12 Stocking Stuffers

by Beverly Barton

  ‘Sit down.’ He waited a few seconds, then cautioned with chilling softness, ‘We’re not done yet.’

  ‘I’ll have the maître d’ call Security.’

  ‘Go ahead.’ His voice was a hateful drawl.

  ‘There’s nothing further you can say that I want to hear.’

  He didn’t move, but something about him changed, hardened. ‘If you prefer negotiations to share custody of our son be dealt with through the legal system…so be it.’ He released her wrist, and regarded her steadily.

  Why did she feel like a butterfly whose wings had been pinned to a wall?

  ‘Sit down, Chantelle. Please,’ he added.

  ‘Following the manner in which we parted, anything amicable between us is impossible.’

  ‘Daniella fed you a tissue of lies, which you chose to believe.’

  ‘You walked out,’ Chantelle accused.

  His gaze speared hers. ‘What did you expect?’

  ‘You should have told me about her.’ Even now, she could feel the anger surge at the memory of that awful scene.

  ‘Daniella was never in the picture.’

  ‘So you told me at the time. Perhaps you should also have told her.’

  ‘I did.’

  ‘That’s not what she said.’

  ‘It wouldn’t have served her purpose to tell the truth.’

  ‘Her purpose being?’

  ‘To send you running as far away as possible.’ He waited a beat. ‘She succeeded.’

  ‘And you know that because?’

  ‘You’d already left your apartment when I rang. The phone number I had for you was disconnected. Ditto your cellphone.’

  Pain spiralled through her body. ‘That’s easy to say now.’

  ‘You’d left the pharmacy,’ he continued. ‘No one had any idea where you were.’

  Anouk and Jean-Paul had been absent, enjoying a European vacation, and Chantelle had begged both employer and work colleagues to disavow any knowledge of her whereabouts. ‘I took leave to visit relatives in France,’ she revealed. ‘Within weeks I was offered a job, so I found lodgings, began work…’ She paused fractionally. ‘And discovered I was pregnant.’

  ‘With my child.’

  There seemed no point in further denial. ‘Yes.’

  ‘You refused to consider I might choose to support you?’

  ‘I didn’t need your support.’

  ‘Therefore you imagined I had no right to know you’d conceived my child?’

  She looked at him carefully. ‘Imagined?’ A wry smile tugged the edge of her mouth. ‘I didn’t think there was anything left to the imagination, given the way we parted.’ Her shoulders lifted in a negligible shrug. ‘At that stage neither you nor I wanted anything to do with each other, ever again.’

  ‘And now?’

  ‘What do you mean—now?’ Her stomach took a dive. ‘Nothing has changed.’

  One eyebrow slanted. ‘No?’

  ‘In three weeks Samuel and I return to France. You’ll depart for New York, and we’ll probably never see each other again.’

  ‘Wrong.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  ‘Think again.’

  ‘Samuel doesn’t need a father,’ Chantelle said fiercely. ‘He especially doesn’t need you.’

  ‘I intend being part of his life,’ Dimitri reiterated silkily. ‘With or without your permission.’

  ‘Something you’ll never have.’

  ‘You’d prefer a legal fight rather than a cordial agreement?’

  ‘I’d prefer,’ she managed with a degree of vehemence, ‘never to see you again.’

  ‘That’s not going to happen,’ he asserted in dry, mocking tones. ‘By virtue of the interest we have in our son.’

  ‘A son you knew nothing about until twenty-four hours ago!’

  ‘But now I do,’ Dimitri said smoothly.

  ‘I won’t share Samuel with you.’

  ‘The law courts will have a different view.’

  The waiter appeared and presented Dimitri’s main course, and she watched as he made no attempt to pick up his cutlery.

  Instead, his eyes were dark, almost still as he regarded her.

  ‘I don’t want Samuel to be pushed and pulled between two parents who don’t like each other,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You consider us as enemies?’

  Oh, God. ‘We’re not exactly friends.’

  A faint smile tugged the corner of his mouth. ‘Yet we were lovers.’

