by Sara Wood
‘Poor girl. That dreadful scar’s ruined her looks. It’ll never fade. She’ll be appalled when she comes to.’
Anna felt pity for the scarred girl wash through her fuddled brain. And after a moment she managed to open her eyes. A nurse was checking her pulse. She frowned and painfully muttered, ‘What…?’
‘Oh, you’re awake!’ the Irish voice said, pleased. ‘Hello, Anna. You’ve been in an accident,’ she explained. Seeing Anna’s frown and wince of pain, she hurried on. ‘A joyrider lost control of his car and it hit you then burst into flames. He ran away and a passing motorist found you later—’
‘No!’ She winced with pain but her mind was on the voice that had woken her, and the words of sympathy that had been spoken.
A dreadful scar that would never fade.
Her hand went to her face, which was swathed in bandages. She knew then that the nurse had been talking about her.
‘I want a mirror!’ she whispered and although the nurse tried to soothe her she kept insisting until one was brought.
‘What’s it like under there?’ she croaked.
‘Sure, it’s a bit raw now—’
Impatiently she quizzed the consultant who’d come hurrying up. She needed to know the cold, unvarnished truth. Time would tell, apparently. They could do miracles with plastic surgery, he said cheerfully. But in his eyes she could see profound pity. Reading between the lines, she knew that the nurse was probably right.
‘Any relative we can contact for you?’ the consultant asked. ‘Friend?’
‘No. Nobody.’
She felt suddenly afraid. If the burns had badly disfigured her, then she would walk out of Vido’s life. He had been attracted to her because he thought she was beautiful. But if she was disfigured then he wouldn’t want to make love to her again. Her mouth tightened. The last thing she wanted was for him to stay with her out of misguided pity.
Months had passed since he’d last seen Anna. Dispiritedly he trudged into the pub. It was crowded even though it was a weekday lunchtime in October. A sign of good food. His heart leapt—but it had done so many times and he’d had to face disappointment over and over again.
Tense and sick with nerves, he eased through the crowd and nudged himself a place at the bar. It wasn’t much as pubs went; one of many sixteenth-century staging posts that littered the Warwickshire countryside around Stratford. But it had suddenly acquired a reputation for home cooking. And Italian dishes. His hands shook and he pressed them hard into the bar counter.
‘Guinness, please,’ he ordered croakily. ‘And a menu.’
‘On the blackboard, sir,’ the harassed barmaid said with a smile.
He looked around for it, his heart thumping. ‘Please let this be the place,’ he muttered under his breath.
A blackboard menu meant that dishes were changed frequently, depending on fresh produce available. Promising. He gulped, hardly daring to look.
As he threaded his way through the throng, he imagined he could smell some of his favourites. But he could be deluding himself. He’d been looking for Anna for months and in almost every eating house he’d visited he’d thought this is the one.
Her cottage had been sold. The estate agent had refused to give her forwarding address. Why she’d gone, he didn’t know, except that she’d been distraught about her grandfather’s death. And of course there had been that letter.
He thought of the old man’s confession that he’d found discarded on the floor and wished again that he’d been there when she’d read it so that he could have comforted her. She must have been hurt beyond belief to discover that her grandfather had lied so blatantly, and implicated her.
For his part, he had been overwhelmed with relief to discover that she’d had no part in planting the money. And he cursed the old man soundly for ruining their lives.
Initially he’d respected her wish to be alone. But the days had turned to weeks and he’d begun to worry. Ignoring her plea for solitude and missing her badly, he’d felt compelled to search for her.
The blackboard loomed in front of him. He was shaking. He put down his glass on a nearby table before it slopped all over his clothes—clothes that fitted loosely now he’d lost so much weight. But he didn’t care about his appearance any more.
His stomach churned as he lifted his gaze and scanned the first item. Nothing special. Nor the next. A feeling of intense misery swelled inside him because he had really hoped…
He froze. Minestrone alla toscana. Spaghetti al sugo. Spezzatino. Swaying, he clutched at the table, tears in his eyes. It must be.
