by Shirley Wine
For one moment she wished that was true. That he genuinely cared, but reality quashed the thought. "And that worried you?"
"Of course it worried me." A dangerous gleam lit his eyes.
"Afraid it would mess up your plans?"
His gaze settled on her face, his absolute stillness exuded menace. "Take care that chip on your shoulder doesn't bury you under its weight."
There was no way she was prepared to touch that comment and with a shrug, moved past him into the living room. Prickles of tension rippled up and down her spine as his footsteps sounded behind her. Even in the larger room, he dwarfed the space. He walked to the window before he turned to face her, hands buried in his trouser pockets. "You've made this cosy."
Veronica's gaze did a swift sweep, thankful the place was tidy, before glancing at her unwelcome visitor. What, she wondered, was he thinking?
The two old fashioned wingback chairs she'd recovered in floral chintz. The textured weave wall paper she'd hung as a holiday project last summer. On the walls were two watercolours she'd fallen in love with at an Albany market. Polished Matai floors were a gleaming contrast to the two plush area rugs.
The furniture, all old pieces she'd bought cheaply and spent hours restoring. The antique credenza she'd rescued from a roadside rubbish collection.
To Veronica, her cottage was more than a home.
It was a place to sink the roots she craved. The roots she'd been denied as a child. And bought with Karvasis money don't forget, blood money.
"It's my home, Leon," she said quietly, refusing to let him intimidate her. "What else did you expect?"
"I recognise your style."
The dry response sent fiery heat flooding up her cheeks. Mortified, she turned away. Once before, in another lifetime, Leon had surveyed a home she'd created. The home she'd made at Jacobs Well. With his brother.
A strong hand gripped her shoulder and turned her to face him. "That wasn't meant as a criticism."
"Wasn't it?"
The flare of remembrance she saw in his eyes added to her discomfort. The tension in the room was palpable.
"I'm not here to rub your nose in past mistakes. I was worried about you."
"Were you?" She raised her eyebrows and lifted her chin.
His intense, searing gaze gave him a decidedly dangerous air. "You are my son's mother, Ricki, whatever that's worth."
The words, delivered with studied emphasis battered the bruise his presence created. "My name is Veronica. Ricki is dead."
The challenge echoed in the sudden silence.
"Is she? Or was she swept under the carpet along with an inconvenient pregnancy and an unwanted child?"
His cutting words sliced through her tenuous calm. "You're a real bastard, Leon" she said through clenched teeth. "What are you implying?"
"When have you ever cared for Jordan's welfare?" Leon's eyes darkened with anger. "I saw you last night, displaying your assets in that bar."
"I was enjoying a night out with friends. Is that illegal?" She lifted her chin, daring him to say otherwise as years of resentment ripped open the festering sore of the past. "Or did you and Julia intend me to wear sackcloth and ashes forever?"
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Ridiculous? It's not me being ridiculous, Leon" she said, her voice deadly and venomous. "And if Jordan was ever a mistake, it was one you and Julia were sure as hell, eager to grasp."
Leon stiffened, and his eyes took on a dangerous glitter. "I find it difficult to second guess your motives, Veronica, but my only concern was Jordan."
The emphasis he put on her name burned like a brand. "You keep telling yourself that Leon. Who knows, one day you may believe it."
His eyes narrowed to gleaming slits as he took a step closer. "What are you implying?"
Long buried bitterness bubbled to the surface, shocking her with its violence. "You and your grasping bitch of a wife pressured me into giving up my baby."
Quick as a striking snake Leon grabbed her shoulders. "How dare you blame Julia for your mistakes? Jordan was a Karvasis, my brother's child. I had a duty to him. It's far too late to pretend you cared."
His blistering scorn stung.
Far from not caring, she'd cared too much. And the loss still haunted her. She stepped closer, seething with anger.
"Not care," she said through gritted teeth. "How dare you say I didn't care? My pregnancy was so damned convenient for you both, wasn't it?"
His lips thinned into a white line, his jaw clamped so tightly his facial muscles quivered. "What was convenient about it?"
