Second Marriage

'Hello, Benito. Who's a clever bird, then?' The big, compact body was as smooth as silk under her fingers as she stroked the beautiful feathers, his head immedi­ately nuzzling into her hand as he continued to mutter his ecstasy at her presence.

'You are not frightened of this old villain?' Romano joined her, his words slightly disparaging, but as she glanced up at him, ready to defend the parrot's cause, she surprised a look of real affection on his face as he gazed at the bird, before he became aware of her glance and his expression became blank.

'Benito? Of course not, we're friends—aren't we, old fellow?' she said quietly, returning her eyes to the parrot, who glanced up at her cheekily before setting Romano in his sights.

'Romano…Claire, hmm?' It was said with an air of consideration that was terribly human, further underlined by the fact that the irascible old bird glanced from one to the other enquiringly, like a benevolent matchmaking uncle. 'Claire e Romano. Nice old fellows…'

'You are getting a little confused, Benito.' Romano's voice was quite without embarrassment, as though he had no idea what the bird was getting at—something Claire hoped fervently wasn't just good manners on his part. Her own face had turned a vivid and she was sure unattractive shade of crimson. 'Claire is not a fellow, nice or otherwise; she is a lady.'

'Lady, lady.' Benito was revelling in the attention he was getting; he liked nothing more than to show off to all and sundry. 'Frutta? Frutta?' he asked hopefully, never one to miss an opportunity to ask for food. 'Nice old bird,' he added for good measure, giving an imitation of a heartfelt human sigh as he finished speaking.

'Greedy old bird, more like.' Claire couldn't help laughing, in spite of her awkwardness, at the bird's ro­guish manner. She knew all the family were devoted to him—Grace especially crediting him with almost human powers and spoiling him outrageously—and she had to admit that the parrot's mischievous antics and wicked sense of humour were very endearing. But there were times, like a few moments ago, when he was too human for comfort.

'Claire, come and see the new games I had for Christmas for my computer.' Lorenzo saved the day again as he called to her across the room from where he was seated at his desk. 'There is a two-player one,' he added expectantly, augmenting the veiled request with an engaging grin.

'I will leave you to it.' Romano smiled that detached smile as he spoke, turning in the same instant, and as she stood for a moment, watching him leave the room, she found herself reflecting on the power in his male body before she realised what she was doing. A wave of fiery red burnt across her pale skin for the second time in as many minutes, but still the lithe, muscled body under the black silk shirt and casual but expensive black cotton trousers held her attention.

For goodness' sake, had she completely lost reason? she scolded herself as the door closed and she and Lorenzo were alone. She had never in all her life ogled a man, she had never even wanted to, and she certainly wasn't going to start now, and with Romano Bellini of all people. He was arrogant enough without her adding to his inflated ego.

Beside

s which—her mouth tightened as the little voice in her mind spoke with devastating honesty—she could just imagine his reaction to her body if he saw her partly undressed. Her hand made an involuntary protective movement over the flat surface of her stomach before Lorenzo's, 'Come on, Claire, it's all set up,' jerked her out of the brief fall into the black abyss all thoughts of her accident still produced.

Nevertheless, as she battled with Lorenzo for domi­nation of the jungle, her Tyrannosaurus Rex versus his King Kong, her mind was only partly on the game.

It had all been so different before the accident, she thought painfully. She had been happy, confident, con­tent in a job she loved and engaged to a man she was sure was the one and only. And then, in just a few mo­ments of time, her whole life had changed irrevocably. She shut her eyes for a second as a stab of anguish made her heart thud.

It hadn't been her fault. Everyone—the police, her family, the witnesses at the scene—had said the young driver of the flashy sports car had shot out at the junction into the side of her estate car without any warning what­soever, but the end result had been two grieving parents when he had died in surgery. She had spent weeks in hospital recovering from her own injuries, torturing her­self with the terrifying realisation that the three children who had been in the car with her, whom she had been nannying at the time, could so easily have died. As it was, their injuries had been minor, necessitating just an overnight stay, but she could still hear their terror-stricken screams, the moans of the other driver in the tangled wreckage of his vehicle, and the sound of her own voice as she had tried to reassure the children whilst being unable to reach them, trapped as she was within the crumpled car.

