The Helen Bianchin Collection

by Helen Bianchin

  Monday dawned bright and clear. The Bentley went in for repair, and Alejandro took the Porsche into the city.

  Elise attended physiotherapy after lunch, then José drove her across town for her appointment with the obstetrician. They arrived early, and she opted to check in rather than wait in the car.

  The senior nurse greeted her warmly. ‘Doctor has a patient with him, Mrs Santanas. He won’t be long.’ Elise took a seat, selected a magazine, and began leafing through the pages. An article caught her eye, and she read it with interest.

  Minutes later she glanced absently at another, and froze. Two frames featuring Savannah adorned facing pages, and with a tiny gasp of shock everything suddenly fell into place, almost as if someone had depressed a camera shutter, then released it to reveal a moving photograph to view.

  With horrified fascination she watched it all unfold.

  Dear heaven, no. No. The negation seemed to thunder inside her brain over and over as she desperately sought to stop the images appearing one after the other like a rolling reel of Technicolor film.

  It wasn’t true. None of it. There was some terrible mistake. A shocking joke played by a devilish hand.

  If she sat still, perfectly still, the images would disappear, and she could walk out of here without becoming an emotional wreck.

  Her stomach churned as the impact of recurring memory took effect, and she only just made it to the powder-room in time.

  Afterwards, she leaned her head against the cool tiles for several minutes as she stared sightlessly at the beautifully appointed bathroom.

  She didn’t feel like facing anyone, much less a skilfully perceptive medical professional who would doubtless take one look at her pale features, note her elevated pulse-rate, and begin a line of questioning she had no wish to answer.

  Elise wondered what sort of reaction she would generate if she simply walked out, slid into the waiting car, and bade José take her home.

  Home. Hell’s teeth, how could she go there? How could she not? she decided dully. If she requested José to take her anywhere else, it would only be a matter of minutes before José alerted Alejandro, and then what? A confrontation?

  She had so much anger to expel. Such a degree of inner rage.

  With deplorable ease her mind slid back to the ill-fated dinner she had shared with Alejandro Santanas only hours after launching a personal appeal for him to stave off her father’s imminent fall into bankruptcy…

  Elise arrived five minutes late and was escorted to Alejandro’s table where, within minutes of ordering iced water, she immediately launched a further attempt on Joseph Hansen’s behalf.

  ‘What inducement do you intend to offer me?’ He lifted one well-shaped eyebrow, his expression assuming world-weary cynicism. ‘Yourself, perhaps?’

  It took mere seconds for his words to sink in, a few more for her to throw the contents of her glass at his face. She rose to her feet in white-faced fury, then stormed from the restaurant…only to have to return when she discovered that she had left her evening bag on the table.

  When she reached for it, his hand closed over hers.

  ‘Sit down.’

  ‘I have nothing to say to you!’

  ‘Walk out on me a second time, and any chance you might have will be gone.’

  Every instinct screamed for her to turn away from him, and it was only the image of her father that persuaded her to resume her seat.

  ‘You care for your father very much.’

  ‘If I didn’t,’ she responded flatly, ‘I wouldn’t be here.’

  ‘Enough to give your personal guarantee to investment from my private funds?’ His pause was deliberate. ‘Become part of the deal?’

  She felt cold, and barely in control. ‘In what capacity?’ If he said as his mistress, she would tip the soup in his lap, then walk away. This time she would make sure she had her bag. And hell would freeze over before she would willingly exchange so much as a word with him should their paths meet again.

  ‘My wife.’

  It was the last thing she had expected him to say. ‘You’re insane.’

  He subjected her to a long, steady look before venturing in a hateful drawl, ‘Two million dollars as an unconditional gift in exchange for two years of your life.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You sign a pre-nuptial agreement relinquishing any claim on my assets in lieu of the two million dollars I advance to your father on the day of our marriage,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.

  It was totally crazy. ‘No.’

  ‘Handsome recompense for an act of mercy.’

  ‘My father would never condone it.’

