Untamed Italian, Blackmailed Innocent

by Jacqueline Baird

  ‘Oh, Nigel, it must be so difficult for you,’ Pamela had offered, her love and concern for the thieving devil shining in her eyes.

  Sally had wanted to scream. It was lies—all lies. Her dad knew Pamela wasn’t going to last more than a year, because the doctor had contacted him after informing Sally that her mother’s heart wouldn’t hold out much longer, but her mum lapped it all up, like a puppy dog devoted to its master, so instead she’d left.

  By the time she returned her mum was on her own and her father had gone back to the hotel—or so he had told his wife. Sally did not see him again until breakfast the next morning. It was a silent meal, except for her father stating he wanted to leave for London directly after lunch. Sally had no intention of doing so, and as they were using her car he’d have no choice. But in that she was wrong. Five minutes after entering his wife’s room, he had got her mum to agree it was best they left early…

  If anything was guaranteed to confirm what Sally had always thought about love and marriage, it was seeing her mother, who was dying, comforting her father, who was lying through his teeth.

  Chapter Twelve

  RETURNING to her hated apartment on Sunday evening, Sally tried to tell herself she was glad Zac had gone back to Italy before she got in too deep. But it did not stop her checking her messages in the vain hope he might have called. How pathetic was that? she thought miserably as she climbed into bed. But it did not stop her hoping deep inside that he might turn up Monday to Friday, as per their deal and that was even worse!

  Honesty forced her to admit that, blinded by jealousy, she had driven Zac away with her hateful comments. But it was for the best…She didn’t love him, could not love him, she told herself, and feverishly brushed away the tears that were determined to fall. So what if she stayed in a few evenings waiting for a call that never came, and cried herself to sleep a night or two? It was a whole lot better than a lifetime of heartache.

  But as a week passed with no word from Zac it became harder to dismiss him from her mind. Being alone in bed at night—the bed she had briefly shared with Zac—reminded her all too vividly of the pleasure and the passion of his exquisite lovemaking. When she did sleep invariably her dreams were haunted by his image, his touch, and she awoke hot and aching.

  On Friday, two weeks to the day since Sally had last seen Zac her friend Jemma told her she looked pale and miserable and in need of cheering up. She suggested a night out—dinner and the cinema. Sally agreed, and actually managed to enjoy the film.

  But the next day, when she arrived at the nursing home, the little bit of good the night out had done her was immediately cancelled as she was met by the doctor in charge of her mum’s case.

  He had been trying to ring her on her mobile phone for the past two hours, but Sally was in the habit of switching it off while driving so had never received his call.

  Apparently her mother had suffered a massive heart attack and slipped into a coma. The staff had made her as comfortable as possible under the circumstances, and her husband had been informed but had not arrived as yet.

  He finally did arrive—an hour after his wife had died…

  The six days before the funeral were the worst of Sally’s life—though for once her father rose to the occasion and looked after the arrangements. Devastated by her mum’s death, even though it had been expected, Sally cried herself to sleep every night. Tossing and turning in bed, she remembered how Zac had once offered to cuddle her, and, oh, how she longed for the comfort and the strength of his strong arms now.

  The funeral was held on a bright July day at the church in Bournemouth where her mum had been baptised, a short forty-three years earlier. The service was brief and the congregation was no more than fifty people. Her doctor and the nurse who had been her primary carer at the home came; the rest were friends and people her mum had known all her life, plus Al and his parents, and Sally was glad of their support. But in her heart of hearts she wished Zac was by her side, supporting her. A futile wish as there had been no word from him…no call…

  Her father played the grieving widower, but she was too distraught with grief to care what he did.

  Her mother was buried in the cemetery in a plot next to her parents, and the funeral tea was held in the hotel where Sally and her father were staying for the night.

  The whole affair took barely four hours, from start to finish.

  She could not face dinner with her father, but the next morning he handed Sally her mother’s jewellery box with the statement, ‘She left you this. You can check with the solicitor, if you like, but what money she had she left to me. As for the studio apartment, you can keep it until probate is settled and there is no danger of it being included in your mother’s estate, and then I want it back.’ He said this without a trace of shame, and then got into a new BMW car and drove off.

  Sally had no desire to return to her apartment, but it was legally hers and she was damned sure she was not giving it back to her father. That he could suggest such a thing at her mum’s funeral beggared belief. He must think she really was the silly girl he was fond of calling her, as easily manipulated as her mother had been. He was so self-centred, so blind, he didn’t realise she had only ever obeyed him for her mum’s sake…

  Well, not any more…She was desolate with grief, and had never felt so alone in her life, but she was not a fool…

  At Al’s insistence she spent a few days at his parents’ home. In comfort, with old friends around her, she began to come to terms with her mum’s death. And with Al’s encouragement she decided she was going to take a sabbatical from her job and see the world, as she had once promised herself.

  She walked into her apartment a week later, full of good intentions. The first one was to have a strong cup of coffee after the long car journey. She saw the message light flashing on the telephone as she filled the kettle at the sink.

