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More important to Jed was the fact his father was retiring. The lawyers had been summoned, and tomorrow night he would be officially installed as the head of the Sabbides Corporation—the firm he had been running unofficially along with his own for the past few years. Not that Phoebe needed to know. His business had nothing to do with her.
‘But don’t worry—I will speak to Marcus before I go. He is an excellent doctor, and discreet. He will take care of your pregnancy, and I will pay for everything, I can assure you.’
She slowly lifted her head and stared at him for a long moment. She wasn’t crying and her usually brilliant blue eyes were oddly blank.
‘I’m not worried—and I’m sure he will,’ she said quietly, and glanced back down at her clasped hands.
‘Good.’ Jed hesitated. He had never seen Phoebe look so subdued. Maybe he should say something. But he didn’t do emotions, and he was still in shock, so he said, ‘I need a shower,’ and strode into the bathroom.
Ten minutes later, after a cool shower, he’d had time to think. Maybe he had been a bit harsh on Phoebe. Either by accident or design it didn’t really matter—she was still a pregnant woman. He dressed swiftly and went looking for her. He found her sitting in the kitchen, with a cup of tea in one hand and stroking the cat curled up on her lap with the other. She loved the damn cat, which barely tolerated him, and for some reason that angered him further.
‘I must leave now. I’ll see you tonight and we can discuss the necessary arrangements.’ Obviously he would set her up with an allowance straight away. As for the rest—once paternity was proved, everything could be organised.
Phoebe put the cup down on the table and glanced at Jed. He was immaculately dressed in a charcoal-grey suit, perfectly tailored to fit his broad-shouldered, long and lean frame, and a white shirt and silk tie. How had she ever imagined he was her boyfriend? she thought, appalled at her own naivety. He’d reached thirty last month, and she had splashed out and bought him a nineteenth-century solid gold seal in the shape of a heart. She had spotted it in an antiques shop, and thought he would see the symbolism in her gift—that she was giving him her heart. How dumb was that? He had never looked past her body, and now he had decided it—she—had betrayed him. He was every inch the successful tycoon, and she had been living in cloud cuckoo land to believe otherwise.
She nodded her head, incapable of speaking to the ruthless, arrogant pig…He had ripped her heart to shreds with his brutally cynical reaction to her pregnancy, cold-bloodedly accusing her of being the worst kind of gold-digger, plotting and planning to get pregnant and get his money. That Jed—the man she loved—could actually think so badly of her told her he had never really known her at all. While she’d thought she had touched his heart, all she had ever been to him was a willing female in his bed. His mistress…
When he had casually told her his good friend the doctor would discreetly ‘take care’ of her pregnancy—as though her unborn child was less than nothing, a blip to be dispensed with in the smooth running of his life—she’d known it was over. Utterly finished.
Jed didn’t want a baby. It was not on his agenda…What kind of cold-hearted man was he that he could even equate a baby with a business agenda? But then business was his life and everything else was peripheral, she realised. A termination was what he was offering her—not the love and the support she had so stupidly expected. His solution was to pay his doctor friend to make the baby go away. Work, money, and the power that went with it were his obsession, and she had been the biggest idiot in the world to think anything different.
Phoebe heard the door shut. Getting to her feet, she walked into the bedroom and fell flat on the bed. With her head buried in the pillow she finally let the tears fall. She cried with pain and grief for a love that never was, and the loss of her innocent illusions, and finally cried herself into a sleep of physical and mental exhaustion.
Phoebe awoke with a start and for a moment was completely disorientated. She glanced at the bedside clock. Three in the afternoon? What was she doing in bed? Then it all came flooding back…
Weakly she lay on the bed, going over and over again in her head every minute since Jed had arrived last night…the passionate lovemaking she had thought confirmed he loved her…Now she realised that to a sophisticated, highly-sexed man like Jed all she had ever been to him was little better than a sex slave, willing to do whatever he asked of her. The past year filtered slowly though her mind, and she was haunted by her own stupidity. All the gifts he had given her were nothing more than payment for services rendered in Jed’s mind.
This morning, when she told him she was pregnant, the real Jed Sabbides—the poker-faced ruthless tycoon—had been revealed to her, and Phoebe shuddered in despair.
Jed’s brutal reaction to her pregnancy appalled her all over again, and suddenly his parting words that he would discuss the necessary arrangements with her tonight replayed in her mind. She panicked.
