“Cut to the chase, Frank. Why didn’t you return my call?”
“Lana, I’m sorry. I hate to have to say this but you can’t come back.” He gingerly lowered himself into his chair, putting the width of his glass-topped desk between them.
“You can’t be serious. Of course I do. I must have mountains of work waiting for me. What about the Charity Ball? The celebrity vintage car rally? I’ll be up to my neck in things to take care of.”
“You’re not listening to me. It’s not that there isn’t the work—and it’s not that we don’t appreciate all you’ve done over the years either.”
“Then what is it?”
“We stand to lose sponsorship if you stay.”
“So I’ll drum up new sponsors. Give me a chance, Frank. It was Kyle who left such a darned mess, not me.”
“I know, but mud sticks. His activities have raised too many questions, and by association you’ve been implicated, whether you like it or not. Every one of our sponsors has expressed concern about your being here. One has even requested an audit of our books. It’s the kind of thing that takes us away from our purpose, Lana. It’s competitive enough to win the charity dollar out there in the marketplace, you know that as well as I do. We can’t afford the scandal.”
“Let me speak to them.” But Lana knew it was hopeless before the words even left her mouth. Many of her friends had been eager to support the children’s charity—the same friends whose doors had metaphorically been slammed in her face only two days ago. Lord, it seemed like a lifetime.
“It’s useless. I’m sorry.”
“No more sorry than I am.”
Without a backward glance, Lana left his office and left the building. She had one choice left. One she’d been avoiding at all costs. She had to call her father. Using a phone, however, presented a quandary. She didn’t want to use the phone at the suite—she had no plans to return there anyway—which only left a public pay-phone; except she had no money. She had to sell something, but what?
The sun shone in wintry brilliance, its rays catching the diamond engagement and wedding rings she still wore. She’d become so accustomed to wearing them she barely even noticed their presence. She’d been a fool. Here she was, with thousands of dollars just sitting on her hand. Lana eased the rings off and curled her shaking fingers tightly around them. Suddenly her heart lifted. She had options; she just hadn’t explored them yet.
Finding a dealer prepared to take the rings off her without ownership or valuation papers proved more difficult than she expected, but at close to four that afternoon she finally found a backstreet trader willing to pay her for them. Of course the money now in her purse didn’t even come half way to the true value of the jewellery, but in its own way it had been liberating to sell the rings. She was her own woman, albeit of very limited means.
After purchasing an international calling card, Lana secured a telephone booth in a shopping mall that afforded her some privacy. With nervous fingers she punched in the string of numbers that would ring through to her father’s private line. Although it would be just prior to six in the morning in Berlin, her father was an early bird. Her stomach lurched at the thought of having to beg him for help. They hadn’t spoken since the day she’d told him of her plans to marry Kyle. His stinging words, denouncing her as his daughter, still hovered in her mind.
“Mr Logan’s office, how may I help you?” The disembodied male voice at the other side of the world sounded sickeningly familiar. Was her father’s aide still the same man he’d hoped she’d one day marry? Her skin crawled at the memory of what she’d been expected to do in the name of diplomatic relations.
“Mr Logan, please.”
“Who’s calling?”
“Malcolm, it’s me. Lana.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Logan is unavailable.”
“Please, Malcolm. You know I wouldn’t be calling if it wasn’t important. I need to speak to my father.”
“Your latest little scandal has reached even Berlin, Lana. He wondered how long it would take for you to call. I actually thought you’d hold out longer.” The drawl in Malcolm’s voice set her teeth on edge. He’d always had a cruel side, one he’d kept well hidden from her father’s mentoring eye.
“Just put me through.”
“It seems he knew you better than we both realised. He’s left a message in case you should call.”
“What message? Why can’t he tell me himself?” Lana gripped the handset of the telephone so tightly the plastic squeaked in protest.
“He was quite explicit. The message reads, ‘I have no daughter.’”
Lana slowly replaced the receiver as dwindling hope flickered and died.
Six
Raffaele paced the confines of the suite like a caged panther. Where the hell had she gone? After several calls he’d tracked her to her place of employment, although from what he’d learned she no longer worked there. Which begged the question, why had she resigned when she so desperately needed money? Was she considering taking him up on his offer to finance her as the guardian of Maria’s child? Did she see him as an easy ticket?
Well, so much the better if she did. It would make what he had to do in the long run much easier. From the legal advice he’d received today via telephone, his case would be much stronger if he were based here in New Zealand. The news suited his business expansion plans perfectly. Bankrolling Lana Whittaker into agreeing to his demands would be a manageable risk if he could be assured it would pave the way for him to get full custody of Maria’s baby.
