by Sonia Icilyn
“Which means someone else, beside you and your girlfriend, knows about the baby.”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Maxwell denied.
“Baby-momma,” Avril corrected. “Maybe she sent the note.”
“It’s not like that,” Maxwell stuttered.
Avril’s eyes widened. “Who is she?”
His nostrils flared. “She’s nobody.”
“Have you told your family?” she asked, desperate to calm herself.
“No.” Maxwell lowered his head. “Not yet.”
“And how old is…your baby?”
“Three months.”
The words came haltingly. “You…you knew….” Avril’s brows rose, alarmed. “About the baby…when you proposed to me?”
Maxwell nodded sheepishly.
“Remind me,” Avril asked, wiping her tear-stained eyes, “who tossed who around like a ball?”
“Avril, I swear, I didn’t mean to—”
“What was I to you?” she cut in.
He failed to answer.
“Was I someone you needed to feel young again because you’re a daddy now?” she probed. “Your ego needed a boost and you wanted to feel like you’ve still got it going on?”
Maxwell shrugged. “Whatever.”
Her voice ached with pain. “Now you see why I couldn’t marry you,” Avril concluded bravely. “You were using me to run away from your responsibilities. It would never have worked. You know that don’t you?”
“Avril!” Maxwell immediately went down on his knees and looked into her face with tear-stained eyes. “We can still get married,” he pleaded, reaching for her left hand and chivalrously kissing the back of it. “I’ll tell my parents. I’ll tell everybody the truth. We can even talk to the vicar to change my vows. I’ll say whatever you want me to say.”
But Avril’s heart was cold. “A baby changes everything,” she said.
“The baby was a mistake,” he added.
“It’s not about you or me anymore,” she pressed the case further. “Another part of you exists.”
“Please,” he begged.
She kept her gaze fixed. “Who is she?”
Maxwell grimaced. “None of your damn business.”
“Fine.” Avril pulled the engagement ring from her finger and threw it. The sound that echoed as it landed next to the broken bottles was like a shrilling cry of woe that resonated across the room. “Then you’re no longer my business.” With that answer, she began to leave the room.
“Don’t you turn your back on me,” Maxwell shouted out as he slowly rose to his feet.
Avril raised a dismissing arm. “I’m leaving.”
With her hand braced on the door knob, Maxwell stalled her departure. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
Avril turned around. “I’ve given you back your engagement ring because I’m the wrong woman wearing it. What else do you want?”
“My credit card.”
She chuckled. “I don’t want it.”
“Good,” Maxwell nodded arrogantly. “Because I’ve frozen your checking account.”
“And I’ll be moving my things out of your apartment tomorrow,” Avril told him. “So we’re done.”
“I’m cool with that,” Maxwell gritted out through tight lips. “Put a hustle in your step and make sure you take all your chattels.”
“Don’t worry,” Avril declared. “I’ll leave smoke on my way out and be sure to flush the apartment key down the john.”
She slammed the door behind her. Avril felt her heart race. Then she heard footsteps. She turned. Her pulse galloped. The man facing her brought renewed tears to her eyes. The gentle, warm sensation that washed throughout her body was like sinking into a hot bath.
“Meyrick!”
He was tall, ebony toned and possessed all the right male attributes to put any self-respecting woman in danger. Rick Armstrong was nothing like his brother. He was far more sexy, sensitive about his feelings and a firm believer in free expression. He was also the only person in the Armstrong family who really paid attention to her. Avril had always been of the opinion she could tell Rick just about anything because he always seemed to understand.
“Avril,” he called out, noting the increased rise and fall of her chest. His eyes narrowed. “You okay?”
One look from him and her insides were turned out. “I’m all right,” she nodded, quelling the surging of her blood.
“You’re a woman,” he accepted sadly. “Women always land back on their feet.”
Avril’s body shook at the sudden shift in his warm nature. “What?”
“Maxwell’s my brother,” Rick began, recalling the unpleasant experience of their wedding day. “I can’t pretend what you did wasn’t ugly.”
