The Italian's Love-Child

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘It is.’

  ‘Then there is nothing more to be said, is there?’

  And the finality of that statement had left her wondering why she hadn’t said the most sensible thing, such as: I’d like to think about it, or I’m not ruling anything out. Instead, she was aware that she had burnt her boats, until she reminded herself that her first assessment had been the correct one. She didn’t want to marry a man who didn’t love her.

  With trembling fingers she shook out her linen napkin and laid it carefully over her knees, doubting that she would be able to eat a thing, not with those brilliant black eyes burning into her. But the action composed her, so that she was able to look up at him with a calm expression on her face.

  ‘So,’ she said equably. ‘You were going to tell me why you were here.’

  Did nothing touch her? he wondered furiously. He could be some business acquaintance she was meeting for the first time for all the reaction on her face. What was going on in her mind? In her heart?

  For a moment he wished that he had arranged to meet her down by the water, where the foam-flecked grey waters would have drowned his angry words. But he must temper his anger. She carried his child, and although it would have made him feel better to have stormed his rage like the strongest tempest, he must not.

  ‘I saw you on television this morning,’ he said unexpectedly.

  It was the last thing she had imagined he would say.

  ‘Oh?’ she questioned warily.

  The waitress came up with her pad, but he waved her away with an impatient hand, then leaned across the table, so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath and see the darkened irises of his eyes which made him look like the devil incarnate.

  ‘You are, as they say, very…telegenic, cara,’ he drawled.

  He made it sound like an insult.

  ‘The camera loves you, doesn’t it, Eve?’ he continued softly. ‘It throws intriguing shadows off those high cheekbones and makes your face look as though it is composed of nothing but those grey-green eyes, like an ocean that a man could drown in.’

  The words were like poetry, but he delivered them like a man who didn’t want to believe them. ‘If that was supposed to be a compliment, then I’ll pass on any others,’ she said shakily and caught the waitress’s eye, gave her a beseeching smile and, thank heavens, she came over.

  ‘I’d like the sole with new potatoes and green beans,’ she said steadily. ‘And just water to drink. Luca? What would you like?’

  If looks could kill, she thought, with a momentary satisfaction.

  ‘I’ll have the same,’ he said shortly, but inside he was fuming. He was used to a woman letting him do the ordering!

  Had she done that to demonstrate superiority or equality? A pulse began to beat at his temple and for just one wild, crazy moment he wondered what she would do if he went round to her side of the table and hauled her to her feet and began to kiss her. Would she press her body so eagerly to his, and wind her arms around his neck with the passion she had displayed in such abundance?

  ‘Luca? Are you all right?’

  The erotic, frustrating fantasy evaporated and hard on its heels came the sense of burning injustice.

  ‘No, Eve, I am not “all right”. In fact, I am angry, very, very angry—probably angrier than I have ever been in my life, but I am doing my best to control it.’

  Was he trying to intimidate her? Because he would soon find that she would not be. ‘And managing very admirably,’ she said sweetly.

  ‘I will not be managing very admirably unless you wipe that smug little smile from your mouth and tell me exactly why you have taken on this new show.’ The word slid sarcastically from between his lips.

  ‘Eve in the Morning!?’ she questioned helpfully.

  ‘Eve,’ he said warningly. ‘I would like some kind of explanation.’

  She decided to stop playing games. She was a free agent. He might have claims on the baby, but none on her and she was perfectly entitled to live her life as she saw fit.

  ‘I was too sick in the mornings to manage the other ones… Luca, what on earth is the matter?’

  ‘Sick?’ he demanded hoarsely. ‘You did not tell me you were sick!’

  ‘Of course I didn’t—it’s quite normal for a pregnant woman to be sick.’

  ‘And the baby?’

  Eve softened, because for a moment his face looked so ravaged that she couldn’t help it. ‘The baby is just fine,’ she said gently. ‘Honestly. I’ve seen the doctor and she says that I am as strong as an ox and as fit as a flea and whatever else it is they say about pregnant women!’

