hotly in her direction but he was prevented from saying anything else by Charlotte running back into the room. ‘Mummy, come and look what I’ve got.’
It was sheer madness on Luigi’s part, decided Megan, as she studied the mounds of toys stacked in Charlotte’s room. Did he think that going over the top like this would make up for the missing years? He really had no idea what a child needed. And the more she thought about his intention to claim Charlotte the angrier she became.
‘Didn’t you say something about tea?’ she asked him sharply, wanting to get out of this room and the obscene number of gifts he had loaded on his daughter.
‘Wouldn’t you like to unpack first? Or shall I ask—’
‘I’ll do it,’ she snapped, wondering whom he was going to suggest do the job for her. It sounded as though he had a whole army of servants at his beck and call. Was he really happy with this kind of lifestyle?
She backed out of the room and snapped open the locks on her case. It took less than two minutes to hang up their few clothes. The other suitcase with the presents in she left safely fastened. And when she presented herself in Charlotte’s bedroom again he was still standing where she had left him. A real father would have got down on his knees and played with his daughter, but not Luigi. He was content to watch; he didn’t know how to play. Lord, it made her so mad that he’d cocooned himself in a world where money was the prime factor.
They made their way back downstairs to the drawing room. Again it was carpeted in blue, with display cabinets filled with fine pieces of porcelain. There were two very uncomfortable looking, square-armed chairs and a matching sofa, and on a rosewood tea table in front of them was the tea he had ordered.
The china was delicate, the pot covered by a cosy, and tiny biscuits were arranged on a plate. Hardly the sort of refreshment one would offer a three-year-old, thought Megan, but there were three cups and three small plates, so it looked as though she was expected to join them.
Charlotte ate most of the biscuits but she refused the tea. ‘Can I have Coke?’ she asked politely.
Megan felt quite amused when Luigi was forced to confess that he didn’t have any and Charlotte settled for milk instead.
‘We could go shopping,’ said Charlotte innocently. ‘Me and Mummy always go when we run out of anything.’
‘I have to go back to work in a minute,’ confessed her father.
Typical, thought Megan. Nothing had changed. But actually it was a relief when he’d gone and she and Charlotte could explore the house together. Her daughter ran from room to room, visibly impressed by the size of the place, but it made Megan angry. Was this what success meant to him? Was he trying to buy happiness? If so he was failing dismally.
As far as she was concerned it was a loveless place and he must rattle round in it. It wasn’t a home and she couldn’t imagine Charlotte being happy here either. And what annoyed her even more, there wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight. Why the hell had he invited them for Christmas if he wasn’t going to celebrate it?
Megan didn’t expect Luigi home for several hours and was surprised when he turned up in the middle of the afternoon with a huge Christmas tree tied on top of his car. Charlotte whooped with delight and all three of them spent the next couple of hours adorning it with the garlands and baubles and strings of flashing lights that he had also brought home.
It reminded Megan of the first Christmas they’d spent together as a married couple. She’d been deliriously happy. They had a home of their own by then and Luigi had walked in on Christmas Eve with a tree, much as he had now. It had taken a long time to dress it because each time she stretched up to hang a bauble he had slid his arms around her and kissed her.
They had called it their loving tree, but as each consecutive Christmas came he worked harder and harder, often not coming home until late on Christmas Eve, and by then Megan had dressed their tree herself. And slowly the magic had gone out of it.
‘Look, Mummy, look.’ Charlotte was high on her father’s shoulders and had just placed the fairy on top of the tree. ‘Isn’t it beautiful?’
‘It’s lovely, sweetheart.’
‘When’s Santa coming?’
‘Tonight, when you’re in bed.’
‘Can I go to bed now?’ she asked excitedly.
‘No, darling, it’s too early.’
‘Will he bring my presents here?’
‘Of course he will.’
‘How will he know I’m here, though?’
‘Because he’s magic. He knows where all little girls and boys are,’ she answered.
Luigi lifted his daughter down and as he did so his eyes met Megan’s, and whether it was the magic of the occasion or because she’d been thinking about their first Christmas together, Megan wasn’t sure, but she felt a volt of electricity arc through her. She turned swiftly away. It was a warning to be careful. She didn’t want to get involved with Luigi again, not at any price. Not unless he changed his lifestyle, and she couldn’t see that happening in a hundred years.
It made her increasingly aware how dangerous it had been to come here. She ought to have stood her ground even if it had meant disappointing her daughter. Not that Luigi would have let her. He’d been fully determined to have his daughter for Christmas, with or without her mother.
In fact it might have been safer to let Charlotte come on her own. No! She immediately negated that thought. She would have lost her. Luigi was adamant that he wanted his daughter—permanently. And she was equally as resolute that he would not.
Luigi had felt a warm surge of pleasure as he held his daughter aloft. It was unlike any feeling he’d ever experienced. This was his child, his flesh and blood, something he had created. She was nothing short of a miracle. And he knew that he never wanted to let her go—unlike his handsome Italian father and fun-loving English mother who had never really wanted him, who preferred to go out partying instead of looking after their son.
When he was eight he’d been taken from them and fostered out. Even then he’d been tossed from one family to another because he’d proved to be too much of a handful. He was full of anger and resentment over the treatment he’d received and several times he’d run away, never settling, never knowing what it was like to be truly loved.
It had made him into the tough person he was today. It had made him decide that he was going to make something of his life. He was quick to learn and very intelligent and at sixteen he had left school and started his first job with an IT firm. In fact he’d had a few little money-earners going long before then.
He’d helped school-friends with their homework and charged them. He had good computer skills and published a teenage magazine that was purchased by dozens of his friends both in school and out. He’d bought and sold all sorts of stuff, anything that would make him a profit. By the time he’d left school he’d amassed almost a thousand pounds. But he’d got his eyes set on a million before he was thirty, and he’d succeeded beyond his wildest dreams. He didn’t even know what he was worth these days.
Money
