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And then Miss Right would gracefully take on the role of the second Mrs Luciano Maccari. Gemma would have a mother to tuck her up in bed and read stories… Hastily Ellen shut off that line of thought. It was an inevitable development but she wasn’t ready for it yet.
As for Luc—he was a hypocrite! He saw nothing wrong in letting women paw him in front of his daughter, she thought indignantly. One of them had been sitting on his lap, the other had flung her arms around his neck and was kissing him on the cheek while he grinned in smug delight.
Yet he was condemning her for entertaining nonexistent lovers! She steamed with the rank injustice of it. Justifiably aggrieved, hurting at the memory of those lovely women, she stood up for herself.
‘Let’s make a pact. You lead your own life,’ she told him tightly, ‘and I’ll do what I damn well like with mine!’
‘Not when my daughter’s around, you won’t!’ he countered.
‘She’s mine too!’
‘Barely!’ he shot back
Ellen sucked in a painful breath. He was determined to inflict wounds. The brute.
‘You hate not having control over everything that happens to her, don’t you? For heaven’s sake, Luc, don’t carp. She’s yours for most of the time. I only see her for one week, four times a year!’
‘Ye-e-e-s.’
There was a significance in his hesitation and she blanched, fearing what would follow from that ‘ye-e-e-s.’ Nervously she said, ‘Why did you ring?’
‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve changed my mind.’
Her jaw tightened ominously. He’d ruined her evening for nothing! ‘Right,’ she said tersely. ‘Fascinating chat. Goodbye, Luc—’
‘Wait…’ There was a long and tense pause, as if he was trying to broach a difficult subject. And then he said in a tired voice, ‘We need to meet up, Ellen.’
‘No, we don’t. Anyway, what happened to your declaration when you threw me out that you never wanted to see me again?’
‘I said ‘‘need’’, not ‘‘want’’,’ he drawled sardonically.
‘It makes no difference. I’m not interested in seeing you.’ But she couldn’t stop her curiosity prompting her to add, ‘Why on earth should we need to meet?’
‘Things to talk about.’
‘Like…what?’ she asked guardedly, warning bells ringing in her head.
It could be about access. Or… She thought of the women in the photographs and the blonde one in particular, who’d been gazing adoringly at him as if he was the source of all life.
Perhaps he wanted a divorce. He wanted his freedom to remarry. Her heart swooped and dived as if she were inside an elevator.
‘I’m not discussing it on the phone,’ he replied stubbornly. ‘This is something we need to do face to face. What are you doing this evening?’
Her mouth dropped open in amazement. ‘This…! Oh, my God! You—you’re in England?’ she croaked, her throat as dry as dust.
No. She couldn’t see him. She was getting stage fright at the very thought. He’d talk about the woman he loved and his eyes would melt with love and she’d be dying inside.
‘Sudden business came up.’
‘Yes, well, I’m working, so put your comments in writing,’ she told him flatly.
‘Working…tonight?’
Stung by the wealth of suggestion in the way he’d said that, she primmed her mouth and then said with laboured patience, ‘Relax, Luc. I’m not patrolling the back alleys of Southwark in fishnet stockings and very little else!’
‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he bit, and she wondered what had happened to his wonderful sense of humour. ‘Did Daddy find you a lucrative job?’ he murmured insolently.
She sniffed. As if she needed help from anyone! ‘I found my own. Your sidekick Donatello must have told you I don’t live with my parents any more.’
‘Got thrown out for impossible behaviour?’
‘Got sick and tired of being pushed around by yet another bossy man!’ she retorted hotly.
Luc grunted. ‘What are you doing to earn your living, then?’
‘I stack shelves in the local supermarket during the day and…’ She chickened out. She couldn’t tell him about her evening job! Being economical with the truth, she said, ‘Three times a week I work at the community centre in the evenings. That’s where I’m going tonight.’
There was a long pause. A hectic colour flushed her neck and face and she was glad he couldn’t see it. He wouldn’t think much of her progress since she’d left him. He wasn’t to know she’d been fighting depression for more than five years.
He’d never enquired after her welfare. The break had been brutally clean. She’d refused his offer of money and he’d washed his hands of her. Out of sight, out of mind.
‘A…supermarket.’ His disapproval was plain to hear.
‘I love it,’ she told him honestly, springing to her own defence. It was the first step of her career. One day she’d manage the store. Then—who knows?
‘Stacking…shelves?’
She permitted herself a smile at his amazement. ‘Oh, you know me,’ she said sarcastically. ‘All fun and no responsibility.’
‘Sounds about right,’ he agreed sourly, not recognising that he was being teased.
She raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation and gave up on him. ‘I enjoy it there. It’s like being part of a big family. We have a great time.’
In the pause which followed, Ellen thought sadly of her own dysfunctional family. And of Luc’s doting widowed mother, who’d believed no one, absolutely no one, short of a canonised female saint, would have made a suitable wife for her beloved only son. His mother was dead now. Gemma must be his only blood relative, she mused.
‘I’m glad you’ve found work that matches your skills,’ Luc said rudely. ‘Now. Tonight. What time do you start work?’
