A Husband's Vendetta

Fiercely counting her blessings, she stood up, rearranged her face into an expression of polite enquiry and yanked her skirt snugly into place as her fluid stride took her quickly across the poky little room and she began her struggle with the door.

‘Push!’ she yelled.

Cyril leant his considerable body-weight against the door, and after a while they managed to drag it open. ‘Sounded urgent,’ he wheezed, in his sleazy manner.

As always, he did his best to remove her clothes by will-power alone, leering eagerly at her bra-less top and her bare legs and feet. Ellen gave him a cool and level stare.

‘Then I suggest you move out of my way so I can get to the phone quickly,’ she said briskly, determined not to squeeze past his sweating bulk on the narrow landing.

He smirked, clearly wanting her to do just that. Ellen hardened her eyes till they gleamed like flint, folded her arms and took a purposeful step forward. ‘Move,’ she said, sweetness laced with steel. ‘Or delicate parts of your person and my knee will become painfully acquainted.’

He stepped aside faster than she would have thought possible. With her body jarring on every angry thump of her bare heels, she stalked to the phone.

Girl power 1, vile old man 0! She blessed the girls in the supermarket where she worked during the day. It was they who’d taught her how to deal with male harassment and had coaxed her back into the real world again.

‘Italian bloke. Loo-charno,’ offered Cyril grumpily.

Luciano! Her stomach and heart did a few high jumps. Incredulously, she saw that her hands had begun to shake at the prospect of talking to him. Since their parting they’d only spoken through intermediaries.

Suddenly, into her head came the unforgettable sound of his liquid, seductive voice which made everything he said sound lyrical and sensual—even the reading of a shopping list. She’d adored listening to him. Often she’d coaxed him to talk about his life in Naples purely to hear him speak.

Her bones seemed to flow like warm treacle in anticipation. ‘OK. Thanks,’ she said, trying to get them back to their normal state. What a stupid reaction!

And then it dawned on her why he must be calling. Gemma! Something must be wrong! Petrified, she froze, staring at the dangling receiver and listening in dismay to the violent bumping of her heart.

Cyril’s hot breath drifted moistly over the long sweep of her exposed neck, sending shivers down her back. ‘Men are always calling you!’ he complained loudly. ‘I’m fed up with answering the phone and taking messages.’

‘You’re exaggerating! This,’ she snapped, grabbing the receiver from him and covering the mouthpiece as a precaution, ‘is probably my husband.’ Wisely she omitted the word ‘estranged’. ‘A bad-tempered and possessive man, topping six foot and with the biceps of an ox,’ she invented in a rush, desperate to get rid of her landlord.

To her relief, Cyril took the heavy hint. In the ensuing silence, she could hear Luc impatiently calling her name. Her breathing quickened. She knew he wouldn’t have rung unless it was a real emergency. Blocking her mind to several nightmare scenarios, she made herself speak.

‘I’m here,’ she said, fear making her voice catch breathily in her throat. ‘Is it Gemma? Is she all right? What—?’

‘She’s fine,’ he broke in.

‘Thank goodness!’

Ellen subsided in relief and then registered that he didn’t sound liquid or seductive at all. In fact he seemed positively furious, his voice harsh and rasping.

‘Who was that man I spoke to?’ he demanded.

Ellen blinked, her anxiety forgotten. ‘Nobody you need to know about!’ she replied in stunned surprise.

‘I do. So stop stalling and tell me!’ Luc ordered.

‘What on earth for?’ she countered, bristling at his arrogant manner.

‘Because,’ he said tightly, ‘he was panting.’

In exasperation she racked her brains to understand why that should annoy him so much, but couldn’t think of any explanation. ‘Probably. He often does,’ she agreed, like a mother humouring a child.

Luc inhaled deeply, as if she’d said something inflammatory. ‘Because he suffers from asthma,’ he queried cut-tingly, ‘or because I interrupted something intimate?’

She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Luc, if you only knew!’ she spluttered.

Luc growled something rude under his breath, her laughter doing little for his bad temper. ‘I don’t. I’m trying to find out why you took so long to answer.’

Her laughter faded away and her jaw dropped open in amazement. ‘What is this? Working for the KGB, are you?’ she asked crossly.

‘I want to know,’ he said, giving each word heavy emphasis.

