not going back to Brazil!’ she declared quietly. ‘And you can’t make me!’
He let that one go. For the moment. ‘Here’s my car.’
A midnight-blue sports car was parked with precision close to the kerb, and Isabella stared at the low, gleaming bodywork in dismay.
‘What’s the matter?’
She glanced up to find that the black eyes were fixed intently on her face. He must have noticed her hesitation. She gestured to her stomach, placing her hands on either side of her bump, to draw his attention to it. ‘Look—’
‘I’m looking,’ he replied, taken aback by the sudden hurl of his heart as one of her hands strayed dangerously close to the heavy swell of her breast.
‘I’m so big and so bulky, and your car is so streamlined.’
He held the door open for her. ‘You think you won’t fit?’
‘Look away,’ she said. ‘It won’t be a graceful sight.’
She began to ease her legs inside and his face grew grim as he turned back to look at the house they had just left—where two small boys forlornly watched them from an upstairs window. He did not know what lay ahead, beyond offering her temporary refuge, but already he suspected that his loyalties might be torn. How could they not be?
He’d known Isabella’s father for years—ever since he was a boy himself. And for the last ten summers since his wife’s death had accepted Luis’s hospitality for both himself and his son.
Eddie had been just a baby when his mother had died so needlessly and so tragically in a hit-and-run accident that had produced national revulsion, but no conviction. The man—or woman—who had killed Elizabeth remained free to this day. In the lonely and insecure days following her death, it had seemed vital to Paulo that Eddie should know something of his South American roots.
As a father himself, Paulo felt duty-bound to inform Luis Fernandes what was happening to his daughter. But Isabella was not a child. Far from it. Would she expect him to collude with her? To keep quiet about the baby? And for how long?
He waited until they’d eased away from the kerb, before jerking his head back in the direction of the house.
‘How long were you planning to stay there?’
‘I don’t know.’ She stared at the road ahead. ‘I just took it day by day. Mrs Stafford said that I could work the baby into my routine.’
Paulo’s long fingers dug into the steering wheel. ‘But you must have some idea, Isabella! Until the baby was…what…how old? Six months? A year? Would you then have returned to Brazil with a grandchild for your father to see? Or were you planning to keep it hidden from him forever?’
‘I told you,’ she answered tiredly, wishing that he wouldn’t keep asking her these questions—though she noted that he’d refrained from asking the most fundamental question of all. ‘I honestly don’t know. And not because I hadn’t thought about it, either. Believe me, I’d thought about it so much that the thoughts seemed to just go round and round inside my head, until sometimes I felt like I would burst—’
Paulo’s mouth hardened. Hadn’t he felt exactly like that after Elizabeth’s death? When the world seemed to make no sense at all? He stole a glance at her strained, white face and felt an unwilling surge of compassion. ‘But the more you thought about it, the more confused you got—so that you were still no closer to deciding what to do? Is that right?’
His perception disarmed her, just as the warmth and comfort of the car soothed her more than she’d expected to be soothed. Isabella felt her mouth begin to tremble, and she turned to look out of the window at the city speeding by, so that he wouldn’t see. ‘Yes. How could I be?’ She kept her voice low. ‘Because whatever decision I reach—is bound to hurt someone, somewhere.’
Her words were so quiet that he could barely hear, but Paulo could sense that she was close to tears. A deep vein of disquiet ran through him. Now was not the time to fire questions at her—not when she looked so little and pale and vulnerable.
He thought how spare the flesh looked on her bones—all her old voluptuousness gone. As if, despite the absurdly swollen bump of her pregnancy, a puff of wind could blow her away.
‘You haven’t been eating properly,’ he accused.
‘There isn’t a lot of room for food these days.’
‘Have you had supper?’
‘Well, no,’ she admitted. She’d been seeking refuge in her room: too tired to bother going downstairs to hunt through the junk food in the Staffords’ fridge for something which looked vaguely nutritional.
‘Your baby needs sustenance,’ he growled. ‘And so, for that matter, do you. I’m taking you for something to eat.’
Nausea welled up in her throat. She shook her head. ‘I can’t face the thought of food at the moment. Too much has happened—surely you can understand that?’
‘You can try.’ His mouth twisted into a mocking smile. ‘For me.’
She knotted her fingers together in her lap. ‘I suppose I’m not going to get any peace unless I agree?’
‘No, you’re not,’ he agreed. ‘Just console yourself with the thought that I’m doing it for your own good.’
‘You’re so kind, Paulo.’
He heard the tentative attempt at sarcasm and oddly enough it made him smile. At least her spirit hadn’t been entirely extinguished. ‘More practical than kind,’ he murmured. ‘We need to talk and you need to decide your future. And we can’t do that in private at my house.’
‘Because of Eduardo?’
‘That’s right.’ He wondered how he could possibly explain away her pregnancy to the son who idolised the ground she walked on. ‘He’ll be curious to know why you’re here—and we can’t give him any answers if we don’t know what they are ourselves. And it might just come as a shock for him to see you so—’ the words tasted bitter on his lips ‘—so heavily pregnant.’
She remembered the cool, blonde beauty who had let herself in and forced herself to ask the question. ‘What about Judy? Won’t she mind me landing myself on you?’
‘I shouldn’t think so.’
There was an odd kind of pause and she turned her head to stare at the darkened profile.
‘I’m not seeing her any more,’ he said.
‘Oh.’ Isabella was unprepared for the sudden warm rush of relief, but she tried not to let it show in her voice. ‘Oh, dear. What happened?’
Paulo compressed his lips, resisting the urge to tell her that it was none of her business. Because it was. Because somehow—unknowingly and unwittingly—Isabella had exposed him to doubts about his relationship with Judy which had led to its eventual demise.
He’d thought that shared interests and a mutually satisfactory sex-life were all that he needed from a relationship.
