Happy Mother's Day!

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘I’ll get you another coffee,’ the nurse offered, before scribbling something on the chart and leaving the room.

  Francesco got up and began to pace the room, his expression distracted. Despite the constant reassurances from the medical staff that the operation had been a total success he would not, could not relax until Erin woke up. Until he heard her voice.

  ‘Though when you do wake up,’ he said, dropping heavily back into the chair that was drawn up to the bed, ‘you will probably tell me you hate me.’ He rested his chin on his steepled fingers and shook his head. ‘And I wouldn’t blame you. First Rafe and now you. A man should cherish those who are most precious to him. But no, I had to prove a point, make you choose me. Dio, but I am a total selfish bastard! I promise you that when you are well I will … if anything ever happened to you.’ He picked up the small hand that lay against the sheet and lifted it to his lips. ‘I swear I will never let anything hurt you again.’

  ‘Mr Romanelli …’

  He started at the sound of the nurse’s voice and, first laying Erin’s hand gently back down onto the bed, turned his head.

  ‘I’ll leave the coffee here, shall I?’ she said, placing the cup on the bedside table.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said, turning back to Erin and covering her small hand with his. The wave of emotion he felt as he looked at her was like a physical pain.

  ‘I can’t lose you.’

  ‘I’m not lost.’

  ‘Erin?’ Relief flooded through him as she opened her eyes and looked up at him.

  ‘Hello, cara,’ he said thickly.

  ‘Francesco?’

  Her blurry vision cleared and Erin found herself looking into his unmistakable features. His face, his fallen dark angel face, looked drawn and almost haggard, he hadn’t shaved and there were deep lines bracketing his mouth that she couldn’t recall seeing before.

  ‘We got married, didn’t we? That was so stupid.’ She closed her eyes and did not see the spasm of pain that contorted his lean features. ‘You make a much better lover than I make a wife. Did something happen?’

  Francesco swallowed, seeing in his head her fall down those steps. ‘Yes, cara, you fell.’

  ‘I’ve got a sore throat, too. Fall? I don’t remember,’ she complained crankily.

  ‘That doesn’t matter now; you sleep.’ He reached for the buzzer to summon a nurse. Where was the damned woman?

  She sighed as she felt his cool fingers on her forehead. She smiled sleepily. ‘That’s nice. I had a dream someone was stroking my head. It was nice; was it you?’

  ‘Go to sleep.’

  ‘Will you be here when I wake up?’ ‘I’m not going anywhere.’

  She smiled, expelled a deep sigh and almost immediately fell asleep.

  ‘When can I go home?’

  ‘I’m beginning to get the impression you don’t like us,’ teased the doctor who had just declared the puncture wounds on her abdomen, the only external sign of the emergency surgery she had undergone, were fine.

  ‘You’ve only been with us forty-eight hours.’

  ‘It feels like longer.’

  The doctor laughed. ‘We just need to monitor the baby overnight. I don’t foresee any problem there … tough little beggar, that one,’ he said, peering at the heartbeat tracery in his hand. ‘As for you, young lady …’

  ‘I feel fine,’ she said.

  ‘No need to look so worried—that was my diagnosis, too.’ After scribbling something on her chart the doctor left, two nurses in tow, and she settled down to read one of the magazines from the stack on the bedside locker.

  She was unable to concentrate, and her eyes drifted around the private room, which still resembled a florists’ shop even after she had sent a pile of flowers to the oncology ward. A frown of discontent furrowed her brow and pulled down the corners of her mouth as she heard the sound of voices in the corridor outside.

  Being in this room resembled being stranded on a desert island, albeit a desert island with room service. The fact you could hear the rest of the world getting on with its collective life made the sense of isolation all the more intense.

  It wasn’t that she wasn’t grateful, but she was dying of boredom.

  When she had said as much that morning Francesco had responded with a very unsympathetic and pretty brutal, ‘Well, that is preferable to being dead!’