Ellen glared, wishing fervently that her contempt could be conveyed down the line. Wasn’t it just typical that Luc’s first thought was to imagine the worst of her? And who the hell did he think he was, asking about her private life?

‘I took a while to answer the phone because my door was stuck,’ she said coolly.

‘Is that so?’

She felt her hackles rising. She’d told the truth. The jammed door had delayed her. But he didn’t believe her. He never believed her.

‘Look, the man lives here. He has every right to answer the phone. Do you have a problem with that?’ she asked, upping the count of frost particles in her voice.

From his silence, it seemed he did, though again she couldn’t understand why. And then she remembered that he didn’t know she lived in a block of flats. He’d assumed that Cyril had answered the phone because they lived together. She frowned. Surely there was nothing wrong with that, even if it were true?

‘You didn’t tell me you had a lover.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she agreed.

Judging by the heavy breathing at Luc’s end, either he was developing asthma, had just made love himself, or her non-replies were driving him crazy. She grinned to herself, pleased with the fact that she wasn’t melting all over the floor in response to Luc’s voice—or quivering with nerves from his intimidation.

‘So. You omit to tell me something that could affect Gemma. Could your relationship with this man be responsible for her distress last time she visited you?’ he rapped out, for all the world, Ellen thought in amazement, like a prosecutor on a murder case!

‘Absolutely not! I’ve no idea what upset her,’ she answered confidently.

‘Unfortunately I can imagine,’ Luc muttered. ‘Gemma must have been in the way. You had other things on your mind.’

Displeasure and disgust riddled every word. She had an instant and compelling image of him, as clear as if he stood in front of her. Painfully she saw the anger blazing in his smouldering dark eyes, that anger as volatile as a volcano. But then he came from Naples, which was close to Vesuvius, and he’d told her once that people there tended to live each moment to its fullest, loving and hating with intense passion.

That was Luc. Her last memory of him was frozen in that moment when his emotions had erupted and destroyed her. It was frightening how a man could turn from lover to tyrant in a matter of weeks.

God, she’d loved him! Every glorious, gorgeous inch. The glossy black hair, the olive skin and ruinously exotic cheekbones… Ellen groaned. Life was springing into her sexually slumbering body now: fierce, urgent and utterly pointless.

Why was she doing this to herself? Why torment herself with memories of earth-shattering sex, of days in bed, hours talking, sitting silently and just gazing into each other’s eyes? A searing ache slashed at her like a lightning bolt from her breast to the apex of her loins, and she uttered a shuddering gasp of dismay.

‘What the devil is going on now?’ Luc demanded furiously.

‘Nothing!’ she mumbled. But that was untrue. There was a battle raging between her brain and her hormones. ‘Am I forbidden to breathe in and out now?’

‘If that was breathing, your lungs need attention,’ he said scathingly. ‘Get rid of the boyfriend! Tell him to stop playing around! I refuse to talk to you while he whispers sweet nothings—and does God knows what—!’

‘Are you mad?’ she broke in, astounded by his vehemence. ‘Why are you making such an issue of this? You don’t own me body and soul any more! I might have been making mad, passionate love on the kitchen table; you might have interrupted me with my lover,’ she rampaged on, deciding to let Luc stew. ‘But what’s that to you? It’s not any of your business what I get up to!’

‘Unfortunately it is!’ he insisted. ‘Your morals are very much my business. I have to protect my daughter.’

‘From what?’

‘You! And your lovers. I won’t have Gemma mixing with people of dubious character. I don’t want her watching one man after another pawing you—!’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, give me some credit!’ she snorted. ‘What do you think I do when she comes to stay?’ she asked indignantly. ‘Take her out for a lesson in needle techniques with a bunch of drug addicts? Read the kiddies’ Bedtime Kama Sutra? Bed three men a night?’ she suggested, so angry that her imagination was overheating.

‘How the devil would I know?’ he flung back. ‘You always wanted freedom from responsibility. And you had one hell of a sex drive—’

‘God, Luc!’ she fumed, her disgust growing with every word he uttered. This wasn’t funny any more. He’d woken her desire. She’d responded only to him. How could he not realise that? She wanted to punch him on the nose for being so dense. ‘You’ve built up a nasty little picture of me in your head, haven’t you? You really think I’m stupid, selfish and irresponsible—’

‘You said it. And, remember, you proved it.’ He let the accusation lie there in a heavy silence which it was beneath her pride to break. She heard him give a heavy sigh of defeat. ‘Now what?’ he muttered, as if to himself. ‘I clearly can’t trust you.’