  And, to his horror, the overriding thought which dominated his mind was his gratitude that she had chosen a woman doctor! If he was not able to watch her naked, growing belly, then he did not want any other man—doctor or not—to be able to.

  ‘So they created this brand-new show, just for me,’ she continued.

  ‘So that the whole country is able to participate in your pregnancy! No one is excluded—except, of course, the father!’

  ‘It’s regional, Luca—not national—not the whole country at all!’

  ‘You are deliberately missing the point,’ he said furiously.

  Their meals were put down in front of them.

  ‘The point being, what?’

  He sighed. To have to admit to feelings he would prefer not to have was something he had never had to do. But Eve was a strong woman, he recognised that. As well as fiercely proud and independent. And stubborn, too. It came as a bolt out of the blue to realise that she did not need him!

  ‘Who knows that I am the father?’ he asked suddenly.

  Eve didn’t answer for a moment.

  ‘Eve?’

  Their eyes met. ‘I have told only Lizzy,’ she admitted. ‘Not even Michael—though I expect Lizzy will have done by now.’

  She remembered Lizzy’s reaction. Her friend had been shocked, but not surprised. ‘Can’t say I blame you,’ she murmured, and then looked at Eve expectantly. ‘And?’

  Pointless to pretend that she didn’t know what that simple one-word question meant. ‘It’s over,’ she said quietly.

  Lizzy wasn’t able to hide her disappointment. ‘And you’re happy with that?’

  Happy? ‘Perfectly happy,’ she said brightly.

  ‘Oh, well, that’s nice. Very modern!’ Then Lizzy leaned forward slightly. ‘It’s probably all for the best, isn’t it? I mean, Michael says that he’s well known in the Italian press. Quite a reputation. Though that’s hardly surprising, is it? Bad type of man to lose your heart to, Eve!’

  ‘Very bad,’ agreed Eve gravely. Please keep telling me these things, Lizzy, she remembered thinking to herself. For these are the things I need to hear.

  Luca was staring at her. So she had not announced who the father was! He had expected it to be common knowledge, by now. ‘You mean you are ashamed of the child’s parentage?’ he growled.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

  ‘Then what?’

  She put her fork down with a clang. ‘Because I wasn’t sure if you were going to be around or not and I thought that if you weren’t then it would be better for everyone not to know, especially those who didn’t need to. I didn’t want everyone to be pointing the finger and making value judgements about me.’

  He thought how a marriage would have easily solved all such problems, but she had steadfastly refused that.

  ‘You should tell them,’ he said. ‘Tell everyone or no one, but evade the issue no longer. The child will know, so best that everyone else does.’

  ‘It isn’t as easy as that,’ she said quietly and met the question in his eyes. ‘Because of the job I do, everything in my personal life is considered relevant. That’s why I’ve just said a terse “no comment” when people have asked who the father is.’

  He swore quietly beneath his breath. ‘And you are happy with this?’

  Eve shrugged. ‘It’s the way things are.’

&
nbsp; But surely he had the power to change them? He saw the faint lines of strain around her eyes and decided that now was not the time. ‘Eat your lunch!’ he instructed gently, and then frowned. ‘Have you been eating well, Eve? Properly?’

  ‘Why?’

  He frowned. ‘You do not look very…pregnant.’

  ‘No. Some women don’t—it’s the way I carry, apparently.’ She thought how seasoned she sounded, as if she had done this a million times before instead of for the first time. And she also thought how comforting it was to be able to discuss this kind of thing with someone who cared—and if Luca didn’t particularly care for her, he certainly seemed to be making up for it where the baby was concerned.

  ‘So you are eating?’ he persisted.

  It was also, she discovered, rather nice to have someone who asked her this kind of thing. It was different from when the doctor asked her—that was professional, while this was personal.

