The Secret She Can't Hide

by India Grey

  ‘Enough.’

  The word was like the lash of a whip on Kate‘s tightly reined emotions. For a while yesterday it had seemed so possible because it had felt so right—the three of them together. But now she knew that she had been fooling herself. There could be no happy ending because she had fallen in love with a man who represented everything that scared her most.

  ‗I know how she felt, Cristiano. She loved you. She just wanted you to be safe.‘

  ‗No,‘ he spat, his eyes burning in a face that was suddenly parchment-pale.

  ‗You‘re wrong about that. She didn’t love me. She hated me. I made her life an utter misery, and then I killed her.‘

  There was a small, stunned silence.

  Turning away, Cristiano dragged a hand over his eyes. Suddenly he looked unbearably weary. ‗See—I didn‘t quite tell you everything, did I?‘

  ‗That‘s not true,‘ Kate whispered, in a voice that sounded as if she had just swallowed strychnine.

  ‗Yes, it is. She had cancer. She didn‘t tell me. Who knows? She might have tried, but I was never there—sometimes I didn‘t come home for days. She must have known that she had it for ages, but she didn‘t go to the doctor because all her money was taken up with paying for my education. And because she knew that if she went into hospital I‘d go completely off the rails.‘

  ‗But that shows that she was thinking of you.‘ Kate was pleading the case of a woman she‘d never met. ‗Putting you first.‘

  ‗She wanted me to better myself.‘ His voice dripped irony. Pulling out a chair, he sprawled into it, propping his elbows on the table, raking his hands through his hair. ‗To pull myself out of the poverty my waster of a father had left her in. To her, that meant getting a good education and being a doctor or a lawyer.

  When I started my apprenticeship with Campano she thought I had signed up for a life of dead-end manual labour. It was like throwing everything she‘d ever given me back in her face.‘

  The coffee stood cooling in mugs on the table. Neither of them picked one up. Kate‘s head throbbed as she struggled to find the right words. It felt like picking her way through a shark-infested swamp.

  ‗That‘s why it mattered to you to win, I know,‘ she said hoarsely. ‗To prove to her that you were a success. But that‘s over now. You don‘t have anything to prove to anyone.‘

  ‗Yes, I do. To my son.‘

  There was something terrifyingly final about the way he said it. Looking up at him, Kate knew with a chilling despair that the sharks were circling, closing in on her.

  ‗He‘ll love you anyway—no matter what you do,‘ she said, unable to keep the desperation from ringing through every syllable. ‗That‘s the thing about being a father: to your child you‘re always a god, and it doesn‘t matter if you‘re a bus driver or a racing driver.‘

  Leaning back in his chair, he smiled, but his eyes were flinty. ‗Exactly.

  That‘s why I have to do something to deserve that respect—or else one day he‘ll find out that I‘m nothing.‘

  ‗You‘re not nothing.‘ Kate suddenly realised she was very cold. Speaking through clenched teeth, she pulled her robe more tightly around her. ‗You‘re dyslexic, Cristiano. You have a really common condition that makes reading and writing and letter recognition difficult. It‘s not usually fatal, but in your case it just might be—because it‘s combined with an arrogant pride that means you have to prove yourself all the time.‘

  He got to his feet, looking at her with hollow eyes. ‗You knew about this all along?‘

  ‗Yes.‘ It was a breathless whisper. She could feel the tears burning at the back of her eyes, the sobs swelling in her throat. ‗I knew because once you trusted me enough to tell me. You felt enough to want to explain. When I came to find you again, I hoped that you might still feel the same way—‘ She broke off and gave an odd, hiccupping gasp. ‗And then I found out that the crash had made you forget.

  And I so wanted you to feel that way all over again. But you didn‘t.‘

  He was utterly still, as if he had been turned to stone. The expression on his face was one of tightly restrained pain. Raising his hands, he held them up for a moment, and then let them fall to his sides again.

  ‗I asked you to marry me once before, and you said no,‘ he said, in a voice like barbed wire. ‗Well, I‘m asking again now. Marry me, Kate—not for Alexander‘s sake, or to give him a stable background, but for yours. For ours.

  Because I—‘

  ‗No, Cristiano!‘ The words came out on a great tearing sob. ‗I can‘t spend the rest of my life waiting to lose you! I can‘t sit on the sidelines, or in the pit lane, or at home, and watch you kill yourself. I can‘t live off the money you earn from gambling with your life.‘

  He backed off, his hands curling into fists now, his expression hardening so that his perfect face might have been sculpted from marble. ‗So you‘d rather not be happy, because then that happiness can‘t be taken away from you?‘

  Kate made herself look at him—even though it hurt, even though her whole face felt numb, as if she was standing in the teeth of a raging, icy gale. Slowly she shook her head.

  ‗I wouldn‘t be happy.‘

  It was a whisper. Like a confession. Hearing it, Cristiano closed his eyes for the briefest moment before his face became expressionless again.

