An Heir for the Millionaire (6 page)

His stubby finger pointed at each person in the illustration.

‘Mummy, Daddy, me.' Then he frowned. ‘Baby,' he said. He looked at Clare. ‘We haven't got a baby.'

Clare swallowed. ‘No, but we've got a nan instead. That's a different family from us, Joey.'

Joey looked at her. ‘Can we keep my daddy?' he asked.

Clare could see Vi's eyes on her. Eyes that said nothing—and knew everything. She crouched down beside Joey.

‘Your daddy doesn't live in this country, darling. He travels all over the world. Lots of countries. So you won't see him very often.'

Joey's eyes clouded.

‘He said he was coming back. When?'

‘Soon,' said Clare. She got to her feet.

Too soon.

Her stomach churned at the thought.

 

Xander gave her till the weekend. He used the time to his own advantage. In a series of punishing meetings, and flights to Geneva, Milan and Paris, he got through of a formidable amount of work.

He also disposed of Sonja de Lisle. She was no longer a requirement, only an unnecessary complication.

When he gave her the news, she flew into a tantrum. Eyes spitting, language foul, she stormed out, with her suitcases filled to bursting with every garment, accessory and piece of jewellery he'd ever bought her.

Four hours later she was back on the phone to him, purring away and saying it had all been a mistake on her part, enticing him back to her, inviting him over to a very intimate dinner in the suite at the Grosvenor he'd taken for her, to ease her departure.

He hung up on her in mid-purr.

Memory sliced through him like a meat cleaver—to the time when he'd got rid of another woman from his life.

Those expressionless eyes, that very still face…

Now he knew why. She'd already known she was pregnant,
and when he'd called time on her she'd decided that her revenge on him would be to keep his child from her. And she was doing the same thing in refusing to marry him. Keeping him at arm's length from his son. Anger bit in him like a scorpion's sting. And she'd had the unmitigated gall to claim it was because he was inexperienced with children—

Her doing. She kept my son from me, and now accuses me of knowing nothing about him.

Rage boiled in him. Then he quenched it. He would get his son. Joey would grow up with him. There was no question—no question whatsoever. Whatever it took to achieve that, he would do.

He picked up the phone on his desk and summoned his PA. His instructions to her had nothing to do with business…

‘W
ELL
,' announced Vi robustly, ‘to my mind it's just the thing to get little Joey used to you.'

Her eyes went approvingly to Xander. Clare, at the furthest end possible of the sofa, stared aghast at Vi.

‘You can't mean that!'

How could Vi be taking Xander's part? How could she even be civil to him? She was being even more than civil—she was treating him with approbation. She'd all but forced Clare to take Joey out to the park with Xander today, when he'd turned up just after lunchtime on the first day of the weekend. Clare had walked in stony silence, pushing the buggy, while Xander focussed all his attention on Joey. It had been excruciating.

His arrival back at Vi's house after four days had sent her hopes plummeting. She'd been hoping against hope that he'd gone abroad, summoned by all his complex international business dealings. Yet even the few days' intermission had allowed her, she knew, to mitigate the demolishing shock that had possessed her. She'd had time to accept that the nightmare was real, that Xander Anaketos had found out about Joey—and that he wanted to be a part of Joey's life.

And Joey, it seemed, twisting the knife in her breast, was of the same opinion. His childish conversation had returned to the subject of his father time and again over the last few days, and even though Clare had done her best to change the subject, Vi, of all people, had been matter-of-fact in answering.

‘He'll come when he can, lamb. Dads have to work, remember? So he's very busy.'

But not busy enough. Clare had heard his monster of a car arrive as Joey was finishing his lunch, and her heart had sunk to her shoes. Now it had congealed into cold ice. Was he insane, thinking she and Joey would go on
holiday
with him? Yet here was Vi, thinking it was a perfectly unexceptional thing to suggest.

‘Yes,' Vi retorted. ‘A holiday together would be just the thing. It's a very good idea.'

‘I don't
want
to!' Clare exclaimed vehemently.

Vi gave her a level look. ‘Joey's got a right to his father, love,' she said calmly. Her gaze went to Xander again. He gave her a slight nod of acknowledgement.

Clare was staring at Vi as if she were a traitor.

‘He can come and visit
here
!' she countered.

‘Well, he will, love. And he is already, and that's all very well. But Joey needs to spend more time than just an outing to the park or some playtime indoors. A holiday would be just the thing, like I say.'

‘I couldn't possibly leave you, Vi. How would you manage?' Clare said desperately.

‘That has been taken care of,' Xander interjected. ‘Mrs Porter has been good enough to accept a minute token of my appreciation for her contribution to the care of my son over these last years. While Joey is on holiday she will be too.'

‘That's right,' said Vi. ‘Though I don't need thanking—Clare and Joey are family to me. But I'll be very glad to see Devon again.'

Clare felt another punch of betrayal go through her. ‘We were going to go there all together! In the summer—'

‘Well, Clare, love, a caravan always was going to be a bit tricky for me, wasn't it? And this hotel I'm going to is specially adapted for old people, and it's right on the sea front. It couldn't be better. And this time of year the town won't be too crowded either—nor the weather too hot for me.'

‘So, do you have any more objections?'

