by Daphne Clair
‘You’ll have to fetch the crutches for me,’ she told him.
‘You won’t need them. I intend to keep you right here for the rest of the day.’ He propped himself on one elbow, smiling his sexiest smile, and laid a possessive hand on her breast.
Terribly tempted, everything in her melting in the blaze of that smile, Roxane firmly shook her head, although already her body was responding.
He felt it, his eyes quizzical as he found a telltale hardness in his palm, and his thumb teased it into exquisite sensitivity.
‘No,’ Roxane said, exerting her willpower and removing his hand. ‘I really do have to go to work.’
He raised his brows. ‘Don’t be an idiot, darling!’
Roxane kept her voice calm, although her heart began to beat faster. ‘I’m supervising a big luncheon today. There’s preparation to do, and I can’t let Leon and our clients down. So bring me the crutches, please?’
She reached for the phone by the bed and began dialling. She was talking to Leon by the time she felt Zito slide out of the bed. ‘I’ll be a bit late this morning,’ she was saying, ‘but I’ll see you in about half an hour.’
Without warning the phone was taken from her hand. Zito, tall and formidable, stood beside her, holding the receiver and looking relentlessly determined. ‘No, you won’t.’
CHAPTER NINE
‘ZITO!’ Roxane tried to grab back the receiver but he simply moved a step away.
‘This is Roxane’s husband,’ he said pleasantly into the receiver. ‘She’s had an accident and isn’t fit for work. You’ll have to find someone else, I’m afraid.’
She made another grab, almost falling from the bed. Zito grasped her wrist and held it implacably, whether to save her or restrain her she wasn’t sure.
‘A sprained ankle,’ he told Leon, ‘and concussion. I knew you’d understand. Sure. Goodbye.’
She was shaking with rage when he put the phone back on its cradle and released her.
‘You have no right to do that!’ she said. He hadn’t changed a bit, and the knowledge was a sickening blow to her scarcely formed hopes. ‘How dare you!’
‘Leon says he understands and he hopes you’ll soon be well again.’
‘I’m well now! And calling him right back.’
She reached for the phone again, but Zito bent and pulled on the cable, yanking it from the wall.
Clutching the sheet to her breasts, Roxane sat bolt upright. Quietly but with clenched teeth, she said, ‘You can’t do this to me, Zito.’
‘I can’t allow you to do this to yourself,’ he said flatly. ‘Be reasonable, darling!’
‘That is so typical!’ Her throat was raw, and a leaden ball had settled in her stomach, growing larger and heavier every second. ‘You can’t allow it? Get it into your head once and for all, Zito—you don’t own me!’
‘I never thought that—’
‘Actions speak louder than words, and yours are yelling right now that you can never see your wife as your equal.’
‘Not true. I’d do the same for any member of my family.’
‘I am not a member of your family. I’m not your wife any more. If you don’t file for that divorce, I will!’
His face seemed to lose all its colour, going grey under his natural tan. Then he said, his voice deliberate and deadly, ‘After last night?’
The leaden ball dropped several inches, and nausea rose in her throat. ‘It was a mistake.’ Her voice wavered. ‘It doesn’t count.’
Zito said grittily, ‘Mistake? You don’t think I’m going to return home without you after that? We belong together, Roxane. You can’t turn your back on it again! I won’t let you.’
‘You can’t make me come back to you, Zito. And you sure as hell can’t keep me a prisoner in my own home!’
‘Don’t be melodramatic,’ he said crushingly. ‘Do you need the bathroom, or may I use it first?’
‘Do what you like,’ Roxane said tightly. ‘You will anyway.’
He took the phone with him, increasing her impotent rage. She debated whether she could crawl downstairs while he showered, and decided she’d never make it before he emerged.
She was right. He was back within minutes, already wearing trousers, and buttoning his shirt. Tucking it into the pants, he said, ‘Shall I carry you to the bathroom or bring your crutches?’