Dazed, he hurried to the bar and put in an order. Just the chestnut cake. Waited, his nerves at screaming pitch. Took one mouthful and knew.
On shaky legs, he went outside to sit under the canopy of a huge oak tree. He watched people come and go. Sat there, trembling, waiting, till it was late. And at last she came out of a side door, dressed in a bulky coat, her hair hiding her face as she trudged along the lane to the left of the pub with her head down.
Life powered into him, and he covered the distance between them in swift seconds.
‘Anna!’ he breathed, inches behind her, his heart thumping fit to burst.
She gasped but didn’t turn around. For a moment she froze. ‘Go away!’ she cried, almost hysterical. And then she hurried on in an odd half-run, half-lope.
So she didn’t want to see him. But he had to know why. Since she wasn’t running properly, he easily caught her up and put his hands on her shoulders to stop her.
Immediately she wrenched away. ‘Leave me alone!’ she wailed.
He tried to turn her around but she kept twisting free, almost desperate in her panic.
‘What is it?’ he asked, perplexed. ‘Anna, you must talk to me.’ He tried again to make her face him but she screeched at him and his hands fell away.
‘No! Go away!’ she yelled.
But then he tried again and succeeded finally in turning her to him. Grimly he held on to her arms, determined not to let her go. Her head hung low so that he couldn’t see her face. Hurting, aching, he stared at the top of her head in bewilderment.
‘I just want to know you’re all right. Why you haven’t come back—’
‘Go,’ she muttered. ‘It’s over. Nothing more to be said.’
‘I won’t accept that,’ he said quietly.
‘You must.’
‘No, I disagree. You owe me an explanation. I want to know what I’ve done wrong—’
‘Nothing,’ she whispered. ‘It’s not you. Let me go.’
‘Where to?’ he demanded.
‘I have rented a room. Somewhere.’
His confused mind came up with reasons for her disappearance. She didn’t love him. That was it. She’d had enough. The death of her grandfather had given her an excuse to leave. She had another lover…
‘Anna!’ he cried in anguish. ‘I’ll never rest till you tell me. I have a right to know why you left!’
‘To think!’
‘Sure. I understand. I read your grandfather’s letter. But why stay away?’
She shuddered. ‘Why?’ she whispered in a terrible, cracked voice. ‘You’d better see.’
Her head whipped up. The hair fell back like curtains parting. And he gasped with shock, the horror widening his eyes when he saw the raw skin and the unmistakable scars of a dreadful burn on one side of her face. He stared, paralysed, not even breathing.
‘Now you know why it’s over. I’m ugly. Undesirable. Again,’ she muttered bitterly and pulled away, hurrying on in that odd little loping run.
She’d been right to keep away from him. Vido couldn’t be blamed. No one would want to look at someone who was disfigured.
‘Anna!’
She cried out as she was virtually whirled around, almost losing her balance. Terrified she’d fall, she clutched at him and found herself imprisoned as his hands clamped on her arms.
‘Why won’t you go?’ she moaned. ‘You’re disgusted by me. I sa
w you look at me like that all those years ago. You winced then as you winced now. I knew…’ She stopped, incapable of continuing.
Once she had believed that he had wanted her as a meal ticket. Whereas he’d just thought she was unbearably ugly. She frowned. That didn’t make sense. Her grandfather had been convinced that Vido had really loved her…
‘Just a minute.’ Frowning hard, Vido seemed to be searching his memory. ‘You said I winced?’
‘When we had our quarrel,’ she muttered.
‘Oh, yes. I remember that only too well. It was because I was appalled by your low opinion of me. I was hurt. It was like a stab in the heart. You said that you didn’t want to see me again.’
‘I—I thought you found me hideous!’ she croaked.
‘No. Because you’d ruined my hopes. I had such plans for us,’ he said passionately. ‘I loved you. And you were so cold and cruel. I couldn’t believe some of the things you were saying. That’s why I flinched.’
