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‘Let me tell you about my husband,’ Margarita began, spreading her fingers wide as if she didn’t quite know where to begin. ‘He is quixotic…and a little arrogant.’ She made a rueful gesture, as if to say that was only to be expected. ‘And of course he is very passionate—’ She broke off and laughed self-consciously, her face reddening at the revelation. ‘I suppose you have guessed that by the way I talk about him. But we have loved each other since we were children.’ She stopped and smiled, reaching out a hand to touch Annalisa’s arm. ‘Don’t look so alarmed. I’m sorry if I’m embarrassing you. I know we’ve only just met, but I feel as if we could be friends.’
Annalisa lowered her gaze as she smiled. Was it possible to feel any worse?
‘Separations between us are inevitable,’ Margarita continued, unaware of the effect her words were having, ‘but it could be so different for you, Annalisa. I have no right to ask this of you, but I’m going to anyway—for all our sakes, please don’t go back to England.’
Annalisa shook her head adamantly. ‘I must.’
Margarita stirred the froth in her coffee cup as silence hung between them. ‘Then you’re making a terrible mistake,’ she said at last.
‘How can you of all people say that?’ Annalisa demanded incredulously.
Margarita’s slender shoulders lifted in an elegant shrug. ‘I know everything from Ramon.’
‘He told you what, exactly?’
Margarita leaned towards her. ‘He is in love with you, Annalisa.’
‘I’m sorry—’
‘Sorry? Why are you sorry?’ Margarita exclaimed, biting down on one of the sugar-coated pastries.
‘Your daughter—’
Margarita’s eyes softened to liquid gold as she wiped the crumbs from her lips with a paper napkin. ‘What does my little Aurelia have to do with this?’
Were relationships taken so lightly amongst the super-rich? Annalisa wondered, knowing it would never do for her. ‘I’m sorry, Margarita, but I really must catch this flight—’
‘Then I’m sorry for Ramon,’ Margarita said. ‘And I’m sorry for myself too. I get very lonely—’ She broke off, waving her hand with embarrassment as she began fishing in her handbag, tears chasing down her cheeks.
‘Surely your husband—’
Margarita shook her head dumbly as she dabbed at her face with a tissue. ‘When he’s with me I am the happiest woman on earth. But he is away so much… And now I’m pregnant again—’ Her voice broke into a sob.
Annalisa felt as if someone was putting her insides through a shredder. ‘Surely that’s a good thing?’ she managed tightly.
‘Good?’ Margarita exclaimed passionately. She settled back in her chair again and nodded. ‘Of course, you’re right. It is wonderful news. But I want to share everything with him—’ And, mistaking Annalisa’s expression for incomprehension, she added, ‘Don’t you see, Annalisa? I will have had the baby by the time he gets back.’
‘Ramon is going away?’
‘Ramon?’
Annalisa raised her voice, desperately seeking clarification. ‘You have told him about the baby?’
‘Of course I have told him.’
The confirmation was like a blow to her heart. ‘Then—’
Margarita grabbed her hand. ‘You can make him understand how it feels for a woman, Annalisa. He would listen to you—’
‘No! Really! I don’t think I—’
‘But you must,’ Margarita insisted, talking over her. ‘I know Ramon cares passionately about the race, but—’ Her gaze ran wildly around the café and then settled back square on Annalisa’s face. ‘You’re my last hope,’ she cried pitifully.
‘The race?’ Annalisa probed. However bad her own position, she couldn’t just sit there and say nothing. And something was starting to rattle the bars of her memory bank.
‘Yachting…the round-the-world race,’ Margarita prompted, as if everyone knew about such things. ‘It’s got to stop,’ she hurried on. ‘And if Ramon says it must, it will. You must speak to him for me. I don’t want my babies growing up wondering who is their father—’
‘Hold on,’ Annalisa cut in. She was beginning to feel she was trying to find her way through a very thick fog. ‘You think it would help if I spoke to Ramon?’
‘I know it would,’ Margarita declared in a passionate whisper, taking hold of her hand.
‘But what would I say to him?’