  Dear heaven, just thinking about what they’d shared sent pain shafting through her body. She’d lived, breathed for the moment she could see him, be with him. Just the sound of his voice on the phone was enough to send her pulse racing and have heat pool deep within. She’d loved him, loved, she cried silently, with all her heart. Her soul. Everything. Only to have it shatter into a thousand pieces.

  ‘That was years ago,’ she managed carefully, hoping her voice didn’t convey her shredding nerves. She wanted to ask why he’d tried to make contact after that fateful day.

  ‘Not so many,’ he reminded. ‘And it feels like yesterday.’

  Don’t, she wanted to protest. Please don’t go there.

  ‘You should eat,’ Chantelle encouraged in a bid to change the conversation.

  ‘Concern for my digestive system?’

  ‘Why not admit we’ve reached a verbal impasse?’ she countered. ‘We oppose each other on every issue regarding my son.’

  ‘Our son,’ he corrected.

  ‘If I hadn’t—’

  ‘Visited your parents? If I hadn’t chosen this particular year to spend the festive season with Andreas?’ His regard was unwavering. ‘Yet we did.’

  ‘And now we have to deal with it?’ As soon as the query left her lips, the knowledge hit that it was she who would have to deal with the changes. Dimitri would insist on playing a part in Samuel’s life, and he was powerful enough to enforce his legal right to do so.

  His eyes never left hers, and she struggled to diminish the impact he had on her senses.

  ‘Perhaps we should take advantage of fate, and redress the day we walked out of each other’s life.’

  A cold fist closed round her heart. ‘Rehashing the past won’t achieve anything.’

  ‘It might, however, give credence to our reactions.’

  She didn’t want to do this. It evoked too many painful memories.

  ‘You’re not curious as to why I tried to contact you after I returned to New York?’

  ‘Guilt?’

  He recalled that day with disturbing clarity, aware it ranked high among those numbered as the worst in his life.

  To Chantelle’s credit, she had no idea, and he took in her expressive features, the slight tilt of her chin, the pain in those beautiful dark eyes.

  ‘An hour before I arrived at your apartment I’d had a call from New York to say my mother was in hospital on life support following an horrific car accident.’ The food on his plate remained untouched. ‘I’d spent time organising a flight, delegating work to colleagues. Leaving was the hardest thing I had to do. There were words I wanted to say,’ he continued. ‘Except I didn’t have the time or the opportunity.’

  Chantelle held a vivid recollection of the phone call she’d received from Daniella, and Dimitri’s appearance soon after. The actress’s allegations had succeeded in filling her mind with doubt and resultant anger. Anger she’d levelled at him within minutes of his arrival at her apartment.

  She recalled his denial, his reassurance…and his anger when she’d refused to accept his word as truth. One thing had led to another, and when he’d said he had to leave, she’d vowed if he walked out the door she wouldn’t allow him back in.

  ‘The food is not to your liking?’

  Chantelle heard the words and registered the waiter’s appearance at their table.

  ‘I’m sure it’s fine,’ Dimitri offered, and brushed aside an offer to bring a fresh serving, qualifying, ‘Thank you. No.’
/>   His mother had been critically injured? He’d had to return immediately to New York?

  The words reverberated inside her brain with alarming confusion. ‘You should have told me,’ she managed quietly, regretful she hadn’t given him the chance.

  ‘She remained in a coma for several weeks. Andreas and I took it in turns to sit with her. In the end we had to accept she had no hope of recovery.’

  She was silent for several long seconds, unable to utter a word. ‘I’m sorry,’ she offered at last. ‘I wish I’d known,’ she said quietly as she attempted to come to grips with the words she’d flung at him in anger…testing his control, and breaking it.

  With devastating result…for both of them.

  ‘Andreas took a long holiday with his sister in Sydney and decided to make the city his base, handing control of the corporation to me.’

  Chantelle closed her eyes, then opened them again. Like a long-unfinished puzzle, some of the missing pieces were falling into place.

  It explained much, yet left an aching void for what might have been.

  To continue sharing his table, his company, was more than she could bear.

  ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to leave.’

  His gaze never left hers. ‘We’re far from finished.’

  Emotion welled up inside, making her feel physically ill. ‘For tonight, we are.’ She stood to her feet and extracted a note from her evening purse.

  ‘Don’t even think about it,’ Dimitri cautioned in chilling warning as he signalled the waiter for the bill.

  ‘There’s no need for you to leave,’ Chantelle protested stiffly.

  ‘Yes, there is.’

  She moved ahead of him, aware he followed close behind her as she crossed the marble-tiled reception lounge to the concierge.

  ‘I’ll ring tomorrow and arrange a suitable time to spend a few hours with Samuel.’

  No. ‘I’m unsure what my parents have planned.’ The words tumbled from her lips in quick succession, and incurred his steady gaze.

  ‘Naturally you’ll accompany him.’

  Oh, God. ‘I don’t think—’

  ‘A few hours, Chantelle.’

  ‘He has a nap in the afternoon,’ she offered in desperation.

  ‘In that case, we’ll organise a morning.’

  The Lexus drew in ahead of Dimitri’s hire car, and Chantelle was unprepared for his actions as he cupped her face and brushed her lips with his own.

  It was a light, almost fleeting touch, but it wreaked havoc with her fragile emotions.

  For a moment she could only look at him, her eyes wide and vulnerable until she successfully masked their expression.

  Her mouth parted, then closed again, and without a further word she turned and slid in behind the wheel, engaged the gear, then she sent the vehicle down the incline to street level.

  It was a scene she replayed again and again as she lay unable to sleep.

  His scent, his touch evoked feelings she thought she’d dealt with.

  Fat chance, she muttered inaudibly as she tossed and turned for the umpteenth time.

  The question was…where did they go from here?

  Where did she want to go?

  A few days ago her life had been secure on a path of her choice. Now confusion reigned, and she didn’t like it at all.

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHANTELLE stood at the kitchen sink and watched Samuel play with Jean-Paul. Her son, even at three and a half, was beginning to show a flair for kicking a ball.

  ‘This morning it appeared you slept badly, and you’ve been troubled all day,’ Anouk ventured gently. ‘Is there something you want to tell me, chérie?’

  Maternal instinct was acute, Chantelle admitted ruefully as she shook excess water from the salad greens she was preparing for their midday meal.

  ‘Your date with Andreas’ son last night did not go well?’

  ‘It was OK.’ Making light of it didn’t fool Anouk, who teased,

  ‘You were home early.’

  Chantelle effected a faint shrug. ‘We ate, talked a little.’

  ‘You will see him again, oui?’

  If only you knew! ‘You share the same social circle as his father. The festive season usually involves a few parties. I imagine it’s inevitable.’

  Anouk placed a baguette into the oven to warm, then she crossed to the refrigerator, removed the cooked chicken and began carving.

  ‘One senses the chemistry. It is almost as if you have met before.’

  There was never going to be a more appropriate moment. ‘Dimitri is Samuel’s father.’ It was done.

  To give her mother credit, she never missed a beat as she continued carving poultry. ‘I wondered as much. So what are you going to do?’

  Ever practical, Chantelle mused. ‘You just took a quantum leap of four years.’

  Her mother began loading slices of chicken onto a serving plate, and paused long enough to shoot Chantelle a telling glance. ‘It was your choice to keep private Samuel’s father’s identity.’

  ‘You never queried my decision. Weren’t you curious?’

  ‘Of course. What mother would not be?’

  ‘And now, you have no questions as to the why and how of it?’

  ‘Chérie, I know you well. You do not gift your body easily. For you to do so, the man has to be special, someone you deeply love. If that were not true, you would not have had his child.’

  Emotion brought a lump to her throat. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘So,’ Anouk reiterated with prosaic gentleness.

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  Chantelle began layering a bowl with lettuce and sweet, succulent tomatoes. ‘He wants to spend time with Samuel,’ she offered slowly.

  ‘Of course. But you are afraid, oui?’

  ‘He wants to share custody.’

  ‘And you do not want this.’