She had replayed the incident continuously on the screen of her mind for months afterwards in a desperate effort to reassure herself that she had had no chance to avoid the other car, but still she was left feeling that if she had reacted more quickly, been more observant, a better driver, a young man, eighteen years of age, might not have been wiped out. It had emerged that the sports car had been a present for his eighteenth birthday the day before from over-indulgent and wealthy parents, and that at the time of the accident he hadn't even been wear­ing a seat belt…

'Claire?' Lorenzo's indignant voice told her she wasn't concentrating, and she made an effort to force her mind from the horrors of the past and into the pres­ent.

No one would have been able to prevent the tragedy, given the circumstances that had prevailed, had they been a veteran driver of fifty years' motoring or a young twenty-year-old, as she had been. She knew that, she knew it…in her head. Her heart was a different matter. Her heart still had to cope with the feelings of horror and remorse, even though the latter emotion wasn't even pertinent to the incident, according to everyone else. But she felt it. She felt it. And her fear and diffidence at being in charge of small precious human beings, who would trust her implicitly the way children do—that was inescapably real too.

The physical scars of the accident might only be faint silvery lines on her stomach, unseen by anyone but her­self, but the mental disfiguration was something else, something she knew she had to triumph over, but as yet she was powerless to do so. Would the accident have affected her so adversely if Jeff hadn't deserted her at a time when she had needed him most? Well, she'd never know, would she…?

The death throes of her Tyrannosaurus and Lorenzo's exasperated sigh told her she hadn't been a worthy op­ponent, and after making her apologies she sat and watched the boy load another game, her mind still wor­rying at her last thought like a dog with a bone.

Jeff had only visited her in the hospital a handful of times, but, knowing his aversion to illness and disease in general and to hospitals in particular, she hadn't pres­sured him to come more often—although she had missed him unbearably, and visiting times had become some­thing of a subtle torture as other patients were engulfed by their husbands or boyfriends. Her parents had visited every day, of course, and her brothers and her wide cir­cle of friends had been marvellous. But somehow it hadn't been quite the same.

And then, when she had been in hospital eight weeks, and two days before she was due to come home, she had received the letter, every word of which was imprinted on her mind, on her very soul.

'Dear Claire…' The formality should have warned her of what was to follow. Before then his letters had always begun 'Darling' or 'My precious Claire'.

I don't know quite how to write this letter but I know I must. It wouldn't be fair to either of us if I didn't. This time apart has made me look at our relationship in a new way, has brought certain issues to the fore, if you know what I mean.

No, she hadn't, but she had read on anyway, with her heart pounding so violently it had made her feel sick.

I think it would be better if we had a break, Claire, for six months or so, became free agents again with no commitments. I feel I've tied you down too early and it's far better that we part now than at some time in the future, when we've got children and so on. Please keep the ring and I hope you can understand why I had to do this.

Goodbye. Jeff.

Oh, the hypocrisy of it. But, yes, she had understood then and she did now why he had done it. She was just amazed that she hadn't clicked on to the way his mind was working that first time he had visited her, when the expression on his face as he had looked at her had been one of horror and revulsion at her injuries compounded by a weird sort of panic and disgust.

She had wept, of course, helplessly, hopelessly, for most of the day, and then her eldest brother, Charlie, had come to visit her in the evening and the full truth had come out. It appeared Jeff had been seeing someone else for the last month, a leggy blonde he worked with who was a keep-fit fanatic like him and attended his gym.

'I got those sort of details after I'd hit him,' Charlie had told her, with a measure of satisfaction, 'and if I'm not mistaken he'll need to see a dentist to replace a cou­ple of teeth—unless he picked them up off the pub floor, of course. I was just hoping you'd never have to know about her, sis.'