‘I don’t want you touching me!’ Her searing glance should have withered him, but he only laughed, rather harshly.
‘Don’t move,’ he ordered as he left the room.
As if she could. After her abortive attempt earlier she didn’t even dare get herself clean undies, without at least one crutch. She had to wait for Zito to return, and then stiffly accept his offer to find fresh clothes for her.
Refusing his help to the bathroom, she had a quick, awkward shower standing on one foot, and managed to dress herself while he waited outside the door that he’d insisted she didn’t lock. Tempted to do so, she curbed the immature and possibly dangerous impulse.
When she emerged he said, ‘I’ll bring you breakfast. Can you get back to bed on your own?’
Roxane nodded and gave him another scorching look, that he met with an infuriatingly understanding grin, and he turned to run easily down the stairs, disappearing towards the kitchen.
Once he’d gone she tightened her hold on the crutches and hobbled to the head of the stairwell, looking down. It seemed an impossibly long way.
Clumsily she seated herself on the topmost step, transferring the crutches to one hand.
With great care she eased herself to the next step, and the next.
It took a while, but eventually she arrived at the foot of the stairs and heaved herself upright, triumphantly leaning on the crutches.
The hall telephone was only a few steps away. Roxane lifted the receiver quietly, but as she dialled, one crutch slipped and clattered to the floor.
She was giving her address to the taxi company when Zito emerged from the kitchen. Defying him with her eyes, she finished her message. ‘Yes, right away, as soon as you can,’ she said, and put down the receiver.
Zito said, ‘How did you manage the stairs?’
‘Never mind,’ she answered.
‘You might have had another accident.’ His eyes were angry.
‘I didn’t. You see, Zito, I’m not as stupid and incompetent as you think.’
‘I never thought that! I wouldn’t have married a stupid woman.’
‘Then why do you insist on treating me like one?’
‘Why do you insist on acting like one?’ he countered, his furious gaze sweeping over her.
‘I’m acting like a responsible human being! I have a job. The prospect of losing your livelihood has never been a worry to you, but for most people getting to work on time is a priority.’
‘It needn’t be, for you. And if you’re as indispensable as you say, your employer certainly won’t sack you for taking a day or two of sick leave.’
‘I told you, he needs me and I’m not going to let him down.’
‘Very noble,’ Zito said bitterly. ‘And selective.’ He didn’t need to remind her that he felt she’d let him down, and their marriage, without any compunction. It was all there in his voice. Then he added, ‘Just what is your relationship with your boss? He seems to have been very quick to promote you.’
Roxane started counting to ten, but barely made it past five. ‘Because I was damned good at what I do! I’m not sleeping my way to the top.’
‘I never suggested—’
‘Then what the hell were you suggesting?’
She held his eyes, and was surprised when after a moment he closed his, tipping back his head.
‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘I apologise.’
Caught off guard, Roxane decided against answering, instead awkwardly picking up her bag from the telephone table. At least he hadn’t thought to hide that. But of course he’d been sure she couldn’t get down the stairs.
On cue, a di
screet toot came from outside. She manoeuvred herself to the door. ‘Thanks for your help this weekend,’ she said stiffly, not looking at Zito. ‘You can leave the key here and shut the door behind you.’ Juggling crutches and bag, she laid a hand on the latch. ‘Goodbye, Zito.’
He moved forward quickly, and she threw him a warning glance. ‘Don’t try to stop me!’
‘I’m not stopping you.’ She could see he was still quietly furious, but amazingly, he opened the door, then took one of the crutches and substituted his strong arm, supporting her all the way to the taxi waiting at the gate. The driver got out and opened the door and Zito helped her in, handing her the crutch.
‘Thank you,’ she said, bemused and a little suspicious. Why was he suddenly being so co-operative? Perhaps because she’d persuaded him she’d make a scene if he didn’t. Or that somehow she’d outwit him and go anyway. Maybe he’d begun at last to respect her determination to manage her own life.
