The Valtieri Baby

by Caroline Anderson

  She closed her eyes and rested her head back. ‘They aren’t going to understand,’ she said wearily.

  ‘They need to know. It’s not fair that the others know and they don’t.’

  ‘How do the others know? Did Luca tell them?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Luca would never do that. Patient confidentiality and all that. I told them. I hope you don’t mind.’

  She shrugged. ‘It’s your baby, too, Gio.’

  He glanced down, and noticed she was sitting with one hand lying gently on her abdomen, cradling it. She’d be an amazing mother, he thought with a sudden rush of affection, and vowed to do everything in his power to keep her safe. It was beyond him to make her happy. Keeping her safe—them safe—would be enough of a challenge.

  * * *

  Her parents were delighted.

  She was the last of their children to have a baby, and they’d almost given up on her, and so they were thrilled about that, if not about the situation. They were a little shocked because this had come almost out of nowhere, but the fact that they’d spent time alone together wasn’t lost on them; they’d seen them together in that time, and she didn’t think for a moment they’d managed to disguise the intense chemistry between them.

  Not that there was any sign of it now, of course.

  Gio was polite, friendly, solicitous—and driving her gently mad. He also made it abundantly clear to her parents that not getting married was her idea, not his.

  Clever move, but he wasn’t a lawyer for nothing, she thought wryly. Manipulating people’s emotions was all part of the job, and he was highly successful at his job.

  He took her home—well, she drove, but only because he was in the borrowed farm truck and it was a bit basic. But he ushered her out to the car, opened the door, closed it and went round and sat beside her and fastened her seat belt, even though it was only a few hundred yards on private roads.

  ‘How about a nice relaxing bath?’ he suggested, and she nodded.

  ‘I’ll go and run it.’

  ‘No. You eat something. Luca said you need to eat constantly. Little and often.’

  He went to run the bath and came back to find her munching salty potato sticks out of a giant packet.

  He stole a few, put the kettle on and made her a cup of hot water with a slice of lemon and a sliver of fresh ginger—her mother’s suggestion—and then chivvied her into the bathroom.

  She was glad to be chivvied, if she was honest. She was exhausted, and it had been a deeply emotional and stressful day. And it wasn’t over yet. They had the night to get through, and she’d had to put his sheets on to wash again because they’d been left in the machine overnight and she still hadn’t tumble-dried them. Sort of deliberately, because she wanted him to be with her so she could catch him when his guard was down and find out what was really going on, but now she was beginning to regret that.

  A little privacy might have been nice—time to lie and contemplate the enormous change that was coming in her life, not least the inextricable inclusion in it, for the foreseeable future, of Gio Valtieri—but that was never going to happen. Not for weeks, if not months.

  She knew enough about him to know that when he’d made up his mind, it was made up, and he wasn’t going anywhere until he was ready.

  There was a tap on the door.

  ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘OK. I was about to get out.’

  ‘Can I get you anything?’

  Peace?

  ‘No, I’m fine.’

  She heard him walking away, his gait slightly uneven still. It had been better, and she wondered what had happened to make him limp again. She’d noticed it earlier. It was only five weeks since his attack, and he’d healed better than she’d expected, but maybe not as well as she’d thought.

  She climbed out of the bath, got dried and dressed in her snuggly, full-length bath robe, then emerged from her bedroom to find logs burning cheerfully in the fireplace and Gio sitting with his feet up and his laptop on his lap.

  He shut it down as she went in and got to his feet.

  ‘OK?’

  ‘I’m fine. Gio, please, stop fussing. I’m pregnant, not sick.’

  ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t sound sorry, he sounded implacable, as in, ‘I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is, live with it’ sorry.

  ‘Were you working?’

  ‘No. I was looking up the early stages of pregnancy.’

  She shouldn’t have been surprised. This was Gio, after all. He made it his business to be informed on any subject that was relevant to him or his work, and this, the slow and systematic creation of a living being from next to nothing, would be tackled no differently.