She did not dare stay. Jed was a powerful personality, and deep down she did not trust herself to defy his obvious intention that she have a termination—because, heaven help her, she could not easily dismiss the love she felt for him, even knowing he was a complete bastard…
She had to leave Jed and the apartment—she had to pack. That was the only thought in her head as she leapt off the bed, heading for the chest of drawers and stumbling over the cat…
Jed Sabbides signed off on his conference call to the other side of the Atlantic. The two o’clock meeting he should have had in New York had been a success—another great financial deal brokered. It was seven-thirty in the evening, and he was finished work for the day. He ran a distracted hand through his thick black hair. He had with difficulty blocked all thought of Phoebe and her astounding news from his mind while working, but now he had no excuse.
He looked up as the door opened and Christina, his PA, walked in. ‘Do you need me for anything else?’
‘No,’ he replied shortly. ‘Go now.’
‘You look tired, Jed. Let me get you a glass of whisky, and I’ll give you a neck massage, if you like—it will help you relax.’
‘The whisky, yes—the massage, no.’ He looked at his PA, surprised she had suggested a massage. He must look worse than he felt, because it wasn’t like her at all. Christina was dark-haired, not unattractive, and super-efficient. He was lucky to have her. There was no fear of Christina getting pregnant by mistake…she never made mistakes. But had Phoebe? he pondered. She was a lot younger, and he was her first lover. Maybe her pregnancy was a genuine accident.
‘Here is your drink.’ Christina placed the glass on his desk, with the bottle beside it, and moved to stand behind him. ‘Are you sure I can’t ease these tense muscles?’ And suddenly her hands were on his neck.
‘No.’ He shrugged his shoulders, dislodging her hands. ‘You leave, Christina, I am fine.’
‘Okay.’ She straightened, but not before—to his surprise—she bent her head to murmur against his ear. ‘Don’t forget we are flying to Greece tomorrow. Try to rest.’
Simple concern, he thought as the door shut behind her, and it reminded him how little concern he had shown for Phoebe’s feelings this morning.
He picked up the glass of whisky and took a healthy swallow. He felt the warmth of the spirit flow down his throat. When had he become such a hard-nosed, cynical devil? he asked himself.
The shock he had felt at learning Phoebe was pregnant and he was about to become a father had worn off, and he was able to think clearly. He had never wanted to marry, but if he was honest he knew at some point in the future he would like a child—an heir to his fortune. He had had a happy childhood, with loving parents and his sister. The strain between him and his father had grown not just over business but over his multiple marriages following the death of Jed’s American mother when he was seventeen. The most recent—number three since his mother—was thirty-five years his father’s junior, and made a play for Jed whenever he went home.
Jed drained the glass of whisky and refilled it from the bottle, and took a swallow. He didn’t trust women, with the exception of his mother and sister, and had never considered marriage. But he knew there was no way he would allow any child of his to be born illegitimate.
Phoebe—the beautiful, sexy Phoebe…Would it be such a hardship being married to her? he asked himself. He was her first lover, and the thought of her with any other man was not one he liked to contemplate. He took another sip of whisky.
Personally, he didn’t believe in love—but he was Greek, and he did believe in the continuation of the family name. If he had to take a wife Phoebe was a good candidate. There was no denying the chemistry between them was fantastic—he had never had such great sex in his life—and he certainly wasn’t keen to give her up. They had been together for over a year, which boded well for the future, and now she was pregnant with his child.
Jed drained his glass, picked up the phone and ordered the limousine he used when he did not want to drive. He got to his feet, his decision made. He would marry her. Surprisingly, he did not feel as trapped as he had first thought.
He glanced at his watch. Eight in the evening. He flicked on his cellphone to call Marcus and arranged to meet him for dinner. He was the one person he could discuss the situation with honestly, and he trusted him. What Jed knew about pregnancy could be written on a pinhead, and though deep down he didn’t believe Phoebe had been unfaithful to him it made sense to check with Marcus when it would be possible to ascertain the fatherhood of a baby. It would do no harm for Phoebe to wait awhile for the wedding.
Leaving the room, he locked the door and took the lift to the ground floor. He said goodnight to the doorman and left the building feeling good.
He would tell Phoebe what he had decided, he thought magnanimously, and he could imagine the look of delight in her expressive blue eyes when she realised he was prepared to make an honest woman of her.
