Flora's Defiance

by Lynne Graham

  Clutching a laden bag of keepsakes, she climbed on board a tram and found a seat. The busy streets whirred past while she tried not to think about how different Angelo had seemed once he brought the barriers crashing down by kissing her. So open, so apparently honest. So, you’re really beautiful, are you? an unimpressed little voice jeered in her head and she went pink and laced her fingers defensively together. It would be much wiser just to put all those inappropriate memories in a mental box and put them firmly away, she decided with a hearty sense of relief at having seen that obvious solution to her mental discomfiture.

  How great a risk was there, though, that she might fall pregnant? Flora did the little sums with the menstrual dates that she had refused to share with Angelo and suppressed a troubled sigh of concern, for there was no comfort to be found in those figures. Their accident, if accident it could be called, had occurred squarely in the middle of her most fertile phase. She could only pray that she would not conceive, although even that thought felt strange to a woman already engaged in an application to adopt her baby niece.

  But what were her chances of success on that score? Her reddened mouth curved down. She had embarked on her adoption plans with high hopes, secure in the knowledge that she was Mariska’s only surviving relative and ignorant of the fact that Angelo might also cherish a desire to adopt Willem and Julie’s daughter. And Angelo, she reckoned unhappily, was going to be much stiffer competition in the adoption stakes than she had ever dreamt, because he had been engaged in looking out for Mariska ever since she was born and had already established a record of consistent care where the little girl was concerned. Nobody seemed the least bit worried that he was an unmarried single man, which she supposed was only fair considering that she was an unmarried single woman with only her time as a qualified childminder to back her application.

  Furthermore it would take months for her adoption application to be properly checked out and considered and, in the meantime, Angelo had custody of her niece. Mariska would naturally become more settled in his home and more attached to him. Flora did not think her chances of winning custody of the tot from Angelo were good and the acknowledgement filled her with deep sadness. Unaware of Angelo’s claim previously, she had naively believed that there would be no barrier to her bringing little Mariska straight back home to Charlbury St Helens with her.

  Mariska greeted her aunt with smiles and chuckles and lifted her mood. What remained of the afternoon passed away and Anke suggested that Flora join them for their evening meal and remain until the little girl’s bedtime. Once she realised that she would not be eating with Angelo as well, Flora was grateful for the invitation to extend her stay. They had a light meal in the nursery and Flora had a lot of fun helping to bath her niece and prepare her for bed. At one stage as she towelled Mariska dry and the little girl succumbed to helpless giggles she looked down into her little face and saw her sister’s delicate blonde, blue-eyed prettiness replicated there. For an instant her eyes filled with tears again and as she carefully got her emotions back under control she finally appreciated how terribly tired she was. Once the little girl was tucked up in her cot, Flora put her coat on and headed for the stairs.

  ‘Good evening, Flora. I didn’t realise that you were still in the house,’ Angelo imparted, emerging from a door off the imposing landing and taking her uncomfortably by surprise. Garbed in an elegant dinner jacket, black hair spiky and damp above his lean, darkly handsome face, he looked stunningly handsome and well groomed.

  Hugely disturbed by the unexpected encounter, Flora met his brilliant blue dark-lashed eyes and felt as though she had fallen on an electric fence to be fried. Disquiet ricocheted through her slim length, her cheeks hollowing, her soft full lips compressing with tension. ‘I’m afraid I stayed as long as I could with Mariska because I’m leaving tomorrow, but now I’m absolutely bushed.’

  ‘My driver will take you back to your hotel,’ Angelo cut in smoothly.

  ‘But I don’t need …’

  ‘I insist, Angelo incised without hesitation. ‘You look exhausted.’

  Flora was not best pleased to be told that she looked less than her best. It did not have quite the same flattering ring as the ‘beautiful’ compliment had had, she reflected wryly. Nor did she like Angelo insisting anything in that dominant tone of voice that seemed to come so naturally to him. But as she parted her lips to argue the point, she belatedly realised that they were not alone.