  ‘How many weeks are you?’

  ‘I don’t know. Between seven and five, I guess. You go from the first day of the last period.’

  She felt herself colouring—absurdly, since it was a perfectly normal thing and he had to know all about it, but that was fact and this was her, her body, her system, her cycle. And that made it somehow weird, despite the fact that he knew every single inch of her body because he’d spent almost two weeks very recently mapping it in minute detail.

  ‘And that was?’

  ‘I don’t know. Sometime before we were due to go away. I can’t remember exactly. It’s not really relevant, I just get on with it. I know I should have been all right for the holiday.’

  He nodded, and she could see his brain working.

  ‘I just wish I knew how it had happened,’ he said quietly. ‘What went wrong, what we did or didn’t do.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter now, though, does it?’ she answered. ‘The result’s the only thing that really matters. Are there any of those potato chips left?’

  * * *

  They went to bed early.

  She was exhausted, and she fell asleep on the sofa and woke up with her head on his shoulder. Strange, because he hadn’t been sitting there, he’d been in the chair, and yet now he was next to her, his arm around her back, her head cradled comfortably in the hollow of his shoulder as he rested back beside her.

  She stretched and sat up straight, rolling her head on her neck, and he retrieved his arm and stood up.

  ‘Bedtime?’ he murmured, and she nodded sleepily.

  She needed the loo again, and she was hardly able to stay awake. How could anyone miss the signs, she thought, because her body was screaming out to her that something had changed, something was different, and she couldn’t possibly have missed it.

  She fell into bed, and a few moments later he joined her, settling himself down on the far side of the mattress, giving her space. It felt curiously lonely, and she knew she was being perverse but she wished he’d hold her, because she could have done with a hug.

  ‘Did you put the fire guard up?’

  ‘Yes, and I checked the doors were locked. Relax, cara. Go to sleep.’

  He lay there listening to the sound of her breathing. It was slightly uneven, interspersed with the occasional sigh, and he knew she was still awake. Worrying about the future, or about them? The two were now linked, of course, and the thought made him go cold inside.

  What if he let them down? What if he failed Anita, or worse still, failed the tiny and incredibly vulnerable child cradled in her body?

  He couldn’t fail again...

  ‘Gio?’

  He turned his head, and saw her looking at him in the dim light from the hall. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Hold me?’

  Her voice was soft, a little tentative, as if she thought he might reject her, and with a soft exhalation he gathered her close and held her gently in his arms. He wouldn’t fail her. It simply wasn’t an option.

  ‘It’s OK, Anita,’ he said, his voice slightly unsteady. ‘It’s going to be all right. I’ll look after you.’

  He would. She knew he would. She just wondered if he’d ever let her look after him, because someone needed to. The look on his face just now had been harrowing to see.

  Grief
?

  She sensed a deep well of sadness in him. She had no idea what had happened, but something bad enough that he still couldn’t talk about it, and she was horribly afraid that it involved a child.

  He’d never mentioned it until today, but some time after their affair had ended Luca had told her that he didn’t know what was wrong with Gio but that something big must have happened. Something tragic and heartbreaking?

  And now, he was holding her as if she was the most fragile and precious thing in the world, and it made her ache inside. If only he could trust her—trust anyone. But he held himself aloof, and always had.

  Everybody’s friend, and yet nobody, not even his brothers, really knew him.

  She laid her hand on his heart, snuggled her head down closer into the hollow of his shoulder, and let exhaustion claim her.

  And as she slept, Gio kept watch over her, and knew that somehow, somewhere, he’d find the strength to do this, because he had no choice. Because it was Anita? Would he have felt like this about any other woman, or would he simply have made some tidy financial settlement, settled custody and access arrangements and left it at that?

