by Penny Jordan
‘Done,’ Rico said proudly, handing her the now sleepy infant as Jessica appeared with a bottle.
‘I warmed this for you.’
Taking the bottle, Catherine noticed that Jessica’s usually shining scrubbed face was beautifully made up, and the smart shorts and blouse she usually wore had been replaced with a rather slinky little dress.
‘You look nice.’
‘Thank you.’ A blush crept across her young face. ‘Mr Mancini gave me the night off.’
‘Oh.’ Catherine forced a smile. How badly she wanted to peel off her suit, dive in the shower and have some time to prepare for dinner. This was supposed to be a romantic night—what was the point in having a nanny if Rico was going to give her time off when they really needed to be together?
Left alone with Lily, Catherine held her, fed her, trying so hard to love her—but the familiar panic, heavily tinged with guilt, was gushing back now. She tried to push it away, tried to remember the tenderness she had felt only this morning, tried to recall the social worker’s wise words.
Give it time.
But time wasn’t on her side. Lily was here and now.
‘She’s asleep.’ Rico crept in, picking up the sleeping babe and placing her tenderly in the cot before turning his attention to Catherine, his smiling fading as he registered her tense features. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing,’ Catherine lied. ‘I’d better have a shower before dinner.’
‘Dinner is down to us tonight,’ Rico said easily. ‘I gave the staff the night off.’
‘All of them?’ Catherine groaned, standing to her feet.
‘All of them,’ Rico confirmed. ‘You said you wanted to be more normal, that you were sick of being waited on, wanted to do the normal things a wife and mother does, so I figured I’d give them the night off and it would make you happier. Come on, I’m starving.’
She’d asked for it, really. In fact, Rico probably thought he was being nice, was doing her a favour, but a weary sigh escaped her lips as she headed out of the nursery. Her back was really aching now, and the thought of peeling a load of potatoes just to feel normal frankly did nothing to raise her spirits.
Heading for the staircase, she frowned when Rico took her by the arm and led her to the bedroom.
‘I thought you said you were starving?’
‘I am,’ Rico said mysteriously, opening the door and letting her walk in, watching in amused silence as she took in the rather poorly laid table and massive pizza box.
‘Pizza?’ A smile played on the edge of her lips.
‘Rung for by yours truly.’ Pulling a chair out, he sat her down before proceeding to cut her a rather too large slice. ‘You said you wanted to be normal, needed some junk food—well, here it is.’ After pouring some cola he helped himself to a slice. ‘So, like I said, I’ve given all the staff the night off,’ Rico explained further, ‘and tonight we do what couples the world over do on a Thursday night when the wife is too tired to cook and the baby is finally asleep!’
It was the perfect solution—the perfect meal, actually—and enough to put a smile on her pinched face.
‘I needed that.’ Catherine smiled as Rico took the last slice. ‘You’ve no idea how nice it is not to have to use a fork.’
‘You certainly spoke more,’ Rico commented. ‘You still don’t feel comfortable around the staff, do you?’
‘They’re nice and everything…’ Catherine shrugged. ‘I just find it hard to carry on a normal conversation with everyone hovering around me pretending not to listen.’
‘They’re not.’ Rico grinned. ‘I’m sure they’ve got better things to be thinking about than hanging on to our every word. They’re probably bored to tears.’
Put like that, he almost had her convinced—but not quite. Oh, she was sure the staff didn’t find her riveting, but Rico had this magnetism, this aura around him, and Catherine simply couldn’t imagine anyone being bored in his company. He filled her day, filled her nights—just the sound of his voice could change her mood, a smile from him could lift her spirits. But that was surely not what Rico wanted to hear right now.
‘I really am going to have that shower now.’ Standing deliberately, Catherine headed for the en suite bathroom, but Rico followed her.
‘I just want you to be happy, Catherine.’ Turning her to face him, he let his eyes meet and hold hers, and for some inexplicable reason she felt the sting of tears behind her eyelids. She wanted to be happy too—was sure she could be, if only Rico loved her. ‘I don’t want you to feel like a prisoner.’
