Flora's Defiance

Flora went pink because when she rang Amsterdam she always asked to speak to Anke. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to be personally involved in giving me regular bulletins on Mariska.’

‘Are you always this prickly with men?’ Angelo drawled silkily.

‘I’m not prickly! ‘ Flora snapped, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the phone tight with angry fingers, her stretched-tight control snapping at that fire-raising crack. Even his intonation set her teeth on edge. ‘I assume you’re calling to ask if I have any news yet on the pregnancy front and the answer is, sorry, no. I’ll have a better idea by the end of next week.’

‘So, we’re only allowed to talk if there’s bad news?’

At her end of the phone, Flora pulled a face. ‘You said it—’

‘For the benefit of your niece in the future, it would be sensible for us to establish a cordial relationship.’

Flora stiffened and reddened as if he had slapped her on the wrist for bad behaviour. Her teeth gritted because it was far from being the first time that Angelo van Zaal had managed to make her feel like a disruptive and rude child. Nor did she relish the obvious fact that Angelo remained confident that he would win the adoption competition. ‘You should have thought of that in Amsterdam and kept your hands off me!’ she snapped before she could think better of being that honest with him.

‘Pot … kettle … black,’ Angelo pronounced, deadpan.

And Flora was downright amazed that the violent jolt of rage that rocked her at that ruthless retaliation didn’t send her screaming into orbit. A lengthy silence stretched at her end of the line as she struggled with her temper. ‘I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other right now,’ she breathed shakily, before she set the phone down hastily lest she forget herself entirely and screech back at him like a virago.

Please, please, please don’t let me be pregnant by him, she prayed in a frantic, feverish surge. Although at least he had been frank enough to admit that such an announcement would be ‘bad news’. Yet that fact ironically only made Flora’s heart sink, for she knew that if she conceived he would be anything but pleased and in even thinking that thought she felt that she was being unfair to him. After all, what rational man or woman wanted to conceive a child outside the bounds of a serious relationship? But, equally, how could she have put herself in the position of waiting to see whether or not she would fall pregnant from a casual sexual encounter? That very acknowledgement drenched her in hot shame.

Yet she could not possibly explain why her mind should immediately leap from that thought to a stirring recollection of her hands sweeping up over Angelo’s muscular hair-roughened torso. Yes, he had had strong grounds for his retaliation, for she had found it equally impossible to keep her hands off him that afternoon.

The week that followed was very stressful for Flora. Local education colleges were staging open days and all the accommodation for miles around was filled with parents and would-be students. Flora’s five rooms were fully booked and Sharon came in every day to help with the cleaning and changing of bedding as well as the breakfast rush. Every night Flora fell into bed much too tired to lie awake worrying. But when the end of the week arrived she was suddenly fiercely and anxiously aware that unusually her menstrual cycle was exhibiting definite signs of being disrupted. She wondered if stress could be making her late. The next day, she woke at noon on the decision that, without further ado, she would head for the nearest pharmacy to purchase a pregnancy test. That decided, however, she was barefoot and still in her pyjamas when her doorbell rang in a shrill burst.

Having assumed it was the lady who delivered the mail, Flora flung open the door with scant ceremony and with a piece of jam-spread toast still clutched in one hand. She was aghast to see Angelo and stared at him much as she might have stared at an alien had he dropped out of the sky onto her doorstep.

Angelo studied her with narrowed shimmering blue eyes. The faded blue cotton pyjamas and bare feet made her look very young and, taken by surprise, her eyes shone green as precious jade against her rosy complexion.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Flora questioned in a rush of dismay. ‘Oh, my goodness, Mariska is all right, isn’t she?’

‘Mariska is fine,’ Angelo murmured quietly. ‘I?

??m more concerned right now about you.’

‘I’m concerned about me too … but you didn’t need to come all the way from the Netherlands to check up on me,’ Flora assured him in a surge of disbelief.

‘I was already coming to the UK on business. I had a meeting in London early this morning,’ Angelo responded deflatingly. ‘Are you planning to invite me into your home?’

Flora hesitated, reluctant to bring him into her private space, much preferring to keep him outside.

Angelo dealt her a shrewd appraisal and murmured with silken derision, ‘What age are you? Twenty-six years old, or sixteen?’

‘Is it my fault that you get on my nerves? I mean, at the very least you might have warned me that you were planning to visit!’ Flora complained heatedly, making no attempt to hide her resentment as she stepped back reluctantly to allow him into the hall.

A little black and white terrier barked frantically at Angelo from a doorway. He wasn’t accustomed to indoor animals in any of his phenomenally clean and smoothly run homes, so he ignored it. Even though the dog made an attempt to nip at his trouser legs, Flora patted it soothingly and rewarded the little animal with the toast in her hand. While idly wondering if a successful bite that drew blood would have won a second piece of toast and an all-out hug, Angelo frowned until he noted the way her clingy top rose to expose the smooth white skin of her hip and the curve of her bottom when she bent down. He had a sudden startling recollection of her pale slender body spread across that mattress on the houseboat and his big hands clenched in defiance of that image as he fought off the insidious arousal tugging at him.

‘Would you like coffee?’ Flora enquired, striving to employ the good manners she had been raised with.

‘We haven’t got time for that. You need to get dressed … and quickly,’ Angelo asserted, shrugging back his cuff to check the slim gold watch on his wrist.

Flora frowned, alarmingly conscious of the manner in which his beautiful sapphire-blue eyes lingered on her and of the lack of clothing she wore. She had never met any other man with such a powerfully sexual aura and she seriously hoped that she never did again. ‘What the heck are you talking about? We haven’t got time for … what?’

‘A conversation or an argument,’ Angelo responded drily. ‘I’ve made an appointment for you with a London obstetrician and getting there on time will be a challenge.’

Her wide green eyes rounded in sheer disbelief. ‘You’ve done what?’ she gasped. ‘Made an appointment for me with an obstetrician?’

‘I’m done with hanging around waiting to find out whether or not you’re pregnant,’ Angelo spelt out with forthright cool, his stubborn jaw line squaring in emphasis. ‘I’m assured that testing can safely be done at the earliest stage.’

Flora’s lower lip had parted company from her upper because she was still shell shocked by his announcement. ‘I can’t believe you’ve got the nerve to do this to me!’