would repair it as best she could, but without any help from him.
‘I’ll manage somehow,’ she said, her voice low but dignified. ‘I may not be rich, but you can be sure that I’ll love these babies, Xandros. I’ll love them with all my heart—and I don’t want anything from you. Do you understand that?’
His eyes narrowed as they met in a silent clash with hers, but unexpectedly her fervent words pierced him. She had said that she would love them—but he knew only too well that being a mother did not guarantee loving your children. When she realised that he meant what he said about not marrying her—would she still feel the same? Or might she then see adoption as a sensible solution?
‘I understand perfectly,’ he said. ‘But whether you want help or not, you’re getting it. I will pay money into an account for you—what you choose to do with it is up to you. In return, I ask that you keep me informed of your progress during the pregnancy. Is that understood?’
She stared at him. ‘You mean you want to be involved?’
He hardened his heart against her violet eyes. ‘I meant I want a progress report,’ he said, as if he were talking about the construction of one of his own projects. ‘I wish to know when they …’ He swallowed then, despite his determination to feel nothing. ‘I want to know when you give birth. Will you do that for me?’
‘Yes.’ The word was little more than a lost sigh in that great big office space and Rebecca stood up. If she didn’t feel so emotionally and physically vulnerable, she would have left quietly and gone in search of the nearest subway. But she couldn’t face it. ‘I’d like to go now,’ she said, in a low voice. Before she did something unforgivable, like breaking down into a cascade of choking sobs in front of him.
Xandros could see the trembling of her lips. Once he would have kissed that tremble away, but now he could not—for that would dishonour them both. Their relationship was over—they both knew that.
He suspected what she really wanted of him—what was probably expected of him—but he could not give any kind of emotional commitment to these unborn children. Far better to promise nothing than to fail to deliver. And didn’t he come from exactly the right kind of background to walk away from a child? Didn’t abandonment run deep in his veins?
Hidden by the shafts of his powerful thighs, his fists clenched in anger. ‘My driver is waiting,’ he said tightly. ‘I will take you down to him.’
YET for the first time in his life, Alexandros Pavlidis found himself proved wrong.
He had expected—what? That Rebecca would use her pregnancy to gain increased access to his life, in an attempt to make herself a permanent fixture there, no matter how much she had protested otherwise?
Yes, of course he had. Too often in the past women had lied to him or tried to conceal their true motives in their attempts to ensnare him. And didn’t she have a more valid reason than any of her predecessors to want him in her life? Two babies on the way. Two babies which were due to be born in a few short weeks’ time, according to the calendar on his kitchen wall.
Xandros finished knotting his silk tie and stared back at his image in the mirror. His eyes looked shadowed, his hard face unsmiling. In the frantic world beyond his condominium, a snowy New York was rushing to prepare itself for the holiday season, and no city did it better.
The giant Christmas tree at the Rockefeller centre was blazing with coloured lights and the ice-rink was filled with happy skaters. Department store windows were groaning with nostalgic images which had been lifted straight from the pages of children’s books. On Xandros’s mantelpiece, dozens of invitations were stacked like giant playing cards—but he was distracted.
Just what the hell was Rebecca playing at?
He had expected the generous allowance he had paid into an account for her to be withdrawn immediately, but he had been wrong.
He had expected regular updates from her—an attempt to involve him in the pregnancy with an excess of detail. Again, he had been wrong.
She had withdrawn no money—not a cent—and the only real news he had received about the pregnancy had been the two images from one of her scans. They had arrived in a plain brown envelope, marked ‘Private and Confidential’ and Xandros had sat staring at them for a long time.
He was used to studying pictures; that was part of his job—to see something grow from a rough design into something real—but this was something completely outside his experience.
At first his untrained eye could hardly distinguish between the grainy components of the photo, but gradually—like one of those optical illusions which people sent out over the internet—the image became clear. Yet it was still difficult to believe the import of what he was seeing. Were these tiny, tadpole-like shapes really potential human beings?
In spite of his determination not to think of the bigger picture, he felt a sensation which was midway between wonder and pain and, giving into rare impulse, he picked up the phone and dialled her number in England.
Her voice sounded wary. ‘Hello?’
‘It’s me. Xandros.’
Yes, I know it’s you, thought Rebecca and sucked in an unsteady breath. ‘Hello, Xandros.’
It wasn’t the most rapturous welcome in the world. Xandros stared out at the lightening New York sky and his mouth tightened. ‘I called to see how you were doing.’
Give him the facts, Rebecca told herself. Just the facts—that’s all he wants. ‘Oh, the doctors are very pleased with my progress. The pregnancy is going exactly as it should and the babies—’ How bizarre it felt to be saying this—to be discussing these intimate details with a man who felt little more than a stranger. Who was little more than a stranger. ‘The babies are doing fine—so they tell me, looking at the scan. Did you get the pictures I sent you?’
In spite of his determination not to react, Xandros felt his heartbeat increase. When she said ‘babies’ like that—in that soft, English accent—it sounded frighteningly real and yet ridiculously far-away. ‘Yes. Yes, I got them. What are you doing for Christmas?’
She had told herself to expect nothing, but she had absolutely no control over the sudden hopeful lurching of her heart. Did he realise that she was pretty much trapped by size and circumstance? But if she told him the truth—that she was planning to overdose on chocolate and sloppy films—wouldn’t that sound as if she were some poor little victim, desperate for her white knight to come along and scoop her up on his charger. Well, Xandros was certainly no white knight—and she was certainly no victim.
‘Oh, I’m being very lazy,’ she said, injecting as much purring satisfaction into her voice as she could. ‘What about you?’
He thought of all the parties he’d been invited to and the people who would be at them—the über-thin women, so eager to please and to take him to their beds. The Park Avenue matrons so keen to marry off their daughters—his power and Greek virility in exchange for some obscene trust fund. But suddenly Rebecca’s satisfied voice became the main focus in his mind and he felt the first simmerings of annoyance.
Because her response wasn’t