His arrogant confidence lasted over a leisurely meal with Marcus, during which he sought his friend’s advice on Phoebe’s pregnancy and told him his intention to marry her.
When they left the restaurant he told the driver to drop Marcus off first. But his confidence took a hell of a knock when he finally got to her apartment—to find it empty except for the cat and an official-looking note on the hall table.
Phoebe lay flat on her back on the anonymous hospital bed, and stared sightlessly up at the white ceiling. She had cried for hours until she could cry no more, and now all she felt was numb and empty inside. She was oblivious to the noise and bustle which was typical of a Friday night in this London hospital, according to the elderly Dr Norman, the doctor who had treated her. Which London hospital she had no idea, and didn’t care…
All she could hear was the doctor’s voice as he told her she had lost her baby, but not to worry, apparently thousands of women miscarried in the first trimester—it was nature’s way of dealing with a probably unviable pregnancy. But she was young, fit and could have more babies—no problem.
She knew he had been trying to be kind, trying to reassure her, but nothing and no one could ever do that. She put her hand on her flat stomach. She had only known definitely that she was pregnant for ten days, but the instant love and the need to protect her precious baby had been all-consuming.
Well, no more. Her baby was gone, and with the baby had gone her trusting foolish heart. Her life had changed irrevocably, because whatever happened in the future never as long as she lived would she ever forget the horror, the pain and the despair of this day.
The doctor had told her he would keep her in overnight and make an appointment for her to come back next week to have a D&C—dilation and curettage. Or as he’d explained, in layman’s terms have her womb scraped. And then he’d told her to try and rest.
‘Phoebe.’
She recognised Jed’s voice and slowly turned her head. He was standing in the doorway, his immaculate suit not quite so immaculate, his jacket hanging open, with a look of shock and disgust in his dark eyes as he stared at her. She wasn’t surprised. She wondered why she had never noticed until today how cold and ruthless he could be.
‘I spoke to the doctor on my way in. He told me what happened. I am so sorry, Phoebe. But trust me you are going to be fine—I will make sure of it,’ he said adamantly, casting a derisory glance around the room.
He was once more his cool, controlled self, Phoebe noticed. As for his ‘sorry,’ it didn’t ring true, but she had not the will to care. Listlessly her eyes drifted up to the clock on the wall above his head, registering it was eleven-thirty.
‘I can’t believe the ambulance brought you here and you left me a note to feed the damn cat. You should have rung me or Dr Marcus. I’ve called him and sent a car to pick him up. He will be arriving any minute and we will get you out of this chaotic place.’
At the mention of Dr Marcus Phoebe closed her eyes. If it hadn’t been for the thought of Jed hiring him she would not have panicked and she would not be here, she thought, reliving again the stab of pain that had made her clutch her stomach as she fell. Slowly, tentatively, she had straightened up and decided to make a cup of tea to try and ease the sharp ache, not wanting to take painkillers because of the baby. Then, sitting at the kitchen table, she’d realised something was really wrong. She’d dropped the cup and doubled over in a pain so severe it had stopped her breath. She’d felt the sudden flow of moisture between her thighs and stumbled to her feet as blood oozed down her legs. She’d grasped the phone and dialled the emergency number, but by the time the ambulance had arrived she’d feared it was already too late.
Six hours she had been here, and in that time the tiny life inside her had been expelled. She opened her eyes and looked at Jed again. The father of her baby. She realised his sensitivity was truly nonexistent. And as for trusting him—never again…
He actually had the colossal arrogance to suggest she should have called him. What a joke. It was heading for midnight now—he had obviously been in no hurry to get here. The numbness she had felt was replaced with the bitterly sad realisation that neither she nor her baby was as important to Jed as his latest business deal.
‘No,’ she said, and with black humour she almost smiled as the cosmic irony of the situation hit her.
Dr Marcus the terminator was no longer needed. Her panic, the cat and a corner of the chest of drawers had done the job for Jed. The knowledge gave her the strength to answer him back.
‘It is not a chaotic place, but a very busy state hospital—the type we lesser mortals frequent. As for my moving, there is no point. I have already lost the baby. You should be happy now the problem is solved.’
For a long moment Jed Sabbides was struck dumb as the import of her words sank in. ‘My God,’ he groaned.
It was because of him that Phoebe was lying like a waxen doll in a hospital bed, and the guilt that had clawed at his gut from the moment the doctor told him more than he’d wanted to hear increased tenfold.
