she’d searched for him, how much it mattered. She, who prided herself on fearing nothing, had been dreading this meeting, dreading the sight of his face when she told him her news.
She covered her feelings with a smile, a cheerful shrug. He mustn’t suspect before she was ready.
‘I’m flattered you even remember me,’ she said.
‘Oh, yes,’ he murmured. ‘I remember. We had a great evening. You made me laugh.’
She stayed calm, although it was hard. Was laughter all he remembered about that night?
‘As you did me,’ she returned brightly.
‘Yes, we had a wonderful time. I’m sorry I had to leave so suddenly the next morning. You were deeply asleep and I didn’t want to awaken you.’
That wasn’t quite the truth. He’d been overtaken by a desire to keep that perfect night apart, separate from all other contacts, like a picture in a frame. It had made him slip silently out of the room, leaving behind only the note that gave no clue to his identity or whereabouts. Perhaps he should be ashamed of that, but he couldn’t think of it now.
The sight of her approaching had filled him with an overwhelming gladness. The awareness of that night was there again, spectacular, intense. She was even more beautiful than he remembered, and for a moment he felt nothing but pleasure.
Then she destroyed it.
‘I had to find you,’ she said. ‘There’s something you need to know.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Wh-what?’
‘I’m pregnant. I’m carrying your child.’
To his own horror his mind went blank. The pleasure at seeing her, the joy at the beautiful memories, everything vanished. He had the sensation of being punched in the face.
‘Are you… sure?’ he asked, barely knowing what he said.
‘Quite sure. And in case you’re wondering, I don’t make a habit of doing what I did that night, so there hasn’t been anyone else. You’re the father.’
‘Look, I didn’t mean…’
He could have cursed himself for his clumsiness but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t mean—what? And what did he mean? If anything.
Watching him intently, Charlotte saw the last thing in the world she’d wanted to see. Confusion. Blank. Nothing.
A desert.
In a blinding flash her courage collapsed. Don had rejected her, and although her heart hadn’t been broken, rejection was still rejection. Now Lucio was working himself up to reject her, and she wasn’t going to hang around for it.
‘It’s OK, it’s OK,’ she said with a good imitation of a cheerful laugh. ‘There’s no need to panic.’
‘I’m not—’
‘Oh, yes, you are. You’re on the verge of a panic attack. Oh, poor Lucio! Did you think I was trying to trap you into marriage? Not a chance! You and me? Get real! It would never work. We’d always—well, never mind that. Just don’t panic. You’re completely safe from me, I promise you. I’m only here because you have the right to know. Fulfilling my citizenly duty. How about that?’
She even managed a teasing note in the last words, and had the bitter satisfaction of seeing uncertainty in his face. He was floundering. Good. Serve him right!
‘So there it is,’ she said. ‘Now you know. If you want to talk about it you’ll find me here.’ She thrust a piece of paper into his hand. ‘But if you don’t want to, that’s just fine. Goodbye, Lucio. It was nice knowing you.’
Turning on her heel she walked swiftly away, determined to escape before he could insult her with any more blank-faced confusion.
But she gave him a last chance. That was only fair. After hurrying a few hundred yards she looked back, expecting to find him watching her, even perhaps stretching out a hand. That would have made her pause to see if he followed.
But he was frozen where she’d left him, immobile, staring down at the paper in his hand. She waited for him to look up, see her, call her name.
Nothing! Damn him!
There was only one thing to do, and that was vanish. She managed this by moving sideways between the vines so that she slipped into the next alley. This she did again, then again and again until she was several alleys away from the one where she’d started. Then she began to run, and didn’t stop until she reached her car. A few moments later she was speeding away from the estate.
As she fled she asked herself ironically what else she’d expected. A man who shared a woman’s bed and vanished without a goodbye had sent her an unmistakable message. The woman who chose to ignore that message had nobody to blame but herself if she suffered rejection.
And it certainly was rejection. Lucio hadn’t said the actual words, but only because he’d been trying to phrase them tactfully. She wouldn’t hear from him again but it didn’t matter. She’d told him what he had a right to know and her conscience was clear.
She thought of her family back home in the States. She’d known of her pregnancy for several weeks, but so far hadn’t told them. How would they react?
Or did she know the answer, only too well? They would accept it as no more than you’d expect from Charlotte—the difficult one, unpredictable, awkward, never quite fitting in.
And the one-night stand? Well, that was just like her, wasn’t it? Always ready to explore new territory, even if it might have been best left unexplored. Not that she was exactly a bad girl…
But then again, maybe she was.
She wished her brother, Matt, was here right now. Strange that they should be so close, when he was Ellie’s twin, not hers. But there was something in their natures that clicked. She knew that he, too, sometimes felt adrift in a desert, and he fought it the way she did herself, with humour that was ironic and sometimes bitter. She could almost hear him now. ‘Why did you bother finding this guy? He didn’t even give you his last name. Doesn’t that tell you something?’
Perhaps he did tell me the name, she thought, I just can’t remember it. It didn’t matter. It was that sort of evening. All about having fun.
But it hadn’t been fun trying to track him down afterwards. The thought of applying to the hotel for information had made her shiver with shame. Instead she’d gone to an internet café and then ransacked the internet for Italian vintners until she found no less than five of them called ‘Lucio.’ Luckily there was a photograph that identified him, but the search had made her feel like some abandoned serving girl from a bygone era. Which didn’t improve her temper any.
She’d finally identified him as Lucio Constello, one of the most successful men in the business. His wine was famous throughout the world, and he seemed to live a glamorous life, enjoying yacht trips, rubbing shoulders with celebrities, making money at every point. There were pictures of him with beautiful women, one of whom had recently ended a romance with a film producer.
‘And