  A platinum-blonde dark-eyed woman in a very smart sleeveless white cocktail frock with a glittering diamond pendant at her throat was standing in the hall and clearly waiting on Angelo. He introduced Flora to the other woman with effortless courtesy, and Flora wondered what it would actually take to embarrass him for as far as she could see he was not even slightly ruffled by the need to make that introduction. Was Bregitta Etten his current girlfriend? When Angelo had slept with Flora earlier that day had he been unfaithful to this other woman? Or was Bregitta merely one of the endless parade of eager females in Angelo’s life whom Julie had scornfully mentioned? Her sister had made it clear that Angelo was an unabashed womaniser who made the most of his freedom and Flora could only wish now that she had paid more heed to the warning and learned to be more cautious around him.

  While Angelo organised Flora’s lift back to the hotel, the very beautiful blonde rested possessive stroking fingers on his arm. Flora discovered that she would very much have liked to slap that hand away from him and was horribly shocked by that instant in which she reacted like a jealous cat who wanted to scratch. Frozen several feet away from the couple, she avoided making eye contact and left the house at speed when a sleek four-wheel-drive car drew up at the front steps and the driver climbed out to open the passenger door.

  ‘I’ll phone you,’ Angelo informed her calmly.

  Flora turned mutinous eyes to his lean strong face and the challenge she saw there, but she was all too conscious of Bregitta’s curious gaze and she forced a casual smile and a nod before climbing into the waiting car …

  CHAPTER FOUR

  FLORA arrived home the following afternoon and barely paused for breath before she headed round to Charlbury St Helens’ veterinary surgery, which also accommodated a small boarding kennels, to pick up her pets.

  Jess Martin, the youngest and newest vet to join the practice, who also lived on the premises, greeted her in the reception area. A small curvaceous brunette, Jess organised Flora’s bill while the nurse went to fetch the animals from the kennels at the back. Skipper, a tiny black and white Jack Russell with more personality than size, raced out, his lead trailing, and hurled his stocky little body frantically at Flora’s legs. Mango the cat, a magnificent black tom of imposing size, was in his box and steadfastly ignoring his mistress. He always sulked when she returned after leaving him.

  ‘All present and correct,’ Jess remarked, and then with a concerned look in her unusually light grey eyes, for she knew why Flora had had to board her pets at such short notice, she added, ‘How are you? How was it over there?’

  Flora grimaced and for a moment in receipt of that sympathetic look she did not trust herself to speak. ‘I managed.’

  ‘And your niece? ‘ Jess asked eagerly. ‘Have you got her out in the car?’

  ‘I’m afraid it’s not going to be that simple. There are quite a few legal formalities to be got through first,’ Flora confided ruefully. ‘And Willem’s brother, Angelo, has custody of Mariska at the minute and he’s applying to adopt her as well …’

  Jess looked surprised. ‘But isn’t he single?’

  ‘So am I,’ Flora pointed out wryly. ‘And he’s had a lot more contact with my niece than I’ve had.’

  ‘But you’d make a terrific mother.’ Jess chose to concentrate on the most positive angle. ‘I’ve been told you were sadly missed locally when you stopped childminding and went into the bed-and-breakfast business instead.’

  Her detached house, which Flora had inherited from the great-aunt she had been named a
fter, was set back well from the road and was sheltered from the pretty village green by mature trees. Tourists loved the village of Charlbury St Helens and Flora’s guest-house business kept her very busy indeed. When her rooms were fully booked she often employed Jess Martin’s mother, Sharon, to help her out. As Skipper raced down the back garden to acquaint himself with all his favourite places and Mango the cat stalked out to settle on the patio to sunbathe, Flora tried not to think about whether or not she was ever going to get the chance to bring Mariska home to England with her.

  And what if you have fallen pregnant? an anxious little voice whispered at the back of her mind and all the worry that she had tried to suppress shot through her taut length like a gunshot piercing tender flesh. It would be ten days at least before she would know either way, so there was no point working herself up into a state over the issue, she told herself firmly. But Flora was still so angry with herself about what had happened in Amsterdam that she was unable to shake free of her inner turmoil.

