Mistress Arrangements. Helen BianchinЧитать онлайн книгу.
aroma of instant coffee was no substitute for the real thing, but the hot, sweet brew had a necessary reviving effect and Carly sipped the contents of her mug with appreciative satisfaction.
‘What time is he picking you up?’
‘Seven.’ An entire gamut of emotions chased fleetingly across Sarah’s attractive features. ‘I’m going to ring him and cancel.’
If he was at all intuitive, he would have deliberately left his answering machine off with just this possibility in mind, Carly reflected as Sarah crossed to the telephone and punched out the requisite digits, only to listen and replace the receiver.
‘Damn. Now what am I going to do?’
Carly viewed her with twinkling solemnity. ‘Go out with him.’
‘I can’t. I’m nuts,’ Sarah wailed. ‘Nuts.’ Her expression assumed a sudden fierceness. ‘If the situation were reversed, would you go out with another man?’
Her heart lurched, then settled into an accelerated beat in the knowledge that she would soon be inextricably involved with someone she’d sworn never to have anything to do with again, coerced by a set of circumstances that denied any freedom of choice. Yet her academic mind demanded independent legal verification of Stefano’s threat of custody, even as logic reasoned that in a court of law the odds would be heavily stacked against Stefano being denied access to his daughter. Tomorrow was Saturday, but there was a friend she could contact outside office hours who would relay the vital information she needed.
‘Carly?’
She proffered a faint smile in silent apology and shook her head. ‘Not all men are made from the same mould as our respective first husbands,’ she managed, evading Sarah’s close scrutiny as she lifted the mug to her lips and sipped from it.
‘When he arrives, I’ll tell him I’ve changed my mind,’ Sarah declared, and, placing a light hand on Carly’s arm, she queried softly, ‘Are you OK?’
There was no time for confidences, and Carly wasn’t sure she was ready to share Stefano’s ultimatum with anyone. ‘I’m fine,’ she assured quietly as she deliberately forced a slight smile. ‘Let me give Ann-Marie dinner, then I’ll come and help with your hair.’
Sarah shot her a dark musing glance. ‘He’s seen me in denim shorts, a T-shirt, trainers, and no make-up.’ Her expression became faintly speculative as she took in the paleness of Carly’s features, the edge of tension apparent. ‘Give me twenty minutes to shower and change.’
Once in her own apartment, it took only a few minutes to heat the casserole she’d prepared the previous evening, and although Ann-Marie ate well Carly mechanically forked small portions from her plate with little real appetite.
Afterwards Ann-Marie proved an interested spectator as Carly used hot rollers to good effect on Sarah’s hair.
‘Why do I feel as nervous as a teenager about to go on a first date?’ Sarah queried with wry disbelief. ‘No, don’t answer that.’
‘All done,’ Carly announced minutes later as she stepped back a pace to view the style she’d effected with critical favour. ‘You look really great,’ she assured her gently, her eyes softening with genuine feeling for her friend’s state of panic. ‘Are you going to tell me his name?’ she prompted with a faintly teasing smile.
‘James Hensley,’ Sarah revealed. ‘Surgeon, late thirties, widower, one son. He’s slightly aloof and distinguished, yet warm and easy to talk to, if that makes sense.’ Indecision, doubt and anxiety clouded her attractive features. A deprecatory laugh merged with an audible groan of despair. ‘Why am I doing this to myself? I don’t need the emotional aggravation!’
The intercom buzzed, and Carly reached out and caught hold of Ann-Marie’s hand. ‘Have a really fantastic time,’ she bade Sarah gently. ‘We’ll let ourselves out.’
It was after eight before Ann-Marie fell asleep, and Carly gently closed the storybook, then gazed at her daughter’s classic features in repose. She looked so small, so fragile. Far too young to have to undergo extensive surgery. Her beautiful hair—
A lump rose in Carly’s throat, a painful constriction she had difficulty in swallowing. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. Dammit, she wouldn’t cry. Tears were for the weak, and she had to be strong. For both of them. At least her daughter would have the best medical attention money could buy, she consoled herself fiercely.
Carly remained seated in the chair beside Ann-Marie’s bed for a long time before she stirred herself sufficiently to leave the room, and after carefully closing the door she crossed the lounge to the phone.
Twenty minutes later she slowly replaced the receiver. With a sinking heart she attempted to come to terms with the fact that any claim for custody by Stefano could succeed. Sole custody was not a consideration unless he could prove indisputably that Carly was an unfit mother. However, he could insist on joint custody—alternate weekends, half of each school holiday—and be granted any reasonable request for access.
On that premise, Carly was sufficiently intelligent to be aware of what would happen if she contested his claim in a court of law, or what emphasis his lawyer would place on her decision to leave Stefano in ignorance of Ann-Marie’s existence.
She closed her eyes, almost able to hear the damning words uttered with appropriate dramatic inflexion. The moral issue would be played out with stunning effect. With the added weight of Stefano’s wealth, she wouldn’t stand a chance of him being refused custody.
Without conscious thought she sank into a nearby chair in despair. Dear God, she agonised shakily. How could she do that to her daughter? Ann-Marie would be pulled and pushed between two people who no longer had anything in common, torn by divided loyalties, and unsure whether either parent’s affection was motivated by genuine love or a desire to hurt the other.
In years to come Ann-Marie would understand and comprehend the truth of her parents’ relationship. But what damage would be done between now and then? It didn’t bear thinking about.
There was really no choice. None at all.
Impossibly restless, she flung herself into completing a punishing few hours of housework, followed by a stint of ironing. At least it provided an outlet for her nervous tension, and she tumbled wearily into bed to toss and turn far into the early hours of the morning.
‘You look—terrible,’ Sarah declared with concern as Carly answered the door shortly after eleven. ‘Is Ann-Marie OK?’
‘She’s fine,’ Carly responded with a faint smile, then winced at the increasing pain in her head. ‘She’s dressing her doll in the bedroom and deciding what she should wear to Susy’s party this afternoon. Come on in, we’ll have some coffee.’
‘I’ll make the coffee, and get you something for that headache,’ Sarah insisted, suiting words to action with such admirable efficiency that Carly found herself seated at the dining-room table nursing a hot cup of delicious brew.
‘Now, tell me what’s wrong.’
Carly effected a faint shrugging gesture. ‘I must be feeling my age,’ she qualified with a faint smile. ‘One late night through the week, and it takes me the next two to get over it.’
‘OK,’ Sarah accepted. ‘So you don’t want to talk. Now take these tablets.’
‘Yes, Sister.’
‘Don’t be sassy with me, young woman. It won’t work,’ Sarah added with mock-severity.
‘How was your date with James?’ Carly queried in an attempt to divert the conversation away from herself.
‘We had dinner, we talked, then he delivered me home.’ Sarah lifted her shoulders in a non-committal gesture. ‘It was all right, I guess.’
‘That’s it?’ Carly looked slightly incredulous. ‘All