“I…I….” Avril was heartbroken. What could she possibly say to the man she adored and whose allegiance would be to his family. “You should talk to Maxwell,” she blurted out, fighting the fierce passion lurking beneath her skin. “I’ll let him tell you the truth.”
His dark eyebrows knitted up cynically. “The truth?”
“There is one,” she admitted, showing him a searing look.
His eyes chilled. “That you concocted yourself?” he asked.
His intently focused stare was disconcerting. Their eyes locked and Avril’s face fell. Somehow, she dragged her gaze away. “If you want to believe that, then I have nothing further to say.”
“Avril,” he sighed, almost apologetic. She heard the pain in his voice. “We’ve always been friends, right? My family and I have all been good to you, haven’t we?”
His intense scrutiny brought a flush to her face. “Yes,” she admitted before dipping her head.
“I’d suspected something was wrong, but….” Rick took one step forward, reached out and touched her shoulder. “I thought you would tell me.”
Avril fought to keep her composure. “I couldn’t,” she said on trembling lips.
His hand dropped away from her. “Dammit, Avril,” he exploded suddenly. He seemed to flinch and withdraw into himself. “What you did spoils everything.”
She raised her head. Through tear-glazed eyes Avril saw the strong square-shaped face, long straight nose, the charcoal eyes she admired and the cleft in Rick’s chin that were immortalized in her dreams. He was her dream lover, but now those very features and the frown of his brows were turned against her.
“What…what are you saying?” she dared to ask.
Her eyes looked closer. His lips were beautifully shaped. Full. Classically curved and primed for kissing. He was dressed in olive-toned khaki pants and a black sweater with leather sandals on his feet. Sexy, she thought on a wanton breath. But his imposing six-foot-two-inch frame was not braced in her direction. Rick was standing away from her.
“I…I don’t know how to tell you this,” he forced out, his gaze burning angrily into her.
Avril’s bravado rose a notch. “Tell me what?” The tip of her tongue tasted her own lips as if in anticipation.
“We can no longer be friends,” he announced with the commanding tone of a Pharaoh.
The words were deeply wounding. Infuriated by his insensitivity, Avril immediately shut him out. “I have to go,” she bit out, stiff with indignation.
“Wait!” He stalled her departure. “I also think it would be best that you don’t attend the Amateur Tennis Awards dinner in August,” he added sourly.
Avril cringed with mortification. “I have to be there,” she whispered with her eyes low. “As Miss African-Caribbean, I’m scheduled to join Reuben Meyer, the chairman of the Cultural Development Commission, in presenting the winner and runner-up prizes.”
“Then we shall just have to be civil with one another,” Rick stated firmly.
Bravely, she fixed him with her brown eyes, suitably irritated. “Of course,” Avril nodded, clamping down on her wayward feelings. She was curt, only because her throat was closing up. “Goodbye, Rick.”
Avril headed toward the door, her heart in
her shoes. She had been taken by Rick’s raw, devastating attraction. Never had Avril expected to feel such a primal urge. And, given the fact that she knew of Meyrick Armstrong’s impending engagement, it demeaned her.
She reached her brother’s car in floods of tears. Antonio seemed far more forgiving as he sat quietly behind the wheel and drove her away from Greencorn Manor. Avril didn’t glance back at the medieval mansion. The situation was bad all round. She told herself that when the truth was out, she would be forgiven. But Avril knew it would be a cold day in hell before she could ever be civil to an Armstrong again.
Chapter 3
The following morning Avril kept to her word. She hired a van, drove to Maxwell’s waterside apartment block on the north bank of the Thames river overlooking Chelsea Bridge in London and collected her things.
Days later, her feelings were mixed. As she seated herself by the poolside of her mother’s Dulwich Village London estate, she felt a twinge of resentment, a tweak of remorse, a note of uncertainty and a hint of frustration as to how the next few weeks were going to unfold. She reflected on her wedding day, Maxwell’s baby and wondered as to what sex it was. A boy or a girl?
