‘There’s nothing to explain,’ Angelo interrupted. ‘And I’m not interested in explanations.’ He stood up and politely waited for her to do the same.
Francesca stood too and stared at him across the width of the table. She would tell him about the pregnancy, but maybe not just yet, because what good would telling him do? She was still in the position she had been in three years ago. Telling him would present him with an insoluble problem. She felt sick with the worry of it all. In this day and age insoluble problems such as the one she was dealing with had an obvious solution that came under the heading of abortion, but Francesca would not even contemplate going down that road. Whatever wrong turns she had taken in her life had been of her own choosing or at least her own foolishness, and she had always taken responsibility for the consequences. That wasn’t going to change now. And besides…she loved him. True love was unselfish, she told herself, as she blindly gathered up her handbag. The unselfish thing to do would be to spare him the knowledge of the time bomb waiting to destroy his life and his career.
‘If it’s all right, I’ll just call a taxi,’ she whispered, fishing in the bag for her mobile phone.
‘No need for that. I’ll give you a lift back. Like I said, no hard feelings.’ He even managed a smile and for Francesca that was worse because it was so very impersonal.
He drove her back to her house in unbroken silence. The temptation to tell him what was going on was overpowering, but hard on the heels of temptation came the icy blast of reality—the position she would be putting him in, the consequences he would be forced to deal with.
The silent drive finally came to an end and he turned to her. ‘Good luck with your catering business, Francesca. I’ll make sure to put in a good word for you.’
‘There’s no need…’
‘Call it for services rendered.’ It was a cheap shot but the tip of the iceberg when it came to what he was feeling. Yes, he had been the one to do the discarding and, no, it felt no better now than it had three years ago when the shoe had been on the other foot. He could see from her face that the dart had hit bull’s-eye and loathed himself for delivering it. Too late now, and he wasn’t going to apologise anyway.
‘That’s…below the belt.’
‘It’s the unvarnished truth.’ He shrugged.
‘I’m sorry.’ She took a deep breath and weathered the shuttered, dark face impassively staring back at her. ‘I didn’t think that it would end this way.’
‘Apologies accepted, although we both enjoyed the ride so none are due.’
‘I don’t think I’ll be staying on in London.’ She gave a high, brittle laugh.
‘No?’ He sounded mildly, but only mildly, interested. ‘Don’t feel obliged to leave on account of me.’
Francesca nodded. Conversation had dried up. Angelo was making no attempt to extend himself beyond the formalities of answering her questions. There was the faintest semblance of boredom on his beautiful face.
Her notions about passion fizzling out conveniently, leaving her cleansed and free to move on with her life, had been a terrible illusion, and her selfishness in agreeing to sleep with him for the gratification it gave her now seemed a terminally grave misjudgement.
Angelo watched as she walked up towards her front door. He didn’t wait to see her go in. By the time Francesca had reached her sitting room and collapsed into one of the sofas, he was already three blocks away from her house and heading out of London. At this time of night the roads were empty. Once on the motorway, he revved the powerful car and ate up the miles to nowhere.
Not that the purposeless three-hour drive managed to do much for his state of mind.
Nor, for that matter, did the ensuing two weeks of working like a beast. He buried himself in work, pushing himself to the limits, knowing that people were looking at him oddly and wondering what the hell was going on. He had no desire to fill any of them in. In fact, there was a certain amount of perverse satisfaction to be had from noting the way his staff scurried out of his way when they saw him coming. They sensed his black mood and made sure to avoid it whenever they could. Just as well. It was as he was preparing to leave on the Friday that his mobile rang. Without any identifying name popping up for him to ascertain who the caller was, he very nearly let it ring. He had plans for the evening which included too much whisky for his own good, but in the end curiosity got the better of him.