The Blackmail Baby. Natalie RiversЧитать онлайн книгу.

      Chapter Two

       Three months later.

      IT WAS a beautiful day in early May. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. And Chloe stood at the graveside of her best friend, holding an orphaned baby in her arms.

      It was almost impossible to believe—but it was true. Liz, baby Emma’s mother, had really gone. Chloe had had three months to come to terms with the fact that her dear friend was losing her battle against cancer, but somehow her death had still come as a shock.

      She’d flown from Venice on that bitter night in February and travelled straight to Liz’s country village home. She’d been desperate to see her friend—partly to talk about what had happened with Lorenzo. But mostly just to seek the comfort of her company.

      But when Liz had opened the door of her cottage and beckoned her inside, Chloe had known at once that something was wrong. The cancer that they’d hoped and prayed would stay in remission had come back.

      Liz had delayed telling Chloe because she didn’t want to spoil what was supposed to be the happiest day of her life—her wedding day. And even more heartbreaking was the news that the disease had progressed too far for the doctors to save her.

      Chloe looked down at the baby snuggled in her arms, feeling cold and empty. The May sunshine did nothing to take the chill away, and at that moment she felt as though she’d never be warm again.

      ‘Are you all right, love?’

      She recognised the concerned voice of Gladys, Liz’s kindly neighbour. The old lady had been an incredible support during the past weeks. She’d helped to keep up her spirit at the bleakest of times, and offered to look after the baby, enabling Chloe to spend as much time as possible with Liz at the hospital, and then later on at the hospice.

      Chloe turned and tried to make her smile convincing, although she knew Gladys was unlikely to be fooled.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

      ‘It was a lovely service,’ Gladys said. ‘The readings Liz asked for were beautiful.’

      Chloe nodded, swallowing against the hard lump of sorrow that was constricting her throat. She had found the funeral almost unbearable. The pain of losing her best friend was still too raw. Liz had been too young to die. And baby Emma was too young to lose her mother.

      ‘If you’re sure you’re all right, I’d better get back to the cottage,’ Gladys said gently. ‘They’ll all be waiting for me by now.’

      ‘Thank you for inviting everyone back for tea,’ Chloe said gratefully. It had been thoughtful of the old lady to offer to host a small gathering after the funeral, and something Chloe just didn’t feel up to.

      ‘It’s the least I could do.’ Gladys brushed her thanks aside. ‘You’ve got your hands full with little Emma. And you’ve already done so much.’

      ‘I only did what anyone would have done,’ Chloe said.

      ‘No, not anyone,’ Gladys said stoutly. ‘You took good care of your friend during a difficult time. And now you are doing a wonderful thing—taking on her baby as your own. Liz was truly blessed to have a friend like you.’

      Chloe pressed her trembling lips together and tried to smile at her. She knew Gladys meant well, but at that moment it was hard to think of Liz as blessed. She’d suffered so much, only to have her life snatched away by cancer.

      ‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village, she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.

      She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.

      ‘We’ll be all right,’ Chloe whispered, and kissed Emma’s soft cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’

      But as she pressed her face against Emma’s wispy baby hair, she suddenly felt very alone.

      She found herself thinking about Lorenzo. Three months ago she’d thought she was about to embark on the most wonderful journey of her life—marriage and children with her gorgeous Italian husband. Now everything was so different.

      She had not heard a word from him since the night she left Venice, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d known it was unrealistic to hope that he would follow her, saying that he’d got it wrong, and that he did love her after all.

      But still, that was what she’d wished for.

      She had not contacted him either. She’d been too involved with caring for Liz and Emma. And, if she was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to face him.

      Deep down she knew she’d behaved badly by running away without talking to him—but she’d simply reacted instinctively to the discovery that Lorenzo viewed their marriage as a loveless practicality. An overpowering need for self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d known that to protect her broken heart she had to get away from him.

      But now she had to contact Lorenzo.

      Firstly about her intention to adopt Emma. They were still officially married, and that might cause complications with the legal procedures. And secondly, about some money she’d been forced to use a couple of days earlier, from an account he’d set up in both their names before the wedding. The amount she’d taken would be nothing to a man as rich as Lorenzo, but she knew him well enough to be aware that no detail—no matter how small—ever escaped his notice.

      She wanted him to know that she would pay him back as soon as she could. She had no wish to take anything from him. And the sooner she set things straight, the sooner she could put that heartbreaking episode of her life behind her, and get on with building a life for herself and Emma.

      A tremble ran through her at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again, but she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Emma’s head.

      ‘I’m not going to think about that now,’ she said to the baby. She’d promised Liz that she’d think happy thoughts, but at that moment it was a hard promise to keep.

      She walked across to a wooden bench under a flowering cherry tree. The soft grass was scattered with the delicate pink blossom and it reminded Chloe of confetti.

      Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. It was the most beautiful day. But her best friend was not there to share it with her. And she never would be again.

      Lorenzo Valente handled the convertible with a natural ease, shifting gears smoothly as he approached a tight bend in the winding country lane. It was a fine afternoon in May and the sun felt surprisingly warm on his shoulders as he sped along the leafy green road in rural England.

      He