"Come off it, Leon!" A bitter laugh escaped as she faced him, brim-full of angry grief. "I was young, an orphan with no family. And boy didn't that work to your advantage?"
He turned and paced to the window and then back. "We never took advantage of you. Why do you think I took you to Claremont?"
She couldn't help it, another rancorous laugh escaped. "You took me to Claremont so you could steal my baby."
Veronica's gaze never left his face. The acrimonious accusation echoed, her breasts rose and fell with the force of years of pent-up emotions.
Leon watched her shaking his head, but never attempted to refute her words.
And her heart broke a little more.
"You were always welcome in our home, to visit and be a part of our family, to watch Jordan grow up."
"Was I?" Her sarcastic laugh brought ruddy colour into his cheeks. "What part of your family, Leon? The spectre at the feast?"
Did he expect me to watch my son grow up calling Julia mother? Or him father?
She rubbed her hands up and down chilled arms, cold despite the sultry summer heat.
Leon lifted a hand and then let it fall. "You would have been treated as family."
"You know something, Leon? For such a successful business man, you're so fucking blind." She shook her head, disbelief vying with sorrow. "Julia never wanted me at Claremont. As for being welcome after Jordan's birth, surely even you can't be that obtuse."
Dull colour surged up his cheeks. He crossed the room on steps jerky with anger, putting a finger under her chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. "Why the hell didn't you say all this ten years ago? Why wait until now, ten years too late?"
Unable to bear his touch, she jerked her head away and his hand fell to his side. "Ten years ago I was seventeen, Leon. A vulnerable girl you and Julia had no hesitation in exploiting."
One huge fist clenched so tightly his knuckled showed white. "We did not exploit you. I ensured you had extensive counselling."
Anger and sorrow swirled in her belly. In the dark garden, a morepork's plaintive cry found its echo in her heart.
"And that achieved exactly what you wanted, Leon," she said in an unforgiving, stricken whisper, "my baby."
He lifted a hand and raked it through his hair. "All this is irrelevant."
"Irrelevant?" The word exploded from her like a bullet ejected from a gun. Veronica wanted nothing more than to rip the eyes from his head.
"It's the past. No one can change the past." He pulled an envelope from a coat pocket. "Here are plane tickets and your appointment at Mercy Clinic."
His arrogance almost left her breathless. Didn't this man never listen? "I pay my own way, or I don't come."
"You'll come. And use these tickets."
It was past time Leon Karvasis realised she was a grown woman capable of making her own decisions. She opened the packet, extracted the appointment card, and handed the rest back. "Thanks, but no thanks."
She watched him struggled with anger, then with an eloquent shrug, slip the packet back into his pocket. "Have it your way."
"I intend to." Her mouth compressed to a taut line.
"You'll come?"
"I never renege on an agreement." A mocking smile curved her lips.
He hissed out a breath. Between them lay his broken promise. You're free to visit Jordan and Claremont, whenever you choose. I will never intrude on your life.
/> With great restraint, she escorted him to the door.
"I'll see you in Melbourne." He caught her hand, lifted it, kissed the upturned palm, curled her fingers over it and disappeared into the night.
Her palm ached and her mind spun. Why such an intimate little gesture?
Closing the door, she snapped off lights, walked to her bedroom, mind spinning. She sank onto the edge of the bed and confronted the nightmare of Leon's return into her life. It was the one thing she'd vowed she'd never let happen.
For one thing hadn't changed.
Leon was a married man.
Chapter Three
Leon's hand shook as he laid down the phone, Jordan's quiet, restrained sobs echoed in his ear. He scrubbed a hand across his face. He hated that he was away from his son's side, hated this awful sensation of powerlessness, but most of all he hated the way Jordan tried to hold in his distress so he didn't upset his father.
"Here mate."
Leon half turned and took the glass of whisky Milas Yeager handed him and downed it in one swallow, welcoming the bite and the warmth in his belly.
"Another one?" Milas lifted the decanter.