  Once she had believed that sex should be very much part of love and that it should never be separate from it; that conviction had happily guided her through the five years she had spent dating Peter, whom she had met at university and planned to marry. When Peter had dumped her after the employment tribunal, without ever having slept with her, everything that Flora had once believed in had begun to fall apart. She had wanted to believe that she and Peter were the perfect couple but had learnt the hard way that they were not. Over time, his indisputable lack of sexual interest had battered her self-esteem almost beyond hope of recall and she had switched off as far as men were concerned, too scared of being hurt and humiliated again to take a second chance on finding love.

  But, in many ways, Flora had been scarred almost as much by her own childhood as by Peter, for she had never been able to forget her mother’s heartbreak or her father’s constant self-serving lies and deceptions. Love had almost destroyed her mother, who had suffered several episodes of serious depression before she could finally work up the strength to build a new life without her unfaithful husband. And sadly, Flora recalled wistfully, her loving mother had only lived eighteen short months after embarking on that valiant fresh start.

  Yet her mother had never stopped believing in true love and commitment. So, how, Flora asked herself painfully, could she have contrived to have lost her virginity to Angelo van Zaal? He hadn’t even realised he was her first lover either. She had nothing in common with him. He was a man who had yet to take any woman seriously and he had offered her no promises or reassurances. Yet neither of those very sensible points had mattered once he kissed her. His kisses had burned through her like a forest fire, reducing her long-cherished convictions to ashes.

  She had reached the mature age of twenty-six without realising just how vulnerable she might be with the wrong man. And Angelo was decidedly the wrong man. He was a very wealthy and sophisticated tycoon and at heart he was as cold as ice. But if that was true why was he offering to give Willem’s daughter a home? Mariska was not even related to him by blood, Flora conceded ruefully, torn in opposing directions and disturbed by the bits that didn’t add up in her view of him. To be fair to him he had looked out for the little girl’s interests from birth. Seemingly he had also done his utmost to help Willem and Julie. Evidently Angelo had a strong streak of family loyalty and an active social conscience but neither trait made her feel any more comfortable about having shared the greatest act of intimacy there was with him.

  Four days later, Angelo phoned Flora.

  ‘Why are you calling? ‘ she demanded sharply.

  ‘You’re phoning my house daily but contriving not to speak to me,’ Angelo returned in a mocking reminder.

  Flora went pink because when she rang Amsterdam she always asked to speak to Anke. ‘I didn’t think you’d want to be personally involved in giving me regular bulletins on Mariska.’

  ‘Are you always this prickly with men?’ Angelo drawled silkily.

  ‘I’m not prickly! ‘ Flora snapped, her knuckles showing white as she gripped the phone tight with angry fingers, her stretched-tight control snapping at that fire-raising crack. Even his intonation set her teeth on edge. ‘I assume you’re calling to ask if I have any news yet on the pregnancy front and the answer is, sorry, no. I’ll have a better idea by the end of next week.’

  ‘So, we’re only allowed to talk if there’s bad news?’

  At her end of the phone, Flora pulled a face. ‘You said it—’

  ‘For the benefit of your niece in the future, it would be sensible for us to establish a cordial relationship.’

  Flora stiffened and reddened as if he had slapped her on the wrist for bad behaviour. Her teeth gritted because it was far from being the first time that Angelo van Zaal had managed to make her feel like a disruptive and rude child. Nor did she relish the obvious fact that Angelo remained confident that he would win the adoption competition. ‘You should have thought of that in Amsterdam and kept your hands off me!’ she snapped before she could think better of being that honest with him.

  ‘Pot … kettle … black,’ Angelo pronounced, deadpan.

  And Flora was downright amazed that the violent jolt of rage that rocked her at that ruthless retaliation didn’t send her screaming into orbit. A lengthy silence stretched at her end of the line as she struggled with her temper. ‘I don’t think we have anything more to say to each other right now,’ she breathed shakily, before she set the phone down hastily lest she forget herself entirely and screech back at him like a virago.

