and locked the door behind her. She fell back against it, breathing deeply, fighting to regain her composure.
Binkie appeared and she picked him up in her arms and carried him through into the living room. Her knees weak, with a sigh she sank down onto the sofa, cuddling the cat on her lap, her mind in turmoil as the significance of Cannavaro being Tony’s brother sank in.
Everyone had bad days, she reminded herself, but today hers had gone from good straight to diabolical. She glanced around the cosy room that was her sanctuary, her gaze resting on the two photographs in identical silver frames on the mantelpiece. One was of the parents she had adored, and the other of Helen, her dearest friend. All three were dead now, and moisture glazed her eyes.
Clive Hampton, Helen’s lawyer, whom Beth now considered a friend and mentor, was the closest thing she had to family. He had been instrumental in getting her a job in the offices of a local accountancy firm, where she had got the opportunity to train in-house as an accountant. After taking the requisite exams over two years she had eventually become qualified.
She spoke to Clive frequently on the telephone, and often visited him at his home in Richmond. She was meeting him tomorrow for Sunday lunch, and had almost forgotten in the trauma of the evening. He was over sixty now, and thinking of retiring soon, and though she talked to him about most things, telling him how she felt about Cannavaro was not one of them. It was much too personal. She had never even told Helen how badly the man had affected her in court, only that he was clever and that her lawyer, Miss Sims, had been useless against him. No, this latest development she had to take care of herself.
Her time in prison had taught her how to build a protective shell around her emotions and present a blank face in front of warders and prisoners alike. Living in a confined environment and sharing communal showers had come as a shock, but she had quickly realised that women came in all shapes and sizes and soon thought nothing of stripping off in front of anyone. She told herself she was no better or worse than anyone else, but all her life she had always felt the odd one out and that hadn’t changed. And with her new identity she was even more wary of making friends.
Tony and Mike were the only friends she had in London, though she had quite a few in Faith Cove.
Wearily she let her head fall back on the sofa and closed her eyes. She had never felt as alone as she did now. Not since that fatal day eight years ago when she had stood in the dock, trembling with fear. And the same hateful arrogant man was responsible…. In her head she wished she had the nerve to tell Dante Cannavaro exactly what she thought of him, but in reality she knew she could not.
He was a dangerously clever man: she trembled if he so much as touched her and he already thought they had met before. She was not going to take the chance of him remembering where … Not that it would matter if he did, but she did not need the aggravation in her life. What she needed to do was make sure she never met him again, and if that meant moving she would. Tony had said he hadn’t seen his brother since last year, so with luck she’d have some time to decide.
Binkie stirred and stretched on her lap. Sighing, Beth got to her feet. ‘Come on, Binkie. I can see you want feeding, and then I am going to bed.’
But once she was in bed disturbing thoughts of Dante Cannavaro filled her mind. The first time she had seen him across the courtroom she had felt an instant connection with him. Her stomach had churned and her heart had leapt and naively she had thought he was her savior. But he had betrayed her. Again tonight he’d ignited those same sensations in her, but she told herself that this time it was anger and hatred for the man.
Yet, as she tossed and turned, hot and restless beneath the coverlet, remembering the strength of his arms holding her as they danced, the heat of his long body moving her to the music, she had the growing suspicion that he could be right. Never in her life had she responded to any man the way she did to Cannavaro. She had met plenty of men in the last few years, and quite a lot had asked her for a date, but she could count on one hand the rare occasions she had accepted.
For all the harm Cannavaro had done to her, could her intense awareness of him, the rush of sensations he aroused in her, be purely sexual, as he said, and not just hatred as she believed? She saw in her mind’s eye his broodingly handsome face, the compelling dark eyes, and a shiver quivered through her body. How could she know for sure?
The first boy she had kissed had been the slimy liar Timothy Bewick, and when Cannavaro had questioned her at the trial he had implied their kiss had been a lot more. She hadn’t recognised the femme fatale he had made her out to be, but the jury had believed him.
By the time Beth had got out of prison she’d been determined to allow no man to get close to her. Her friend Helen had still been in prison, serving a twenty-year sentence for killing her bully of an ex-husband. Helen had spent years living with his violent rages, and it had only been when she had seen his anger directed at their daughter, Vicky, that Helen had found the courage to divorce him. Five years later Vicky had died while staying at her father’s holiday villa in Spain. According to her father, Vicky had slipped and cracked her head open. The Spanish authorities had believed him. But Helen had known he’d finally gone too far and she’d snapped, deliberately running him down with her Land Rover outside his London home.
Helen had told Beth her story, and told her to look around at the rest of the women they’d shared the prison with. Most of the women had been there because of a man. A man who’d told them what to do, whether they were thieves, prostitutes, drug mules or anything else. And they’d done it because they’d been deluded enough to believe the man loved them. In Helen’s case she had let grief and hatred of her ex take over, and in destroying his life had destroyed her own too. Helen had warned her never to let any man take over her life.
Helen’s words of wisdom still held true, and they strengthened Beth’s resolve to put as much distance between herself and Dante Cannavaro as she possibly could.
In a moment of insight Beth realised that her cottage in the village of Faith Cove was the only place she felt truly herself.
When Beth finally fell into a restless sleep the nightmare she had not suffered from for a long time returned with a vengeance—only the ending wasn’t the same. She was in the dock, with a big handsome man in black tormenting her, twisting every word she said. Then he was smiling, his deep voice and dark eyes drawing her in. And then the nightmare turned into an erotic dream of strong arms holding her, firm, sensuous lips kissing her, hands caressing her, thrilling her.
She cried out and woke up, hot and moist between her thighs and with her heart pounding like a drum.
The next day Beth drove to Richmond for Sunday lunch with Clive, and discussed with him what she had been thinking of doing since the last time she had stayed at the cottage. With Clive’s full approval Beth made the decision to leave London.
She was going to move to Faith Cove and refurbish the cottage Helen had gifted to her in her will. Ironically, Helen’s brute of a husband, never thinking his wife would have the nerve to divorce him, had put the cottage in Helen’s name to avoid tax when he had bought the house fifteen years earlier. When she had divorced him there had been nothing he could do about her keeping it.
Now Beth had plans for the cottage. Although ‘cottage’ was actually a misnomer, as the place was really a large house with six bedrooms, often rented out to families. First she would convert the roof space of the multi-car garage at the rear of the property into a three-roomed apartment. That way she could carry on renting out the house as a holiday let while living permanently either in the apartment or the house when it was vacant. Beth was sure she could make a comfortable living out of it, and she could continue as an accountant for private clients. Maybe she could even convert part of the garage into