  He made it sound as if she didn’t know how lucky she was, which she did. But a person couldn’t go on getting misty about being alive. They had to get on with living! Though she sensed she might have a fight on her hands on that score, Francesco was showing some dangerous signs of wrapping her in cotton wool.

  That first night it had been around four in the morning when she had come to properly. She had some dim recollection of wakening earlier but the memory was confused and tangled up in her dreams.

  She could remember the relief that had swept over her when she had opened her eyes and seen him.

  Her first thought had been for the baby and even before she had asked the question uppermost in her thoughts Francesco had told her what she had needed to know.

  ‘The baby is fine and so,’ he added, smoothing the hair from her brow, ‘are you. Shall I call the nurse? Do you have pain?’

  She lifted a hand that had a drip attached to it to her forehead. ‘I’m not sure. I feel a bit … spaced.’

  ‘That is probably the injection they gave you a while back.’

  ‘Have you been here all the time?’ How long that was she had no idea. ‘Injection?’ She struggled to think past the cotton wool her brain appeared to be stuffed with. ‘Should they be giving me drugs with the baby … are you sure he’s all right?’ she croaked, trying to raise herself up.

  ‘I am positive the baby is fine. Listen, there,’ he said, pressing a finger to his lips to urge her to silence. ‘You hear it?’

  ‘That’s the baby’s heartbeat?’

  He nodded.

  She gulped as hot, emotional tears filled her eyes. ‘That is so incredible.’

  ‘It is, and they would not give you medication that would harm the baby.

  Erin sighed and let the tension leave her body. ‘I’d never have forgiven myself if.’ She stopped and closed her eyes with a groan.

  ‘It wasn’t your fault.’

  She turned her head on the pillow and looked at him.

  His appearance had shocked her. With his normally sleek hair standing up in spiky tufts and his skin tinged an unhealthy grey, he looked a million miles from his sleek, perfectly groomed normal self.

  She closed her eyes, temporarily drained of the energy required to keep them open. She had no idea how long she dozed, drifting in and out of sleep, but it was some time and several blood-pressure checks later that she came to fully.

  Francesco was still there. He was even in her dreams.

  ‘You do know you look shocking?’

  ‘You don’t look too hot yourself.’

  ‘I have an excuse—I’ve just had surgery,’ she teased.

  ‘And I’ve just spent hours wondering if my wife and child will live.’ The words he had obviously struggled to contain emerged from between clenched teeth.

  ‘Don’t you think it might be an idea for you to go home, get some sleep?’

  ‘Perhaps,’ he conceded. ‘Is there anything I can get you before I go?’

  ‘My mouth is so dry—do you suppose that I could have something to drink?’

  ‘I don’t know, but I’ll ask.’ ‘When can I go home?’ ‘It is as I suspected …’

  ‘What is?’

  ‘You’re going to be an awkward patient, the demanding sort that nurses avoid.’

  He did go, but returned looking much more like himself a few hours later.

  Of course, she had not made the mistake of imagining that she was the draw that brought him back again and again.

  It was the baby.

  Several of the nurses had remarked on his devotion, and his smouldering Latin looks had com
e into the conversation on more than one occasion! Though most were too tactful to lust after him in front of her, Erin was pretty sure her husband had caused more than a few hearts to flutter in the hospital corridors.

  One young student who was particularly smitten somehow always found a reason to be in her room when Francesco happened to be there. That morning when she had been taking Erin’s temperature she had wondered why Erin did not have a picture of her husband by her bed.

  ‘But I suppose you’re not likely to forget what he looks like, are you? He’s always here.’ The wistful envy in her voice made Erin smile.

  ‘I bet he’ll make a great dad. Italian men are good with children, aren’t they?’

  An image of Francesco sprawled on a rug playing with little Gianni popped into her head. ‘Some are,’ she agreed, wondering how this young girl would react if she told her that her marriage, far from being what it looked from the outside, was nothing but a sham!