"Please." Leon slumped back in the chair, eyes closed.
"How is your boy?" Milas asked as he handed him the refilled glass.
Leon took the drink and this time he sipped it. "Upset and missing me, but his nurse assured me there's been no change in his condition."
"That's good? What time's your flight?"
"Yeah, it's good." Leon glanced at the antique brass and glass carriage clock on the side board. "I'm taking the red eye and have to be at the airport in an hour."
"How did your meeting go with Veronica?" Milas looked at him over the rim of his whisky glass.
"She's promised to come." Leon winced, recalling her expression. "But she's so angry and bitter I'm worried she may change her mind."
"I doubt it, she's a straight arrow." Milas looked at him shaking his head. "Last night is the first time I've ever seen her angry, she's normally so quiet, so reserved."
"Reserved?" A harsh laugh escaped Leon. He shook his head in disbelief. "You could've fooled me. She's one feisty woman, and outspoken."
He stared at his whisky. No way could he reconcile the woman he'd just left with the woman Milas was describing.
When Milas remained silent, Leon glanced up and caught his whimsical smile. "Give you grief did she?"
"Veronica's got one vicious tongue. A far cry from the timid mouse I remember."
"And neither are you dead, my friend."
A rough laugh escaped as Leon shook his head. Since he'd clapped eyes on Veronica in that bar, he was far too aware he wasn't dead and neither was his libido.
~***~
Veronica greeted they grey dawn with something verging on relief.
She'd spent the night alternating between tossing and turning, and dozing off, only to wake in the grip of strange over-the-top dreams. Dreams in which Leon and sex figured far too prominently.
Hot monkey sex. Damn Tania.
She dragged herself out of bed, stumbled into the kitchen and switched on the kettle. While she waited for it to heat, she stared out the window into the garden that was taking on form in the strengthening daylight. She rubbed the heel of her hand against gritty eyes.
But the ache didn't diminish.
The ache for her baby vied with the ache of her unrequited longing for Leon.
Just as the kettle came to the boil, a knock sounded on the front door.
She grimaced. It didn't take a genius to know who'd be knocking on her door at dawn. With a fatalistic sigh, she opened the door to Kathleen. Even this early in the morning, the older woman never had an iron grey hair out of place. A bakery bag dangled from one hand.
"Veronica?"
Suddenly the tears she'd vowed not to shed were streaming down her face.
With a muttered oath, Kathleen shoved the bakery bag on the hall table and swept Veronica into her arms.
She buried her head against Kathleen's sturdy shoulder and sucked in a shuddering breath, her senses filled with the familiar scents of peppermint overlaid with a faint trace of mothballs.
With a superhuman effort she managed to control her tears.
"What did that bastard want?" Kathleen gripped her shoulders and held her away so she could look into her face.
"Don't, please," Veronica whispered as she pulled away rubbing at her eyes. "It's Jordan, he has leukaemia."
"Oh hell." Kathleen gave her a tight hug and then briskly put her to one side. "First things first. You need breakfast." She picked up the bakery bag and strode through to the kitchen. "Good the kettle's hot."
A weak laugh escaped Veronica. Kathleen never changed and in short order tea and croissants were spread on the table in the breakfast nook. Kathleen raided the fridge for Marmite and apricot jam. "Come and have breakfast. Not another word until you've eaten."
The delectable smell of freshly baked croissants made Veronica's stomach grumble. When had she last eaten?
Without a moment's hesitation she sat down and tucked in. When she'd devoured the last morsel of croissant slathered with apricot jam, she looked up at Kathleen. "Thank you, I needed that."
The older woman's lips curved in a faint smile. "That much about you hasn't changed, Ricki. When you're upset you forget to eat."
"It's Veronica."
"Is it?" Kathleen watched her, head on one side. "Give it away, Ricki. Now tell me, all of it."
And that quickly, the oppressive weight of guilt and sorrow threatened to overwhelm her. She fiddled with the spoon on her saucer. "Jordan has leukaemia. Leon wants me to be tested as a possible bone marrow donor."
