Each time he sat down at the computer he read these emails again, as if they could somehow bring her closer. Perhaps a relationship at a distance was the best his stony heart could manage, he reflected grimly as he returned to the mountain of work on his desk. While the past had its hold on him, distance from him was the best thing for Cassandra, and though he had no difficulty accepting responsibility if the test proved he was the baby’s father, it would almost certainly mean discharging his duty from a distance—which was probably just as well. What did he have to offer a child, apart from his money?
Sitting back, he pushed all thoughts of work away. He received daily reports on Cassandra’s progress, and that should be enough for him.
It wasn’t nearly enough. He felt as if something precious was in danger of slipping away from him. Was there a chance for change? Or would he relive his father’s mistakes, and all because of his pride?
* * *
She missed Marco more than words could say. It was as if she had been complete and now she had a vital part of her missing. Marco was damaged and she couldn’t help him until he was ready to help himself. She hated to admit it but she was about ready to admit defeat.
Never. Defeat wasn’t in her nature. She smiled ruefully and chomped on her lip as she pictured him lounging back in his warm, state-of-the-art office, while she was here, freezing her butt off in a neighbour’s overgrown orchard that she was trying to rescue.
Marco could make her life so much easier than this.
Maybe he could—if she was prepared to sell out, which she wasn’t. And that was even supposing Marco would want to stick around after their baby was born. She had no idea what he wanted to do. There might be a custody battle once it had been had proved to his satisfaction that he was the father of her child. He should know that there was no one else. He had enough investigators on the case. She’d ‘made’ his man on her first day back in England. There couldn’t be many burly men who would reach for packets of hair dye and scrunchies when caught staring at her in the supermarket.
Leaning back against the tree trunk, she stared up through its contorted branches. Birds wheeled overhead in a hostile, grey sky, which made her think back to the warmth and sunshine in Tuscany. She was as wary of commitment as Marco, and it was going to be a long, lonely Christmas with just the bump—the very active bump—for company. She hoped that she would see Marco again, but it wouldn’t be until some time in the New Year when she gave birth.
* * *
He scanned the latest report from his people in the UK again. There were no new developments, and nothing for him to worry about, they said. That wasn’t good enough for him. Today he felt the need to hear that reassurance from Cassandra’s lips. As an ex-member of staff she was still his responsibility.
He called her up, but there was no reply. Was she was ignoring his calls?
Was he going to hang around to find out?
With his pilot on leave for the holidays he flew the jet to London himself. He felt better just being in charge—until he landed and tried to cross the airport concourse, when all hell broke loose. The paparazzi were waiting for him and the one question they all wanted an answer to was whether he would be going straight to the hospital. He scanned his phone. He’d missed how many calls? There were seven from Cassandra and three from his staff. He knew what this meant. The one thing he could not control was the birth of this child. Nature would determine the time, not him, and that was a humbling realisation for a man who controlled every aspect of his life without exception.
This wasn’t the end of his journey of discovery when it came to the birth of a child but just the start. He was about to learn that giving birth didn’t come neatly packaged or with a reliable timetable to suit him. Neither did it come with the automatic ‘all areas’ pass he was accustomed to being granted. Not one of the nurses in the Christmassy, glitzed-up hospital where, he was reliably informed, Cassandra was about to give birth would tell him when or where this would take place. His best guess was to take the elevator up to the maternity suite and take it from there.
All these practical things he could look at logically, but the feelings inside him could not be neatly organised or even accounted for. He was in turmoil. He was frightened for her. He was so far out of his comfort zone he had no answers, only questions, and producing his passport as proof of identity meant nothing here. He was made to stand back, stand aside, and he began to feel increasingly unsettled as his power was stripped away. He wanted to see Cassandra. He had to see her. She was expecting him. How was he supposed to help her if they wouldn’t let him see her?