He bent and dropped a quick kiss on her lips, hard and warm. ‘Take care, and for God’s sake get yourself some breakfast before you start work,’ he said grittily, and shut the door.
It was too much to expect—hope?—that he would just go away after what had happened between them last night, she thought as the taxi started up the street. What a fool she was, letting her heart take over head, her body dictate to her mind, despite all she knew of Zito and of her own susceptibility.
But what sweet foolishness it had been!
Leon scolded her for turning up, though he couldn’t disguise his relief. The taxi driver had helped her out of the cab and up the steps to the building, and Leon was frantically phoning round for someone to replace her for the day when she appeared.
‘I’ll need an assistant who can do some running around,’ she admitted, ‘but I can still oversee the luncheon.’
‘If you’re sure,’ Leon said gratefully. ‘But your…er…husband said—concussion?’
‘I banged my head, but it’s fine now.’
‘I didn’t know you were married.’
‘I’m not, any more.’ And, interpreting his complex expression, ‘Zito had nothing to do with this. He just happened to be there.’
When later that afternoon Leon announced he was taking her home himself, she wasn’t sure if it was out of solicitousness for her injuries or because he thought she might need protection. Either way, she was touched by his thoughtfulness.
Although he insisted on accompanying her up the steps, Roxane assured him she didn’t need him to come inside.
‘Well, call me if you need anything,’ he said. ‘Promise.’
She promised, and closed the door as he returned to the car.
Her spare key lay on the telephone table. For a few seconds she stood listening, but she’d known as soon as she opened the door that Zito wasn’t there. She’d have sensed his presence. As it was, the place seemed cold and empty.
She looked at the key, and a sharp sense of loss swept over her.
All day she’d been mentally bracing herself for another confrontation, sure that Zito would follow up on the advantage he’d undoubtedly gained last night. She couldn’t imagine that he’d willingly let things lie after that.
But the mute little symbol seemed to say otherwise.
She practised safely negotiating the stairs, quite successfully, made herself a light meal and ate it while watching the TV news. Then she sat through a comedy program that failed its promise to cheer her up, and made some notes about the engagement party she’d been assigned to plan. Every time a car slowed outside she held her breath, and when footsteps approached down the hill she found herself listening until they passed.
When the phone rang she almost tripped getting to it, and had to pause for a couple of deep breaths before lifting the receiver.
It was Leon, checking that she was all right.
‘I’m fine,’ she told him. ‘But I’m glad you rang, I’ve some ideas I’d like to run by you.’
She had scarcely put down the receiver when the telephone shrilled again. This time she snatched it up. ‘Yes?’
‘Roxane,’ Zito said. ‘How are you coping?’
She took a second to find her voice and control it to a cool, steady tone. ‘Very well. I can even manage the stairs on my own.’
‘Is that safe?’ His voice sharpened.
‘Perfectly. I’m very careful.’
‘I hope so.’ There was a silence, as though he was searching for words. Or waiting for her to say something. Finally he said, ‘Promise me… No.’ Another hiatus, and then, ‘Get in touch if you need help—at any time? Please. And don’t disappear on me again. I won’t harass you.’
Astonishment made her mind a blank. Was Zito actually giving up after all?’
‘Roxane?’
‘Th-thank you,’ she said, mentally reeling. She couldn’t think of another thing to add.
‘Don’t thank me,’ he said, his voice going gritty. ‘I’m flying back to Melbourne tomorrow, but you know how to contact me. Goodnight…darling.’
Then there was a click and the dial tone hummed in her ear.
Slowly she replaced the receiver and stood staring at it. Zito was leaving tomorrow.
He hadn’t directly mentioned the planned duration of his visit to New Zealand, but she’d somehow gained the impression he’d be here for longer. And she had been certain he would insist on seeing her again before he left, that he’d use the potent weapon of his sexuality, as he had so emphatically, gloriously, last night, to persuade her she’d made a mistake in ending their marriage.