  ‗In that case I won‘t ask you again,‘ he said harshly. ‗I‘ll get my solicitor to be in touch about Alexander. I hope we can sort it out amicably.‘

  And then he turned and went, and Kate was left standing dry-eyed and shaking in the kitchen. She didn‘t move at all as she listened to the throb of the car‘s engine grow fainter in the distance, until the silence swallowed it up and she was alone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  KATE went back to work.

  There didn‘t seem to be anything else to do. It was part of picking up the pieces. Getting on with life. Dominic had been brilliant about giving her as much time off as she needed while Alexander was recovering, but following his energetic display on the beach with Cristiano she could hardly fool herself that he needed her constant attention any more. Besides, he was probably better off with her mother at the moment—or any random stranger who would be able to hold a conversation with him without snapping his head off or bursting into tears mid-sentence.

  Even on a sunny March day the Clearspring office was gloomy. Kate sat at her desk, miserably aware of people‘s curious stares and the fact that the entire office seemed to suddenly have a reason to walk past her desk. Word had clearly got out that Kate Edwards, the mousy copywriter, was actually the secret mistress of racing legend Cristiano Maresca and mother of his love-child.

  Sooner or later she would have to disabuse them of the first notion.

  In the kitchen the Campano calendar had been replaced by one from the Healthy Schools account, featuring Alice Apple and Percy Pear. Waiting for the kettle to boil, Kate picked up a newspaper someone had left on top of the microwave, letting her eyes move dully over the headlines without really taking them in.

  She had totally lost touch with what was going on in the world, she realised with a stab of guilty misery. In the shiny side of the kettle her gaunt face stared back at her, the surface curve distorting her reflection so her red-rimmed eyes looked huge and the dark circles around them even bigger. Impatiently she turned her attention back to the paper, intending to check out her horoscope and the television listings for tonight, when a photograph on the back caught her eye.

  At first she thought her mind was playing tricks on her, imprinting the face she longed to see onto every dark-haired man her eyes fell on. And then the headline above the picture filtered into her numb brain.

  MARESCA‘S ERRATIC PERFORMANCE CAUSE FOR CAMPANO

  CONCERN.

  Her heart stopped, then started up again with a jolt that felt as if crash pads had just been pressed to her chest. Her mouth was dry, her hands shaking so much it was difficult to hold the paper still enough to read.
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  Cristiano Maresca’s much anticipated return this season looks like it could be causing one or two headaches for the Campano Team. The thirty-two-year-old Italian, who suffered massive head injuries in a crash at Monaco four years ago, has been reported to have performed ‘erratically’ in pre-race time trials this week, after missing two days entirely.

  ‘Cristiano is well aware of the demands of the forthcoming season, and has taken some time out before it begins to resolve some personal issues,’ said Suki Conti of Campano. ‘When he takes his place on the grid this weekend it will be with one hundred per cent focus and commitment.’

  ‗Ah. There you are.‘

  Kate looked up with a little gasp. Dominic was leaning around the doorway, his face lined with concern. ‗I‘ve just been to your office to find you.‘

  Kate attempted a kind of laugh. It came out as a sob.

  ‗I came to hide from the onlookers. You know, I‘d heard that there were people who stop to look at c-car accidents, but until today I never really thought it was true.‘

  As she‘d said the bit about car accidents her voice had cracked, and suddenly Dominic had crossed the room to her and was putting his arms around her rigid shoulders. Taking the newspaper from her, he glanced down at the page she‘d been reading.

  He sighed, looking at her with an expression of infinite compassion.

  ‗Something tells me you‘re not quite ready for all this yet. Look, why don‘t you take the rest of the week off? The Healthy Schools account is all up to date at the moment, so there‘s not much for you to do here.‘

  Kate was just about to argue that she was fine, when it dawned on her that he was saying she was more of a hindrance than a help in the office right now.

  In a daze, she drove to her mother‘s. Margaret Edwards came to the door, wiping her hands on an apron, a familiar expression of alarm crossing her face when she saw Kate.

  A shaft of sadness pierced Kate‘s numbness. Grief had dominated her mother‘s life for twenty years. Having lost both her husband and her son in road accidents, there was a part of her that expected every knock at the door to be a kindly female police officer bringing bad news.

  ‗What is it, love?‘ she said worriedly, standing aside to let Kate in.

  ‗Alexander‘s having his afternoon nap upstairs—I wasn‘t expecting you until five, as usual. Has something happened?‘

  Kate took a ragged breath, leaning against the familiar faded wallpaper of the hallway for a moment.

  ‗No…Yes… Oh, Mum…‘

  And then she was in her mother‘s arms, and the racking sobs she had been holding back since Cristiano had walked away from her were gripping her, the tears that she had been too numb to cry pouring down her face and soaking into Margaret‘s cotton cardigan.

  ‗Kate, love?‘

  ‗I‘m in here.‘

  The door opened and Margaret appeared, carrying two floral china mugs of strong brown tea. She set them down on the bedside table. Will‘s bedside table.

  Sitting on the bed, Kate moved up a little to make room for her mother.

  After the storm of weeping she had come upstairs to wash her face and check on Alexander, and for the first time in years had found herself opening the door to Will‘s old room.