She felt a small pang, knowing that it must be hard for him to surrender Gemma to someone he thought was utterly irresponsible.

‘I understand why you worry,’ she said, with marginally more sympathy. ‘I see why you were quizzing me. But I assure you that she’s perfectly safe with me—’

‘I would like to believe that. But… Oh, forget it. This is pointless—’

‘No, it’s not!’ she cried quickly, scared that he’d cut her access time. She could have kicked herself for not telling him about Cyril straight away. But it was too late now. He’d never accept her explanation. ‘You must know that I’d never do anything to upset or hurt her,’ she said fervently.

‘Is that so?’ he bit. ‘What do you call abandoning her, then? Why ignore her needs—and why did you run away the minute motherhood didn’t turn out to be all coochiecoos and dimpled cheeks?’

She couldn’t speak. He’d struck her dumb with his cruelty.

‘You can’t answer, can you?’ he said bitterly. ‘God, I was a fool to imagine you’d change. I should have realised that you’d still be going your own sweet way and indulging your selfish needs with an over-active love life—’

Ellen interrupted him with a groan. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. What love life?

‘Tell me about it!’ she said wryly.

‘I only know what I heard your lover say. It seems you’re not even faithful to him,’ Luc said coldly. ‘Poor fool seemed to think I was another of your boyfriends. Is it any wonder that I despair of your morals? Do you know what it does to me, to imagine—’ He broke off. Then he continued with a blistering passion. ‘To imagine my daughter being exposed to the seamier side of life?’

Her teeth ground together hard. She seriously contemplated banging the phone down and ending this pointless conversation. He wasn’t to know that men might pester her, but she kept her distance because as sure as hell she wasn’t going to be hurt so badly again. Nor was she going to tell him. But she’d give as good as she got.

‘So it’s OK for you to take women-friends and Gemma skiing or lazing on beaches in the Caribbean,’ she said, sweetly poisonous, ‘but I have to live like a Carmelite nun?’

‘I should be so lucky.’ He grunted. ‘If you did, at least I’d know Gemma would be cared for and protected.’

‘She is cared for and protected when she’s here!’

‘Huh.’ He sounded utterly unconvinced. ‘What exactly did she tell you about our holidays?’ he asked warily.

Ellen winced. He obviously had things to hide. ‘Not a word. She never speaks about you. Or your home,’ she replied, feeling suddenly mournful. ‘I developed a roll of film for her when she was here in August.’

Seeing the holiday pictures had driven home some painful truths. Luc had no hang-ups about his shattered marriage. The photos had shown him with Gemma, laughing and fooling around and totally at ease with two gorgeous women. She made a face. Was there any other kind where Luc was concerned?

She’d pored over the snaps when Gemma had gone to bed. The intense happiness in her daughter’s face had made her cry. She knew she could never have that effect on her child. It had been a terrible moment, one she’d never forget.

And it was bad enough that she couldn’t afford to take her daughter anywhere exciting, let alone seeing her child being cuddled by a couple of Miss Worlds. One day, Miss World would become Miss Right.

And then Miss Right would gracefully take on the role of the second Mrs Luciano Maccari. Gemma would have a mother to tuck her up in bed and read stories… Hastily Ellen shut off that line of thought. It was an inevitable development but she wasn’t ready for it yet.

As for Luc—he was a hypocrite! He saw nothing wrong in letting women paw him in front of his daughter, she thought indignantly. One of them had been sitting on his lap, the other had flung her arms around his neck and was kissing him on the cheek while he grinned in smug delight.

Yet he was condemning her for entertaining nonexistent lovers! She steamed with the rank injustice of it. Justifiably aggrieved, hurting at the memory of those lovely women, she stood up for herself.

‘Let’s make a pact. You lead your own life,’ she told him tightly, ‘and I’ll do what I damn well like with mine!’

‘Not when my daughter’s around, you won’t!’ he countered.

‘She’s mine too!’

‘Barely!’ he shot back

Ellen sucked in a painful breath. He was determined to inflict wounds. The brute.

‘You hate not having control over everything that happens to her, don’t you? For heaven’s sake, Luc, don’t carp. She’s yours for most of the time. I only see her for one week, four times a year!’

