Postcards From Madrid. Lynne GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
rel="nofollow" href="#u9de3eb68-3dca-55fc-81b1-f2738e58af06">CHAPTER THREE
ANTONIO was planning to take Lydia from her and bring her up in Spain, Sophie reflected in agonised panic. How dared he start telling her how the baby that she loved should be brought up?
Frantically determined to keep herself busy so that she did not have time to fret, Sophie fed Lydia and put her to bed. She tidied up the static caravan that had been her home for over three years. She would make an early start tomorrow to finish that mobile home. She opened the box of cardigans the mail order firm had sent her to be embroidered and sat down to begin work on the intricate flowers.
How was she supposed to fight Antonio? A real live aristocrat? Was her lifestyle really one of appalling poverty? They had a secure roof over their heads and enough to eat. Admittedly the mobile home could be rather cold in winter and their clothes were rarely new, but Lydia was a happy, thriving child. How was she supposed to demand equal rights over her niece when Antonio could offer so much more in every material way?
Norah Moore called in at nine that evening. As soon as the older woman realised that Antonio was returning the next day, she offered to take care of Lydia while he was there. ‘That way you’ll be able to talk in peace. Where did you say this Antonio was staying?’
‘I didn’t say…the card’s on the table,’ Sophie mumbled, dimly wondering why the older woman wanted to know.
‘Quite a way away…the hotel looks very fancy,’ Norah remarked. ‘You should take yourself off for a walk along the beach. That always calms you down. I’ll mind Lydia.’
‘How can I calm down? Antonio is going to take Lydia off me,’ Sophie breathed in a tormented whisper. ‘He’s already made up his mind.’
‘You can’t be sure of that. Wait and see what happens. You might be surprised,’ Norah remarked cryptically.
‘I don’t think so. Antonio was pretty blunt.’
The older woman gave Sophie’s arm a comforting squeeze and departed without further comment.
Sophie trudged down to the beach and let the breeze toss her hair into a wild mass. Antonio had not changed one atom, she thought feverishly. He had not had a clue how to handle Lydia, but had been far too arrogant to admit it. In fact he appeared to know precious little about young children, a reality he had been happy to ignore while picking on her shortcomings. And, worse still, Antonio was still as prejudiced against her as he had been at their last meeting in Spain almost three years earlier…
Her memories of that period in her life were still surprisingly fresh and raw and her thoughts swept her back in time. Her sister’s wedding had turned into a dream event for Sophie as well as the bride. Throughout that day, Antonio had smoothed Sophie’s passage in a whole host of ways. He had complimented her on her appearance in the fussy purple dress that she had secretly absolutely detested. He had chatted to her while the photographs were being taken, arranged to have her sit near him at the reception and acted as interpreter and translator so that she could mix with the other guests. He had introduced her to lots of people, danced with her and acted as if her pleasure was his primary objective.
All that attention had been a very heady experience for Sophie, who would have felt vastly out of her depth in such smart company without Antonio’s support. Her feet had barely touched the ground.
Belinda had been concerned enough to take Sophie aside to warn her off. ‘Antonio’s being very kind to you, but I don’t want you to get the wrong idea about him—’
‘I’m not getting any ideas about him,’ Sophie protested in severe embarrassment, wondering if she had been making a fool of herself. After all, she had been doing all those despicable girlie things like batting her eyelashes at him and going for the giggle rather than the belly laugh.
‘There’s no way that Antonio would be attracted to you. Pablo says his brother’s standards are so high that a saint couldn’t make the grade with him,’ her sister pointed out apologetically. ‘But Antonio does have fantastic manners. Obviously he felt sorry for you when he found you on your own last night. I’m sure that’s why he’s making so much effort to ensure that you have a good time today.’
‘Push off,’ Sophie told Antonio when he next asked her to dance. ‘When I need the sympathy vote, I’ll let you know.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Antonio demanded with incredulity.
‘I hear you’re being kind to me because you took pity on me last night—’
‘No, I’m really not that nice and unselfish.’ His shimmering dark golden eyes connected with hers and held her entrapped. For the space of thirty seconds she was as out of touch with planet earth as a rocket powering into space. ‘Was it your sister who told you that? I did notice her anxious looks. It’s natural for her to want to protect you.’
Having driven her back to the apartment complex that night, he insisted on escorting her right into the shabby reception area. Once there, he quite casually suggested taking her out to eat the following evening and giving her a tour of a less busy part of the coast. Striving hard to match his cool, she accepted with a shrug and went into the lift with a light wave. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed that she was so dizzy with excitement that she bumped her nose on the back wall of the lift.
Like Cinderella without the fairy godmother to help, Sophie toiled from dawn to dusk the next day striving to beautify herself for Antonio’s benefit. Early that evening, however, her father and his girlfriend, Miriam split up. Miriam found Sophie’s father with another woman and a huge argument took place. After listening wretchedly from the balcony to the fight that concluded in their separate departures, Sophie crept back indoors.
Ten minutes later Miriam’s teenaged son, Terry, appeared. The boy was desperate to find his mother and prevent her from drowning her sorrows in drink. Only then did Sophie learn that Miriam was a recovering alcoholic. She was bitterly ashamed of her father’s behaviour towards the poor woman. She also knew that she would not be able to live with her conscience if she did not help Terry look for his distraught parent.
Telling Antonio the full sordid truth of the goings-on at the apartment that day was not an option as far as Sophie was concerned. It broke her heart to phone him and cancel their night out with the polite fiction that she had taken ill. He made no mention of an alternative arrangement and time was running out fast, for her flight home was only twenty-four hours away.
That search for Miriam through all the many bars in the resort was long and unsuccessful. Footsore, exhausted and too broke to afford a taxi, Sophie and Terry walked home by the beach in the early hours of the morning. Her heart leapt with joy when Antonio stepped out of a car parked across the street from the entrance. She told Terry to go on up to bed.
‘I was so scared that I wasn’t going to see you again,’ she confided, too delighted by his appearance even to remember that she had pleaded sickness as an excuse for not seeing him earlier.
‘You won’t see me again.’ Lean bronzed face hard, Antonio raked contemptuous dark-as-jet eyes over her.
Bewildered, she stared up at him, suddenly horribly conscious that she was looking even less glam than usual. ‘But…but you’re here now—why not?’
‘How many reasons do you need? That you pretend to be ill when there’s nothing wrong with you?’
‘There was a reason for that—’
‘Sí. I saw you with your arm round the young man in the Union Jack shirt. You’ve been on the beach with him,’ Antonio murmured with mesmerising sibilance, letting a brown forefinger casually flick a stain on her vest top. ‘And rolling in sand. I don’t have to be a detective to know that you’ve been screwing outdoors.’
An argumentative drunk on the beach had kicked wet sand at her and soiled her white top and shorts. ‘No, you’ve got it wrong—’
‘De veras? I’m not into liars or tattoos.’ Antonio angled a brief look