  Maybe, but Anita was different. Anita had always been different, and he’d never been able to keep a sense of perspective about her. And now there were three of them to pay the price because he hadn’t been able to keep a sensible emotional distance between them, but had succumbed, not once, but twice, to the lure of the fairy tale that seemed to dangle in the air just out of reach whenever he was with her.

  Well, it was in reach now. All he had to do was make damn sure that Prince Charming didn’t turn back into a frog.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  SHE had to give him credit where it was due.

  For a man who knew nothing about pregnancy, who claimed that he was useless at relationships and didn’t have any sticking power, he did a very passable impersonation of the ideal partner.

  She woke up that first morning still in his arms, and lay there for a few minutes luxuriating in the warmth and intimacy of a totally platonic embrace. It might not have stayed that way, but for those few moments, while he was still asleep and she was feeling OK, it was wonderful.

  And then the nausea hit, and she leapt from the bed and ran.

  She thought she was going to die, kneeling on the cold stone floor wondering how on earth she had got herself in this mess, and then suddenly, unexpectedly, a warm, strong hand appeared and held her hair out of the way, the other hand lying gently on her shoulder offering silent support.

  She sagged against his legs, and he stood there, soothing her with a rhythmic sweep of his thumb against her shoulder, waiting until everything settled down, and then he handed her a hot, damp flannel to wipe her face, and disappeared.

  She got up and rinsed her mouth and followed him into the kitchen, just in time to be handed a slice of toast smeared with yeast extract.

  How did he know that? How?

  She ate it ravenously, demanded more, and then snatched it from him the moment it was spread.

  ‘Good, eh?’

  ‘Amazing,’ she said with her mouth full. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, that was Lydia. Tea?’

  ‘Mmm,’ she said warily. ‘Maybe. Decaff? Not strong, very little milk?’

  It was perfect. Under normal circumstances she would have thrown it down the sink, but on that day—that day it was just right.

  And so it went on.

  She tried to work, but it was difficult. She made some phone calls to brides, pulled together a few ideas, but she just felt so tired all the time, and when she wasn’t stuffing carbs, she spent a large part of every day napping.

  And every time she woke he was there, tapping away on his laptop, writing up a brief or emailing a colleague.

  ‘I’m going to trash your career,’ she said, but he just smiled.

  ‘I don’t think so. I was due some time off. This is just routine stuff.’

  She nodded, and got up to put the kettle on. He was at her side instantly.

  ‘Hungry?’

  ‘I could eat something. I could always eat something. Pasta? No dairy. Something clean flavoured.’

  ‘Arrabiata?’

  ‘I haven’t got any sauce.’

  ‘Well, isn’t it a good job I got some?’

  She propped herself up against the worktop and watched him slice the vegetables. ‘You know, for someone who’s so rubbish at relationships, you’re pretty good at this domestic stuff,’ she said softly, and he glanced up and met her eyes.

  ‘Just doing my bit,’ he said lightly, but there it was again, that lingering shadow, the ghost of some remembered sadness in the back of his eyes.

  ‘Gio, what’s wrong?’ she asked, catching him by surprise, and he cut himself.

  He swore softly, grabbed a piece of kitchen paper and squashed it firmly on his finger. ‘Nothing. What makes you think anything’s wrong? Apart from the fact that I’ve cut myself. Do you have any plasters?’

  ‘Sure.’ She let it drop and went and found him one, wrapping it firmly round the end of his left index finger. ‘Do you want me to finish cutting that up?’

  ‘No, I’m done,’ he said, scraping it into a pan and setting it on the hob, and he couldn’t have told her any more firmly that the subject was off limits.

  * * *

  He had to go back to Firenze the following day.

  Because she’d pushed him too hard? She didn’t know, but she missed him. He got a lift in with Luca, and was driving himself back when he was finished, but then he called her.

  ‘I’m going to be late home,’ he said. ‘Camilla Ponti wants to see me.’