  The only reason Francesco had come back was because he had found out about the baby. And there was no question in her mind that if it hadn’t been for her pregnancy he wouldn’t be refusing to consider a divorce.

  He had been experiencing the emotional backlash of his twin’s death when they had met, which totally explained the entire mad, reckless rush into marriage with someone he barely knew. If she hadn’t left when she had he would most likely have woken up one morning and thought, What the hell have I done? And then things would have taken their natural course.

  She had tried the previous evening to tell him that he could have his freedom. He had stared at her in a particularly daunting manner while she had outlined her, admittedly pretty sketchy, plan of moving to Italy so that he could have easier access to his child.

  He didn’t seem grateful for the concession she was willing to make. Neither had he held back when he had expressed his blighting opinion of her plan!

  ‘No, I do not think it is a good idea. I think it is a ridiculous idea. I’m sorry, Erin, if you find the thought of living as my wife so distasteful, but I suggest you put these wild and impractical notions from your mind. You will be living with me as my wife; we will be a family.’ He effectively silenced further protests by adding, ‘This is something you will do because I know that you have the best interests of our child at heart.’

  If all else failed, use emotional blackmail—and why not? she thought bleakly. It had worked.

  It was obvious to Erin that once she went back to Italy with him Francesco would resist using every resource, which in his case were pretty much limitless, any attempt she made to remove their child from the country. And the thing was she loved him and wanted to be with him so much that part of her just wanted to go with the flow and stop resisting even though she knew that he didn’t love her.

  And that being the case there was every chance that one day he would fall in love with someone else.

  She spent most of the afternoon wondering if she was being totally insane for returning to Italy with him. Finally with a spinning head she picked up a book, in the vain hope of distracting herself from thoughts of her personal life.

  It was around four and she was staring blankly at the same page she had been for the past ten minutes when there was a tentative knock on the door.

  The man who walked in was a little above medium height. He had a beard, slightly receding hair and wore glasses.

  She had never seen him before.

  ‘Mrs Romanelli …’ He approached the bed beaming with his hand outstretched.

  A bemused Erin gave him her hand. ‘I’m sorry. I don’t—?’

  ‘Stupid of me, I should have introduced myself. Peter Heyer.’

  Clearly he expected it to mean something to her. Erin shook her head. ‘I’m sorry, I—’

  ‘Sorry, I assumed that Francesco would have explained things to you.’

  ‘Are you a lawyer?’

  He looked startled by the suggestion and a little offended. ‘No, Mrs Romanelli, I own the Heyer Gallery—London, New York and Barcelona …’

  ‘I’ve heard of that.’

  ‘You know, then, about our upcoming exhibition?’ ‘Not really.’

  ‘I’m getting the feeling that you don’t know that your husband brought your portfolio to us.’

  Erin responded with a noncommittal smile. It was news to her that she had a … what had he said? Portfolio?

  ‘Well, obviously normally we do not consider work by someone who just walks in through the door, but your husband, he …’

  ‘Doesn’t take no for an answer?’

  ‘Forceful.’

  More a force of nature, Erin thought, wondering what Francesco had done to make this man look as though he were recalling a fight with a grizzly with toothache.

  ‘Your husband is also a very difficult man to negotiate with—I’d say you are very lucky to have him as your agent.’

  I have an agent?

  ‘He’s one of a kind,’ she agreed cautiously.

  ‘Mr Romanelli mentioned you were here and I was passing so I just dropped by to tell you how excited we are by your work. Really excited! That’s all I wanted to say. I hope you feel better soon.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  It was two hours later when Francesco arrived. Two hours during which Erin had totally failed to unravel the riddle of the man with the beard.

  ‘I hear they are releasing you in the morning.’

  ‘Finally. I had a visitor this afternoon. A Peter Heyer.’

  In the act of shrugging off his jacket, Francesco paused.

  ‘He is very excited, apparently.’

  ‘He is, it seemed to me, quite an excitable sort of man.’

  ‘I didn’t have the faintest idea what he was talking about. I have an agent … a portfolio …?’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Do you mind telling me what is going on?’