He checked his cell again for missed calls. Nothing. It was heading for six o’clock and, according to the concierge, she’d been gone since nine this morning. Surely she wouldn’t have done anything stupid. Maybe he’d pushed her too far yesterday. With some things, as with some people, it was far better to tread carefully, to take time to nurture their thinking around to your way.
He shouldn’t have left her as he had last night. She was so emotionally vulnerable there was no knowing what she was capable of doing. But the doctor who’d rung last night had given him the news that Maria’s body had begun having contractions, they would do what they could to halt them but felt it was timely for Raffaele to return. With his charter plane on standby at the airport he hadn’t hesitated to make the journey to Wellington to be at his sister’s side.
Maria had finally been stabilised at about three o’clock this morning and he’d remained at her side, holding her hand and speaking to her softly in Italian, hoping against hope that some measure of his love would reach through the depths and reassure her he would do everything he could for her unborn child.
While there, the doctors raised another more pressing concern. The special care unit for premature births at Wellington Hospital was full. If Maria went into labour again, and they were unable to halt its progression, the newborn would have to be flown to another centre. Raffaele and Maria’s care team had debated several options, deciding eventually, provided Maria was stable enough to travel, that she would be transported to Auckland at the earliest opportunity, where the special care unit was under less pressure at present.
Raffaele had given his consent for his sister’s move to Auckland City Hospital, but only once he’d been convinced without doubt that this would be the best move for both Maria and the little girl the doctors told him she carried. He slipped the sonogram picture they’d taken this morning from his pocket and traced the tiny outline of his little niece.
Seeing the baby on the sonogram had suddenly made her more real, more defined—and had increased his determination to seek revenge on the woman who’d denied her two loving parents. But his revenge would have to wait.
Leaving his beloved sister again this morning had been difficult, but to honour his promise to her, he had to return to the one person who could have prevented the whole miserable situation. And now, unfortunately, the one person who held the immediate fate of his niece in her hands.
There was a click at the door as the
lock disengaged. She was back. Relief swamped him but he composed his features and reached for the wine bottle he’d had cooling in an ice bucket and deftly poured two glasses of the golden Marlborough-grown chardonnay. He wouldn’t show her how worried he’d been, nor how close he’d come to reporting her missing.
“Buona sera, Lana. You had a pleasant day I trust?” He turned and handed her a glass of wine as she came through the door.
She took the glass automatically, her slender fingers skimming across his and sending a buzz of electricity up his arm in a not so subtle reminder of the effect she had on him. A startled look crossed her pale face at his remark, almost as if she’d expected him to demand to know where she’d been. But that had never been his style. No, he preferred to lure his prey with gentle enticement, slowly but surely bringing them into his net.
“I wasn’t going to come back, but it seems I have no other choice.”
Although Lana’s voice was composed she looked exhausted—totally tapped out. Clearly her day had not gone as well as she had expected. His instincts, honed through years of successful business endeavours, were never wrong. She was close to giving into his demands.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
“No.” A cynical smile twisted her lips. “I haven’t exactly had the time.” She lifted a hand to brush a strand of hair from her face. Her left hand. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I’d like to freshen up a bit.”
It suddenly occurred to him her hand was bare. Gone were the trappings of marriage. What had she done? In one swift step he was at her side and he grabbed her wrist, twisting it gently so he could examine her hand. Her ring finger still bore the slight indentation of the wedding rings she’d worn, the paler band of skin mute evidence of their departure.
“Your rings. Where are they?”
“What does it matter? I don’t need them anymore.” She pulled away from his grasp.
Yes, that figured, Raffaele thought bitterly and reached for his glass of wine. Her marriage had meant so little to her of course she would shuck off its evidence as easily as one would change one’s underwear.
“Where are they? They should be secured in the hotel safe if you are not going to wear them.”
“Well, it seems they’re not as valuable to some people as you might have thought.” An acerbic note slid into her voice and a cynical half smile twisted her bare lips.
“What do you mean?” Not valuable to her, no doubt. She looked as if she was laughing at some private joke and the expression riled him far more than he wanted to admit. “Of course they had value, they were your wedding rings.”
“I sold them. They didn’t fetch much but I needed to make a call.”
She sold her rings to make a call?She tossed off the words so casually. If he hadn’t known better he’d have thought she was trying a little too hard to display such a flippant demeanour.
“A call you couldn’t make from here?”
What was she hiding? A lover perhaps? That would make sense. She’d come to his arms easily enough. Jealousy flared with a vicious twist through his mind. The thought of her with another man made his mouth sour and his fingers curl tight around the delicate stem of his glass. Raffaele bit down hard, grinding his teeth firmly together to prevent himself from saying exactly what was on his mind.