  ‘I don’t want anything to upset or confuse Samuel.’

  ‘And you, chérie?’ She carried the platter to the table, then turned to regard her daughter. ‘What about you, hmm?’

  ‘I feel as if my life is slipping out of control. If only Dimitri’s visit hadn’t coincided with mine!’

  ‘But it has,’ Anouk offered gently. ‘And now you must deal with it as best you can.’

  But what was best? And for whom? Samuel? Herself?

  Sadly they were not the same. Her son would be captivated by Dimitri’s presence in his life. Whereas she was beset by a host of ambivalent emotions.

  Lunch was a convivial meal eaten alfresco on the terrace overlooking the pool. Samuel delighted in displaying his burgeoning vocabulary, both in French and English, and Chantelle had just settled him for his afternoon nap when she heard the distant peal of the phone.

  ‘Dimitri,’ Jean-Paul relayed as he informed the call was for her, and he gave her shoulder a light squeeze as she took the receiver.

  ‘Is this a good time?’ Dimitri’s slightly accented drawl did strange things to her composure, and she resisted the impulse to press a hand to her churning stomach.

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Such enthusiasm,’ he chided with mockery, and she stifled a sigh of frustration.

  ‘What is it you want, Dimitri?’

  ‘If you don’t have plans for tomorrow, I’d like to spend time with Samuel.’

  ‘And if I do?’

  ‘The following day, Chantelle, or the day after that.’

  She didn’t want to do this. Given a choice, she’d prefer Dimitri to fade into the woodwork for the duration of his stay. But that wasn’t going to happen.

  ‘Tomorrow morning will be fine.’ Capitulation was the wisest course, given she couldn’t keep putting it off.

  ‘If you name the place and give me a time, we’ll meet you there.’

  ‘Pack swimming gear. I’ll collect you at nine.’ His voice was firm, and he cut the connection before she had the chance to argue.

  Damn the man! Anger simmered just beneath the sur
face of her control for what remained of the day, disturbing her sleep, and priming her determination to say exactly what she thought of his high-handedness at the first available opportunity.

  Chantelle woke to a day bright with the promise of brilliant sunshine, together with the heat and humidity of a subtropical summer.

  Samuel’s excitement was a tangible thing as she filled a backpack with every conceivable item needed for whatever occasion Dimitri had in mind.

  ‘When are we going?’ and ‘Where are we going?’ tumbled from her son’s lips in five-minute intervals soon after she had relayed the morning’s outing.

  ‘Ah, petit,’ Anouk protested fondly. ‘Soon, mon ange.’

  The faint clunk of a car door closing brought a mixture of relief and trepidation as Chantelle waited for Dimitri to ring the doorbell.

  ‘Maman, Maman, the man is here.’

  ‘Dimitri, sweetheart,’ she corrected as Anouk moved to answer the door, only to reappear less than a minute later with Dimitri at her side.

  Attired in designer jeans, a navy polo shirt and wearing joggers, he resembled the epitome of the businessman bent on leisure. The soft denim hugged his hips, emphasising the muscular length of his legs, and the polo shirt moulded his breadth of shoulder like a second skin.

  Chantelle felt her stomach flip at the sight of him, and deliberately summoned a smile as she greeted him, watching as he solemnly extended his hand to her son.

  ‘Samuel,’ he offered warmly. ‘Nice to see you again.’

  The smile, she accorded silently, was for Samuel’s sake, and she was all too aware of her own restraint. Four years ago she would have almost run to him, lit with the joyful anticipation of his touch, the feel of him as he pulled her close and ravaged her mouth with his own.

  Now she simply caught Samuel’s hand in her own, brushed a kiss to her mother’s cheek, then she collected the backpack and slung the strap over one shoulder.

  ‘Let me take that.’ He reached for the backpack, and their fingers touched for a few seconds.

  Liquid heat sped through her veins, igniting her senses, and she silently cursed her reaction.

  Samuel, who’d been so excited only moments before, now fell silent, seemingly in awe of the man whose company he was going to share for the following few hours.