didn’t move. He merely inclined his head. ‘I’ll instruct my pilot to have the jet ready tomorrow.’
‘Thank you.’
She had to get out of here, away from him, before she broke down, and she turned towards the door.
‘What do you plan on telling our daughter?’
It took tremendous effort to look back at him. ‘The truth.’
With that she opened the door, passed through the aperture, then quietly closed the door behind her.
A week later Shannay conceded life had begun to slip into its former pattern.
The apartment was aired, cleaned, vacuumed and polished. The pantry, refrigerator and freezer stocked.
Anna appeared delighted to resume evening duties as Nicki’s carer, and John was pleased to have her start back at the pharmacy.
She should be happy, content, relieved to have left a highly fraught situation behind.
It was, she silently assured, resolved. As originally intended. Hadn’t she worked hard to hammer out a satisfactory custody arrangement suitable to Nicki’s needs?
Her daughter appeared relatively relaxed, and was looking forward to resuming kindergarten, meeting up with her friends.
Each evening, at the same time, Marcello rang to speak to his daughter and bid her ‘goodnight’.
Calls which Nicki eagerly anticipated and received with excited fervour.
The fact he rarely offered more than a restrained greeting to Shannay was immaterial … yet it hurt terribly.
Although what did she expect? Pleasant conversation?
How could he just … switch off, like that?
She shouldn’t feel crushed, but she did. It affected her sleep and left her hollow-eyed and aching.
If she didn’t soon pull herself together, she’d become a complete and utter emotional mess.
The second week in, she found it difficult to readjust to working the five-to-midnight shift, and John’s voiced concern began to rankle.
‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, and refused to elaborate on the Madrid sojourn.
At the end of the second week confirmation her decree nisi had been granted arrived in the mail from her lawyer.
The decree absolute would follow in approximately one month.
It should have been good news, except it sent her into the depths of despair.
The third week she developed a stomach bug … a persistent one which showed no inclination to subside.
Combined with unaccustomed tiredness and mood swings, the obvious possible reason sent alarm bells skyrocketing through the stratosphere. Consternation provided the need for a pregnancy test, the result of which confirmed her worst fears.
Not so inconceivable when she hadn’t used any form of contraceptive following Nicki’s birth … nor had Marcello favoured protection.
Fool. What had she been thinking?
Worse, what had he?
Although, on reflection, thinking hadn’t even entered the equation!
A fraught twenty-four hours later she redid the pregnancy test, only to have it show the same result.
Ohmigod, no. The silent scream seemed to echo inside her brain as she processed the implications in a stark replay.
OK, think, she bade shakily, and groaned out loud when she did the calculations and possible became probable, of which each passing day provided its own confirmation.
Then came the phone call on a week night when she’d cried off work, where Nicki unwittingly informed Marcello “Mummy is sick”, and the words were out in spite of Shannay frantically shaking her head.
Seconds later Nicki held out the receiver. ‘Daddy wants to talk to you.’
Well, I don’t want to talk to him. ‘Not now, darling, I’m busy.’
Nicki’s eyes rounded in surprise, for Shannay was only folding clothes, and Marcello must have heard, for his voice came clearly through the mouthpiece.
‘Take the phone, Shannay.’
She swore softly, and saw her daughter’s eyes dilate even further, then she collected the receiver and prepared to play polite.
‘Marcello.’
‘Nicki said you’re unwell.’
Whatever happened to hello? She kept her voice even. ‘I’m fine.’
‘Have you seen a doctor?’
‘I’m a pharmacist, remember? I do have a reasonable knowledge of ailments and appropriate medications.’
‘Are you pregnant?’
The query came out of left field, and surprised her … although, on reflection, she had to wonder why.
‘I’m fine,’ Shannay reiterated, refusing to fabricate or confirm, then she handed the receiver back to Nicki and exited the room on the pretext of delivering a small stack of folded clothes to the bedroom.
She could hear Nicki’s voice in the background, and she moved into the bathroom and began running Nicki’s bath.
Employing delaying tactics, she rearranged items on the marble-topped vanity until Nicki entered the bathroom.
‘Why didn’t you want to talk to Daddy?’
‘We talk via email,’ she explained carefully as she helped undress her daughter. Brief sentences conveying updates on Nicki.
It took a few days to gather the courage to arrange an appointment with an obstetrician, and she didn’t know whether to smile or cry following his examination.
‘Congratulations, my dear. You’re about halfway through your first trimester.’
The remainder of the day passed in a daze, and she settled Nicki with Anna, then drove to the pharmacy, praying that if they weren’t busy she might be able to persuade John to let her finish early.
Shortly after nine she was on the point of considering a tea-break when the electronic buzzer sounded as someone entered the pharmacy.
Shannay glanced up towards the entrance with a ready smile in place … and froze. For walking towards her was the last person she expected to see.
The tall, broad-shouldered male frame was achingly familiar.
Attired in black jeans, a white collarless shirt undone at the neck and a butter-soft black