‘Hardly a prison.’ Catherine gestured to the opulent room, but her smile wavered as Rico voiced what was clearly on his mind.
‘Am I your jailer?’
She pondered his question. At any time she could walk away—she knew that deep down. And perhaps she could fight for Lily from her own corner—maybe with the right advice she could even win—but it wasn’t Lily who kept her here, wasn’t the child growing within her, wasn’t the desire to give her niece a privileged lifestyle. It was Rico who held her within these walls—Rico her mind always drifted back to whenever it wandered—Rico who held her in the palm of his hand.
‘Am I your jailer, Catherine?’ he asked again, with an expression she couldn’t quite read in his eyes. Only this time when she opened her mouth to speak he didn’t wait to hear her answer. His lips came crushing down on hers, drowning out her answer, drowning out her own internal questions as she lost herself in his touch.
So much easier to feel his arms around her, to taste his cool tongue, to respond to his masterful touch to pretend for a while that maybe he did love her, than to deal with the impossible dilemmas that taunted her.
He undressed her in a moment, peeling away the suit easily, unclasping her bra, and she felt the groan of his approval as her breasts fell heavy and warm into his waiting hands. She wrestled with his clothes, and for that moment in time Catherine truly didn’t care about the rhymes and reasons that had brought them to this point, didn’t care she was his wife in name only. There was just a need, a simple primal need, to make love, to be made love to, to feel his naked skin on hers, to feel his arousal, to touch him as a lover, as a woman in a way she never had before.
She heard his gasp as her hands took the weight of his arousal. She marveled in the velvet steel of his manhood as she ran her fingers its length, closing her eyes in ecstasy as it snaked through her fingers—a jewel she had longed for, a jewel that tonight would finally be hers.
He took her softly at first, with kisses working over her neck as he slipped inside. Mindful of her condition, he kept his weight on his elbows, a delicious friction hovering on the outskirts, but then need took over, a natural desire so strong his soft strokes deepened. Like some heavenly feather, he massaged her most intimate depths, and her shivering climax dragged him in deeper until he exploded within her. Afterwards he held her in the matrimonial bed, as a husband should. His arms slid around her and there was nowhere to hide when his words cut the still dark air, the question that had hung over them repeated now, with infinite tenderness this time.
‘Am I your jailer, Catherine?’
She pondered her answer a moment, her voice when it came so low Rico had to bring his face closer to catch her response.
‘I’m here because I want to be, Rico—though I admit sometimes I wonder what it is I’m fighting for.’
‘You are fighting for your family, Catherine,’ Rico said softly. ‘How we got here is irrelevant. We have to make the best of things.’
He probably thought he was helping, probably thought he was saying the right thing—but staring into the darkness, wrapped in arms she never wanted to leave. Catherine tried to blot out the awful inference behind his words, keep it all together just a little longer. Only when his breathing evened and she was sure he was asleep, did she give in—allowing salty tears that belonged to the night to slip into her hair as she awaited the refreshing sensibility of dawn.
CHAPTER THIRTEE
N
‘YOU have a phone call.’
Sitting up in bed, Catherine rubbed her eyes and desperately tried to come to. Surveying the room, the open pizza box, the clothes strewn everywhere, she knew it looked as if some sort of wild teenage party had taken place, and with her thumping head and Rico standing over her like some over-possessive parent as she took the call, the analogy only deepened.
‘That was Marcus Regan—the principal,’ Catherine explained, replacing the receiver and not quite meeting his eyes. Rico still stood there.
‘I gathered that,’ he quipped, clearly not impressed by the early-morning call. ‘And I also gather you have agreed to go in to work this morning, despite the fact you swore this would be a part-time job.’
‘It will still only be three days this week, Rico,’ Catherine pointed out, pulling back the sheets and trying to feign a spring in her step as she crossed the bedroom, determined Rico wouldn’t get a glimpse of just how awful she really felt. Marcus’s phone call had caught her completely unawares, and had she had time to think, to register she wasn’t feeling the best, she’d probably have refused his plea to come in and cover for a sick staff member. Right now all she wanted to do was crawl back into bed, pull the rumpled sheet back over her head and recall Rico’s blissful lovemaking.
