I was young once. I remember what it was like.’
‘I wasn’t suggesting we wrote them off.’ How had she dug herself into this hole? ‘I happen to get on fine with my neighbours. But I doubt very much that you have anything in common with them.’
Orlando raised his eyebrows, as if he were about to say something, then clearly changed his mind, turning his eyes back to the front. ‘I’m just saying there’s no harm in treating young people with respect—giving them something to aspire to rather than assuming that the trappings of success will provoke jealousy or criminality.’
Well, that was her told. His sanctimonious conceit was almost enough to goad Isobel out of her terror. Almost. But as the car took off with a sudden burst of speed, its tyres screeching on the tarmac as Orlando spun it around in the opposite direction, Isobel could only shriek.
‘For God’s sake!’
Gripping the sides of her seat, she twisted round to look out of the rear window, convinced she’d see the bodies of her neighbours scattered in their wake. Instead she could just make out grinning faces, arms raised in gestures of respect.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
‘It’s what they expect of a car like this.’
They had slowed right down now, edging into the traffic of the main road. Isobel stared at his handsome, composed profile.
‘If you dangle a dream in front of someone you don’t want to disappoint them.’
Sinking down into the low leather seat, she willed her racing heart to steady. This was no dream...it was a nightmare.
‘PLEASE, SIT DOWN.’
Up on his feet, Orlando was gesturing to the chair opposite him, his impatient gaze following Isobel’s every move as she joined him at their table.
Having just about survived the car journey to the restaurant, she had made straight for the restroom to repair her make-up and give her churning stomach some time to calm down. Mercifully, the clogged London traffic had given Orlando no chance to exceed the speed limit, and when his first attempts at conversation had failed he’d accepted her silence and left her to endure the journey in peace.
She’d probably been away no more than five or six minutes, but judging by the scowl on Orlando’s face it was five or six minutes too long.
‘I’ve ordered for you.’
Leaning forward with the wine bottle in his hand, Orlando went to fill Isobel’s glass but she shook her head and reached for the carafe of water.
‘I know the chef here. His recommendations are always excellent.’
‘Right. Thank you.’ It wasn’t the food Isobel was worried about. It was the way Orlando was insidiously taking control.
Taking in a breath, she looked around. They were tucked in a discreet corner of a well-known and very exclusive restaurant—the sort that took bookings for twelve months in advance...or twelve minutes if you were Orlando Cassano. She’d recognised several celebrities seated at the subtly lit, polished wood tables, and ordinarily she would have loved a discreet gawp around to see who was dining with whom. But tonight her attention was on only one person—the darkly handsome man who sat opposite her now.
‘So, obviously we have a lot to discuss.’ Picking up his glass, Orlando swirled the dark red wine around, already coldly businesslike. ‘When exactly is the baby due?’
‘The beginning of December.’
‘So that gives us—what? Seven months?’
Us? Since when had they become an us?
Isobel took a gulp of water. ‘Yes. If my calculations are right, the due date is December the second.’ Just saying it out loud made it somehow seem all the more bewilderingly real.
‘Well, obviously we will need to get that date confirmed by a doctor.’
‘This is a baby, Orlando, not a business deal.’ Isobel heard her own acerbic reply. ‘You can’t threaten it with a penalty clause if it doesn’t deliver on time.’
A warning gleam shone in Orlando’s eyes, but he chose not to challenge her. Clearing his throat, he continued. ‘I’ll make enquiries about the best obstetrician in London.’
‘There’s no need. I can make my own appointments, thank you.’
‘Very well.’ He sighed pointedly. ‘In that case, let’s move on to where we are going to live.’
‘Live?’ Isobel carefully placed her glass down on the table. ‘As in together?’
‘I’ve been thinking maybe New York would be the most practical. I have a large apartment there, and—’
‘Wait a minute, Orlando. I can’t move to New York!’ Isobel gasped with panic. ‘My home, my business—everything is here in London.’
‘Spicer Shoes is a global company now, Isobel. Isn’t that what you’ve been striving for? With the new flagship store on Fifth Avenue opening soon it wouldn’t hurt for you to be seen to be spending some time in the US—charity galas, opening nights...that sort of thing. All good for business.’ He paused, meeting her heated gaze with measured calmness. ‘As for your home—what are you suggesting? That I move into your apartment? I suspect it would be a little crowded for the three of us.’
Isobel scowled. The idea of him moving into her flat was farcical, as well he knew.
She squared her shoulders. ‘I don’t remember agreeing to us living together at all.’
‘We are both going to have to make sacrifices, Isobel.’ Orlando pinned her with his gaze. ‘That’s the fact of the matter.’
Sacrifices. Was that how he saw this? Was that how he viewed their baby?
Because that wasn’t how Isobel felt. She already loved this growing life inside her—already knew that she would do anything to protect it, to provide for it, to keep it safe. That wasn’t sacrifice—that was love. But it wasn’t the same for Orlando—how could it be? He had no emotional attachment to this baby. To him it was just a millstone around his neck, a huge encumbrance that he felt compelled to deal with.
With a spark of hope, Isobel decided to give it one more try—to make him realise that he could walk away if he wanted to, leave her to it. She could cope. In fact she would trade the tumult of living with him for the hollow calmness of raising the child alone a thousand times over.
‘I meant what I said earlier, Orlando,’ she started. ‘I am prepared to raise the child alone, to take full responsibility. There is no need for you to make any sacrifices for this baby.’
‘Let me make something clear, Isobel.’ Orlando’s voice dipped dangerously low. ‘I intend to meet my responsibilities, and that will inevitably involve sacrifices. But I will make them willingly and wholeheartedly.
