‘So you just…took off…’
‘We stole a car, something else that seemed a good idea at the time. I didn’t think about whether it was right or wrong, it was all just a means to an end. Jack drove.’ In retrospect, she could see the craziness of it all but she could remember how she had felt at the time. An orphan, missing her drunken but humorous father, just trying to escape the trap she had seen other girls fall into. The baby at seventeen, then another two years later, the pathetic desperation of endless relationships with abusive boyfriends who disappeared after a few months or a few weeks. The hopelessness.
She just wished that he would say something, even if it was to condemn her, but his silence was complete and, really, wasn’t his complete silence damning in itself?
‘Of course, we were caught. We hadn’t even made it halfway down to London when Jack was picked up for speeding. It didn’t take long before we were hauled into a police station and, because there had been a lot in the press about joyriders, we were dealt with pretty harshly. Fingerprints, the lot. I got off because I was just a passenger, but Jack went to prison for six months.’
‘And where were you at the time?’
‘Back in Birmingham, sleeping rough. I managed to get some casual work at one of the department stores, which was good. When Jack got out, he had changed. He was into drugs.’
Looks or no looks, if Angelo Falcone had met her then, he would have crossed to the other side of the road to avoid her.
‘He bummed around for a few months, getting worse and worse…’
‘And yet you stuck by him.’
‘Because that’s what friendship is all about. It was while I was working in that store that I was spotted. It was all a matter of chance. The Clothes Show was on and there must have been scouts around. A month later and chances are that I would have ended up in the same place as lots of other girls I knew, pushing a pram at eighteen and dreaming of better things.’
‘But you ended up on the other side of the Atlantic, wearing designer clothes…’
And meeting you. ‘As soon as I had accumulated some money, I arranged for Jack to be privately treated at a rehab centre. The top one in the country. It’s where a lot of my money went.’
Secrecy and lies, Angelo thought.
‘He was there for quite a while…and then the balance is, well…’
‘History? You paid for him to go on a caterer’s course and it turned out to be your refuge as well when you returned to England.’
Francesca nodded and stood up. ‘I have a murky past, Angelo, and that might not matter to a lot of people but it would matter to you. The paparazzi would have a field day if they ever found out. Georgina obviously has, but I don’t suppose she’ll say anything, not after you’ve issued your warnings…’ She couldn’t meet his eyes. It was one thing to know the scales had dropped but another thing to actually see it for herself. ‘I couldn’t get involved with you then and I can’t get involved with you now. I certainly can’t marry you. I won’t be responsible for ruining your reputation.’ And his reputation would be ruined. It was all true what he had said about the small but powerful circle of movers and shakers in London. Gossip could spread like wildfire and not only would he personally be tarnished by his contact with her, but he might very well be professionally tarnished as well.
‘So all we have to decide is how we deal with this…situation…’ No longer travelling down memory lane. She was crisp and businesslike now, not giving him any opportunity for those eyes to express what he thought of her. ‘I intend to move away from London, but not too far, perhaps towards Warwick. I know that part of the world and it’s a good place to raise a child.’ For the first time she looked at him. ‘Nothing you can say or do will stop me.’
CHAPTER TEN
FOR the past week Francesca had been on bedrest. She had been feeling sick and light-headed. She couldn’t eat. The sight of food, any food, just made her feel sicker. The doctor who had initially warned her that she needed to get her energy levels up had given her a stern warning about the effects of stress on her unborn baby and added some extra spice to his lecture by referring to the vulnerability of women during the first three months of their pregnancy. He had thrown her some scary statistics but by that point Francesca had been too busy thinking about the possibility of losing her baby to pay him much attention.
Bedrest. Dr White had been kind but firm, cutting through her protests about having to work with one raised hand that had stopped her in mid-flow. Bedrest or risk losing the baby—it was as simple as that. And she needed to start eating properly, not just a handful of crackers on the go to stave off nausea.