Kat And The Dare-Devil Spaniard

‘Are you still there, Kat?’

‘Yes, Daddy,’ she said resignedly. ‘I’m still here.’

‘I just want to say…well done, darling. I’m very proud of you. The flat’s all ready and you can access your bank account immediately,’ he announced, and then his voice softened. ‘And you can treat yourself to something nice, because I’m increasing your allowance!’

It felt a little like being offered a poisoned chalice, and the drive from the airfield left Kat feeling dejected and slightly sick.

Installed in the vast Balfour apartment which overlooked Kensington Gardens, she was soon confronted with a reality which she didn’t quite understand. And at first she couldn’t quite believe. Because all the signs had been there….

She’d been…

She’d felt…

She’d thought…

It was only after more reaso

ned consideration and a glance at the calendar that her skin began to ice, as the mixed messages which her body was sending out caused her mind to scream with confusion.

Scanning the phone book for a list of physicians, she made an appointment with a doctor and managed to get someone to see her that afternoon.

Pushing her way past the man who seemed to have been hanging around outside her apartment all week, Kat flagged down a taxi which took her straight to Harley Street and a middle-aged gynaecologist who looked at her with a frown.

‘I’m not sure I understand exactly what it is you’re asking me, Miss Balfour.’

‘I thought I might be pregnant,’ she summarised quickly. ‘And then my period started. Or, at least, I thought it did. Only it hasn’t, not really, not like normal. I’m not sure what’s going on.’

‘Let’s do a couple of tests, shall we?’ he questioned.

Twenty minutes later, she was in another cab heading back for the apartment, where—physically and emotionally drained—she fell into a fitful doze, and woke soon after dawn, unable to get back to sleep. She forced herself to shower and dress and spent long minutes putting on her make-up, realising how long it had been since she’d worn it. But grateful now for the mask it provided. The familiar old mask which was now back in place—something for her to hide behind. Because new and scary territory had opened up before her and she was going to have to face it. Alone.

She’d just finished dressing when the silence was broken by the loud jangling of the telephone. It was her sister Sophie, who wasn’t usually given to making early morning phone calls.

‘Hello, Sophie,’ said Kat, trying to sound like her ‘normal’ self, even though she seemed to have forgotten what that felt like. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘Have you seen the papers?’ her sister demanded.

‘No. I’ve only just got back from…’ Suddenly, Kat registered the urgency in her sister’s voice. ‘Why? What’s happened?’

‘There’s a picture of you on page three of the Daily View. Coming out of a doctor’s surgery in Harley Street.’ Sophie’s voice dropped to a worried whisper. ‘Kat, are you okay?’

What would her shy, artistic sister say if she told her the truth? ‘I’m fine,’ lied Kat, as the doorbell began peeling with a loud and imperious bell. ‘Listen, someone’s at the door. I’d better go, Soph. I’ll ring you.’

Flicking her hair away from her face, she ran to the door, peering at the CCTV image of the man who stood outside the apartment block and then freezing in disbelief.

Carlos!

Kat’s knees buckled and she swayed. Thoughts which were already confused now began to go into overdrive.

Carlos?

The doorbell rang again—and it seemed that this time he must have jammed his thumb on the bell and left it there so that she was forced to click on the intercom without giving herself a chance to compose herself. Though maybe that would have been asking too much of anyone.

‘Y-yes?’

‘Let me in.’

‘What the hell are you doing here?’