"I'm sorry to hear that. He wants you to go to Melbourne?"
Veronica nodded and spread her hands in a helpless gesture and Kathleen scowled. "You can easily have those tests done here."
"I know and I've already arranged for the initial blood tests to be done later this morning. They take time and Jordan's condition is critical." She bent her head, hiding her face behind a curtain of blonde hair. "But if I'm compatible, I'll need to travel to Melbourne for further tests and the procedure."
She glanced up at Kathleen, and then wished she hadn't. This woman knew her too well.
"Are you sure that's all it is?" Kathleen leaned across the table and caught her restless hand, holding it tightly.
Startled, she glanced up at the older woman. "What else could it be?"
Kathleen shook her head, her expression resigned. "You've never got over that man, have you?"
"What do you mean?"
"I'm neither in my dotage nor stupid, child." Kathleen expelled an impatient breath. "You fell in love with Leon Karvasis when you were in a very vulnerable situation. The bastard preyed on that then, and he's preying on you now."
Kathleen's harsh words were like a knife slipped between her ribs. Veronica pulled her hand free and pushed away from the table. She walked across to the credenza where she'd laid Jordan's photo.
"Do you expect me to refuse? To not do anything to help my son."
Kathleen's hand gripped her shoulder forcing her to turn and meet her eyes.
"First off, Veronica, Jordan isn't your son. He's not been your son since the moment you relinquished him to Karvasis and his wife." She opened the side door of the credenza to expose the collage of photos hidden there. "Nor is this shrine you've created in any way healthy."
Veronica sucked in a sharp breath, surprised that Kathleen knew where she kept the photos. Her harsh words battered Veronica's already bruised spirit. Why had she not known Kathleen harboured such bitter thoughts?
"Do you expect me to just forget about Jordan? To not go to Melbourne to help him?"
"No, of course not. I'd be disgusted with you if you did refuse to help." Kathleen made an impatient gesture. "But it's not your help or lack of it that's at play here, is it?"
"I don't know what you mean?"
"Don't you?" Kathleen p
aced across to the window and back. "I've watched you pine over that man since Jordan's birth, despite Tania and Cathy trying to drag you back into the dating scene."
Veronica looked at Kathleen with dawning comprehension. "You encouraged them to set me up with dates?"
"I have. It's well past time you started to live again." The older woman gave an inelegant snort. "You exist, day by day. God forbid, you end up like me."
Jaw slack with shock, she stared at Kathleen. Tania's joking words echoed in her head. Watch it, Vic. You've got the cat, the cottage and you're looking thirty in the eye.
"What do you mean?"
Kathleen paced across to the window and back, her steps bordering on aggressive. "I've never told you this, and now I'm thinking that perhaps I should have."
"Told me what?"
"Your mother was my best friend." Kathleen shook her head. "She was very like Tania, with the same spirited, effervescent personality. She lit up a room just by walking through the door."
Veronica sank down into a wingback chair, watching Kathleen intently. The older woman rarely talked to her about her parents. "And?"
"I was the opposite in every way, staid, academic and watched life from the fringes. Philip was my first serious boyfriend."
"Philip? My father?"
Kathleen sank into the chair opposite. "Yes, your father. He was a professor of medicine at Auckland University."
She swallowed hard, her gaze trained on the older woman. "What happened?"
"Hélène was away overseas when I met Philip. He asked me to marry him and I asked Hélène to come home and be my bridesmaid. I so wanted them to meet." Kathleen gave another derisive snort. "My fiancé and my best friend. The morning of my wedding, they eloped. At least they got a message to me before I turned up at the church."
"No!" Veronica moved and knelt in front of Kathleen and gripped her hands. "How could they do that to you?"
"Better before we tied the knot than later. At least that's what my father said."
"So how come I ended up boarding at your school?"
Kathleen lifted a hand and stroked the hair back from Veronica's forehead. "There was the deuce of a scandal. Things were different then. Philip was asked to resign his professorship and your mother persuaded him to join doctors without borders."