‘Seven-thirty.’ Her hand shook, and she glared at it for being so stupid. ‘But I’m not seeing you—’
‘You must. We’ll meet beforehand.’ He stated this in the confident, macho tone which had once made her feel cherished and protected. Now it irritated her beyond belief. ‘Where? Your house?’
She frowned, hating to be pushed around. Inviting Luc to her flat was the last thing she wanted. She’d always met Gemma and Luc’s PA, Donatello, at a local café to protect her privacy. She’d been afraid that Luc would stop Gemma visiting her if he knew how unsuitable her flat was.
‘Why can’t you get it into your head that I don’t want to see you at all?’ she complained crossly. ‘You’re a part of my past I’d rather stick in a sack and bury ten feet under.’
‘That goes for me too. Do you think I want to see you? You’re not exactly my favourite pin-up. But it’s important,’ he retorted. Ellen grumpily recognised that there must be a team of wild horses dragging him kicking and screaming in her direction. ‘This is about Gemma. About you.’
She went cold. That sounded ominous. Her knees seemed to be giving out and she leaned heavily against the peeling wall. ‘But can’t we—?’
‘This must be settled. Choose somewhere public,’ he went on relentlessly, riding roughshod over her feeble objection. ‘I only want ten minutes of your time.’ His tone had become irascible. But then she wasn’t fitting into his plans, was she? ‘Surely you can grant me that, for the sake of my daughter’s well-being?’
His, not our, daughter. Yes, she thought, that was how it was—and he meant to divorce her and demand that she surrender her access rights. An overwhelming sense of defeat enveloped her. Clearly—and understandably, considering the last time Gemma had visited her—he wasn’t happy with even the limited access which the courts had granted her.
Crunch time. Well, she’d known it would come one day. She inhaled slowly, steadying her nerves. Before he broached the subject she would speak to him herself, tell him that she would relinquish what she’d fought so hard for. Seeing her own child grow up.
She drew in a long, shaky breath. She wanted to be the one who called things to a halt, not him. It was a matter of pride, of self-respect and of taking her own life in her hands.
Every fibre of her body shrank from what she must do. And yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew that Gemma didn’t deserve to be dragged away from the home and father she adored and dumped on a mother she didn’t love.
No, worse than that, a mother who frightened her. Ellen’s eyes became filmed with a misty silver. What did the child fear?
The last time Gemma had come, she’d clung to Donatello as if Ellen were a hungry witch on the lookout for a child to fling into her stewpot. The entire visit had been a disaster. Gemma’s silences, inexplicable terror and quiet, desperate sobbing at night had tortured Ellen so much that she’d phoned Donatello and begged him to rescue the little girl before three days had gone by.
Like it or not, she had to face facts. Once and for all, for the sake of her child, she had to forget her own needs. Gemma mustn’t suffer any more.
Oh, God! she thought bleakly. A second sacrifice!
But it would make Gemma happy. That was all she wanted. And, despite the heaviness of her heart, she felt a little comfort in that.
Quickly, in case in a moment of weakness she changed her mind, she said, ‘If I must, I must. There’s a café in Lancaster Street by the tube station. Be there at seven.’ And she cut the connection before he could suggest anything different.
Numb with the enormity of what she was about to do, she stood motionless by the phone, recovering her equilibrium. Or at least trying to. It seemed to have wandered off somewhere, leaving her floundering in a dark abyss.
It came to her then. Something which briefly eclipsed her thoughts of Gemma.
She was to meet Luc. After all this time.
A strange sensation filled her entire body. Ellen tried to identify it and failed. Nor could she understand why adrenaline should have leapt through her like wildfire and put her into overdrive.
She was shaking like a leaf. And yet she was burning, too, with a weird excitement, her heart thudding like crazy.
Luc. The man she’d given everything to. Heart, soul, mind, body. And she’d surrendered her child to him, too.
Aching with the memories, she bit her lip till it hurt. She could be strong—she’d proved that. She wouldn’t let him destroy her again. If he’d found happiness then good for him. Gemma would have a new mother…
Full of misery, she swallowed and concentrated fiercely on overcoming her near-hysteria. Gemma came first. Once again she’d do what was best for her child. And then she’d face the future square on.
A tear fell unexpectedly from her eye, and she moodily licked it up with the tip of her tongue before drawing herself erect. Courage, she told herself. Be calm.
Her shaking hands went instinctively to her heart. Pale, feeling bruised from tension, she prepared herself mentally for the worst. Tonight she would know if she had truly conquered her inner demons.
CHAPTER TWO
THE light in the hall went out and she tried not to see it as an omen. It was on a time clock to save Cyril money, and she hated the meanness that left her, old Mr Baker and Sally and her petrified children fumbling around in the pitch dark.
The damp-smelling blackness of the hall made her shiver. She hurried back to her flat. The door was stuck open and wouldn’t budge. That was all she needed! She struggled in mounting fury with it and eventually dragged it shut.
A sense of panic skittered through her mind. Life was crowding in on her again, making difficulties. And she had to admit that she was scared of her ability to cope if too many things went wrong. A groan escaped her dry lips at the horror of losing control again and sinking into the black depths of suicidal despair. No. That mustn’t happen.