  ‘He need not know, if you act a part.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘You have twenty-four hours to reach a decision.’

  She gave it, within mere minutes of his deadline.

  The marriage of Elise Hansen and Alejandro Santanas took place a week later.

  ‘If it were not for my father,’ Elise vented with restrained vehemence as she attached her signature to the marriage register, ‘I would never have agreed to this diabolical arrangement.’

  ‘I have no doubt.’

  ‘What if I refuse you?’ she flung at him later that night when they retired to their hotel suite.

  ‘A no I should interpret as a maybe?’ Alejandro queried. ‘If my foreplay succeeds in arousing you to a state of sensual desire?’

  ‘You damned egotist,’ she spluttered.

  Afterwards she hated herself, him, for proving that sex and love were two entirely different emotions.

  It had taken only weeks to discover the existence of Savannah and learn that the glamorous model had been and, rumour had it, still was Alejandro’s mistress—a revelation deliberately designed to shatter her confidence. At the time, the vindictive gossip did not hurt at all. The pain came later.

  Four months after her marriage her father suffered a heart attack, partly recovered, only to incur a second massive attack in a matter of weeks.

  The night he lay so ill in hospital after the initial attack she forgot to take the Pill. By the time she realised the implications of her lapse it was too late, and her worst fears were confirmed when a home pregnancy test showed positive. A doctor’s appointment merely verified it.

  For two weeks she suffered the tortures of the damned. Then, early one morning, soon after Alejandro left for the office, she simply threw a few clothes into a bag, slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche Carrera and headed north.

  Ironically, she had only cleared the outer suburbs when another car ran through a ‘Stop’ sign.

  She could vividly recall her reaction as she slammed on the brakes and made a desperate effort to avoid him; the sickening sound of colliding metal; a shuddering jolt that threw her against the door. Then nothing.

  Elise’s head was throbbing so badly that at first she didn’t hear the repeated knock at the door.

  ‘Mrs Santanas? Are you all right?’

  Oh, God. How long had she been in here? Five minutes…ten?

  ‘Yes. An attack of nausea,’ she reassured the nurse shakily. She’d have to pull herself together. She looked and felt like death. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’

  ‘Doctor is ready to see you. Can I get you a cool drink? A cup of tea?’

  There were disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste thoughtfully provided, and she made use of both before applying lipstick and running a comb through her hair. ‘Tea would be lovely. Thanks.’

  Ten minutes later she sat in a deep cushioned chair facing a small middle-aged man, who viewed her over half-moon spectacles resting halfway down the bridge of his nose.

  ‘You’re pale, and your pulse-rate is elevated,’ he declared quietly. ‘Care to tell me what’s bothering you?’

  ‘The baby——’

  ‘Is fine. The mother, however, is giving me cause for concern.’ He subjected her to a lengthy appraisal, then ventured gently, ‘Your memory. Have you experienced any recurring flashes?’

 
; She wanted to deny them, for, if she pretended they hadn’t occurred, she might somehow fool herself they were part of some horrid nightmare that had no place in reality.

  ‘A few,’ she admitted cautiously, unwilling to relay that her memory had returned in full.

  ‘You’ve found them distressing?’

  Partial truth was infinitely preferable to truth in its entirety. ‘I guess it’s a natural reaction. My husband has been able to fill in some details, but not all.’

  ‘I think I should call him.’

  ‘No. No,’ she hastened quickly, aware of his sharp interest. ‘Please.’

  He looked thoughtful. ‘He has been very concerned about you.’ He didn’t add that Alejandro Santanas had insisted on a full report after every one of his wife’s consultations. ‘I think it would be best if I see you again in a fortnight. Finish your tea.’

  José was waiting in the car when she emerged, and as soon as he caught sight of her he moved quickly round to open the rear door, then, when she was safely seated, he slid in behind the wheel.

  ‘Is there anywhere you would like to go? A little shopping, perhaps?’

