Читать книгу The Blackmail Baby - Natalie Rivers - Страница 8

Three months later.

IT WAS a beautiful day in early May. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. And Chloe stood at the graveside of her best friend, holding an orphaned baby in her arms.

It was almost impossible to believe—but it was true. Liz, baby Emma’s mother, had really gone. Chloe had had three months to come to terms with the fact that her dear friend was losing her battle against cancer, but somehow her death had still come as a shock.

She’d flown from Venice on that bitter night in February and travelled straight to Liz’s country village home. She’d been desperate to see her friend—partly to talk about what had happened with Lorenzo. But mostly just to seek the comfort of her company.

But when Liz had opened the door of her cottage and beckoned her inside, Chloe had known at once that something was wrong. The cancer that they’d hoped and prayed would stay in remission had come back.

Liz had delayed telling Chloe because she didn’t want to spoil what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—her wedding day. And even more heartbreaking was the news that the disease had progressed too far for the doctors to save her.

Chloe looked down at the baby snuggled in her arms, feeling cold and empty. The May sunshine did nothing to take the chill away, and at that moment she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

‘Are you all right, love?’

She recognised the concerned voice of Gladys, Liz’s kindly neighbour. The old lady had been an incredible support during the past weeks. She’d helped to keep up her spirit at the bleakest of times, and offered to look after the baby, enabling Chloe to spend as much time as possible with Liz at the hospital, and then later on at the hospice.

Chloe turned and tried to make her smile convincing, although she knew Gladys was unlikely to be fooled.

‘I’m fine,’ she said.

‘It was a lovely service,’ Gladys said. ‘The readings Liz asked for were beautiful.’

Chloe nodded, swallowing against the hard lump of sorrow that was constricting her throat. She had found the funeral almost unbearable. The pain of losing her best friend was still too raw. Liz had been too young to die. And baby Emma was too young to lose her mother.

‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get back to the cottage,’ Gladys said gently. ‘They’ll all be waiting for me by now.’

‘Thank you for inviting everyone back for tea,’ Chloe said gratefully. It had been thoughtful of the old lady to offer to host a small gathering after the funeral, and something Chloe just didn’t feel up to.

‘It’s the least I could do.’ Gladys brushed her thanks aside. ‘You’ve got your hands full with little Emma. And you’ve already done so much.’

‘I only did what anyone would have done,’ Chloe said.

‘No, not anyone,’ Gladys said stoutly. ‘You took good care of your friend during a difficult time. And now you are doing a wonderful thing—taking on her baby as your own. Liz was truly blessed to have a friend like you.’

Chloe pressed her trembling lips together and tried to smile at her. She knew Gladys meant well, but at that moment it was hard to think of Liz as blessed. She’d suffered so much, only to have her life snatched away by cancer.

‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village, she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.

She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.

‘We’ll be all right,’ Chloe whispered, and kissed Emma’s soft cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’

But as she pressed her face against Emma’s wispy baby hair, she suddenly felt very alone.

She found herself thinking about Lorenzo. Three months ago she’d thought she was about to embark on the most wonderful journey of her life—marriage and children with her gorgeous Italian husband. Now everything was so different.

She had not heard a word from him since the night she left Venice, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d known it was unrealistic to hope that he would follow her, saying that he’d got it wrong, and that he did love her after all.

But still, that was what she’d wished for.

She had not contacted him either. She’d been too involved with caring for Liz and Emma. And, if she was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to face him.

Deep down she knew she’d behaved badly by running away without talking to him—but she’d simply reacted instinctively to the discovery that Lorenzo viewed their marriage as a loveless practicality. An overpowering need for self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d known that to protect her broken heart she had to get away from him.

But now she had to contact Lorenzo.

Firstly about her intention to adopt Emma. They were still officially married, and that might cause complications with the legal procedures. And secondly, about some money she’d been forced to use a couple of days earlier, from an account he’d set up in both their names before the wedding. The amount she’d taken would be nothing to a man as rich as Lorenzo, but she knew him well enough to be aware that no detail—no matter how small—ever escaped his notice.

She wanted him to know that she would pay him back as soon as she could. She had no wish to take anything from him. And the sooner she set things straight, the sooner she could put that heartbreaking episode of her life behind her, and get on with building a life for herself and Emma.

A tremble ran through her at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again, but she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Emma’s head.

‘I’m not going to think about that now,’ she said to the baby. She’d promised Liz that she’d think happy thoughts, but at that moment it was a hard promise to keep.

She walked across to a wooden bench under a flowering cherry tree. The soft grass was scattered with the delicate pink blossom and it reminded Chloe of confetti.

Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. It was the most beautiful day. But her best friend was not there to share it with her. And she never would be again.

Lorenzo Valente handled the convertible with a natural ease, shifting gears smoothly as he approached a tight bend in the winding country lane. It was a fine afternoon in May and the sun felt surprisingly warm on his shoulders as he sped along the leafy green road in rural England.