  Zac, she thought, and her heart missed a beat. It was over four long, devastatingly sad weeks since she had seen him, but she was wrong. There were two messages: in the first no one spoke—probably a wrong number—and the second message was from the estate agent who was handling the sale of her apartment, asking her to get in touch immediately. He had a cash buyer for the property at the full asking price, on condition she left the furniture and could complete and vacate within two weeks…

  August in Peru, and spring was on the horizon. Sally breathed in the warm air and felt her excitement mounting as she boarded the bus outside Lima airport with the other members of her tour group, embarking on a month-long tour of the country.

  She still thought of her mum every day, and the sadness would be with her always, Sally knew, but it would no longer rule her life. She thought of Zac most days as well, but she was gradually coming to terms with their one-week affair, having accepted that that was all it had ever been or could have been with a womaniser like Zac.

  Today was her birthday: she was twenty-six and free to do exactly what she wanted, with no one to worry about except herself for the first time in years.

  Actually, it had been surprisingly easy to leave London. The sale of her apartment had gone through without a hitch, she had sold her car, and with her clothes and the few belongings she wanted to keep she had stayed with Jemma for a week until her holiday started. Jemma was storing her things for her, and Sally now had more money than she had ever dreamt of. She would buy somewhere to live eventually—but not yet.

  Her boss had agreed to her taking a year-long sabbatical, and the world was her oyster. If some nights she woke from sleep with dreams of Zac Delucca still haunting her she dismissed them from her mind—usually by making a cup of hot chocolate. It was now seven weeks since they had parted—not that she was counting!

  Sally’s blue eyes widened in awe as she stood high in the Andes, the ruins of Machu Picchu spread out before her. She had made it, her dream come true, and with the other members of the party she followed where the guide led.

  It was everything and more that she
had ever imagined, and she would have liked to spend some time to explore on her own, but when they stopped for morning coffee to her embarrassment she fainted…The youngest and probably the fittest member of the party, and yet she was the only one affected by the thin air—or so she thought…

  Zac Delucca ran his hands through his hair. He could not concentrate on the papers before him, and, spinning around in his chair, he stared out of the window of his office, looking out over Rome and seeing nothing but the image of Sally. He had lost count of the times he had reached for his phone to call her and put it down again. Once he had actually let it ring and had got her answering service; he hadn’t left a message. And Lisa in Milan was a lost cause, because he had no desire to bed the woman—or any woman except Sally, which was a first for him.

  Salmacis, the nymph of the fountain, he thought with a wry smile. If she had been anything like her namesake Sally then poor Hermaphroditos hadn’t stood a chance but to become one with her…

  Finally Zac had to accept that he felt as if he had become one with Sally in a way he had never considered possible before. She had totally bewitched him. From the night she drew blood from his arm with the roses, and then lay naked in his arms, he had fallen under her spell, and now he felt as if she was drawing the life blood from his body. He couldn’t concentrate on work; he couldn’t think straight for any length of time. His waking and sleeping hours were filled with images of his Salmacis.

  The door opened and Zac swung back. ‘I ordered that I was not to be disturbed,’ he growled as Raffe walked into the room and sat down in a chair facing the desk. ‘I hired you to take care of things. What’s gone wrong now?’

  ‘Nothing—except you. According to Anna, your secretary, you are impossible to work with and someone has to tell you. I have been given the task. For the past four months you have travelled constantly and driven all your staff crazy—both here and in America. Not to mention the Far East, where apparently your abrupt attitude so insulted the head of the Japanese company we were in the process of buying that he has just informed me he is pulling out of the deal. What is going on with you, Zac? Woman trouble…?’

  ‘I don’t have women trouble,’ Zac said adamantly, and knew he lied. He also knew he could not go on like this.

  He had never been close to anyone in his life except maybe Raffe and Marco, his old fight manager, who now, with his wife, took care of his home in Calabria. They were as near to family as he had. He was a loner, and he had never needed anyone before, but now he needed Sally Paxton every which way there was…

  He had been a coward too long. He loved Sally, and he wanted her bound to him by every law known to man—including marriage, he decided, and he was going to make it happen.

  ‘Well, something is bugging you.’ Raffe interrupted his musing. ‘And the sooner you get over it the better for everyone. Anyway, back to business. I have just come back from London and everything is going smoothly and very profitably. A new contract has been signed to provide the Saudi Arabian government with the components they want.’

  ‘Good. And Paxton? Is he behaving himself?’ Zac asked, in the hope that Sally might be mentioned. Not that it mattered. His mind was made up: he was going to London to get her…

  ‘Yes, though I never did understand why you kept him on just because his wife was in a nursing home. You are not usually so generous to a thief. Actually, it is immaterial now, as apparently his wife died a few months back. He took a couple of weeks’ compassionate leave and returned to work, so there is nothing to stop you firing him now, which is no more than he deserves.’

  ‘And his daughter?’ Zac demanded, leaping to his feet. ‘Sally? Has anyone been in touch with her? Offered our sympathy? Anything at all?’

