‘If you ask me, the only woman who ever held Angelo’s heart was Katja.’ Bregitta sighed. ‘And as she’s the one who got away, metaphorically speaking, who else is likely to make the grade?’
Flora was confounded by the idea that Angelo might once have loved and lost a woman, or might even have been rejected, but she was too proud to question Bregitta, who she was well aware was a troublemaker. Instead Flora looked across the room to where Angelo was laughing with another gorgeous blonde in a skimpy red cocktail frock that showed off her pert breasts and slender thighs. A sharp and painful pang darted through Flora because her own once shapely figure had vanished. Were Angelo and the blonde sharing an innocent joke? A flirtation? Or was Flora, in fact, seeing lovers using the opportunity to enjoy a brief moment of intimacy in public? That she had no idea of what she was seeing or indeed what was happening in that part of Angelo’s life hurt her and underlined the gulf she had opened up between herself and the man she loved. For, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, she loved him more than ever, she conceded ruefully.
Angelo joined her ten minutes later. ‘You look sleepy,’ he murmured softly.
Lie, she wanted to shout at him. Tell me I look sexy or beautiful or anything other than tired even if it is a barefaced lie! But she swallowed back her discomfiture over her excessively sensitive reaction while he stretched down a hand to help her upright with as much care and concern as if she were an ailing and elderly lady. Suddenly she hated being pregnant and longed to be small and blonde with pert breasts and a tiny waist! I’m so shallow and superficial to feel that way when I’m pregnant, she thought shamefacedly, but with all her heart she was longing for the smallest sign that Angelo could still find her attractive.
Jolted by the strength of that craving, Flora was furious with herself and she went straight up to bed, turning down the offer of the supper that Angelo suggested they share. She was cutting off her nose to spite her face, she reflected ruefully as she settled heavily under the covers. In spite of the uneasy mood she was in she slept for a couple of hours, though only to waken to the sensation of what felt like a game of football being played inside her womb. She lay still for a few moments, her palm lightly covering her swollen abdomen and the little movements she could feel with a tenderness she couldn’t help. A pang of hunger assailed her about then and although she tried to ward it off, she failed and her mind was soon awash with images that merely revved up her taste buds. Minutes later, she finally climbed out of bed and reached for her robe.
In the basement kitchen Mango purred continuously and wound himself round her legs while Skipper continued to snore in his basket. The big traditional kitchen in the Amsterdam house was a wonderfully warm and inviting place. Delft tiles covered the massive chimney-piece while cream-ware crockery was displayed on the painted dresser and polished copper utensils on the walls. In one corner an antique walnut grandfather clock slowly ticked out the time.
’Dios mio …I thought I heard someone …’
At the sound of Angelo’s voice Flora turned her bright head and saw him framed in the doorway. Skipper loosed a sleepy bark and then scrambled out of his bed to go and welcome Angelo while his mistress watched with jaundiced eyes. She had discovered that Skipper was very much a man’s dog and prone to lying in wait at the front door waiting for Angelo to come home. How Angelo had accomplished the feat of overcoming Skipper’s distrust and replacing it with downright devotion, she had no very clear idea, for she had yet to see any sign of Angelo doing anything more than giving Skipper the most cursory pat on the head.
Unlike her, Angelo was still fully dressed, although he now sported a pair of faded jeans with his ruffled white dress shirt and had removed his jacket and tie. Her cheeks reddened because she knew her hair was as tousled as a bird’s nest. She indicated the salad sandwich she was in the midst of putting together. ‘I should
have had supper,’ she admitted wryly.
‘I know better than to say, “I told you so”,’ Angelo drawled, lounging back against the massive scrubbed pine kitchen table with his lean powerful thighs spread in a relaxed attitude.
‘That doesn’t always stop people saying it. Are you hungry?’
‘Thanks, but I ate earlier. I stayed up to do some work.’
‘Sometimes the babies move around so much they wake me up. I don’t sleep very well,’ Flora admitted, sinking down into Therese’s rocking chair by the stove to eat her sandwich. ‘I’ve been thinking too.’
‘What about? ‘ Angelo prompted.
Flora made herself withstand the appeal of the sandwich for another moment and breathed in. ‘I think it’s time I told you about that tribunal case.’
Watching her eat, Angelo frowned, a wary light in his bright blue eyes that immediately put Flora on the defensive. ‘You can believe or disbelieve me—that’s your choice,’ she added with more than a hint of challenge.
‘Naturally I would like to hear your side of the story.’
A little of her discomfiture ebbed and she began to tell him about the wonderfully well-paid job she had won within weeks of gaining her business degree from a top university.
‘But why didn’t you complain the instant your boss began harassing you?’ Angelo was quick to enquire with a frown.
‘At first I was worried that I was being over-sensitive and misinterpreting his signals. I think a lot of women feel like that in an all-male work environment when there’s a lot of pressure not to make a fuss about anything,’ she confided tautly. ‘I was trying very hard to fit in and I didn’t want to get a name for being difficult. When Henshall’s approaches became more blatant I started worrying about how a complaint about him sexually harassing me—and he was very highly thought of in the company—would affect my career.’
Angelo was frowning. ‘That is not how you should have felt.’
‘I’m not talking ideals here … I’m talking about what it was like on the ground. Many of the people I was at university with hadn’t even found jobs. I knew I’d been given a terrific opportunity and I was desperate not to screw it up.’
‘It was your boss who was screwing it up, not you. If what you’re telling me is true, how on earth did you lose the case?’
Flora grimaced. ‘Two things ensured that I lost that tribunal case. The other woman making a complaint with me against Henshall got cold feet and withdrew it, so I was left without supporting evidence. The second was Henshall’s claim that I’d been having an affair with him and it had turned sour because he’d stayed with his wife and refused to give me that bonus.’ Flora’s oval face was pale and strained. ‘That provided the sleaze angle that attracted the attention of the tabloid newspapers and resulted in some very nasty headlines on my account. Many people chose to believe Henshall’s story, because nobody could believe that a married man would own up to an affair when there hadn’t been one—’
‘Why do you think he pretended that you and he had had an affair?’ Angelo asked levelly.
‘Because he was afraid he would lose his job if I was able to prove that he was a sex-pest. He earned a huge salary, so lying and striving to discredit me by blackening my reputation made sense from his point of view. His wife supported his appearances at the tribunal every day for the same reasons. He’d had at least half a dozen work affairs and she must have known what he was like.’
‘Your engagement broke up around the same time,’ Angelo recalled.
‘After the newspapers got involved, Peter and his family felt that being associated with me was too much of an embarrassment. But I did get that wretched bonus in the end,’ she completed ruefully.
Angelo could not hide his surprise on that score. ‘You did?’