‘I was hurting,’ she explained shakily. ‘I pretended I didn’t care about what you’d done—what I thought you’d done—because I needed to keep a tiny shred of pride if I wasn’t to break apart. I had to show I didn’t give a damn. But I did,’ she confessed, wanting to get everything off her chest. ‘I adored you. That’s why it had pained me so much to hear those awful things everyone was saying about you and all those women.’
His brows met in a hard golden line. ‘They weren’t true.’
‘I know,’ she breathed. ‘None of it was. But you can’t deny that you find me ugly now.’
‘Can’t I? I can see beyond that.’ He reached out to touch her face but she pulled back, her eyes disbelieving. ‘Anna, it was a normal reaction for me to draw back in shock when I saw your poor face. Of course I would. I felt pain for you. I hate to see you hurt. I want to wrap you up in cotton wool and tuck you away so you’re never harmed again,’ he said with a smile.
‘Why?’ she asked, blinking in confusion.
‘Obvious.’ He tilted up her chin and kissed her mouth. ‘Because I love you.’
She winced. ‘You can’t—’
‘Don’t you tell me what I can and can’t do!’ he said in amusement.
She glared. ‘I don’t want your pity!’
‘You’re not getting it. Your face will heal in time. Even if it didn’t, I wouldn’t care. Anna, you’ve got to take pity on me.’
Her eyes widened and she gazed at him in bewilderment. ‘On you?’
‘Yes,’ he said, his face unbearably tender. ‘I have searched everywhere for you. Every restaurant and café and hotel for miles around. I’ve eaten meals in dire places, hoping to identify your cooking. And then, today…’ He broke off, his voice choking. A thin film of moisture softened the darkness of his eyes. ‘Today I tasted your chestnut cake and I knew I’d found you.’ His arms came around her. ‘You have no idea how happy I felt. And, you know what, Anna?’ he murmured.
She was mesmerised by his gaze. ‘No. What?’ she whispered.
‘I was so crazy with excitement I didn’t know what to do with myself. I sat outside, waiting for you to finish work. Every time someone emerged from the pub my spirits rose and my heartbeat shot up so far that I’m surprised I’m not on a stretcher on my way to Intensive Care. So take pity on me. Come back.’
Her eyes were huge grey pools. ‘I can’t!’
‘I don’t see why.’ He touched her face gently. ‘First, tell me what happened, mia adorata?’
She trembled, weakening. ‘It was an accident. A joyrider. I was walking along a country lane, thinking. They believe the driver lost control of the car and it hit me then burst into flames. He must have run away. A passing motorist found me.’
‘But why didn’t you contact me?’
‘Isn’t that obvious?’
‘Because you think you’re ugly?’ he reproached.
‘I don’t think. I am. I didn’t want you to remember me like this. Or to feel you had to be nice to me. So I told them at the hospital that I had no relatives. No friends. I instructed an agent to sell the cottage and when I came out of hospital I planned to use the money for private treatment.’
His fingers lightly touched the livid scar. ‘Does it hurt?’ he asked with gentle concern.
‘Sometimes it itches.’
‘I love you.’
‘No. You’re being noble now.’
There was no mileage in this. She turned her head away but he forced her to look at him.
‘Anna, this isn’t some spur-of-the-moment madness. Or even pity. I loved you when we were teenagers.’ He sighed. ‘I know I was only eighteen, but I had hoped to gain your trust and ask you to marry me when I was able to look after you.’
‘But…my nose—’ she quavered.
‘I said. I loved you. The woman. The complicated, funny, tender, sensitive, sweet person that you are. As I have come to love you now. Just think of the things that drove us apart. Like…the harem I was keeping, my eagerness to marry an heiress, your wild accusations and your malice in making me out to be a thief. None of those things are true. We both realise that now. You know we were meant for one another, right from the beginning.’
Her eyes closed. ‘Oh, dear heaven!’ she whispered. She looked at him, her eyes frantic, and she staggered a little. ‘I—I need to sit down—’
‘Come with me.’
He put his arm around her shaking shoulders, noticing how frail she was and how defensive. She was hugging her coat about her as if she wanted to stay isolated and alone. But he wouldn’t allow that.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked weakly as they reached the car.
‘Home. Stanford House.’
