And what an unforgivable bastard of a man he had been.
He lifted the wine-stained tablecloth from the table and put it in the laundry basket, and settled down to wait.
He waited all night and well into the next morning.
He rang the hospital to be told that she had been ‘taken to Theatre’ and that her condition was ‘stable’. He had wanted to shout down the phone at that point, to ask what on earth such a bland word could possibly mean when applied to a woman who had had a new life torn from her body.
He assumed.
He allowed himself a brief fantasy. That her pain and the blood—for he had seen the hideous blush of crimson for himself—had all been some kind of false alarm. Nature’s way of warning her to take things easy. Perhaps the pregnancy was still viable.
&nb
sp; But, in his heart, he feared the worst.
They would tell him nothing more. He was not a relative. She had not named him as her next-of-kin—that honour had gone to her sister. In the bureaucratic world of hospitals, he did not have a role in Kate’s life.
She came home the following morning at eleven, accompanied by an even whiter-faced Lucy. The facts were stark and were spelt out to him by Lucy in the kitchen, whilst Kate slept fitfully.
There had been a baby, yes, but no more. The ‘spontaneous miscarriage’—more hospital jargon, he thought grimly—had been followed by a routine operation to remove all traces of the pregnancy from her womb.
‘Routine?’ he questioned incredulously.
‘That’s what they said,’ answered Lucy.
He saw how much she disliked him, and perhaps in a way he could not blame her, but, whatever the hospital thought and whatever Lucy thought, he did have a role in Kate’s life. If no longer as her lover, then certainly as the man responsible for bringing her to this.
‘I’ll look after her now,’ said Lucy fiercely.
He shook his head. ‘No.’ His voice was implacable. ‘I will stay with Kate until she recovers.’
In the bedroom, Kate stirred and his words penetrated her consciousness. Until she recovers. Then she heard Lucy speaking.
‘You think it’s that easy for her?’ Lucy was saying. ‘To recover from something like this?’
Kate pulled the duvet over her head to blot out the sounds of their voices. She felt weak and bereft as it was; she couldn’t even begin to contemplate that Giovanni was planning to leave her.
Giovanni looked at Lucy. ‘I will not share my thoughts with you, Lucy—they are for Kate’s ears and Kate’s ears alone.’
‘And you really think that she wants you here?’
He looked deep into her eyes. ‘Has she told you she doesn’t?’
‘How long will you be staying?’
He noted that she hadn’t answered his question. ‘Until her physical strength is such that she can fly,’ he said quietly.
Her sarcasm showed on her face. ‘What? Fly away from you?’
‘To Sicily,’ he said in a voice which brooked no argument. ‘I intend taking her there to recuperate.’
Lucy stared at him. ‘Are you completely out of your mind?’
He was tempted to tell her that it was none of her business, but—of course—it was. Kate was her sister and she was simply being protective.
‘I appreciate your concern,’ he said softly. ‘But I do not intend to discuss it with you, Lucy.’
‘I have never met a more stubborn man!’ she exclaimed, shaking her head in frustration. ‘Well, I’d better go. Please tell Kate I’m here whenever she needs me.’