and had frowned when he realised how stilted he sounded. Her silence had rattled him. ‘There will be things to discuss—financial matters and so on.’ Once again his words hadn’t reflected what he really wanted to say. And he’d realised as he wiped beads of sweat from his brow that he was the biggest fool on the planet.
He forced himself to concentrate as the road narrowed to a muddy track, and a few moments later he swung the car through some iron gates and came to a halt outside a rather tired-looking grey stone farmhouse. The farmyard appeared deserted apart from a few chickens pecking in the mud. As he approached the house a dog began to bark. The front door looked as though it hadn’t been opened for years, but at the side of the house a door stood ajar and led into the kitchen.
No one came when he knocked, but he could hear voices talking in a language he had never heard before, which he presumed was Welsh. He supposed he should have phoned Rebekah to tell her he was coming, but he hadn’t because he wanted to catch her off guard, before she had a chance to erect the barriers he had sensed she’d put in place when he had spoken to her yesterday.
A cat wound through his legs as he walked across the kitchen. He hesitated for a second and then pushed open the door in front of him and stepped into a crowded room. At least a dozen people were sitting at a long dining table, and numerous children were seated around a smaller table. At the head of the main table sat a giant of a man, grey-haired with a weathered face, who he guessed was Rebekah’s father. Dante glanced at her brothers, all as huge as their father, but his eyes moved swiftly to Rebekah and he felt a sudden pain in his chest, as if an arrow had pierced between his ribs.
She was smiling, and for some reason that hurt him. He hadn’t felt like smiling since … since Tuscany, when she had made him laugh with her dry wit and atrociously bad jokes.
The sound of chatter slowly died as the people in the room became aware of a stranger in their midst. The suspicious stares from the army of Welshmen and their wives emphasised that he was an outsider.
Dante had a sudden flashback to when he had been ten years old, at boarding school. It had been the end of term and most of the boys were gathered in the quadrangle, waiting for their parents to collect them to take them home for the holidays. But his parents weren’t coming. His father had arranged for him to stay with the headmaster and his family for the Easter break. Staring out of a classroom window, he had felt detached from the other boys’ excitement. All his life he had never felt that he belonged anywhere.
He certainly did not belong here in this Welsh farmhouse. But Rebekah did. He could almost sense the invisible bonds that tied her closely to her family—a family that at this moment were unified in protecting her.
Her father made to stand up, but the younger man sitting beside him got to his feet first, saying, ‘I’ll deal with this, Tada.’
Rebekah’s smile had died on her lips and she was staring at him as if he had two heads. She scraped back her chair and, as she stood up, Dante felt a surge of emotion as his eyes were drawn to her rounded stomach. His child was growing inside her, his flesh and blood. He looked around the sea of faces all gazing warily at him and he no longer cared if they regarded him as an outsider. Rebekah was carrying his baby and he was determined to convince her that he wanted to be a father.
‘SIT down, Beka,’ her brother ordered.
She threw him a sharp glance, her eyes flashing fire. ‘It’s my problem, Owen, and I’ll deal with it.’ Turning back to face Dante, she lifted her head proudly and shook back her long silky hair. ‘Why are you here?’
Since when had she viewed him as a problem? He felt a sudden fierce blaze of anger. How dared she speak to him in that coolly polite voice, as if he were a casual acquaintance rather than the man whose child’s heart beat within her? With great effort he swallowed his temper and said quietly, ‘We need to talk.’
One of the women seated at the table stood up. Rebekah’s mother was short and plump, her dark hair was threaded with silver strands but her violet-coloured eyes were sharp and bright. It occurred to Dante that the Evans women were formidable and he suspected that, for all their huge size, the men of the family would think twice about arguing with them.
‘You must be Mr Jarrell. I am Rowena Evans. This is my husband, Ifan—’ she waved a hand towards the other end of the table ‘—and our sons and their families. Our daughter you already know, of course,’ she said calmly. ‘Rebekah will take you into the parlour so that you can talk in private.’
Rebekah knew better than to argue with her mother but her legs felt unsteady as she walked out of the room, and she was desperately conscious of Dante following closely behind her. He was the second shock she had received today, but not the worst, she thought, feeling a stab of fear as she remembered her hospital appointment earlier in the day. She ushered him into the parlour and closed the door, taking a deep breath before she turned to face him.
He was wearing a soft oatmeal-coloured sweater and faded jeans that hugged his lean hips. His dark Mediterranean looks seemed even more exotic here in Wales. He would certainly attract attention in the village, she thought wryly. But it was unlikely he had come to sample the delights of Rhoslaenau, which boasted a population of four hundred, a post office and a pub.
‘Would you like to sit down?’ She offered him the armchair by the fire, but when he shook his head she crossed her arms defensively in front of her. ‘Why are you here? I wasn’t expecting you.’ A thought occurred to her. ‘Have you had the results of the paternity test already? I thought we wouldn’t hear for a week.’
‘No, I haven’t had the results.’ Dante hesitated, uncharacteristically struggling to find the right words. ‘But I don’t need a test to confirm I am the baby’s father.’
Rebekah stared at him warily. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I believe you, cara. I know the child you are carrying is mine.’
She bit her lip. ‘I understand why you would want proof. Anyone who had been deceived as you were by your wife would feel the same way. I know you must find it hard to trust.’
He held her gaze steadily. ‘I trust you, Rebekah, and I’m here to discuss what we’re going to do now. How we can do the best for our child.’
His child—Dante felt a weird feeling inside: disbelief that he was going to be a father, but as the realisation sank in he felt awed and excited.
Rebekah’s words sent a chill down his spine.
‘You mentioned on the phone that you wanted to discuss financial matters. Please don’t feel obliged to give me money,’ she said with excruciating politeness. ‘My parents have been wonderful and have offered to support me and the baby until I can move to St Lucia to work at Gaspard Clavier’s new restaurant.’
Dante could not hide his shock. ‘You intend to take the baby to live in the Caribbean?’
‘Not immediately after it’s born. But Gaspard assures me it’s a wonderful place to live and bring up a child.’
On the way to Rebekah’s parents’ farm he had rehearsed what he planned to say to her but now he was groping for a response. He felt as if a rug had been pulled from beneath his feet. ‘And where do I feature in this wonderful new life you’re planning?’ he said harshly. ‘Do you expect me to allow