  Please, please, please don’t let me be pregnant by him, she prayed in a frantic, feverish surge. Although at least he had been frank enough to admit that such an announcement would be ‘bad news’. Yet that fact ironically only made Flora’s heart sink, for she knew that if she conceived he would be anything but pleased and in even thinking that thought she felt that she was being unfair to him. After all, what rational man or woman wanted to conceive a child outside the bounds of a serious relationship? But, equally, how could she have put herself in the position of waiting to see whether or not she would fall pregnant from a casual sexual encounter? That very acknowledgement drenched her in hot shame.

  Yet she could not possibly explain why her mind should immediately leap from that thought to a stirring recollection of her hands sweeping up over Angelo’s muscular hair-roughened torso. Yes, he had had strong grounds for his retaliation, for she had found it equally impossible to keep her hands off him that afternoon.

  The week that followed was very stressful for Flora. Local education colleges were staging open days and all the accommodation for miles around was filled with parents and would-be students. Flora’s five rooms were fully booked and Sharon came in every day to help with the cleaning and changing of bedding as well as the breakfast rush. Every night Flora fell into bed much too tired to lie awake worrying. But when the end of the week arrived she was suddenly fiercely and anxiously aware that unusually her menstrual cycle was exhibiting definite signs of being disrupted. She wondered if stress could be making her late. The next day, she woke at noon on the decision that, without further ado, she would head for the nearest pharmacy to purchase a pregnancy test. That decided, however, she was barefoot and still in her pyjamas when her doorbell rang in a shrill burst.

  Having assumed it was the lady who delivered the mail, Flora flung open the door with scant ceremony and with a piece of jam-spread toast still clutched in one hand. She was aghast to see Angelo and stared at him much as she might have stared at an alien had he dropped out of the sky onto her doorstep.

  Angelo studied her with narrowed shimmering blue eyes. The faded blue cotton pyjamas and bare feet made her look very young and, taken by surprise, her eyes shone green as precious jade against her rosy complexion.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ Flora questioned in a rush of dismay. ‘Oh, my goodness, Mariska is all right, isn’t she?’

  ‘Mariska is fine,’ Angelo murmured quietly. ‘I�
��m more concerned right now about you.’

  ‘I’m concerned about me too … but you didn’t need to come all the way from the Netherlands to check up on me,’ Flora assured him in a surge of disbelief.

  ‘I was already coming to the UK on business. I had a meeting in London early this morning,’ Angelo responded deflatingly. ‘Are you planning to invite me into your home?’

  Flora hesitated, reluctant to bring him into her private space, much preferring to keep him outside.

  Angelo dealt her a shrewd appraisal and murmured with silken derision, ‘What age are you? Twenty-six years old, or sixteen?’

  ‘Is it my fault that you get on my nerves? I mean, at the very least you might have warned me that you were planning to visit!’ Flora complained heatedly, making no attempt to hide her resentment as she stepped back reluctantly to allow him into the hall.

  A little black and white terrier barked frantically at Angelo from a doorway. He wasn’t accustomed to indoor animals in any of his phenomenally clean and smoothly run homes, so he ignored it. Even though the dog made an attempt to nip at his trouser legs, Flora patted it soothingly and rewarded the little animal with the toast in her hand. While idly wondering if a successful bite that drew blood would have won a second piece of toast and an all-out hug, Angelo frowned until he noted the way her clingy top rose to expose the smooth white skin of her hip and the curve of her bottom when she bent down. He had a sudden startling recollection of her pale slender body spread across that mattress on the houseboat and his big hands clenched in defiance of that image as he fought off the insidious arousal tugging at him.

  ‘Would you like coffee?’ Flora enquired, striving to employ the good manners she had been raised with.

  ‘We haven’t got time for that. You need to get dressed … and quickly,’ Angelo asserted, shrugging back his cuff to check the slim gold watch on his wrist.