  She picked up her fork and speared fish and beans and chewed them like an obedient child. ‘I am eating like a horse—see! Fish, fruit, vegetables and brown rice—with the occasional portion of cherry ice cream thrown in for good measure!’ She gave him a small smile. ‘Does that satisfy you?’

  He poured some water. Satisfy him? He couldn’t ever remember being quite so dissatisfied, both physically and emotionally.

  Eve watched him as he lifted his eyes to her, and in them was an expression of respect, though made slightly acid by the wry smile which had curved the kissable lips. He looked so irresistible that she felt a sudden desire to be almost biddable…to tell him that it was all going to be all right.

  But she didn’t know that, and neither could she do it. She was having to fight down the urge to ask him if they couldn’t just forget all the events which had brought them to this confusing place and this confusing time and start all over again.

  But she couldn’t do that either. Too much had happened, and there was a baby on the way. She needed to protect herself against hurt—not just for her sake, but for her baby’s sake. A heartbroken mother would not be able to do her job properly.

  Yet she wanted to teach her child—their child—all the things which were important, and surely one of the most fundamental was honesty.

  ‘You haven’t told me what you feel about this baby, not really,’ she said quietly. ‘Apart from the anger, of course.’

  He remembered how it had devoured him, like a great, burning flame. ‘The anger has gone. I should not have reacted so.’

  ‘I guess it was a natural response.’ Her eyes were very clear. ‘What has replaced it?’

  This was difficult for him. He was not a man to put feelings into words, but then this seemed far too important not to, and surely he owed her that. ‘Pride,’ he said simply. ‘And excitement.’

  Eve stared at him.

  ‘You look surprised,’ he observed.

  ‘That’s because I am.’ She felt a warm and little protective glow deep within her and she realised how much she valued his pride and his excitement. For the baby’s sake.

  ‘And what about you, Eve?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘What were your feelings?’ This felt like an uncharted domain. Asking a woman a question like that and actually caring what her answer would be.

  ‘I feel excited, too. Yes, very.’ And more than a little bit scared, too—if the truth were known. But she would not tell him that. She was a grown woman who had to take responsibility for herself. She was not going to start leaning on Luca.

  He nodded, but there was something else he needed to know. ‘But not angry?’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Not anger—I think it expresses itself differently for women. I felt stupid. Trapped.’

  ‘I don’t want you to feel trapped.’

  ‘Just what is it that you do want, Luca?’

  She had asked him this question once before and he had surprised himself by not knowing the answer. This time he did. ‘I want to be part of your pregnancy,’ he said. ‘When you see the doctor, I would like to be there, too. When you have your scans, I want to see my baby’s little heart beating.’

  Suddenly very emotional, she put her fork down, and stared at her meal, his words making her feel almost unbearably poignant. It took a minute for her to compose herself, and when she looked up again she hoped that he didn’t notice that her eyes were bright. He didn’t mean it how it sounded. It was intimate, yes, but not truly intimate.

  She put on her best, practical voice. ‘But how on earth are you going to do that? We live miles apart. I suppose I could send you scans, email you—that kind of thing.’

  But he shook his head. ‘No, not second hand,’ he said firmly.

  ‘How?’ she questioned simply.

  ‘Give me enough notice and I can fly over for your appointments.’

  ‘What about your job?’

  He looked at her, realising that she had no idea about the nature of his work, but then why would she have? Intellectually, she might be aware that he owned a bank, but she did not live in Italy, she would not know the extent of his power and influence. And since she seemed to have no intention of making any claims on him, he saw no reason not to tell her. It was a curiously liberating feeling not to have to play it down.

  ‘I am rich enough never to have to work again, Eve,’ he said softly. ‘And certainly in a position to take it easy for a while. I can come and go as I please. I can be there. For the baby.’

  And Eve wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LUCA walked into the scanning room and the first things he noticed were the lights. He frowned, his eyes narrowing as they accustomed themselves to the brightness, but the frown deepened as he took in the rest of the small room.

