from the restaurant…only to have to return when she discovered that she had left her evening bag on the table.
When she reached for it, his hand closed over hers.
‘Sit down.’
‘I have nothing to say to you!’
‘Walk out on me a second time, and any chance you might have will be gone.’
Every instinct screamed for her to turn away from him, and it was only the image of her father that persuaded her to resume her seat.
‘You care for your father very much.’
‘If I didn’t,’ she responded flatly, ‘I wouldn’t be here.’
‘Enough to give your personal guarantee to investment from my private funds?’ His pause was deliberate. ‘Become part of the deal?’
She felt cold, and barely in control. ‘In what capacity?’ If he said as his mistress, she would tip the soup in his lap, then walk away. This time she would make sure she had her bag. And hell would freeze over before she would willingly exchange so much as a word with him should their paths meet again.
‘My wife.’
It was the last thing she had expected him to say. ‘You’re insane.’
He subjected her to a long, steady look before venturing in a hateful drawl, ‘Two million dollars as an unconditional gift in exchange for two years of your life.’
‘No.’
‘You sign a pre-nuptial agreement relinquishing any claim on my assets in lieu of the two million dollars I advance to your father on the day of our marriage,’ he continued as if she hadn’t spoken.
It was totally crazy. ‘No.’
‘Handsome recompense for an act of mercy.’
‘My father would never condone it.’
‘He need not know, if you act a part.’ His eyes never left hers. ‘You have twenty-four hours to reach a decision.’
She gave it, within mere minutes of his deadline.
The marriage of Elise Hansen and Alejandro Santanas took place a week later.
‘If it were not for my father,’ Elise vented with restrained vehemence as she attached her signature to the marriage register, ‘I would never have agreed to this diabolical arrangement.’
‘I have no doubt.’
‘What if I refuse you?’ she flung at him later that night when they retired to their hotel suite.
‘A no I should interpret as a maybe?’ Alejandro queried. ‘If my foreplay succeeds in arousing you to a state of sensual desire?’
‘You damned egotist,’ she spluttered.
Afterwards she hated herself, him, for proving that sex and love were two entirely different emotions.
It had taken only weeks to discover the existence of Savannah and learn that the glamorous model had been and, rumour had it, still was Alejandro’s mistress—a revelation deliberately designed to shatter her confidence. At the time, the vindictive gossip did not hurt at all. The pain came later.
Four months after her marriage her father suffered a heart attack, partly recovered, only to incur a second massive attack in a matter of weeks.
The night he lay so ill in hospital after the initial attack she forgot to take the Pill. By the time she realised the implications of her lapse it was too late, and her worst fears were confirmed when a home pregnancy test showed positive. A doctor’s appointment merely verified it.
For two weeks she suffered the tortures of the damned. Then, early one morning, soon after Alejandro left for the office, she simply threw a few clothes into a bag, slid in behind the wheel of the Porsche Carrera and headed north.
Ironically, she had only cleared the outer suburbs when another car ran through a ‘Stop’ sign.
She could vividly recall her reaction as she slammed on the brakes and made a desperate effort to avoid him; the sickening sound of colliding metal; a shuddering jolt that threw her against the door. Then nothing.
Elise’s head was throbbing so badly that at first she didn’t hear the repeated knock at the door.
‘Mrs Santanas? Are you all right?’
Oh, God. How long had she been in here? Five minutes…ten?
‘Yes. An attack of nausea,’ she reassured the nurse shakily. She’d have to pull herself together. She looked and felt like death. ‘I’ll be out in a minute.’
‘Doctor is ready to see you. Can I get you a cool drink? A cup of tea?’
There were disposable toothbrushes and toothpaste thoughtfully provided, and she made use of both before applying lipstick and running a comb through her hair. ‘Tea would be lovely. Thanks.’
Ten minutes later she sat in a deep cushioned chair facing a small middle-aged man, who viewed her over half-moon spectacles resting halfway down the bridge of his nose.
‘You’re pale, and your pulse-rate is elevated,’ he declared quietly. ‘Care to tell me what’s bothering you?’
‘The baby——’
‘Is fine. The mother, however, is giving me cause for concern.’ He subjected her to a lengthy appraisal, then ventured gently, ‘Your memory. Have you experienced any recurring flashes?’
She wanted to deny them, for, if she pretended they hadn’t occurred, she might somehow fool herself they were part of some horrid nightmare that had no place in reality.
‘A few,’ she admitted cautiously, unwilling to relay that her memory had returned in full.
‘You’ve found them distressing?’
Partial truth was infinitely preferable to truth in its entirety. ‘I guess it’s a natural reaction. My husband has been able to fill in some details, but not all.’
‘I think I should call him.’
‘No. No,’ she hastened quickly, aware of his sharp interest. ‘Please.’
He looked thoughtful. ‘He has been very concerned about you.’ He didn’t add that Alejandro Santanas had insisted on a full report after every one of his wife’s consultations. ‘I think it would be best if I see you again in a fortnight. Finish your tea.’
José was waiting in the car when she emerged, and as soon as he caught sight of her he moved quickly round to open the rear door, then, when she was safely seated, he slid in behind the wheel.
‘Is there anywhere you would like to go? A little shopping, perhaps?’
She had money,