‘Phoebe.’ He crossed to the bed. ‘I could never think of any child as a problem, and I am so sorry you lost the baby—you have to believe me.’ Her beautiful face was as white as the sheet tucked up to her shoulders, her only colour the purple shadows under her red-rimmed eyes, and she looked hopelessly young.
Jed was stunned by the sorrow and the regret he felt when he looked down into her big blue eyes, no longer sparkling but dulled with the acceptance of what had happened to her. He felt like an ogre.
He was not an emotional man, but as he sat down on the edge of the bed he leant over and brushed his lips gently against her brow. He was appalled at the chill of her skin. He reached for her hand and she let him.
‘You must believe me, Phoebe,’ he repeated. Her hand was cold, and the look she gave him was equally cool. ‘It never entered my head you might lose the baby. I was angry this morning, but by this afternoon I had got over the shock and decided I quite liked the idea of us becoming a family. I was going to tell you tonight.’
Easy enough for him to say that now, Phoebe thought, and felt the pressure of his hand squeezing hers. She looked up into his handsome face and for an instant imagined she saw pain and anguish in the depths of his dark eyes. Incredibly, she felt compassion stirring in her heart.
No, it wasn’t possible. Jed was never going to make a fool of her again. His decision that he quite liked the idea of becoming a family was weak at best, and convenient for him, she noted. And tellingly, as the silence lengthened between them, he was in no hurry to expand on the subject, she thought, with a cynicism she had not known she possessed.
‘Nice thought, but not necessary. My baby has gone,’ she murmured. ‘But look on the bright side, Jed. I have saved you a shed-load of money.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Jed demanded, battling to contain the flash of anger he felt, knowing that in her fragile state the last thing Phoebe needed was him ranting at her. He had done enough of that this morning, and was filled with self-disgust at the memory. ‘You can accuse me of a lot of things, Phoebe, but meanness is not one of them. Whatever you want you can have, I swear.’
The only thing she wanted was her baby back, and she could not have that. As for being mean, Jed was not mean but incredibly generous with material things, Phoebe recognised sadly. But with his thoughts, his emotions, he was the meanest man she had ever met—that was if he had any emotions, which she doubted. His self-control and his arrogant confidence in everything he did was incredible and he would never change. Jed Sabbides was always right…
‘Yes, you are right,’ Phoebe agreed. But with a faint spark of her former self surfacing she could not help adding, ‘In the scheme of things the cost of a private doctor is nothing to you, I know.’
Jed had the niggling sense he was missing something, but Marcus had walked in with Dr Norman and a nurse, and, leaping to his feet, he demanded of his friend, ‘I want Phoebe out of here, Marcus, and under your care immediately.’
‘It’s after midnight, Jed, and Phoebe is exhausted. Better to wait until the morning,’ Marcus replied and Dr Norman agreed with him.
Jed wasn’t satisfied. ‘Marcus, I want the best for Phoebe, and this is not it.’
‘I am not going anywhere,’ Phoebe murmured, and all three turned to look at her. ‘I just want to sleep.’
‘She is right, gentlemen,’ Dr Norman spoke up again. ‘Let the nurse give her a sedative, and we can take this discussion outside.’
Phoebe stood in the kitchen, talking to the cat. ‘You were right about the man, Marty. I should have trusted your instincts instead of mine. Jed Sabbides, for all his wealth, is emotionally and morally bankrupt—an utterly ruthless and despicable man, and I hate him.’ The cat purred as if in agreement. ‘But you belong to me now, and you and I are leaving.’
She picked up the cat and placed her in the pet carrier, then picked up the bag with the jewellery box inside and without a backward glance left the apartment. Her cases were already in the foyer and her car was parked outside.
Phoebe thanked the doorman for loading her cases, and after placing the pet carrier in the back seat of her car she fastened the seat belt around the box, slid behind the wheel and drove off.
When she had woken the morning after her miscarriage Jed had been there and Dr Norman had discharged her. Still devastated by her loss, she hadn’t cared what happened to her, and when Jed had insisted he would take care of her she’d been too weak to resist, so she’d let him, and returned to the apartment.
Dr Marcus had provided a nurse to stay with her over the weekend, although Jed had insisted he could look after her. An appointment had been made at Marcus’s private clinic for the D&C the following week, and after a lot of persuading from the nurse and Phoebe that he was fussing over her too much Jed had left that afternoon to attend his father’s birthday party in Greece.