Or sleep; either would do.
‘You look exhausted; you should be taking things easy…’
Catherine didn’t answer, the toothbrush in her mouth not the best precursor to eloquence, but she let Rico rant for a moment or two before rinsing her mouth and smiling at his reflection, scarcely able to believe that the mere sight of him knotting his tie could have her stomach dancing.
‘I’m five weeks pregnant, Rico, not eight months, and I think most women would think that I am taking it easy. I haven’t even seen an iron since I moved in here, haven’t so much as flicked on a kettle, so a day at work isn’t going to kill me.’
‘It’s not you I’m worried about.’
He was flicking the end of his tie through the knot, concentrating as he tightened it, but his black surly mood was palpable.
Not for a second did he notice her paling face. His words were an instant slap to the cheek, and their intimacy popped like a child’s soapy bubble in the warm afternoon air. Never before had she been brought down to earth more quickly. She felt as if she were falling, literally falling. The dizzy heights of their lovemaking had taken her to a dangerous place, a place where just for a second Catherine had felt as if she might fly, and now she was being put in her place. Rico, in his cruelly dismissive way, was reminding her exactly where her place was.
The intimacy, the tenderness, the closeness she had experienced had been only for the benefit of his child’s mother.
‘I have to go.’ His voice seemed to be coming at her from a distance, and when his lips grazed her cheek she yielded no response. She watched, watched from the mirror, as he checked his watch, then stalked into the bedroom and picked up his briefcase. ‘I’ll see you tonight.’
Somehow Catherine made it through the morning, but it was literally a case of going through the motions. Lily was kissed and farewelled, the traffic snarl as she approached the school negotiated, her colleagues greeted and her students faced. But it was as if she were operating on autopilot, every response made with barely a thought as her mind again wandered back to Rico, headed down that dangerous, forbidden path that constantly beckoned and which for a while she had been stupid enough to follow. Stupid enough to think that Rico Mancini cared for her not just as a surrogate mother to Lily, a solution to a problem and now incubator to the Mancini heir, but as a woman in her own right.
A woman who loved him.
The children seemed to sense her distracted mood, and their lively chatter grew more raucous. Never had Catherine been more grateful for the lunchtime bell, fleeing to the bathroom where she leant her burning face against the mirror as she recalled their lovemaking last night, sordid now instead of beautiful. In one cruel sentence he had reduced her to a tart, a woman who could please him at his will, provide for his needs, but never, ever get close.
She had only just made it to the bathroom in time. Her retching mingled with her tears, humiliation mingled with a pain that suddenly intensified. But not a sharp pain that brought release, just a dull, throbbing pain, familiar to women worldwide—the monthly price of femininity. But there was no comfort in regularity, no comfort in the familiar feeling her body was imparting, just a horrible thud of clarity. The back pain, the sinking mood of the past twenty-four hours, the brink of tears—all a totally normal response she had chosen to ignore. Refusing to acknowledge, till the facts were indesputable that her pregnancy was actually over.
* * *
‘I’ll do some blood tests.’ Malcolm Sellers’s voice was efficient, but kind. ‘I’m not going to examine you at this stage, because if there is a chance you’re still pregnant that could only exacerbate things.’
‘I’ve lost it, haven’t I?’ Catherine was sitting pale and drawn at his desk, wishing she could rewind the past hour, go back to the safety of being with child, the tiny ray of light that had for a while shone, but instead she was sitting in the doctor’s surgery. Her taxi had barely been out of the driveway, before the nurse had ushered her in. She was in the Mancini world, Catherine reminded herself. Things moved quickly here—no waiting rooms to mull over the inevitable, no buffers, just straight to the horrible point.