In her own mind there was no answer as to how she would eventually tell her family. She had already argued with her mother about moving her things into the garage and returning home, bickered with Antonio for taking the room next to his, and accidentally broke two china cups. Her mother had not expected in her third marriage to be sharing her home with her grown children.
“We need some ground rules,” Bertha let it be known. “You keep the house clean, pay for your upkeep and find an apartment by fall.”
Swallowing her misgivings for moving in with Maxwell in the first place and giving up her modest studio apartment, Avril decided she would never make such a mistake again. Her first resolve was to find a new job. Something not too taxing and which would allow her time to slowly think about her future. Not that she was good at anything, but she still had her looks. And the title of Miss African-Caribbean. Perhaps she could call the chairman of the Cultural Development Committee and test him with some of her ideas.
The pleasure of formulating a plan brightened her face, but went suddenly dead as Antonio approached her poolside. As surely as he stood there dressed in a Speedo, his honey-skinned chest on display to the sunshine and a towel dangling from his shoulders beneath the ends of his curly hair, Avril knew he was in no mood for talking.
“There’s a letter for you.” He handed it over and immediately took refuge on a deck chair by the pool. “I think it’s from Maxwell.”
“How…how do you know?” Avril panicked, staring at the white envelope.
“I recognize his handwriting,” Antonio answered.
“Of course,” Avril nodded. She had momentarily forgotten that Antonio worked in the sales department for Armstrong Caribbean Foods. She ripped the envelope open and read the brief note. Five seconds later, Avril screamed.
Antonio jumped. “What is it?”
“It’s from Maxwell, all right,” she declared hotly. “He’s sending me the bill for the wedding. Did you know about this?”
“Of course not,” Antonio scolded. “I haven’t seen Maxwell or his family at the office all week.”
“I heard screaming.” Bertha was at the French doors that led out to the pool in an instant. She was in her high-heeled feather mules and a lavishly decorated mint-colored cheongsam which she wore as a dressing gown. Her head of curls was disheveled from having spent most of the morning idly lounging around the house. “What’s going on?”
Avril rose to her feet in fury. “This!” She waved the note as though it required full public display. “Maxwell is going to be sending me the florist bill, the catering bill, marquee hire, limousine rental and…” She stared disbelieving at the other list of items. “He’s charging me for everything. The cake…the bottles of champagne. The cost of returning all the presents. Mom—”
“How much?” Bertha inquired.
Avril’s brows rose. “Thirty-two thousand pounds.”
“What!” Antonio gasped.
“He’s deducted the price for the ring since I gave that back and he hasn’t included the wedding gown because that was a gift from Lennie, but—”
“He can’t do that,” Bertha bristled, pressing both hands to her face in shock. “You don’t have that kind of money.”
“I know,” Avril agreed, as she felt renewed tears prickle against her eyelids. “What am I going to do?”
“You do nothing,” Bertha demanded at once. “Let’s ride out the season in silence and when he’s calmed down, you can go and talk to him again.”
“Talk?” Avril shook her head vigorously. “We’re done talking.”
“Avril.” Her mother tried to reason with her. She took a seat by the pool. “You have to accept that turning a man down at the altar is going to lead to…revenge. Maxwell has every reason to feel the way he does right now.”
“No he doesn’t,” Avril said, adamant.
“C’mon,” Antonio joined in. “Mum’s right. He’s sore. No man’s gonna sit still after the kind of humiliation you leveled on him.”
“And what about my humiliation?” Avril demanded, arms akimbo.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Bertha sounded out. “You left Maxwell at the church altar, remember?”
“And he gave me good reason to,” Avril told them both.
“Now you’re just twisting the story,” Antonio accused. “Maxwell—”
“Has a baby,” Avril finished. She reseated herself and contemplated her mother and brother. Their faces were contorted in shock. “I found out on our wedding day. Someone sent me an anonymous letter.”
“The…the one the postman delivered?” Bertha asked weakly.
Avril nodded. “Now you see why I couldn’t marry him.”