He had said, ‘You have my mobile number—ring me if you need me. But I will be back on Sunday evening. You can count on it.’ Then he had promised to take her to her appointment at the clinic the next week, kissed her goodbye, and left.
Well, it was now Monday, and the nurse had gone but Jed had not returned. After Phoebe had tried to to get in touch with him late last night a woman had answered his phone—Christina, his PA, apparently—and after an enlightening conversation Phoebe had known she was going nowhere except home…
She couldn’t believe she had been so weak, so spineless, that she had let Jed fool her a second time—well, never again, she vowed…
The warmth and the love she had thought she felt for him had turned into cold, bitter contempt, and so she had done what he expected of a mistress. Taken everything he had ever given her, including the car.
It was little enough for the price of a child.
Chapter Three (#u1fdee3d1-19da-5f89-9e6f-c4c3771fec97)
‘I WISH you had told me it was the Greek Embassy, instead of just saying a foreign embassy,’ Phoebe said, nervously chewing on her bottom lip. She certainly hadn’t gone out of her way to put herself in the path of any Greeks in the last five years.
‘What difference does it make? Foreign, Greek, French—the same crowd attends all of them. Stop worrying, Phoebe. You look stunning in that silver thing, and you fit in perfectly among the international elite of our capital city—in fact you are the best-looking woman here by a mile.’
‘Flatterer, Julian! And my dress is not silver, but pale grey,’ she informed her partner with a smile as they moved slowly in the line to be presented to the Greek ambassador to London. ‘And this is a big step up for a history teacher from Dorset—an ambassador’s ball.’ And she would bet the simple jersey silk halter dress she was wearing was a fraction of the cost of every other woman’s gown in the place.
‘Rubbish! You studied politics as well as history, and you are smarter than most of the females here. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to switch careers and join the Foreign Office in London with me?’
‘No—and anyway, you are hardly ever in London, but off all over the world on government jaunts most of the time.’
Julian shook his head. ‘You know me too well, that is the trouble,’ he said with a mock sigh.
Phoebe laughed, but it was true. He was three years older than her and he had known her almost all her life. Her Aunt Jemma had worked as his father’s secretary for years, and after the old man’s death Julian had inherited everything. But instead of taking over the full time running of the vast Gladstone estate, as his father had, he had hired an estate manager as he much preferred his government career.
Her Aunt Jemma lived in a cottage on the outskirts of a village on the estate, and Phoebe had spent part of the summer holiday at her aunt’s for as long as she could remember. After her parents had died it had become her permanent home. Still was, she thought with a wry smile.
‘Stop daydreaming, girl,’ Julian quipped, ‘It is our turn.’ He stopped. ‘Phoebe, meet Alessandro, our Greek ambassador and a good friend of mine—who, I might add, is a widower, and will be sorely missed by the ladies in the drawing rooms of London when he returns to his own country next month.’
Phoebe smiled at Julian’s informal introduction and held out her hand to the distinguished-looking man standing in front of her. ‘Pleased to meet you. I am Phoebe Brown.’
He was a very attractive man, with silver hair and a warm smile, and this ball was apparently his way of saying goodbye to the other ambassadors of the international community in London. Something Julian had omitted to tell her when he had talked her into attending the ball with him.
‘The pleasure is mine, Phoebe. Now I understand why Julian has spent so much time in Dorset lately. It is always a delight to meet a beautiful woman.’ His dark eyes twinkled, and she was flattered as he asked her a few questions about her life.
Beginning to relax, she held Julian’s arm as he let her down the staircase into the elegant ballroom. He took a couple of glasses of champagne from a circling waiter and handed her one.
‘Not as bad as you feared?’ He touched his glass to hers. ‘To an interesting night.’
Phoebe smiled and took a sip of the excellent champagne. ‘You know, Julian, for once you may be right.’
The band struck up a waltz, and Julian took her glass from her hand and placed both on a nearby table. ‘I’m sure I can do this,’ he declared, wrapping an arm around her waist and taking her hand in his. ‘I watched some celebrity ballroom dancing show while I was consigned to the country for so long.’
Phoebe laughed out loud. ‘A few weeks with your legs in plaster and being convalescent for another two months watching television does not a dancer make,’ she quipped.
‘Oh, ye of little faith,’ he mocked, and led her onto the dance floor.