‘I think that’s what you should prepare yourself for.’ Malcolm nodded slowly. ‘The fact you have pain, that you no longer feel pregnant…’
His voice trailed off and Catherine found she was frowning.
‘I don’t know that I actually felt pregnant before. Although…’ Her eyes sparkled with tears and she accepted the box of tissues Malcolm pushed towards her. ‘I did suddenly feel close to Lily, felt as if I was starting to get the hang of things a bit. Could that have been just because I was pregnant?’
Malcolm gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘I’m sure those feelings will all come again in good time, but a good dose of hormones generally helps things along. You mustn’t forget the terrible strain you’re under, Catherine; you’ve just lost your sister, you have a new marriage, new home…’
She knew Malcolm was trying to be kind, trying to say the right thing, but each and every one of the problems he had outlined she could deal with if only Rico loved her. She missed Janey, missed Janey so badly it hurt, but if only Rico was truly beside her she could bear it. Without his love even breathing seemed an effort.
‘I’ll get these bloods couriered to the lab, and as soon as I get the results I’ll come and see you at home. For now I want you to go to bed and try to rest. If the pregnancy is still viable it’s the best thing you can do. Have you told Rico yet?’
‘I’ve tried. His secretary is trying to get hold of him for me; hopefully he’ll call soon.’
‘I’ll get hold of him for you; doctors generally do better with proprietorial secretaries than wives.’
‘Shouldn’t I have a scan? Isn’t there something you can give me to stop it?’
‘It’s too early for a scan, Catherine—and, no, there’s no medicine I can give you at this stage of pregnancy. Normally it’s just nature’s way of letting go of something that simply wasn’t meant to be.’
In true private doctor style he saw her to a taxi, but she barely registered his kindness. A strange numbness seemed to have seeped inside her veins and she stared stonily ahead until the taxi pulled into the drive. Her legs were shaky as she pulled out some notes to pay.
The door opened on her first knock, and she held her private tragedy tightly inside as she headed for the stairwell.
‘Mrs Mancini, I wasn’t expecting you home…’ Jessica stepped forward, the smiling Lily in her arms an aching reminder of what she was losing. ‘Actually I’m really pleased that you are; I was hoping we could talk.’
Jessica was following her up the stairs now, an annoying presence when Catherine ached
for privacy. ‘Jessica, now’s really not a good time; I came back from work because I don’t feel well.’
‘Oh!’ Jessica moved Lily to the other hip. ‘It’s just…’
Still Jessica followed her. They were at the bedroom door now, and Catherine’s stomach was cramping painfully.
‘Just what, Jessica?’ Her words came out too harsh and Catherine instantly regretted them, but she simply didn’t have the energy to take them back. She ached to lie on the bed, to close the door on the world, but still Jessica hovered.
‘It can wait…’ Jessica’s voice trailed off, and the young girl swallowed uncomfortably. ‘It doesn’t matter, Mrs Mancini. I’ll let you rest.’
She lay there in the vast lonely bed, trying to relax, trying to give her baby, if it was still there, its very last chance.
Something that wasn’t meant to be.
Malcolm Sellers’s words rang in her ears.
Everything around her seemed to be slipping away and she was powerless to stop it. This baby meant so much to her—a spark of hope, a bond that would bind her to the man she loved, something good and true and real to cling to—and now, as sure as the night followed day, she was losing it.
No!
From the ashes hope resurfaced, a tiny stirring of the strong woman she was. She would fight this, fight till it was over. Till someone actually told her that her child was gone she would cling on for dear life, do everything possible to protect the life within. Concentrating on keeping her breathing even, she ignored the cramping pain, drifting away to a place that was gentle and kind, melting into the solace she had glimpsed in Rico’s arms.
Somehow amidst the ruins she found the haven of sleep, her hands resting on her stomach, trying to hold her child within, fitful dreams causing her to cry out. As if in response she heard Rico’s footsteps on the stairs, the bedroom door opening on his pale tense face. Dr Sellers walked in behind him, and one look at the two men’s faces dashed her faintly flickering hopes there and then, told her it had all been in vain.
