Francesca wearily plastered a welcoming smile on her face. She made herself go to the chair by her window, which she knew would make him happy because it would show that she was doing a little bit more than just lying down in bed in a maudlin, defeated manner, and was smiling when he strode into the bedroom.
‘You’re a bit early for lunch, Jack,’ she greeted him cheerfully. ‘I know you want to feed me up, but a hot meal at ten forty-five in the morning is a bit much!’ The smile made her jaws ache. ‘Tell me how that job went last night. Did you have to provide waiter service in the end? I’ve called up the Hamiltons and confirmed that we’ll cater for them on the twenty-third and they’re going to let us do our own thing with the food, thank Heavens.’
Jack tossed a newspaper on her lap and then stood back with his arms folded. ‘Something in there you need to read.’
Glancing at the headlines, Francesca wondered what the urgency was to read a report on pre-election opinion polls.
‘Centre spread,’ Jack elaborated. ‘And, while you’re reading that, there’s someone downstairs who wants to see you.’
‘Who?’ Francesca asked suspiciously.
‘The same person who brought me the newspaper. I think your ex might have guessed that in the normal run of things I wouldn’t go near a broadsheet. You know I always try to steer clear of any newspaper that has enough pages to wallpaper my lounge.’
‘You mean Angelo, don’t you?’ she asked in rising panic but Jack was already backing out of the door, leaving her at the mercy of a visitor she didn’t want to see. Not now. Not yet. Not when she felt sure she was finally getting to grips with everything. Hadn’t she made an effort with some make up just this morning? Wasn’t that a clear sign that she was turning a corner?
She waited with pounding heart and when Angelo was finally standing in the doorway she found that her voice had seized up. He looked haggard. The smart suit which he should have been wearing mid-morning on a weekday was noticeably absent. In its place was a pair of cords and a faded rugby sweater.
He ran his fingers through his hair and entered the room tentatively.
‘How are you?’
‘Fine.’ Francesca smiled brightly, one of those high wattage smiles she had mastered to put Jack at ease.
‘Jack told me that you’ve been confined to bedrest by the doctor.’
‘It’s nothing. Just a bit of raised blood pressure. What are you doing here?’
‘We have to talk. Have you read the article?’
‘No. What’s it about?’ Her mind was slowly cranking into gear. A centre spread in a serious newspaper pointed to a declaration of some sort. It wouldn’t be simply some business coverage. He wouldn’t be looking at her like that, his eyes burning into her, if he wanted her to read something about the latest deal he had done. Her hands were trembling as she turned the pages, finally finding the middle of the newspaper.
Her eyes skimmed over the words on the page, the glaringly big caption at the top, the picture of Angelo taken at some important function and reproduced to show the man in all his eligibility. She felt bright patches of colour flood into her face and, when she finally raised her eyes to meet his, she barely knew what to think. The article was all about her, the significant woman in his life, and nothing had been spared. From the miserable circumstances of her childhood to her rise as a model, it was charted with scrupulous honesty to detail. His intentions were entirely honourable, the spread ran; the man presumed to be one of the country’s most eligible bachelors was going to hitch his wagon to a woman who came from the wrong side of the tracks.
‘I don’t understand…’
‘What’s there not to understand?’ Angelo said thickly. ‘You look thin. Is that normal? Shouldn’t pregnant ladies be fat? And glowing? Is that why the doctor told you to take it easy?’
‘Why would you do this? Ruin your career?’ She hadn’t read it all but she had read enough.
‘I’m not ruining my career. I’m proposing to you.’ He dragged the chair by the dressing table over to the window so that he was sitting next to her.