Secret Baby, Convenient Wife. Kim LawrenceЧитать онлайн книгу.
won over by the confident medical assertion that there was no reason that Sara could not live a full normal life.
It had been three months later that he had buried Sara, who had died of an accidental overdose of insulin.
‘I thought our marriage was based on transparency?’
‘No our marriage—’ She bit back, pushing herself off the bed…God, if she didn’t she’d have strangled him! ‘What about what I want, Gianfranco? What I need?’ Pushing her arms into a robe, she turned and threw him a look of challenge.
‘I thought I gave you what you want and need.’
‘I want this baby.’
‘There is no baby, Dervla.’
‘There could be, there could be!’ she wailed, frustrated by his refusal to even consider what she was saying.
‘I know people who have been down the IVF route. It took over their lives, put a lot of strain on their relationship, not to mention the emotional and physical strain being pumped full of chemicals has on the woman.’
‘Some people think it’s worth it…and if you never even try you’d always wonder.’
‘That is not a route I wish ever to go down. Besides, from what you told me the chances of you getting pregnant would be remote.’ If it took brutal to get his point across, so be it.
Dervla pressed her clenched fists tight against her stomach; she felt physically sick.
‘But there is a chance.’ She couldn’t believe that Gianfranco couldn’t see she had to take it. The icy hand inside her chest tightened as she watched him slowly shake his head.
‘There is no use begging, Dervla. I will not give you a baby.’
Anger flooded through her, releasing adrenaline into her bloodstream. Maybe it wasn’t a baby he didn’t want—it was her baby. ‘Then maybe I’ll find myself someone who will.’
If he had reacted angrily, if he had done almost anything but thrown back his head and laughed, she might have calmed down…but he did laugh.
‘You think I wouldn’t?’
He stopped laughing.
Dervla shivered as their eyes connected. She had never seen his eyes look so cold.
‘I know you wouldn’t.’ Because if he caught a man within sniffing distance of her he would make sure they never sniffed again!
Dervla’s eyes narrowed to icy green slits. ‘Is that a fact?’ she said in a conversational tone. ‘What do you know? Infallible Gianfranco Bruni turns out not to know everything after all.’
‘What are you doing?’ he asked as she began to rush around the room erratically flinging open doors and drawers and flinging the contents she extracted into a bag.
‘I’m packing.’
His patrician features tight, he gave a contemptuous sneer. ‘You’re being ridiculous.’ She wouldn’t go.
She went to the drawer and pulled out her passport. ‘No, I’m finally not being ridiculous. Marrying you, I must have been mad! You’re the most selfish man I have ever met,’ she choked. ‘I’ll take a car. I’ll leave it at the airport.’
CHAPTER THREE
THERE had been no question of where Dervla would go.
When she was in trouble it had been totally predictable where, or rather who, she would bolt to, sure of a welcome and equally sure her best friend Sue wouldn’t push her for explanations until she was ready.
Her actions were actually so predictable that she couldn’t even pretend that Gianfranco’s silence was due to his inability to locate her. He would know her destination without cause to use the mental powers some people nervously suggested bordered on the paranormal.
She couldn’t even picture him desperately searching for her. The only thing Gianfranco was desperately doing was ignoring the fact she existed, ignoring the fact he had a wife.
She was considering his seeming indifference to her flight when the phone rang.
For a moment Dervla froze and stared at it as if it were a striking snake.
It would serve him right if she ignored it.
Even before the thought was half formed she literally dived for it. Her hand shook as she lifted the receiver and raised it to her ear.
‘Hello.’ She was barely able to force the quivering word past the emotional occlusion in her aching throat.
The pathetically eager smile on her face faded dramatically as the voice the other end assured her that they were not selling anything before launching into their slick sales pitch.
Slender shoulders hunched, Dervla sank disconsolately onto Sue’s sagging sofa, ingrained good manners making it impossible for her to hang up. So she let the disembodied voice describe uninterrupted the superiority of the double-glazing they were selling and resisted the temptation to enquire bitterly if this marvellous system, which could apparently do anything, could make a man love you.
Or, failing that, make a person fall out of love? Yeah, that would work and make them a lot of money; love really wasn’t what it was cracked up to be.
‘So our sales representatives are in your area next week. Would you like one to call?’
Dervla roused herself from her bitter reflections and said apologetically, ‘Sorry, I’m not the home owner. I’m just camping on the sofa because I walked out of my marriage.’ And my husband shows no sign of giving a damn. For all she knew he could be celebrating his freedom. Maybe not alone?
The startled intake of breath on the other end almost made her smile as she put the receiver down. She glanced at the clock and could not believe it was still only three o’clock.
Each agonising minute of the interminable day had felt like an hour. The wistful ache became a pain as she allowed thoughts of Gianfranco to invade her thoughts.
You walked, she reminded herself.
And he hadn’t followed. She’d never forgive him for that.
What are you going to do, Dervla? she asked herself. Spend the rest of your life two feet from this phone just in case he decides to remember he has a wife? It was pretty clear that Gianfranco was getting on with his life, and wasn’t it about time she did the same thing?
One thing was certain: if she wanted to retain a crumb of self-respect she couldn’t sit around in this pathetic needy way.
She was going to have to start making plans for her future as a single woman. Fortunately she was well qualified so there would be no problem earning a living, even if that did mean some agency work initially.
She picked up the TV control and, with about as much enthusiasm as she could muster for the prospect of picking up the threads of her old life, clicked on the TV.
The face of a smartly dressed woman fronting the news channel filled the screen. She looked to Dervla like someone whose personal life was not a total messy disaster area, or maybe that wasn’t possible?
Maybe personal lives were by definition messy?
“On the first anniversary of the tragedy…”
Dervla’s eyes widened as the serene newscaster was replaced by an image reminiscent of a war zone—total devastation filled the screen, torn metal, screaming sirens, then they cut to a dazed-looking man with blood on his face praising the emergency services.
“A remembrance service is being held,” said the voice-over.
Dervla’s expression went blank with shock. Gianfranco as a survivor had received an invitation to that service, but, a firm believer in living in the present and looking to the future not the past—a slightly