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‘I think we understand each other perfectly, cara.’ Angelo scored a mocking forefinger along the reddened fullness of her lower lip. ‘And since regular sex appears to be the key to that locked-tight, unforgiving little heart of yours, I don’t think you’ll have any complaints in the future.’
‘Get out of here!’ she launched, relocating her ready tongue.
Angelo reached out, switched off the lamp and reached for her with arms that brooked no argument. ‘Any bed you occupy will also be occupied by me from now on.’
‘I won’t stand—’
‘You’d be surprised what I can make you stand,’ he whispered mockingly.
She was feeding Alice at six in the morning when he strolled into the nursery.
She felt ridiculously shy of him. He crouched down in front of her and ran a caressing thumb along the downy line of Alice’s cheek. Her lustrous dark eyes swivelled and she gave an angry squawk round the bottle. Their daughter did not like to be disturbed when she was feeding.
Kelda was in turmoil. Yesterday she had been convinced that a separation was the only answer. Yesterday, she had believed that Angelo no longer wanted her. And then last night...well, last night had completely wiped out her every assumption. Angelo had destroyed any prospect of either of them seeking an annulment and had then gone on to ruthlessly delineate what would happen if she sought a divorce.
He had talked as though all she needed from him was sex. She reddened, wondered dismally if he found her abandonment and eagerness abnormal. He touched her and, frankly, everything else went out of the window. She felt enslaved by what he could make her feel both physically and emotionally. When he made love to her, it made her feel so close to him. She needed that closeness to survive.
‘I’m going to Geneva. I’ll be away until tomorrow evening,’ he divulged. ‘Start looking for a good nanny. If Alice has you all day, I expect to have you all night.’
She jerked as he sent a possessive hand skimming over a slender thigh, exposed by her carelessly parted robe.
‘And at dawn,’ Angelo added huskily.
‘I thought you didn’t think a nanny was—’
‘I’ve changed my mind.’
It was the following morning that the sound of constantly ringing phones woke Kelda up from a sound sleep. She always went back to bed for a couple of hours after feeding Alice. After a quick shower, she went down for breakfast, dressed in a figure-hugging apple-green dress that made her feel like a million dollars. Green was also Angelo’s favourite colour... dear lord, was she turning into a doormat?
The newspaper she normally read over breakfast was missing from the pile. As Mrs Moss came in with her coffee, she asked for it, and the instant she saw the older woman’s strained face she knew that something was badly wrong.
‘You want that one, Mrs Rossetti?’ the older woman prompted unnecessarily.
‘Yes.’ Kelda frowned. ‘Is something up, Mrs Moss?’
The housekeeper cleared her throat. ‘Your mother phoned to say she was coming over straight away.’
A cold hand clutched at Kelda’s heart. ‘Why were the phones ringing?’
‘Newspaper reporters, Mrs Rossetti...would you like me to disconnect them?’
‘No...’ Slowly Kelda stood up, her face as white as a sheet. Why was her mother coming over? Why hadn’t her mother asked to speak directly to her? Her stomach churned with sick horror. Her mind rushed to burning visions of plane crashes and explosions and car accidents and Angelo starred in every disaster. ‘Angelo...’ she whispered. ‘Has something happened to Angelo?’
‘Good heavens, no!’ Mrs Moss hurried to reassure her. ‘It’s just that dreadful newspaper, that’s all!’
‘Newspaper...what newspaper?’ The one missing from the pile, she gasped, absolutely sick and weak-kneed with relief that whatever was wrong did not involve injury of any kind to Angelo. ‘Could I see it, please?’
Something upsetting—hardly a new experience, she thought, watching the housekeeper’s reluctant reappearance with the item. ‘Thanks,’ she said.
Mrs Moss looked even more tense. ‘Your mother didn’t want you to see it until she arrived...’
The front page was practically all headline. ‘The Banker and the Bank-robber’s daughter.’ What a mouthful, she thought, until she focused incredulously on the photo beneath. It was a picture of Angelo and her on their wedding-day.
She began reading, her heart hammering sickly behind her breastbone. It hurt to breathe. She had to read every melodramatic sentence at least twice over to understand it. Shock was starting to take over. But it was complete and utter rubbish and she would sue, she told herself. Even Angelo would back her on that! How dared these vultures print such monstrous lies about her father! Her father had never been in prison in his life! Clearly they
had got him mixed up with somebody else. Outrage began to take over from shock.
‘K-Kelda?’ She lifted her head from her taut stance by the table.