‘Help me, help me!’ she whispered, forcing the words through her teeth.
As she walked shakily into the room, she caught a glimpse of her white and strained face in the mirror above the mantelpiece. She looked awful. Huge smudged eyes filled with misery. Sullen, down-turned mouth. Grimly she willed her spirits to rise.
Luc. She was seeing Luc after an eternity. He’d be…twenty-eight now. What would he think of her?! She took herself back to their first meeting. She’d been storming along the A38 near her home, in an attempt to walk off her fury after yet another row with her tyrannical and dogmatic father. She’d infuriated him by refusing to encourage the attentions of the limp, insufferably smug son of their wealthy neighbour. Her father had had ambitions for her. Most of them boiled down to seeing her married to a wealthy, influential man.
As she’d stomped along, steaming at her father’s accusations of her wilfulness, ingratitude and downright stubborn stupidity, it had begun to rain in torrents, drenching her beautiful silk Bellini suit in seconds. No wonder Luc had stopped his lorry! He must have thought he was hallucinating, especially when she accepted his offer of a lift, slipped off her gorgeous Italian shoes, wriggled her expensive skirt up to her thighs and clambered up the high steps into the cab.
‘I don’t care where you’re going,’ she’d said grimly, not looking at him, not even aware that she’d picked an Adonis. ‘Just drive me somewhere dry where I can fume for a while!’
That was then. And now…she saw a completely different woman. One who’d been to hell and back, grown wiser, more wary, more grateful for small mercies.
Her mind cleared, her soft, unhappy mouth grew firmer and she straightened, proud of how she’d survived, telling herself to be content with the person she’d become. When she’d left him she’d been scrawny and unhealthy-looking in a baggy old jumper and dowdy skirt, a walking scarecrow who’d forgotten what life and laughter were like.
She felt a hollow sensation in her stomach thinking of that ghastly moment when she’d found herself on the pavement outside their little house. What kind of mother left her child? A Class One cow, of course. She gave an involuntary shudder, her eyes as dark and shiny as rain-battered slate.
It hadn’t occurred to Luc that there might be a powerful explanation for such unusual behaviour. He’d believed that she didn’t love Gemma. Far from it. She’d put her daughter before her own needs. Always had, always would.
The birth had been awful. Her baby had been two weeks overdue and she’d been induced. The drugs had given her a protracted and painful labour and had left her in shock. It had been nearly a year before post-traumatic stress had been diagnosed and she’d begun treatment.
At the time, though, Luc had had no idea that her decision to leave was instinctive, to save Gemma’s life. The greatest sacrifice she could make.
No. He hadn’t even paused to think. Ellen let out a small sigh. They hadn’t known one another very well. It had been a whirlwind courtship of fun and passion, and her reckless, impulsive behaviour in urging him to run away with her to London had contributed to the wrong impression he’d formed of her when she couldn’t bond with her baby.
‘What the hell are you doing?’ he’d demanded, when he’d come home and found her case in the hall—and Gemma yelling her head off in the tiny sitting room beyond.
‘Going.’ It was all she could manage. A huge lump of emotion was blocking her throat. She desperately wanted to take Gemma in her arms. But didn’t dare.
He gave an impatient snort of disbelief and pushed past her, grabbing the nappy sack and crouching on the carpet beside his screaming daughter. Confused, she watched from the doorway as he undid Gemma’s rompers.
‘God!’ he said in disgust. ‘She’s soaking! What do you do all day? This place is a tip!’
‘I…did change her, not long ago! Today?’ She found it hard to think, her mind fuddled. ‘I went shopping.’
Nervously she indicated a pile of bags full of clothes for herself which she didn’t need and would never wear. And she didn’t even know why she’d gone out, let alone bought the stuff. Absurd.
‘Shopping!’ he exploded. ‘We’re in debt, Ellen! I’m working all hours to pay just the interest! Why do you do this to me? Gemma’s your priority, not yourself. You could have picked her up! Seen to her!’
No. No, she couldn’t. She had to keep away and overcome that awful urge to grab Gemma and fling her across the room. No one understood. The doctor had put her on sedatives and implied that she was behaving like a spoilt child. Perhaps he’d even said as much to Luc!
After the birth Luc had been puzzled and then annoyed by her lack of interest in Gemma, but she was helpless in the face of the overwhelming fear that she would harm her child, and she was capable of focusing only on that one, overriding primitive instinct to protect her baby.
‘I have to go!’ she croaked, trembling and as limp as a rag doll.
He shot her a quick glance, his eyes narrowing as they searched hers. ‘Where? We don’t know anyone around here. Do you mean,’ he asked tightly, ‘that you’re off to visit your parents? They’re actually speaking to you again?’
Ellen licked her lips, her eyes hollow from night after night without sleep. ‘I’m…leaving you.’
His shoulders rose and fell several times before he spoke. By that time Gemma had been deftly cleaned, dried and dressed again, and was tucked over her father’s shoulder and whimpering quietly.
