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‘I’ll see you in a little while.’ Chloe gave Gladys a hug. Then, as the old lady turned to head back towards the row of terraced cottages in the village, she quietly breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to be alone for a moment.
She couldn’t face being squeezed into Gladys’s tiny front room with the crowd of well-meaning mourners from the village. Liz had not had any close relatives and Emma’s father had never been part of the picture. From the moment he’d discovered Liz was pregnant he’d wanted nothing whatsoever to do with her, and even claimed that there was no way he could be the father.
‘We’ll be all right,’ Chloe whispered, and kissed Emma’s soft cheek. ‘We’ve got each other.’
But as she pressed her face against Emma’s wispy baby hair, she suddenly felt very alone.
She found herself thinking about Lorenzo. Three months ago she’d thought she was about to embark on the most wonderful journey of her life—marriage and children with her gorgeous Italian husband. Now everything was so different.
She had not heard a word from him since the night she left Venice, and that had hurt her more than she wanted to admit, even to herself. She’d known it was unrealistic to hope that he would follow her, saying that he’d got it wrong, and that he did love her after all.
But still, that was what she’d wished for.
She had not contacted him either. She’d been too involved with caring for Liz and Emma. And, if she was completely honest, she hadn’t been able to face him.
Deep down she knew she’d behaved badly by running away without talking to him—but she’d simply reacted instinctively to the discovery that Lorenzo viewed their marriage as a loveless practicality. An overpowering need for self-preservation had kicked in, and she’d known that to protect her broken heart she had to get away from him.
But now she had to contact Lorenzo.
Firstly about her intention to adopt Emma. They were still officially married, and that might cause complications with the legal procedures. And secondly, about some money she’d been forced to use a couple of days earlier, from an account he’d set up in both their names before the wedding. The amount she’d taken would be nothing to a man as rich as Lorenzo, but she knew him well enough to be aware that no detail—no matter how small—ever escaped his notice.
She wanted him to know that she would pay him back as soon as she could. She had no wish to take anything from him. And the sooner she set things straight, the sooner she could put that heartbreaking episode of her life behind her, and get on with building a life for herself and Emma.
A tremble ran through her at the thought of seeing Lorenzo again, but she closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against the top of Emma’s head.
‘I’m not going to think about that now,’ she said to the baby. She’d promised Liz that she’d think happy thoughts, but at that moment it was a hard promise to keep.
She walked across to a wooden bench under a flowering cherry tree. The soft grass was scattered with the delicate pink blossom and it reminded Chloe of confetti.
Suddenly tears welled up in her eyes. It was the most beautiful day. But her best friend was not there to share it with her. And she never would be again.
Lorenzo Valente handled the convertible with a natural ease, shifting gears smoothly as he approached a tight bend in the winding country lane. It was a fine afternoon in May and the sun felt surprisingly warm on his shoulders as he sped along the leafy green road in rural England.
He usually enjoyed driving, but the expression on his face was far from one of pleasure—he was thinking about the latest stunt Chloe had pulled.
Very little shocked Lorenzo. He accepted the fact that being born into a wealthy family, and then multiplying that fortune by several orders of magnitude, had made him a target for various types of gold-digging parasites.
However, he’d never thought Chloe would steal from him. But it was just one more thing to make her pay for.
His strong fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes narrowed dangerously. A minute later he reached a tiny village. He slowed the car, and took the turning that led to the church. He drove a short distance along the narrow lane and then pulled up onto the grass verge, waiting for the crowd of pedestrians leaving the church to pass.
He knew that it was the day of her friend’s funeral. He’d seen to it that he had been kept very well-informed about Chloe’s actions since she walked out on him.
Suddenly he caught sight of a small figure dressed in dark grey walking unsteadily across the churchyard.
It was Chloe.
A strange sensation lodged in the pit of his stomach and he felt his heart start to beat faster. He was out of the car in an instant, ignoring the curious looks he was drawing from some of the villagers. He only had eyes for Chloe.
He strode across the churchyard towards her, the soft grass muffling his footsteps. She did not see or hear him approach, and sat completely motionless on the bench beneath the flowering cherry tree, engulfed in a private moment of sorrow.
He was about to speak but he hesitated, feeling an unaccustomed stab of uncertainty. Her eyes were closed as she wept, tears sliding silently down her white cheeks as she held a baby nestled in her arms. Her grief for her friend was so personal—he knew that his presence was an intrusion.
Suddenly she opened her eyes and stared up at him. A flash of surprise passed across her features.
‘Lorenzo.’ Her wide green eyes were luminous with tears in the warm afternoon sunshine, and her pale skin looked almost translucent. ‘Oh, God, I can’t believe you’re here.’
Hearing her say his name with such feeling sent an unexpected surge of emotion powering through his veins. He wanted to reach out and smooth the moisture from her cheeks, but instead he clamped his arms stiffly by his sides.
