The Valentine Child

She swayed, her legs trembling, when he released her. 'Why?' Her tongue licked her swollen lips.

'A reminder!' he said tightly. 'I'll order coffee, but don't keep me waiting too long.'

Ten minutes later Zoe reluctantly walked back into the sitting-room. She had taken the time to have a quick shower and change into a pair of well-washed jeans and a baggy black sweatshirt. Barefoot, with her small face scrubbed clean and her pale, silky hair dragged back and fastened with a blue silk scarf, she had no idea how ridiculously young and vulnerable she looked.

A grim smile touched Justin's mouth when he saw her. His hand shook as he ran it through his thick hair. 'You look so damned innocent. How the hell do you do it?'

'Cursing me will solve nothing,' she said, her blue eyes flickering over him. He was perched on the edge of his chair, a coffee-jug and cups untouched on the table in front of him. She knew she had hurt him badly by denying him his son, but recriminations could come later. First, she needed to explain and get him back to the States with her.

She sat down on the chair opposite his and, leaning forward, filled two cups with the thick, dark brew. Automatically adding one spoonful of sugar to his, she handed it across to him.

'You remembered how I like my coffee; pity you couldn't have remembered to tell me I had a son as easily,' he said with biting sarcasm.

'Please, Justin. Let me tell you in my own way.'

'I can't wait.' His formidable, dark face looked grim. 'It should be interesting. It's not every day that a man is so spectacularly betrayed by his own wife.'

'I never wanted—'

'Cut the excuses, for God's sake! And give it to me straight.’ His sensuous mouth curved contemptuously. 'That is, if your devious little mind can grasp the concept.'

She bowed her head, unable to face the banked-down rage in his dark eyes, and began to speak. 'Val is a beautiful little boy—a real live wire, full of curiosity for life, and he looks very like you.

'But last fall I noticed he was much quieter than usual; at first I put it down to the bad weather at the time.' A dry chuckle escaped her. 'My English half blaming everything on the weather, I expect.'

She glanced across at Justin and for a second she faltered, deterred by the unforgiving hardness of his expression.

She swallowed. 'He caught a cold. The doctor gave him antibiotics, and he seemed to recover, but not properly. After Christmas when he started pre-school he still wasn't a hundred per cent. The doctor took a blood test, and confirmed he was anaemic, but when, after vitamins and iron, he was still no better there were further tests.'

Her bottom lip trembled and she had to take a deep, steadying breath before she could go on. Reliving the past desperate weeks and exposing her pain to another person was one of the hardest things she had ever done.

'Go on,' Justin prompted implacably.

'We took a trip to the hospital in Portland; the consultant there recommended a transfer to New York University Hospital and a world-renowned consultant in the field, Professor Barnet. More transfusions, more tests, until a week ago they finally came up with the answer—Fanconi's anaemia, a very rare disease.'

She said the hated words by rote; it was the only way she could deal with the enormity of what had happened to her beloved boy.

'Cause not known. Treatment—a week on Monday Val starts a course of chemotherapy. Ideal solution—a bone-marrow transplant. The problem is that I've been screened and I'm not a match for him.'

Only then did she lift her head.

Justin had gone white about the mouth and his features had settled into a rigid, impenetrable mask, which made what she had to ask him a hundred times harder.

'I'm hoping you will be,' she said, her blue eyes huge and pleading in the unnatural pallor of her small face. 'It's not hard, Justin, believe me. A simple blood test, and, if you match, the transplant is a breeze—honestly,' she insisted urgently. 'A simple operation to extract the marrow from the base of your spine. Two nights in hospital—three at most; nothing worse than a backache.'

'Stop! Stop right there,' he commanded flatly. 'First, have you consulted the best medical opinion available?'

For the next half-hour Zoe was treated to a ruthless cross-examination, Justin's decisive yet politely impersonal questions beating down on her until she wanted to scream and finally did. . .

'But will you do it?' she cried. 'I have your seat booked on Concorde on Monday. Please simply say yes.'

'God! Need you ask?' Disgust made his lip curl and she squirmed at the contempt in his black gaze as he added, 'Yes, of course.'

Her head fell back against the soft cushion and she closed her eyes. 'Oh, thank God. Thank God!' The relief was tremendous. She had hoped that Justin would do the right thing, but she had never been sure. It was as if the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders. She opened her eyes and looked at him. 'You'll never know how much this means to me, Justin.'

'I think I can guess; he is my son as well,' he returned drily. Getting to his feet and turning on his heel, he strode across to the telephone. He dialled a number and, holding the receiver to his ear, turned and leant against the table, watching her with cold dark eyes, his long lashes flicking against his high cheekbones. 'There's no need to wait until Monday. We'll leave today.'

'But---- '