“Yes. Something like that.”
“Forgive me,” he muttered the words beneath his breath, poor Maria—he should have acted sooner. This was all his fault and it had been completely preventable.
“Forgive you? For what? There’s nothing to forgive. If anything I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come back here, but I had nowhere else. I couldn’t bring myself to use a boarding house, not when I saw and smelled what it was like there. I’m sorry. I’m abusing your generosity.”
He hadn’t realised he’d said the words loud enough for her to hear. It was not her forgiveness he sought, but his sister’s. How typical that Lana would think everything was about her. And what was this rubbish she was talking? A boarding house? He could no more see Lana Whittaker in a boarding house than he could see himself forgiving her for the damage she’d wreaked on his sister’s happiness.
“So, what have you done today? Aside from examine boarding houses.”
Lana put her untouched glass of wine down on the sideboard with a snap. “Walked, mostly, and tried to figure out what I’m going to do next.”
Raffaele maintained a stony silence. He wished he could believe that somewhere through the passage of the day she’d spared a thought for his sister’s child, for the request he’d made of her last night.
“And have you decided what you are doing next?” he prompted. “What of your charity work? Are you still not involved with that?”
A shadow crossed her face, her turquoise eyes darkened almost to green. “No, I’m not, I no longer work there.”
“So your philanthropic works have come to an end. I assume then, that it was all for show?”
“Of course not!” Lana’s cheeks flushed in anger. “What on earth makes you say such a thing?”
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but your charity work was for underprivileged children,si ?”
“Yes.”
“Then what is the difference between the strangers you raised funds for—to provide homes and clothes and food for—and a helpless baby?”
“The difference? The difference is…” Lana’s voice trailed off as she clearly struggled for an answer.
“The difference is you are so filled with vindictiveness towards your dead husband you would take it out on his child. Perhaps you are right. It is time you found somewhere else to stay.”
His hand shook slightly as he lifted his glass to his lips and took a generous swallow of wine. Had he gone too far? It was hard to tell. Her face remained expressionless. The anger which flared so swiftly in her intriguingly coloured eyes had been as efficiently snuffed out as a candle’s flame pinched between damp fingers. Then suddenly he noticed a subtle shift in her features, a softening of the set of her lips that only one who watched carefully, and who was beginning to learn the nuances of her moods, could pick up. It was time to swoop in for the kill.
“Perhaps I didn’t make myself clear last night. I am prepared to forgive your husband’s debt to me, to support you and to provide a home and all things necessary to keep you in the comfort you are accustomed to. You won’t even need to attend to the day-to-day care of the baby; I can appoint a nanny to take care of that. Plus there is the allowance I mentioned, a generous one.” He named a sum he thought would take her interest.
His words washed over her in a buzz of sound but she’d stopped listening as the truth of his earlier statement rocketed through her. He was right. Damn him. She’d been so focussed on her hurt, Kyle’s betrayal and the shock of losing every last possession she’d thought her own she had lost sight of reality. Her father’s continued rejection of her should have peeled the scales from her eyes. Her resemblance to her mother, who had never been mentally strong enough to withstand the rigors of the diplomatic life, had cast her in the same mould in his eyes. Even thought she was his blood, his flesh, still he denied her. She’d sworn years ago she’d never do the same thing to a child, and yet she had. By refusing to accept guardianship of Kyle’s baby she’d turned the child into as much a victim as she herself—except she had the power to change that. The power to give the baby a stable start in life with a person who loved it unreservedly—who could love it as she would have loved her own.
Tears stung her eyes but she blinked them determinedly back.
“I’ll do it.” The words spilled from her mouth before she could think beyond her one greatest desire.
“You’ve changed your mind? Just like that?” Scepticism creased his brow, his grey eyes grew dark as slate as they bored into her. “How do I know that you will not change it back again as quickly?”
“I won’t. Not about this. Not now.”Never about something as important as this . As much as she still hated the cir
cumstances that had brought her to this moment, a tiny spark of rightness sputtered to life inside, setting a trail of warmth coursing through her to beat back the numbness and desolation the day had wrought.
“Forgive me if I seem a little reluctant to accept your sudden change of mind. How do I know that once I set you up in a home you won’t turn back on your decision?”
Lana was confused. It was as if he was playing a game of cat and mouse, lifting a paw to let her scamper just so far before trapping her again. One minute he was pressing her, demanding she accept the responsibility of guardianship, the next he was undermining her decision as if she was as fickle as the wind. She drew herself up straight, and met his gaze front on.
“Name your terms, draw up a contract. I’ll do what I have to do.”
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