This was victory. Zito was leaving her to her hard-won independence, taking himself out of her life. Wasn’t this what she’d kept telling him she wanted?
Why then, this overwhelming, black despair welling up from deep inside, taking her over, so that her forehead went cold and her hands clenched tightly on the crutches as she moved toward the stairs like an old, broken woman?
She spent a sleepless night relentlessly trawling through possible reasons for Zito’s unprecedented withdrawal. Was he bluffing, counting on her running back to him after that one torrid night of sexual closeness? Maybe this was merely a re-enactment, more subtly carried out, of the scores of times he’d used sex to bring her to heel.
Or had he all along planned to abandon her once he’d reasserted his power to make her forget everything but her physical delight in his body, in what he could do to hers?
An act of revenge?
Then why had he insisted that their marriage wasn’t over, that he would never free her from her vows?
If he’d meant it, surely he wouldn’t simply shrug his shoulders now and walk away?
Unless that one night had shown him he didn’t care any more. Or her defying him this morning had finally convinced him she was no longer under his domination and never would be, forcing him at last to accept defeat.
That seemed unlike everything she knew of him…
In the morning she was further than ever from any logical answer. And the ensuing weeks brought no word from Zito, no news of him, no enlightenment.
Her ankle healed and she discarded her crutches and had physiotherapy, continuing the exercises at home. In time, she assured herself, she would stop remembering Zito’s vital presence in her kitchen whenever she made a lonely meal for herself, stop imagining his strong arms carrying her every time she ascended the stairs, stop longing for him beside her, holding her, every time she slipped between the sheets of her lonely bed.
She gave away the discs he’d played to the local Lions Club garage sale, rationalising that she was tired of the same old tunes. And as for the bittersweet dreams that led to her waking on a tear-stained pillow—well, they were nothing new.
Zito had dropped out of her life as abruptly as he had dropped back into it for that brief, traumatic time. Sometimes she could almost convince herself it had never happened.
Until the day she woke feeling oddly queasy, and having forced herself out of bed, glanced at the ca
lendar on her dressing table.
She froze, mentally counting weeks and days, staring at the dates with her hands to her mouth to stifle a cry of appalled shock, a sickening dread thundering in her chest.
She waited another two weeks, trying to deny the increasing evidence. When for a couple of days she felt perfectly fine she persuaded herself that a stomach bug had caused the frequent waves of nausea, that she’d been jumping to conclusions. Her cycle had never been exactly predictable, although she didn’t recall being so late before.
Then she had what appeared to be a light period. With a strange mixture of relief and sadness she dismissed the thought of pregnancy from her mind.
But a few days later while she was inspecting the food laid out in readiness for a buffet luncheon, without warning her stomach churned, violently. She made it to the ladies’ room at a run, just in time to lose the meagre breakfast she’d had that morning.
Leaning over a basin, bathing her white, cold face with a trembling hand, she looked at herself in the mirror and knew that either she had some kind of sickness or…she was way more than two months pregnant.
‘Not too late,’ the doctor said, ‘if you feel you can’t have this baby. But you need to make a decision soon.’
The confirmation of a positive test brought a flood of conflicting emotions—anger, a peculiar excitement and an oddly fierce protectiveness. The amorphous possibility had become a reality that she could not ignore.
Within her she carried a new life, and whatever she did, nothing would alter the fact that it had once been there, that she and Zito had created it.
Zito. He was entitled to be told.
She went home to the cottage and spent hours walking aimlessly around it and chewing on her thumbnail while her mind revolved in inexorable circles.
She would wait another few weeks, she thought. Most miscarriages, the doctor had warned, occurred in the first trimester. If that happened Zito need never know.
Her throat tightened and hot tears scorched her eyes.
This is crazy, she thought wildly. I don’t want a baby! It’s the very worst thing that could happen to me right now.
