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It hadn’t been on her mind to leave him but when she’d tried to explain why this still wasn’t the right moment to have a baby, everything had turned on its head and somehow they’d been in each other’s faces, shouting words she no longer remembered in detail but remembered the meaning behind.
Gold-digger and failure were two of his choice accusations that still rang clear and still had the power to make her stomach contract with pain. Those accusations had hurt terribly. She’d tried so hard to make a success of those businesses, had been desperate to impress him with something other than her body. But she had reached too high, she could see that now. Desperation had clouded her judgement; she had reached the stage where she couldn’t see the wood for the trees. The trees had become so thick she couldn’t see a way out either.
And then he’d told her to leave.
It had been like a light bulb going off in her skull. All the things she’d been in denial about had come to the forefront and with them had come the realisation that she couldn’t do it any more. She couldn’t be the woman he’d tried to shape her into being.
By the time she’d finished packing, he’d calmed down enough to tell her, not ask her, that he wanted her to stay. But it had been too late. Raul wanted perfection and she was far from perfect. She’d known as clearly as she knew her own name that their marriage was dead.
So why did she feel so heartsick to think about him? Why did she feel not just upset that he’d thrown her pleas for help back at her but a bone-deep misery that had stopped her eating more than a slice of toast since the party two days ago?
Only when she was certain she could keep the threatening tears at bay long enough to return home did Charley leave the ladies’ room, making sure a smile lay on her lips. That was one of the things the decorum tutor Raul had employed had drilled into her: always show a pleasant demeanour whatever the circumstances. Image was everything to the Cazorlas.
Her head ached, hurting much worse than the time she’d swallowed too large a lump of ice cream and got brain-freeze. The brilliant Valencian sunshine magnified it and she shielded her eyes as she stepped outside.
Her car was parked around the corner but before she could walk to it her vision cleared and she made out the tall figure leaning against an illegally parked silver Lotus at the front of the building, arms crossed over his broad chest.
‘Raul?’
For a moment she was too stunned to move or say anything else.
Seeing him in full daylight, gorgeous in a dark blue suit and light blue shirt that made the colour in his eyes gleam, threatened to knock what little stuffing she had left out of her heart.
This wasn’t a coincidence. It couldn’t be. Over the years Raul had wined and dined all the major players of the Spanish banks. He had all the best contacts. His web covered everywhere.
He’d probably known the outcome of her meeting before she had.
Suddenly it became clear what he was here for.
She marched over to him. ‘Here to gloat, are you?’
He unfolded his arms and straightened, his pale blue eyes fixed on her without expression.
‘No, cariño.’ The faintest of smiles tugged at his sensuous lips. ‘I’m here to offer you a lifeline.’
She studied him carefully, trying to read his face.
‘What kind of lifeline?’ she asked, not hiding her wariness.
‘The kind of lifeline that will save your centre.’
Raul watched a dozen emotions flitter over her pretty face as she digested his words.
‘You’re going to help me?’
He allowed himself another smile and opened the passenger door of the Lotus. ‘Get in and we’ll discuss the matter.’
‘Tell me where to go and I’ll meet you. I’ve got my own car here.’
She could drive now? That was news to him.
‘If you want the lifeline for the centre that means so much to you, I suggest you get in. This is a one-off discussion. When I leave, the offer of my help leaves with me.’ Not waiting for a reaction, he sidled round and got into the driver’s side.
It was only when he shut his door and fastened his seat belt that Charley galvanised herself into action, jumping in beside him and shutting the passenger door with a slam.
He put his sunglasses on before turning to face her, taking stock of the designer black suit she wore and the way her hair hung loose around her shoulders. It surprised him to find her make-up-free bar a touch of eyeliner and mascara. His wife normally made her face up so artfully that not the slightest imperfection showed; at least she had after she’d been given access to his bank account and had hit the high-class department stores. When he’d first met her she’d been as fresh-faced as she was today.