‘Ye-e-e-s.’

There was a significance in his hesitation and she blanched, fearing what would follow from that ‘ye-e-e-s.’ Nervously she said, ‘Why did you ring?’

‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve changed my mind.’

Her jaw tightened ominously. He’d ruined her evening for nothing! ‘Right,’ she said tersely. ‘Fascinating chat. Goodbye, Luc—’

‘Wait…’ There was a long and tense pause, as if he was trying to broach a difficult subject. And then he said in a tired voice, ‘We need to meet up, Ellen.’

‘No, we don’t. Anyway, what happened to your declaration when you threw me out that you never wanted to see me again?’

‘I said ‘‘need’’, not ‘‘want’’,’ he drawled sardonically.

‘It makes no difference. I’m not interested in seeing you.’ But she couldn’t stop her curiosity prompting her to add, ‘Why on earth should we need to meet?’

‘Things to talk about.’

‘Like…what?’ she asked guardedly, warning bells ringing in her head.

It could be about access. Or… She thought of the women in the photographs and the blonde one in particular, who’d been gazing adoringly at him as if he was the source of all life.

Perhaps he wanted a divorce. He wanted his freedom to remarry. Her heart swooped and dived as if she were inside an elevator.

‘I’m not discussing it on the phone,’ he replied stubbornly. ‘This is something we need to do face to face. What are you doing this evening?’

Her mouth dropped open in amazement. ‘This…! Oh, my God! You—you’re in England?’ she croaked, her throat as dry as dust.

No. She couldn’t see him. She was getting stage fright at the very thought. He’d talk about the woman he loved and his eyes would melt with love and she’d be dying inside.

‘Sudden business came up.’

‘Yes, well, I’m working, so put your comments in writing,’ she told him flatly.

‘Working…tonight?’

Stung by the wealth of suggestion in the way he’d said that, she primmed her mouth and then said with laboured patience, ‘Relax, Luc. I’m not patrolling the back alleys of Southwark in fishnet stockings and very little else!’

‘I’m relieved to hear it,’ he bit, and she wondered what had happened to his wonderful sense of humour. ‘Did Daddy find you a lucrative job?’ he murmured insolently.

She sniffed. As if she needed help from anyone! ‘I found my own. Your sidekick Donatello must have told you I don’t live with my parents any more.’

‘Got thrown out for impossible behaviour?’

‘Got sick and tired of being pushed around by yet another bossy man!’ she retorted hotly.

Luc grunted. ‘What are you doing to earn your living, then?’

‘I stack shelves in the local supermarket during the day and…’ She chickened out. She couldn’t tell him about her evening job! Being economical with the truth, she said, ‘Three times a week I work at the community centre in the evenings. That’s where I’m going tonight.’

There was a long pause. A hectic colour flushed her neck and face and she was glad he couldn’t see it. He wouldn’t think much of her progress since she’d left him. He wasn’t to know she’d been fighting depression for more than five years.

He’d never enquired after her welfare. The break had been brutally clean. She’d refused his offer of money and he’d washed his hands of her. Out of sight, out of mind.

‘A…supermarket.’ His disapproval was plain to hear.

‘I love it,’ she told him honestly, springing to her own defence. It was the first step of her career. One day she’d manage the store. Then—who knows?

‘Stacking…shelves?’

She permitted herself a smile at his amazement. ‘Oh, you know me,’ she said sarcastically. ‘All fun and no responsibility.’

‘Sounds about right,’ he agreed sourly, not recognising that he was being teased.

She raised her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation and gave up on him. ‘I enjoy it there. It’s like being part of a big family. We have a great time.’

In the pause which followed, Ellen thought sadly of her own dysfunctional family. And of Luc’s doting widowed mother, who’d believed no one, absolutely no one, short of a canonised female saint, would have made a suitable wife for her beloved only son. His mother was dead now. Gemma must be his only blood relative, she mused.

‘I’m glad you’ve found work that matches your skills,’ Luc said rudely. ‘Now. Tonight. What time do you start work?’

‘Seven-thirty.’ Her hand shook, and she glared at it for being so stupid. ‘But I’m not seeing you—’

‘You must. We’ll meet beforehand.’ He stated this in the confident, macho tone which had once made her feel cherished and protected. Now it irritated her beyond belief. ‘Where? Your house?’