She was silent, her fingers twisting in her lap nervously. He pushed in a CD and the soothing sound of Mozart filled the car.
‘You’re very thin,’ she said in a small voice.
‘Worry.’ He pushed his hand through his hair. ‘I’ve been out of my mind. And when I found your grandfather’s letter and I knew that you’d had no part in the accusation of theft against me, I felt a huge sense of guilt that I’d ever believed the evil old man.’
‘He always liked to get his own way,’ she mumbled. ‘And I think he knew he’d met his match in you because you stood up to him.’
‘But why was he unkind to you?’ he probed angrily.
‘Poor Grandpa,’ she mused. ‘He loved my father very much. I think he half blamed me for father’s death. My parents had gone away on holiday, you see. I was just ten months old. But they missed me dreadfully and Father drove from Scotland right through the night. Tiredness made him misjudge a corner and he and Mother were killed outright. Grandpa couldn’t look at me without seeing my father’s broken body on the mortuary slab. I know it was unfair of him to dislike me but all his hopes and dreams had been smashed to smithereens by that car crash. He’d looked forward to my father taking over the factory after him and often told me that.’
‘Tactless old man!’ Vido muttered.
‘Yes. But he couldn’t help himself. He was wrapped up in his misery. I don’t think he ever recovered from his grief and he was a very bitter and unhappy man. I felt sorry for him and wished I could have taken my father’s place.’
‘You’re very generous in accepting his treatment of you,’ Vido muttered.
She gave a faint smile. ‘I understand how love and passion can distort things. They make you irrational. It’s like being on drugs.’
Vido’s mouth compressed and he didn’t comment. She leaned her head back, feeling utterly wiped out. When they arrived at the house, he took her into the drawing room, sat her down and brought her a brandy.
‘No, thanks.’
Looking tousled and distracted, he drank it. And she drank him in, loving the familiar face, anxious at how sharp his cheekbones had become. He said he loved her. Could that really be true? The very thought made her dizzy.
‘I think,’ he said, sitting on the sofa beside her and taking her hands in his, ‘you w
ere ready to believe those bad things about me because all your life you’d been told you were ugly. Your self-esteem was too low for you to believe that I liked you, let alone might care deeply about you.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said fervently. ‘But everything I was told seemed to make perfect sense. You were popular and devastatingly handsome. It was beyond belief that you should like me. The only explanation was that you must be after my money. Everyone thought that.’
‘I understand. But you and they were wrong.’ He lifted her hand and kissed her fingers with heartbreaking tenderness. ‘Let me take your coat—’
‘No!’ In panic she clutched the hideous thing more tightly to her. ‘Just…tell me that you love me. Really, really love me!’
‘Darling. I do. I’m insanely in love with you. I think about you all the time—’
‘But…my face…’
‘Will you listen, woman?’ he said in mock exasperation. ‘I don’t care about your face. I’m only sorry you’ve had to go through this on your own. However, I’m here now and you won’t get rid of me this time.’
‘You couldn’t…ever want me,’ she said jerkily.
He kissed her. Sweetly he moved his lips over her face and with the lightest of butterfly kisses he let his mouth touch her disfiguring scars. His breathing quickened. Then he took her hand and placed it on his groin.
‘Sez who?’ he murmured.
Tears formed in her eyes. ‘Vido!’ she said brokenly.
‘It’s not a cause for tears!’ he declared, pretending to be indignant.
She laughed and cried at the same time. ‘No!’ she agreed.
‘Marry me,’ he urged. ‘Be my wife. Wife,’ he repeated, as if tasting the word with pleasure. ‘My wife!’
Her eyes rounded in astonishment. ‘Marry you?’ she squeaked.
‘Yes. It’s a legal process where a man and a woman get dressed up in ridiculous clothes and spend a fortune on—’
‘Vido!’ she reproved, laughing.
‘That’s better. Please. Put me out of my misery. Think of my staff. They’ve suffered my moody silences and poor performance and grumbles about the temporary chef for too long. Marry me. Today. Tomorrow, whenever, I don’t care, just say yes!’