He usually enjoyed driving, but the expression on his face was far from one of pleasure—he was thinking about the latest stunt Chloe had pulled.

Very little shocked Lorenzo. He accepted the fact that being born into a wealthy family, and then multiplying that fortune by several orders of magnitude, had made him a target for various types of golddigging parasites.

However, he’d never thought Chloe would steal from him. But it was just one more thing to make her pay for.

His strong fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes narrowed dangerously. A minute later he reached a tiny village. He slowed the car, and took the turning that led to the church. He drove a short distance along the narrow lane and then pulled up onto the grass verge, waiting for the crowd of pedestrians leaving the church to pass.

He knew that it was the day of her friend’s funeral. He’d seen to it that he had been kept very well-informed about Chloe’s actions since she walked out on him.

Suddenly he caught sight of a small figure dressed in dark grey walking unsteadily across the churchyard.

It was Chloe.

A strange sensation lodged in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart start to beat faster. He was out of the car in an instant, ignoring the curious looks he was drawing from some of the villagers. He only had eyes for Chloe.

He strode across the churchyard towards her, the soft grass muffling his footsteps. She did not see or hear him approach, and sat completely motionless on the bench beneath the flowering cherry tree, engulfed in a private moment of sorrow.

He was about to speak but he hesitated, feeling an unaccustomed stab of uncertainty. Her eyes were closed as she wept, tears sliding silently down her white cheeks as she held a baby nestled in her arms. Her grief for her friend was so personal—he knew that his presence was an intrusion.

Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared up at him. A flash of surprise passed across her features.

‘Lorenzo.’ Her wide green eyes were luminous with tears in the warm afternoon sunshine, and her pale skin looked almost translucent. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re here.’

Hearing her say his name with such feeling sent an unexpected surge of emotion powering through his veins. He wanted to reach out and smooth the moisture from her cheeks, but instead he clamped his arms stiffly by his sides.

‘Really?’ he said, knowing his tone was harsh, especially after witnessing the depth of her grief. But the intensity of his reaction to her had caught him off guard. He wasn’t accustomed to being affected by other people’s emotional displays. ‘I thought that, by stealing my money, it was your intention to draw me out.’

‘The money…that’s why you’re here?’

Chloe looked up at him, her pulse still racing from the shock of opening her eyes and seeing Lorenzo standing there. He looked so strong and vibrant—and, despite everything, he was the most welcome sight in the world.

For a moment she let herself believe that maybe he was there because he knew she needed him—knew how sad and alone she felt. She had no doubt that he was aware of everything that had happened to her since she’d left Venice. Information was another essential currency to Lorenzo.

‘What other reason could there be?’ he said, his piercing blue eyes boring into her.

She drew in a breath, suppressing the irrational surge of disappointment that rose up within her. But really she’d known that, if Lorenzo cared for her at all, he would have come before this.

‘I’m going to pay the money back,’ she said. ‘I needed it urgently.’

‘For what?’ Lorenzo demanded. ‘What was so urgent that you couldn’t wait until you found some other way of paying? That you needed to take my money immediately and without permission?’

‘I had to pay for this,’ Chloe said, sweeping her arm around with a distracted gesture, unable to believe how cold and unfeeling he seemed. ‘My savings are gone, my credit card is maxed out. I’ve had no income for months, but I’ve been looking after Liz and…’

She stopped abruptly, suddenly wishing she hadn’t said so much. The state of her finances was none of Lorenzo’s business.

It was a shock to find herself face to face with him again, and one heartbreaking thought kept going round in her head: he had no interest in her—only in what he thought she’d taken from him. Could he really have come all this way to berate her over the comparatively small amount of money she’d spent?

‘I used the money to pay for the funeral,’ she stated bluntly. Surely even Lorenzo wasn’t so hard-hearted that he would begrudge that.

‘You should have asked me,’ he said coldly.

‘I didn’t need to ask,’ she said. ‘The account is in both our names. I never wanted to use a penny of that money, but I’m not going to apologise for it, because I’d do it again in a heartbeat. Liz deserved a proper funeral.’

Lorenzo stared down at Chloe, registering an undercurrent of uncertainty showing through her expression despite her continued defence of her actions. He knew she was still emotional, and he felt unwelcome feelings churn in his own stomach in response.

This was not what he had expected when he’d married Chloe—that three months after their wedding they would be meeting for the first time in an English churchyard and arguing over a stranger’s funeral expenses.

He’d chosen her to be his wife because he thought she’d be reliable and stable, the way she’d been as his PA. He wanted his marriage to be straightforward and uncomplicated, not like the often hysterical and unpleasant scenarios he’d witnessed growing up as his father worked his way through a string of unsuitable wives.

But nothing had worked out the way he intended. Chloe had walked out on him. Then she’d chosen not to get in touch—even when she was in financial trouble.