She frowned, hating to be pushed around. Inviting Luc to her flat was the last thing she wanted. She’d always met Gemma and Luc’s PA, Donatello, at a local café to protect her privacy. She’d been afraid that Luc would stop Gemma visiting her if he knew how unsuitable her flat was.

‘Why can’t you get it into your head that I don’t want to see you at all?’ she complained crossly. ‘You’re a part of my past I’d rather stick in a sack and bury ten feet under.’

‘That goes for me too. Do you think I want to see you? You’re not exactly my favourite pin-up. But it’s important,’ he retorted. Ellen grumpily recognised that there must be a team of wild horses dragging him kicking and screaming in her direction. ‘This is about Gemma. About you.’

She went cold. That sounded ominous. Her knees seemed to be giving out and she leaned heavily against the peeling wall. ‘But can’t we—?’

‘This must be settled. Choose somewhere public,’ he went on relentlessly, riding roughshod over her feeble objection. ‘I only want ten minutes of your time.’ His tone had become irascible. But then she wasn’t fitting into his plans, was she? ‘Surely you can grant me that, for the sake of my daughter’s well-being?’

His, not our, daughter. Yes, she thought, that was how it was—and he meant to divorce her and demand that she surrender her access rights. An overwhelming sense of defeat enveloped her. Clearly—and understandably, considering the last time Gemma had visited her—he wasn’t happy with even the limited access which the courts had granted her.

Crunch time. Well, she’d known it would come one day. She inhaled slowly, steadying her nerves. Before he broached the subject she would speak to him herself, tell him that she would relinquish what she’d fought so hard for. Seeing her own child grow up.

She drew in a long, shaky breath. She wanted to be the one who called things to a halt, not him. It was a matter of pride, of self-respect and of taking her own life in her hands.

Every fibre of her body shrank from what she must do. And yet, in her heart of hearts, she knew that Gemma didn’t deserve to be dragged away from the home and father she adored and dumped on a mother she didn’t love.

No, worse than that, a mother who frightened her. Ellen’s eyes became filmed with a misty silver. What did the child fear?

The last time Gemma had come, she’d clung to Donatello as if Ellen were a hungry witch on the lookout for a child to fling into her stewpot. The entire visit had been a disaster. Gemma’s silences, inexplicable terror and quiet, desperate sobbing at night had tortured Ellen so much that she’d phoned Donatello and begged him to rescue the little girl before three days had gone by.

Like it or not, she had to face facts. Once and for all, for the sake of her child, she had to forget her own needs. Gemma mustn’t suffer any more.

Oh, God! she thought bleakly. A second sacrifice!

But it would make Gemma happy. That was all she wanted. And, despite the heaviness of her heart, she felt a little comfort in that.

Quickly, in case in a moment of weakness she changed her mind, she said, ‘If I must, I must. There’s a café in Lancaster Street by the tube station. Be there at seven.’ And she cut the connection before he could suggest anything different.

Numb with the enormity of what she was about to do, she stood motionless by the phone, recovering her equilibrium. Or at least trying to. It seemed to have wandered off somewhere, leaving her floundering in a dark abyss.

It came to her then. Something which briefly eclipsed her thoughts of Gemma.

She was to meet Luc. After all this time.

A strange sensation filled her entire body. Ellen tried to identify it and failed. Nor could she understand why adrenaline should have leapt through her like wildfire and put her into overdrive.

She was shaking like a leaf. And yet she was burning, too, with a weird excitement, her heart thudding like crazy.

Luc. The man she’d given everything to. Heart, soul, mind, body. And she’d surrendered her child to him, too.

Aching with the memories, she bit her lip till it hurt. She could be strong—she’d proved that. She wouldn’t let him destroy her again. If he’d found happiness then good for him. Gemma would have a new mother…

Full of misery, she swallowed and concentrated fiercely on overcoming her near-hysteria. Gemma came first. Once again she’d do what was best for her child. And then she’d face the future square on.

A tear fell unexpectedly from her eye, and she moodily licked it up with the tip of her tongue before drawing herself erect. Courage, she told herself. Be calm.

Her shaking hands went instinctively to her heart. Pale, feeling bruised from tension, she prepared herself mentally for the worst. Tonight she would know if she had truly conquered her inner demons.