“Why didn’t you tell me…your brother. Anybody?” Bertha demanded seconds later. “You let your father go back home to Sheffield thinking the worst of you.”
“I was ashamed,” Avril answered solemnly. Shaking her head, she added, “And I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me, not when I hadn’t confronted him first.”
“And you don’t know who sent the letter?” Antonio queried, intrigued.
“No,” Avril admitted. “It all felt like a smack in the mouth and now this.” She stared at the new note. “I can’t take any more.”
“And you shouldn’t,” Bertha immediately announced, recovering quickly. “Maxwell will have to see you in court before you hand over one penny. The lying, cheating adulterer.”
“Mom,” Avril chuckled cynically. “He’s not married.”
“He’s as good as married if he’s fathered a child to another woman,” she blurted. “How old is his baby?”
“Three months.” Avril stared at the note, hardly believing the new predicament she was facing. Then she saw a further addition written in the strong curling strokes of Maxwell’s hand. “Tony,” she said on a sorrowful note. “Maxwell says you’re fired.”
“What!” He rose from his deck chair. “Give me that note.” Antonio tore it from Avril’s hand and searched the contents. Sure enough, he found the addition. “He can’t do that.”
“You take him to the Industrial Tribunal for unfair dismissal,” Bertha shouted in fighting spirit. “If that man thinks he’s going to mess around with my children, he’s made a sorry mistake.”
Lennie arrived at the French doors with a smile breaking across his face. “Good morning everyone. What’s happening?”
“We’re at war,” Bertha declared strongly. “Maxwell has sent Avril the bill for the wedding and fired Antonio.”
“Oh dear,” Lennie chimed. “Shall I go get the guns.”
“This is not funny, Lennie,” Bertha said in a dour voice. “We can’t afford thirty-two thousand pounds and Tony needs that job if I’m ever going to see my grandchild again.”
“You’re right,” Lennie nodded, quickly assessing
the situation. “Let me call Dale Lambert. He’s a lawyer friend of mine. I’ll make an appointment and let him sort it out. How’s that, honey?”
Bertha loved Lennie’s exuberance to please. As a member of the National Assembly Against Racism overseeing integration in Britain, his responsibilities were regular and steady. “Thank you,” she nodded. “Did you hear that? Dale Lambert is going to take our case.”
One week later, Avril was frowning and running a smooth finger over the tiny stress wrinkles in her forehead. She looked at her mother. They were seated in the outer-office of Dale Lambert’s Finsbury Park law firm and Bertha was dressed to impress in Chanel. She might be a grandmother, Avril pondered, but she had to admit that her mother was already facing the battle that lay ahead. She also knew that every trick, every wile and contrivance was necessary for victory.
“Mr. Lambert will not be long,” the assistant announced apologetically. “More coffee, Mrs. de Souza, Miss Vasconcelos?”
“No,” they said in unison.
“How long?” Bertha inquired.
The secretary glanced at her watch and smiled sweetly. “Maybe five, ten minutes.”
It was thirty-five minutes more before Avril swept into the lawyer’s office with her mother. She looked around, digesting quickly the floral arrangement on the large imposing desk in front of her. There were four chairs around a beech-wood coffee table in a corner, and two wide windows. Behind the desk was a well dressed man in a navy blue suit, but whose appearance was that of a rock star. Avril smothered a gasp.
“Please, sit down,” he invited with the voice of an African god.
As she sliced a more cursory gaze at him, Avril noticed he was wearing a pale blue shirt and gray silk tie. Chocolate-brown eyes, a square chin, small nose and strong, male features were apparent in his chiseled face. With his short hair stylishly twisted into orderly dreadlocks above his golden-brown complexion, Avril realized that Dale Lambert was a striking man.
Dazedly, she took her seat, thankful that she, too, had dressed appropriately in a suit. The beige-colored linen skirt and jacket that was packed in her suitcase for the honeymoon trip was quickly retrieved that morning, pressed and worn to complement the white silk blouse and carefully knotted hair at her nape to present a demure appearance.
