will hardly be there all day,’ Isabel Hales interposed in a tone of admonishment.
‘I have an order of jewellery to finish before Friday,’ Caroline added tautly, incredulous at her mother’s sudden alarming change in attitude.
‘We’ll have dinner together tomorrow evening, bella mia. I’ll send the car to pick you up at seven,’ Valente countered.
‘Mum, what are you doing?’ Caroline pressed in a driven undertone the instant the front door had flipped shut behind the two women.
‘What are you doing?’ Isabel enquired in dulcet return. ‘Your one-time lorry driver is now filthy rich and just as keen as he ever was…’
‘Of course he isn’t!’ Caroline snapped, bending down to pet Koko, who had come bounding up gracefully to greet her return.
The older woman gave her an amused glance. ‘This is not the time to be shy, Caro. I saw how he looks at you. He owns our business. He owns our home. You’re working your fingers to the bone with that wretched jewellery enterprise and you’re as poor as a church mouse. A rich husband would solve all our problems very nicely.’
‘No-no, he wouldn’t!’ Caroline repudiated that audacious suggestion with rare vehemence, causing her mother to raise a minatory brow. ‘I’ve got no intention of ever marrying again!’