‘You were too proud to ask for help,’ Lorenzo said. ‘You’d sooner steal my money than talk to me.’

Chloe let out her breath with a resigned sigh and looked straight up into his eyes.

‘I didn’t think you’d let me use the money. I thought you’d freeze the account or something,’ Chloe said. ‘You didn’t really know Liz. You only met her a couple of times.’

Lorenzo swore with sudden violence. Then frowned at the baby as she started to grizzle and fuss in Chloe’s arms.

‘What kind of man do you think I am?’ he demanded angrily. ‘You truly think I’m so petty I would not pay for a funeral?’

Chloe stared up at him with wide eyes that seemed huge in her pale face, looking as startled as the baby by his loud outburst.

‘I don’t know,’ she said, her voice sounding shaky and uncertain. ‘We might be married but it seems I don’t know you at all.’

Then she looked away, down at the baby in her arms.

‘I can’t do this now.’ She rocked Emma gently and murmured soothing words to her. ‘She’s probably hungry. It’s been a long afternoon and I need to get her back to the cottage.’

She looked small and awkward standing there, wearing an ill-fitting charcoal-grey suit that swamped her tiny frame and was pulled out of line by the baby in her arms. The unforgiving colour drained any speck of warmth from her fair complexion and her light blonde hair hung down in a shapeless curtain nearly to her shoulders.

Next to the fresh green grass and colourful pink blossom she looked starkly monochrome, almost as if she’d stepped out of a black-and-white movie—some old-fashioned, overblown melodrama.

She didn’t belong here—not like this.

The anger that had gripped Lorenzo suddenly dissipated. He had to get her away from this place. It was impossible to talk to her in the churchyard.

‘We’ll go together—just to pick up what you need,’ he said. ‘Then you’re coming with me.’

Chloe stared up at him in surprise. She hadn’t expected him to start issuing orders—although that was exactly how Lorenzo was used to behaving with most people in his life. And it was how he had been with her too, back before they became personally involved.

‘I know you’re angry with me,’ she said, ‘but you can’t just sweep in here and boss me about. I don’t work for you any more.’

‘No. You’re my wife,’ Lorenzo grated, the tone of his voice telling her that he was far from happy about that. ‘And you are coming with me.’

‘But I have Emma now,’ she protested, tightening her hold on the infant protectively.

‘What about her father?’ Lorenzo asked, studying the crying baby with a crease between his brows.

‘He never wanted anything to do with her,’ Chloe said. ‘I’m the only one she has now.’

Lorenzo lifted his eyes to Chloe’s face, and an expression she couldn’t read passed across his features.

‘Let’s go.’ He reached out and took her arm before she realised what he intended.

As his hand made contact it was as if a jolt of energy surged through Chloe. She gasped and looked down automatically, staring as his strong fingers closed around her upper arm, tanned and vital next to the dull grey fabric of her jacket.

Her heart started to beat faster, and at that moment she felt the numbness that had deadened her over recent days start to thaw.

Lorenzo was only holding her arm, but suddenly she was fully aware of him physically—aware of his sheer size and strength. And shockingly aware of the body heat radiating from his powerful, athletic form.

She found herself drawn towards him, like a flower turning towards the sun.

She’d been so cold and lonely. All at once she found herself longing to feel his strong arms around her—to press herself against the solid masculine expanse of his chest.

Suddenly she realised that Lorenzo had stopped moving. He was standing utterly still. And she knew, even without looking up at him, that he was taking in her reaction to his touch.

A flash of alarm shot through her. She couldn’t let Lorenzo see how vulnerable she was feeling, how in need of physical comfort. He’d always been able to read her like a book, and right at that moment her defences were lower than normal.

‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’ Chloe said, trying to shrug out of his grip. But his fingers simply tightened, and with Emma in her arms it was impossible to struggle too much.

‘There are matters we must discuss,’ Lorenzo said, turning her round so once again they were facing each other.

Chloe shook her head, staring directly ahead—straight at his broad chest. She did not want to talk to him any more. And she definitely did not want to look into his perceptive eyes.

She had the terrible feeling she would reveal herself to him in some way—let him see how naked her emotions were, how much she craved his presence. The day had already been too painful. The thought of him driving away and leaving her alone again suddenly seemed unbearable—but there was no way she would admit that to him.

‘Your desertion on our wedding day made it clear that you are no longer happy with our arrangement,’ he said, cupping his free hand under her chin and lifting her face to his.

Her gaze was locked to his clear blue eyes again and the touch of his fingers against her skin made her shiver once more.

‘I didn’t think we had an arrangement,’ she replied, feeling a chill creep back around her heart. His words were a harsh reminder that she had been disastrously wrong about what their marriage meant to Lorenzo—about what she‘d meant to him.

‘Yes, we did,’ Lorenzo said, ‘which is why we need to talk. There will be no further misunderstandings between us.’