  There was Eve, lying on a trolley, with a white-coated technician smearing some thick kind of jelly all over her swollen belly—while a man dressed entirely in denim was swinging a little meter close by.

  In one corner, a youngish woman with jangly earrings was in earnest conversation with another man—another—who was holding a hand-held camera.

  They all looked up as he walked in, and the woman with the jangly earrings smiled and, before Eve could stop her, said, ‘I’m sorry—but we’re filming in here.’

  There was a short, tense silence.

  ‘And what precisely,’ said Luca, in a voice of dangerous silk, ‘do you think you’re filming?’

  The woman with the jangly earrings stared at him. ‘We’re doing a feature for a television show, and it’s really very crowded in here—so if you wouldn’t mind leaving.’

  It was exactly like a bomb going off, thought Eve. A deadly little stealth bomb. ‘I am not going anywhere,’ he grated. ‘But I’m afraid that you are. Get out.’

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You are not, repeat not, filming Eve having a scan. Now are you going to leave or do I have to pick up the damn cameras myself and throw them out?’

  Jangly earrings looked at Eve. ‘Eve?’

  She should have been mortified, outraged, and furious with Luca marching in here and single-handedly managing to put her livelihood in jeopardy. But she was none of those things. In theory, the filming of her scan for the show had seemed like a great idea, but the reality was that it had felt intrusive.

  And she had never been so glad to see someone in her life.

  ‘Just who is this man, Eve?’

  ‘He’s…’

  ‘I’m the baby’s father,’ interjected Luca icily. ‘And I want to see the scan of my baby. In private.’

  There was something about his face and something about the tone of his voice which dared anyone to defy him and the news crew were clearly not going to be the exception.

  With much mumbling and clicking of tongues, they packed up their equipment and left, but not before the woman with the jangly earrings had turned to Eve.

  ‘Perhaps you could call me later?’

  It took Luca a moment or two to control his breathing, and the white-coated
technician was blinking in bemusement.

  ‘And here was me thinking I was going to be on television!’ she joked.

  Steadying his breathing, Luca shot Eve a look which said ‘I will talk to you afterwards’ and she felt exactly like a schoolgirl who had been summoned to see the headmaster.

  But Luca’s rage was temporarily forgotten when the technician began to slide the scanner over the bump and what had looked like a blur of grey and black gradually began to seem real.

  ‘There we are,’ said the technician. ‘Two arms and two legs—perfect. And there’s the heart—can you see it beating?’

  There was silence, only this time a breathless, excited kind of silence.

  ‘Oh, look!’ said the technician, as if she hadn’t said this a thousand times before. ‘He’s sucking his thumb!’

  ‘He?’ shot out Luca.

  ‘Oh, sorry! We always say “he”. Habit, really, I know I shouldn’t. Would you like to know your baby’s sex?’ she asked casually.

  At exactly the same time, Eve and Luca looked up.

  ‘No,’ they said together, their eyes meeting and in that meeting was a moment of shared and delicious collusion.

  But when the technician had wiped off the conducting jelly and told her to get dressed, Eve began to feel slightly uneasy. Luca’s face was a study in brooding displeasure. She reached for her trousers.

  ‘I’d better get dressed.’

  ‘I’ll wait outside,’ said Luca shortly.

  As she pulled on her clothes Eve told herself that she was not going to be intimidated by him. She was not. She could tell that he was mad—hopping mad—but he had no right to tell her how to run her life.

  She sighed as she slithered into a pair of trousers with difficulty. Things had been going so swimmingly, too. He had behaved like a perfect angel on trips to see the doctor, shamelessly charming her so that the medic had billed and cooed at him with what Eve had thought was quite unprofessional abandon. He flew in at the drop of a hat, as if he were merely travelling from one part of the South Coast to another, and not from another country.

  But then he travelled a lot. She knew that because he had told her, in one of his increasingly frequent telephone calls to see how she was.