‘May...may I sit down?’
She did not wait for an answer, only lowered herself to a sofa, feeling her head clear. Her hands were clutching her bag, as if for dear life, and she held it on her knees, against the swell of her body. Her fingers touched the material stretching across her abdomen, beneath which her precious, precious child was cradled. Whose whole future was at stake now, at this very moment.
It gave her renewed courage to speak. She lifted her face to Vito, across the gaping space between them. Still he had that shuttered look on his face, closing her out. Rejecting her...
‘What is there to explain?’ he said. ‘Your actions have said it all. You are not the woman I thought you were—how could you be, to do what you did?’
The faintness drummed at her again, but she forced herself on. So much depended on what she said.
I kept silent too long—now I must speak.
Her mouth was dry, her throat constricted, but she knew she must force the words from her. Inside, she could feel her heart slugging with hard, heavy beats, could feel acid in her stomach. Every muscle in her body felt weary, exhausted.
After her long, sleepless, fretful night, she’d risen early, finding Maria in the kitchen, begging her to look after Johnny until his parents returned. Then she’d travelled in by train to Manhattan. En route, she had phoned her mother’s apartment to ask if she might call by later. The call had gone to voicemail, so she had simply said, her voice strained, that she might need a good lawyer soon.
Because to marry Vito with him thinking so ill of her, looking at her as he was doing now, with his closed, shuttered face, unforgiving, unrelenting, would be impossible—just impossible! All that would be left to her would be some kind of painful, agonising sharing of their child...
Unless...
Once again resolution seared within her. She had to try and win him back—she had to try and recover what her secrecy had cost her. Make good the ill she had done. Too much was at stake for her not to. Far too much.
‘So, what is it you want to say?’ Vito was demanding, as still she did not speak. ‘And what can you possibly say that will change anything?’
His voice was terse, inexpressive, condemning her unheard, condemning her for her deed alone. Not for its cause.
‘Vito, I...I want to try and make you understand why I did not tell you I was pregnant.’
She took a hectic breath, then went on, trying to keep her voice steady, to quell the emotions bucketing within her.
‘At first, when I discovered it, I was simply in shock—unable to believe it. Through my mother’s contacts I’d been offered the position at the Carldons’, and of course I had to explain to them the change in my circumstances. They’ve been wonderful—even offered to let me continue working after the baby is born if I want. My mother too...’ Unconsciously her voice became guarded. ‘She has been completely supportive, and I am very appreciative of that. But it was because of my mother that I...that I never got in touch with you.’
A frown furrowed Vito’s face and his dark gaze transfixed her. She wished he would sit down, for he seemed to be towering over her, brooding and overpowering. It hurt to have him like this, so condemning of her, when before he had been so eager for her.
I have lost his favour and I never knew how much I valued it—how much I took his wanting me for granted.
‘How so?’ Vito’s question was grating, his frown deepening.
She swallowed again, nails pressing into her palms. Forced herself to continue.
‘I’ve never told you anything much about my family—my childhood. About my mother, even. But now I have to.’
She took another breath, forcing herself on, despite the stoniness of Vito’s expression.
‘When...when my mother was young—my age—she fell in love...hopelessly in love...with my father. They had a whirlwind romance, got married only a handful of months after meeting, swept away on a tide of passion. They thought they would be blissfully happy for ever!’
She heard bitterness creep into her voice. It was still there as she continued.
‘But there was nothing happy-ever-after about it at all. It was a classic case of “Marry in haste, repent at leisure.” They proved entirely unsuited. My mother was a career woman; my father wanted a traditional wife. And...’ she swallowed again ‘...he wanted a large family. With lots of sons.’
Her voice thinned.
‘My mother was not maternal. Is not maternal. When I was born she told my father outright that she wasn’t going to get pregnant again, would have no more children. Would not give him the sons he craved.’
Her troubled gaze slid past Vito, out of the window, across the expanse of Central Park and the cityscape beyond. Out into the fatherless wasteland of her own childhood.
‘So he left her. He left the UK, went to Australia, got himself a divorce and married again. This time around to a woman who was prepared to stay at home and cook his dinner and raise a large family. Which she did. All boys.’
Her gaze came back to Vito. Not seeing him. Seeing a man she had never known. Never would know. Who had not wanted her. Who had rejected her from the moment of her birth.