  ‘What!’ She was stunned. More stunned that he seemed to be considering it. ‘Are you going to see her?’

  She could almost see him shrug. ‘She can’t do me any harm. Apparently she wants to apologise.’

  ‘Or convince you not to prosecute her for assault,’ she said sceptically. There was a long pause.

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t know. Anyway, I won’t be back till much later. I’m sorry. Will you be all right?’

  ‘Of course I will, Gio. I might spend the evening with Massimo and Lydia—get in a bit of baby cuddling for practice. It might remind me what it’s all about when I feel queasy. Light at the end of the tunnel and all that.’

  ‘Sounds like a good idea. I’ll call you when I’m on the way home. You take care, bella. I’ll see you later.’

  He hung up, and she rang Lydia, arranged to go round there and spent the evening cuddling little Leo.

  He was delicious, the most gorgeous baby she’d ever seen, and Lydia was more than happy to talk babies and share her top tips for morning sickness and all the other joys that were to follow.

  Isabelle came up, too, and they spent a wonderful girly evening together while Massimo went down to Luca and babysat his two and left the girls to it.

  But always, in the back of her mind, was Gio.

  He’d said he’d ring when he was leaving, but it was almost ten by the time she went home, and there had still been no word from him, so in the end she rang him.

  It went straight to voicemail, but she didn’t leave a message. What was she supposed to say? ‘Where are you?’ She wasn’t his wife, she didn’t want to be his wife—not under the terms he was offering—and she wasn’t going to behave like one.

  So she went to bed, and she lay there and worried about him anyway.

  * * *

  ‘Signore Valtieri—thank you so much for agreeing to see me. I realise I had no right to ask.’

  He shook her hand and pulled out a chair for her. ‘Signora Ponti. Please, have a seat. I gather you want to apologise?’

  ‘Yes. But I need your help, and I don’t know where else to turn.’

  His help? He stared in shock at the broken, dishevelled woman across the desk from him who sat wringing her hands. He’d expected contrition of some sort, but this was beyond anything he’d imagined, and it just underlined his feel
ings at the time of the attack. She’d been so desperate, so distraught. And she was now.

  ‘I’m not sure how I can be of help to you.’

  ‘I want you to ask Marco to help me. He won’t see me.’

  ‘I’m not surprised. I thought we’d said all there was to say at our meeting. Why you felt you had the right to come after me and assault me, I have no idea. I know you didn’t mean to hurt me that badly, but I could have died because of what you did—why should I listen to what you have to say? And why on earth should I help you?’

  She closed her eyes, and a tear squeezed out from under one lid. An act? Maybe—and maybe not.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him, and he could see the pain in her eyes all the way down to her soul. It shocked him. This wasn’t acting, this was a woman on the edge of a precipice.

  ‘I can never apologise enough for what I did to you,’ she said softly, her voice shaking. ‘I’m not even sure what I did do. I don’t remember hitting you. It was like a red mist came down over me, and I just wanted to lash out at you for what you’d done to me.’

  ‘I did nothing to you. You had no case, I demolished it. It was obvious what was going to happen.’

  ‘No. There was nothing obvious about it, not to me. The only obvious thing was that I had to try. Signore Valtieri, do you have a child?’

  He went still, motionless, but beneath his ribs his heart was pounding. ‘No,’ he said, knowing it was only part of the truth yet not willing to share his private pain with this woman.

  ‘Then you won’t understand what it’s like to love your child so much that you’d do anything for him, even lie and cheat and steal, just to keep him safe.’

  She opened her hand, and flattened out the photograph that was clutched in it. She laid it on his desk and pushed it towards him.

  ‘This is my son.’

  * * *

  She slept fitfully, unable to relax completely until he was home, and then finally, at nearly one in the morning, he let himself in.

  He didn’t come to her room. She lay there for a while, listening and waiting, and then finally, unable to rest without knowing if he was all right, she got out of bed, pulled on her robe and went to find him.