  ‘I should have guessed!’ Raffe exclaimed. ‘The short temper, the irritability—it all makes sense. Your problem is the very lovely daughter, and that is why you let Paxton stay. I’m right, aren’t I?’

  Zac gave him a quelling look. ‘Shut up, Raffe, and order the jet. I’m going to London.’

  Five days later Zac walked out of the British Museum, almost defeated. Sally appeared to have vanished off the face of the earth. His first shock had been the discovery that she had sold the apartment and left no forwarding address. The estate agent who had handled the sale had been no help, except to tell him the apartment had been on the market for a couple of months. Sally had never mentioned the fact, but he realised now where she had hoped to get the money from to pay him back, which made him feel even worse.

  He’d had a long talk with her father, but he had no idea where she had gone and didn’t care. Her boss had informed him she was on a year’s sabbatical. He had not heard from her yet, but she had said she would keep in touch. Finally Zac had swallowed his pride and contacted Al, and he had told him Sally had left to go on a month-long tour of Peru. But that had been over a couple of months ago, and he had no idea where she was going afterwards.

  Zac paused by the Bentley, the lines of strain etched deep in his face as he pondered on what to do next. He had called on her boss a second time in the hopes he might have heard from Sally, but no joy. A private detective was the next step, he decided, and was about to get in the car when a young woman approached him.

  ‘Excuse me, but are you Mr Delucca?’

  He was going to ignore her—until she added, ‘My boss told me you were looking for my friend Sally…’

  Sally didn’t notice the big black car parked fifty yards further up the road as she turned her car into the drive and stopped. She slid out and picked up her shopping bag, which contained the new phone she had purchased along with other items. There was a smile on her face as she walked up the short garden path to the cottage she had rented in the seaside town of Littlehampton. Once, as a six-year-old, she had spent a weekend in a hotel here, with her mother and her grandma, and it was one of the most treasured memories she had of her childhood.

  Her whole life had changed from the moment she had fainted at the ruins of Machu Picchu. Joan Adams, a retired doctor she had got to know well as they were the only single females travelling with the group, had pointed out that it was unlikely the thinness of the air had affected a fit young woman like her, and had suggested she might be pregnant. At first Sally had denied the possibility, but as the tour had continued and the morning sickness had started, Sally had had to reconsider.

  She had thought long and hard on the flight back to England. Further travelling abroad was out for the foreseeable future, she’d decided, but that did not mean she had to stay in London.

  Jemma had let her stay with her for the time it took Sally to buy a new car and pack up most of her belongings, and had accepted Sally’s excuse that rather than travelling abroad she wanted to see more of her own country.

  She had spotted a picture of the cottage in Littlehampton in the window of an estate agent in the nearby town of Worthing: for sale or to let unfurnished, with great sea views. Sally had viewed it on impulse, and taken a twelve-month lease on it the next day.

  She opened the door and walked into the hall, hung up her coat and, dropping her shopping bag in the living room, she went to the kitchen to make a cup of tea. It was amazing, she thought, how life could take with one hand and give back with the other. She had lost her mum, but was soon going to be a mum…

  She had registered with a local GP, and had her first scan at the hospital in Worthing. The baby was well, and the precious picture from the scan was in a picture frame at her bedside. If the baby was a girl she was going to call her Pamela, after her mum; if it was a boy…She hadn’t decided…And she hadn’t decided when she would tell Zac Delucca either.

  She made a cup of tea and carried it through into the living room. She placed it on the table at the side of the nearest of the two cream soft-cushioned sofas she had bought that flanked the fireplace. She had opted for side-tables rather than a centre one, to give the illusion of space. Kicking off her shoes and sitting down, she curled her feet up on the sofa and reach
ed for her teacup.

  Sipping the hot tea, she supposed she would have to tell Zac Delucca some day—a man had a right to know he had fathered a child—but not yet…Maybe after the birth…

  She wanted to savour every minute of her pregnancy in peace, and there was nothing peaceful about Zac Delucca. He went through life like a tornado, sweeping up anything he wanted and discarding the rest. Telling him could wait…

  She glanced around the room. The warm, peach-painted walls, the oak ceiling beams and the polished oak floor looked sturdy and timeless, and the large peach, green and cream rug she had bought to put between the two sofas added a cosy touch. She had enjoyed choosing and purchasing the furniture for the living room and main bedroom. The second bedroom was for the baby and she had yet to start on that.

  She was into nesting in a big way, she thought happily, and with a year’s lease and the opportunity to buy if she wished she had left all her options open. If she decided to go back to her job in London at the end of her sabbatical she could. Or she could stay here. In the meantime all she had to concentrate on was her baby. With a contented sigh she reached for her shopping and withdrew the box containing her new phone and put it to one side. Then she took out the package containing the baby garments she had bought. She laid the tiny yellow booties and matching hat and jacket on the table, a soft smile curving her lips. It turned into a frown as the doorbell sounded. Reluctantly she got to her feet, padded into the small hall and opened the door…

  Chapter Thirteen

  SALLY’S mouth fell open, her eyes widening in stunned disbelief on the man standing before her. It couldn’t be…It wasn’t possible…But it was Zac Delucca…