  ‗Do you mind me coming in here?‘ she asked quietly now, picking up a mug and blowing on the steaming surface.

  Pulling her cardigan across her thin chest with red, work-roughened hands, Margaret looked around. Everything was exactly as it had been on the evening that Will had left it, dressed in his new jeans for a night out with friends. His black towelling robe still hung on the back of the door, the bed was still made, the posters of his favourite models and pop stars and sports heroes still lined the walls—some of them looking a little dated now.

  Except Cristiano. He looked younger and more wicked, but just as gorgeous.

  ‗No, love, I don‘t mind. I often come in here myself—to dust and that—but just because it makes me feel better as well. Closer to him, I suppose.‘

  The tears had left Kate feeling scoured out and oddly calm, as if she could think about things more clearly now. ‗How did you manage after Dad died?‘ she asked.

  ‗There‘s many would say I didn‘t manage at all.‘ Picking up her tea, Margaret absent-mindedly wiped away the wet ring left by the mug with a tissue.

  ‗The doctor gave me pills, and they did help take the edge off the guilt, and people were very kind…‘

  Kate frowned. ‗Guilt? Why guilt? Dad was killed in an accident on the way to work.‘

  Margaret took a sip of tea and put her mug down carefully. ‗We‘d had an argument that morning before he left. Something daft that blew up over nothing, but it haunted me for years.‘ She gave Kate a watery smile. ‗Still does, if I‘m honest. I couldn‘t get the idea out of my head that I‘d caused the accident by distracting him, so his mind wasn‘t on the road.‘

  ‗It was the other driver‘s fault, Mum,‘ Kate said gently. ‗They said so at the inquest, didn‘t they?‘

  Margaret shrugged her thin shoulders in the washed-out blouse and threadbare cardigan, her fingers twisting her gold wedding band. ‗That made no difference to me. To me it‘s always felt like my fault, and even if it wasn‘t—‘

  She broke off, staring down at her hands for a moment. ‗Even if it wasn‘t,‘

  she continued quietly, ‗I still can‘t forgive myself for not telling him that I loved him that day. It‘s only after someone‘s gone that you realise what a rare and precious thing it is—love.‘ She shook her head dismissively. ‗Everything else is just details.‘

  ‗Oh, Mum…‘

  Kate sighed. While Margaret had been talking she had got to her feet had gone to stand in front of the picture of Cristiano. His dark eyes stared out at her, narrowed, inscrutable, and looking into them, listening to her mother‘s voice—so wistful and full of regret—suddenly she found everything seemed very clear.

  Turning round, she said, ‗Mum, could you possibly have Alexander for me this weekend?‘

  Margaret blinked, taken aback but clearly pleased at the question. ‗Yes love, you know I always love having him. But why?‘

  ‗I think…I‘m going to Bahrain.‘

  Cristiano kept his gaze fixed on the pair of perfectly painted lips an inch from his.

  He was very still, gritting his teeth as Francine Fournier shone the light into first one eye and then the other. He could feel her breath feathering the bare skin of his chest, and when he breathed in his head was filled with her perfume, and while it was all so different from Kate‘s, it still reminded him of her.

  Like everything else.

  ‗OK, you can get dressed now, Cristiano.‘

  Clicking off the miniature torch, Francine straightened up, her silk-lined skirt rustling as she went to sit down at the desk.

  ‗It‘s all looking great,‘ she said neutrally, beginning to scribble rapid notes in a file. ‗And in view of the fact that you haven‘t had any recurrence of the problems you were having previously, I‘m perfectly happy to pass you fit to drive today.‘

  ‘Buono.’

  Cristiano reached for his T-shirt and pulled it over his head, getting down from the couch. Francine looked up at him pointedly for a second, her pen hovering over the page.

  ‗I assume that that is good news?‘ she enquired dryly.

  ‗Of course.‘ Cristiano managed a sort of smile as he went towards the door.

  ‗Sorry. I‘m just a little tense. I‘ll be fine when I get out there.‘

  That was what he hoped, anyway. Driving—winning—was the way he‘d always obliterated his problems. There was no time to think about anything but survival when you were hurtling along a track at two hundred miles an hour. No time to think about the fact that you couldn‘t make the mother of your child happy.

  The only thing was, he wasn‘t sure that the forty nine laps of the race would be long enough for him.

  ‗Just one more thing before you go,‘ Francin
e said, taking a sheet of paper from her folder and studying it. ‗I know this has no bearing on your race fitness, but I thought you might like to know. I checked over the tests you did the other day—for dyslexia.‘

  Cristiano didn‘t allow the merest flicker of emotion to pass across his face.

  ‗And?‘

  Francine frowned. ‗It appears that you‘re quite severely dyslexic—to such an extent that I would certainly expect it to have been picked up at school. Was it never mentioned to you or your parents?‘

  ‗Not as a medical condition,‘ Cristiano said acidly. ‗My astonishing stupidity was mentioned often—to me, my mother, and the rest of the school.‘