  She had money, and sufficient credit-card buying power to walk into any store and purchase literally anything. For a moment she was tempted to indulge in a splurge that would raise her husband’s eyebrows when he received the bill. But she had an entire closet full of fashionable clothes, enough shoes to wear a different pair every day for a number of weeks. Perfume, toiletries, make-up. Even jewellery. Alejandro had been exceedingly generous, given the circumstances of their marriage. She related such generosity to the need to project the image of a successful man’s wife.

  ‘Double Bay, José,’ she instructed on a sudden whim. ‘Alejandro is entertaining a business associate tonight, and I have an inclination to buy a new outfit.’

  ‘Sí,’ José concurred with a friendly grin. ‘I shall take you there.’

  The car slid forward, moving out into the flow of traffic, and Elise leaned back against the cushioned seat and closed her eyes against the onset of images crowding her brain.

  ‘Would you like me to accompany you?’

  Elise blinked at the sound of José’s voice, and hastily caught hold of her scattered thoughts as she established that the Bentley was parked outside one of several exclusive boutiques known for their designer labels and expensive price-tags.

  ‘No, thank you, José.’ She cast him a warm smile. ‘Why don’t you have coffee somewhere? I’ll be at least half an hour.’

  She was twice that time and more, requiring special authorisation when it became apparent that she was unable to sign the appropriate credit slips.

  They arrived home only minutes ahead of Alejandro, and she moved quickly upstairs to their suite in the hope of avoiding him…at least momentarily. If she hurried, she might be able to seclude herself in the shower.

  She managed it, but only just, and when she emerged into the bedroom he was in the process of discarding his clothes.

  Her eyes encountered his, then skittered away as he pulled off his shirt and took the few necessary steps to reach her.

  For a few more hours at least, she had to act a part. After their dinner guests departed, she could unleash her inner rage.

  The need to say something—anything—seemed paramount, and she rushed into speech. ‘José took me to Double Bay. Shopping,’ she elaborated, indicating the assortment of brightly coloured carrier bags at the foot of the bed. ‘I felt like wearing something new tonight.’ He was within touching distance, and she injected warmth into her smile as he lifted both hands to cup her face.

  His mouth closed over hers, warm, hungry, possessive. She could feel her own unbidden response, the unfurling deep within as he drew her close in against him.

  When he lifted his head it was all she could do to meet the dark intentness of his gaze, and she felt her lips tremble as he gently rubbed his thumb back and forth across the kiss-swollen curves.

  One hand traced a path down her neck to trail the edge of her silk robe, parting it to slip inside and caress the full curve of her breast. ‘What did the obstetrician have to say?’

  How did she answer that? With extreme care, a tiny voice warned. ‘He reassured me that the baby is fine.’

  Her breasts felt heavy, their peaks taut and aching. It wasn’t the only part of her that ached. Dammit, how could her body react in such a traitorous fashion?

  His eyes seared hers, dark and analytical, almost as if he knew precisely what had happened and was waiting for her to tell him.

  Could the obstetrician have called him? The possibility wouldn’t surprise her. ‘I—suffered a bout of morning sickness.’ She paused, then made a light attempt at humour. ‘In the middle of the afternoon.’ She was not such a good actress that Alejandro would be fooled for long. ‘I had another memory flash.’ It was an extension of the truth. ‘It shook me up a little.’

  ‘Poor niña,’ Alejandro soothed, brushing his lips against her temple. ‘If you don’t feel up to dinner tonight, I will contact André and have him meet me at a restaurant.’

  ‘No,’ Elise said quickly, adding, ‘Ana has gone to a lot of trouble.’ She didn’t want to wake in the depths of night when he slid into bed and reached for her.

  She wanted a confrontation. Dammit, she wanted to launch a full-scale war against him. But not when they had a guest due to arrive for dinner in—how long? Less than an hour?

  ‘Shouldn’t we get ready?’

  Alejandro drew back and gave her a rueful smile. ‘I need to shower and shave.’

  The dress she had bought was a slim-fitting sheath in a brilliant red uncrushable viscose and linen mix, its hemline resting just above the knee. A clever panel of red beaded embroidery elevated the simple design to the glamorous, and matching beaded shoes completed an ensemble that shrieked a top Australian label.