  ‘When I was at your studio—’

  Erin, her eyes wide with amazement, cut across him. ‘You were at my studio. Why would you be?’

  ‘I was getting some things you asked for from your flat when I came across this very nice lady. She wanted the photos you did of her daughter’s wedding. She was, incidentally, most pleased with the results.

  ‘While I was there I came across some of your work … not the photographs which people pay you to take, not that they are not very competent.’

  Erin knew he was talking about the boxes stacked from floor to ceiling in a cupboard.

  ‘They’re just for me. I’ve been snapping things since I was in my teens. I know it’s digital age and everything, but I—’

  ‘It is a criminal waste to hide away such works of art in a cupboard,’ he reproached her. ‘They are quite remarkable, Erin.’

  ‘You think so?’ His admiration gave her a warm feeling.

  ‘I do and I am not the only one. I was aware that Heyers have an upcoming exhibition at the end of the year showcasing new female talent right across the art spectrum. I took a selection of your work.’

  ‘I would never have had the guts to do that.’

  ‘I would never have had the talent to compose a picture that sets it apart. That makes it the one that people look at in a room of twenty others. And please resist the temptation to say something self-deprecating and humble,’ he continued. ‘You are good and it isn’t just my opinion. You heard what the man said … they are very excited. They clearly think that you are going to be the star of the show.’

  Erin regarded him with a shaken fascination. ‘You really did that? For me?’ She couldn’t recall another time in her life when anyone had shown such faith in her ability, or for that matter as much interest!

  At home her habit of walking around with a camera slung around her neck had been considered mildly eccentric. Her decision to make it her living had not gone down well at all. Her parents had not given up hope she would one day get a proper job.

  One more suited to a woman.

  ‘All I did was show it to the right people.’ He dismissed h
is contribution with a shrug. ‘Your work deserves to be seen,’ he said as he walked over to the chessboard that had been set out on a table.

  ‘And don’t forget as agent I get ten per cent of everything you make so it is in my best interests to make sure you become a success.’

  ‘You really think people will buy my pictures?’ The idea still seemed vaguely surreal to Erin.

  ‘In their hordes, I shouldn’t wonder.’ He paused. ‘I was speaking to your doctor earlier …’

  Her hand went to her stomach. ‘What about? There’s nothing wrong, is there?’

  ‘Quite the opposite. He’s extremely pleased with your progress and he sees no reason for us to delay our flight to Italy. We could go directly there tomorrow after they discharge you.’

  She swallowed. ‘I didn’t expect that,’ she admitted. ‘Well, the alternative would seem to be for you to stay with your mother and I somehow can’t see her in the role of nurse.’ ‘I don’t need a nurse.’

  ‘No, but you need someone who will restrain your impulses to overexert yourself. I was thinking when we interview for the nanny maybe it would be an idea to make some enquiries about a maternity nurse at the same time. I understand that they move in for the last weeks of the pregnancy, as well, obviously, as afterwards.’

  ‘Will she have the baby for me, too?’

  Baffled by the sarcasm in her voice and the annoyance in the eyes raised to his, Francesco shook his head. ‘Is there a problem?’

  ‘When did I say I wanted a nanny?’

  ‘Well, obviously I assumed—’

  She lifted her chin. ‘Well, you assumed wrong. I don’t want a nanny and as for a maternity nurse—it’s a stupid idea.’ ‘You’re being totally irrational.’

  ‘If you even whisper the word hormone I’ll strangle you,’ she promised. ‘There is nothing irrational about not wanting to farm your kid off to someone else.’

  ‘A nanny isn’t there to replace you, she’s there to free up your time so that you can do other things.’

  ‘What—like pander to your needs? Millions of other women cope without a nanny and so will I.’

  ‘What if you’re too exhausted by being awake nights to enjoy your baby?’ He read the total intransigence in her face and threw up his hands in a very Latin gesture of exasperation. ‘You’ll change your mind in the end.’