The Italian's Pregnant Mistress(27)

'Give me five minutes to have a shower. If you like, you can go  downstairs and make us both a cup of coffee. I'll take mine black.' He  strode past her towards the bathroom and shut the door. He leaned  against the door, eyes shut, and contemplated what he was going to do.  Sitting back and allowing her to spin him a story about walking away  because she had finally decided she wanted more than he could give  wasn't an option. That carried the nasty odour of how things had been  played out the last time around. Not quite the same but close enough.  The walking out bit would certainly be the same.

No, he would take the bull by the horns and dismiss her. It was always  going to come to that in the end and if he was taken by surprise it was  only because he wasn't quite ready for her to leave his life. He still  enjoyed making love to her, but he wasn't going to cling on and try to  persuade her to change her mind. In fact, he would rather have walked  barefoot on a bed of hot coals than allow his emotions to formulate  arguments his head didn't want.

He turned on the shower, making sure that it was as cold as his body  could stand, and afterwards stuck on some jeans and a tee shirt. She was  no longer in the bedroom. He went downstairs to find that the coffee  had been made and she was sipping hers at the kitchen table. Next to her  was her bag, a clear indication of the nature of the chat she had in  mind.

'I have something to say, Angelo, and it's not going to be easy … '

Angelo didn't say anything. There was a buzzing in his ears and he  didn't know whether it was from rage that she intended to pull the same  stunt on him again or frustration that he had let himself walk into a  situation which had managed to bring him to this impasse. He strolled  with his mug in his hand towards the chair facing her and sat down,  looping his foot around the other chair so that he could drag it towards  him. He was the picture of a man utterly at ease, sprawled on his  chair, feet indolently stretched out on the chair he had pulled towards  him.

'Then let me help you along, Francesca,' he drawled. 'We had a deal and  the deal hasn't changed. The deal is never going to change. If you've  suddenly decided that you need to tweak the rules, then you're barking  up the wrong tree. I want you for one thing and one thing only.' The  buzzing in his head was louder but his voice was perfectly calm, cold  even.

'Yes, I know that … '

'No,' Angelo cut in coolly, 'I don't think you do. Like every other  woman under the sun, you start off with the right intentions but  somewhere along the line the rules of the game begin to get a little  unpalatable and you decide that it might be a good idea to change them-'

'That's not true! You don't even know what I'm going to say!' And  beating about the bush wasn't going to do her any favours but the closer  she came to telling him the truth the more she shied away from the  hideous complications it would involve.

'I don't have to,' Angelo told her indifferently. He sipped the coffee.  He had been in control of their little fling and he intended to be in  control of its demise. But there was a leaden feeling inside him that  made him feel slightly sick. 'At any rate, it doesn't matter what you  have to say. I won't lie, I was enjoying our little romps … ' Romps seemed  a particularly good word, reducing what they had to strictly sex but  reducing it in a way that left no room for dignity or glamour. It was a  basic, dismissive description and he saw the way she flinched in  response. 'But all good things come to an end and I just want to smooth  the path for you by telling you that I'm more than happy to part company  with you, no hard feelings. There. Have I helped you out at all?'

'It's not as easy as that … '

'Don't make a drama out of nothing, Francesca. It's actually very easy.'  He looked at her impassively, noted the tremulous quivering of her  mouth and steeled himself against the temptation to ask her questions,  in fact to show any interest at all.                       
       
           



       

Was that what she was doing? Making a drama out of nothing? If only he  knew! If only he knew that the low dosage contraceptive pill she had  been assiduously taking had been too late to prevent the baby growing  inside her, the product of that very first time they had made love  spontaneously and unprotected, weeks and weeks ago. It was only today,  when she'd realised that her breasts were feeling heavier than usual and  more sensitive than they normally did, that the period she should have  had during the gap in the little white tablets had been noticeable only  by its non-appearance, that she had been feeling queasy at the sight of  coffee and the smell of fried foods-disastrous for a chef and something  she had ignored to start with-only now had she turned cold at the  possible nightmare situation she might be facing.

She knew that she should have called him as soon as she'd discovered the  awful truth. At least then he would have had time to prepare himself  for when they met. Instead, she had decided to put off the dreaded  confrontation. She would have her last memory of him, something to  treasure for the rest of her life, and then she would tell him. Now,  here she was and she still hadn't told him. She felt like someone  staring up the face of Mount Everest and trying to work out how best to  reach the summit without dying in the process.

'You don't understand. If you'd just let me explain … ' She wondered,  sickly, what format these explanations would take. Perhaps, You're going  to be a daddy soon, or maybe just a blunt, Life as you know it is about  to go into free fall.

'There's nothing to explain,' Angelo interrupted. 'And I'm not  interested in explanations.' He stood up and politely waited for her to  do the same.

Francesca stood too and stared at him across the width of the table. She  would tell him about the pregnancy, but maybe not just yet, because  what good would telling him do? She was still in the position she had  been in three years ago. Telling him would present him with an insoluble  problem. She felt sick with the worry of it all. In this day and age  insoluble problems such as the one she was dealing with had an obvious  solution that came under the heading of abortion, but Francesca would  not even contemplate going down that road. Whatever wrong turns she had  taken in her life had been of her own choosing or at least her own  foolishness, and she had always taken responsibility for the  consequences. That wasn't going to change now. And besides … she loved  him. True love was unselfish, she told herself, as she blindly gathered  up her handbag. The unselfish thing to do would be to spare him the  knowledge of the time bomb waiting to destroy his life and his career.

'If it's all right, I'll just call a taxi,' she whispered, fishing in the bag for her mobile phone.

'No need for that. I'll give you a lift back. Like I said, no hard  feelings.' He even managed a smile and for Francesca that was worse  because it was so very impersonal.

He drove her back to her house in unbroken silence. The temptation to  tell him what was going on was overpowering, but hard on the heels of  temptation came the icy blast of reality-the position she would be  putting him in, the consequences he would be forced to deal with.

The silent drive finally came to an end and he turned to her. 'Good luck  with your catering business, Francesca. I'll make sure to put in a good  word for you.'

'There's no need … '

'Call it for services rendered.' It was a cheap shot but the tip of the  iceberg when it came to what he was feeling. Yes, he had been the one to  do the discarding and, no, it felt no better now than it had three  years ago when the shoe had been on the other foot. He could see from  her face that the dart had hit bull's-eye and loathed himself for  delivering it. Too late now, and he wasn't going to apologise anyway.

'That's … below the belt.'

'It's the unvarnished truth.' He shrugged.

'I'm sorry.' She took a deep breath and weathered the shuttered, dark  face impassively staring back at her. 'I didn't think that it would end  this way.'

'Apologies accepted, although we both enjoyed the ride so none are due.'

'I don't think I'll be staying on in London.' She gave a high, brittle laugh.

'No?' He sounded mildly, but only mildly, interested. 'Don't feel obliged to leave on account of me.'

Francesca nodded. Conversation had dried up. Angelo was making no  attempt to extend himself beyond the formalities of answering her  questions. There was the faintest semblance of boredom on his beautiful  face.                       
       
           



       

Her notions about passion fizzling out conveniently, leaving her  cleansed and free to move on with her life, had been a terrible  illusion, and her selfishness in agreeing to sleep with him for the  gratification it gave her now seemed a terminally grave misjudgement.