  Alejandro entered the bedroom as she put the finishing touches to her make-up, and with practised ease he attended to the hook on her bra, then assisted her into the dress. The long zip-fastener slid home, and she slowly turned to face him.

  ‘Stunning,’ he pronounced, his eyes gleaming with indolent appreciation as they roved over her slim curves. ‘Do you need help with your hair?’

  ‘I thought I’d wear it loose.’

  She crossed to the dressing-table and caught up her brush, stroking the length of her hair until it shone. Ear-rings were too difficult to attach with one hand, so she discarded the idea.

  André Valery was a tall, handsome man in his late thirties, charming, with Gallic appreciation for the opposite sex.

  ‘I have been looking forward to meeting the woman who managed to slip beneath Alejandro’s armour.’ He lifted his glass in salute. ‘I congratulate you.’

  Dinner was a success, for not only had Ana excelled herself with superb culinary offerings, but the delicate baiting each man indulged in bore the stamp of a long friendship.

  ‘You realise our fathers were business associates? Oui. It is true. For some years we spent holidays together. Gstaad. St Moritz. One year Alejandro was packed off to join my family in Paris.’ His eyes twinkled with wicked humour. ‘We were young, gregarious, and, I think, a little too adventurous for our own good.’

  ‘Don’t indulge in tales, André,’ Alejandro drawled, ‘or I may feel compelled to relay a few of my own to Anne-Marie when next I see her.’

  ‘Anne-Marie,’ André returned, with a Gallic shrug, ‘is in no doubt as to what manner of man I am.’

  ‘Are you about to destroy my illusions?’ Elise queried lightly, and incurred his slight smile. His eyes, however, assumed inscrutability.

  ‘What illusions do you refer to, chérie?’

  ‘That you might be an exception to most successful men and have chosen not to have both wife and mistress?’

  André’s gaze didn’t waver, and she met it fearlessly, aware of the sudden stillness in the room. ‘If a man values his family, and his wife meets his needs,’ he offered
quite gently, ‘why would there be the necessity for him to take a mistress?’

  She was stepping into dangerous territory, but she didn’t care. ‘The challenge it represents, perhaps? Excitement?’ She managed a careless shrug. ‘Would you consider it fair for a wife to expect her needs also to be met?’

  Alejandro’s voice was pure silk. ‘You are lodging a subtle complaint, querida?’

  It took all her acting ability, but she managed a light incredulous laugh. ‘How could I begin to fault you?’ She reached out a placating hand, and sat quite still as he took hold of it and raised her fingers to his lips.

  It was a deliberate gesture, and she glimpsed the dark gleam in his eyes, a watchfulness that sent warning flares licking the taut edge of her nerves.

  He knew. Perhaps not precisely when her memory had returned, but there was no doubt he was aware that she had experienced a total recall.

  ‘Shall we adjourn to the lounge for coffee?’ Alejandro suggested smoothly.

  Somehow Elise managed to get through the rest of the evening. If André sensed that her conversation was a little too bright, he gave no indication.

  ‘You must excuse me,’ André said at last. ‘It is late, and I must return to my hotel.’ He crossed to her side. ‘Thank you for a most enjoyable evening.’ He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, then held it a fraction longer than was necessary. ‘Alejandro must bring you to Paris,’ he said gently. ‘It would give Anne-Marie much pleasure.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Alejandro concurred as they moved through to the front of the house.

  Elise turned away from the door the instant the car’s tail-lights cleared the gates, acutely conscious of Alejandro’s actions as he re-set the alarm system.

  Apprehension prickled at the back of her neck as she made for the stairs. The anger that had lain dormant since this afternoon rose to the fore, darkening her eyes and reining her mouth into a firm line.

  Entering the bedroom, she slipped off her shoes, then reached for the zip-fastening at the back of her dress.

  Alejandro came into the room as she began a third fruitless attempt to slide the fastener down, and she didn’t utter a word as he crossed to complete the task.