Clare's eyes snapped to those of the figure at the other end of the sofa. Somewhere deep inside, on a different plane of exis
tence from the one her mind was occupying, something detonated. Xander was not wearing a business suit today. He wore the kind of casual wear that looked relaxed but was, she could tell at a glance, extremely expensive. His dark blue sweater was cashmere, his loafers hand-made, his petrol-blue trousers bespoke tailored.

But it wasn't his clothes that had caused the detonation.

It was the body beneath…

The body she had once known with such sensual intimacy that if she even began to remember it would crucify her…

I don't need this.

Wasn't it hideous enough having to watch Xander with Joey—and, worse, Joey responding with increasing confidence and pleasure to all the attention from him? Wasn't that enough torment for her?

Why did her own self have to betray her as well?

There was only one cruel comfort, if such a thing were possible in this nightmare that had engulfed her since she had come face to face with Xander Anaketos again. Only one.

That, whatever her treacherous memory might be trying to conjure back, it was finding no answering echo within him.

From him came only grim hostility and condemnation.

Be grateful for it, she thought. Be grateful he treats you like a block of wood!

And she must do likewise. It was the only way she would be able to cope.

But how could she possibly survive a holiday in his company? She couldn't. It was impossible.

‘Well?' Xander's prompt came again. ‘Do you think Joey would not enjoy the seaside?'

She would not,
would not
be steamrollered like this.

‘He can enjoy it here, in this country. Taking him to the Caribbean is just ridiculous.'

‘It's at its best at this time of year,' said Xander. ‘And though the flight is long, one of the advantages of a private plane is that we can not only fly whenever we want, but there will be ample room for Joey to move about freely and be entertained. Surely
you remember,' he said, and his eyes levelled at her, ‘how easy travel is when you can do it in comfort?'

She pulled her eyes away. Oh, God, she remembered only too well. Remembered how Xander had taken advantage of the sleeping accommodation on his private long-haul jet.

Not that that they had slept much…

‘Joey will have a lovely time,' Vi said, speaking decisively. ‘And that's what's important. Isn't it, Clare, love?'

She looked speakingly across at her, and all Clare could do was feel totally, absolutely betrayed.

Xander got to his feet. ‘My PA will be in touch on Monday, and will make all the arrangements necessary—including whatever is needed to expedite Joey's passport.' He glanced at his watch.

The gesture was not lost on Clare. It was Saturday—Xander Anaketos would not be spending the evening alone. What was his current mistress like—blonde, brunette, redhead? Petite, voluptuous, tall? She let the litany run like a river of pain through her head. The one who had replaced her four years ago had been her opposite—a fiery, tempestuous Latino beauty, with a taste for flamboyant, revealing clothes. She'd seen a picture of them together in a gossip magazine at the antenatal clinic. Clearly Xander had got bored with the cool, classic type that she had exemplified, had wanted something more exciting…

She tore her mind away. Xander Anaketos's sexual tastes, both past and present, were of no concern to her.

They never would be again.

The river of pain in her head intensified.

‘S
EA
!' yelled Joey, beside himself with excitement. ‘There, there!'

He pointed through the car window to where a bay of dazzling azure blue had just become visible, fringed with vivid emerald-green, all drenched in the hot glare of the Caribbean sun. They had landed at the small, deserted airport of this tiny Caribbean jewel half an hour ago, and were heading to the coast in a chauffeur-driven car.

Contrary to Clare's apprehensions about the long flight, Joey had revelled in every moment, fascinated with the swivelling leather seats, the seat belts, the huge TV screen, the onboard bathroom, the portholes, the cockpit, the galley, and every other aspect of the private jet that had winged them across the Atlantic. To Clare's astonishment Xander had spent the time exclusively devoting himself to keeping Joey entertained, whether by playing childish computer games with him or doing colouring and jigsaws. It was very different from her memories of travelling with Xander as his mistress. He had either spent flights working at his laptop and his papers—or sweeping her back to the sleeping accommodation for some undivided personal attention.

Now he was giving her his undivided personal
in
attention. He was turned away from her, chatting to Joey, pointing out the sights of the island's landscapes.

‘See those big trees, and all the round fruits dangling off them like they're on bits of string? Those are mangoes—you'll like mangoes. We'll have some for breakfast. They're very juicy and
sweet. And those trees there are banana trees. Do you know something funny about bananas?'

Joey shook his head, eyes wide.

‘They grow upside down. I'll show you when we're at the villa.'

Clare was staring bleakly out of her window. She'd been twice to the Caribbean with Xander. Not, thank God, to this island, but even without direct memories just being in the Caribbean was painful. Most of the time she'd been with Xander had been spent travelling with him. He had constantly been doing business. Only occasionally had he pulled the plug on his business affairs and actually had a holiday. Their two visits to the Caribbean had been such. They'd stayed at the kind of five-star boutique hideaway hotel that was written about in the Sunday newspapers with breathless awe at what money could buy, surrounded by exclusively rich and beautiful people—the men rich, the women beautiful.

But Xander had hardly treated those stays as holidays. Oh, he had kept her at his side, both by day and by night, but he had remained in constant communication with his staff and had struck, she knew, at least one business deal with his fellow guests.

How much would Joey see of him now? she wondered. It was one thing to visit Vi's house, another to live for two weeks with a little child in a secluded villa.

The car swept through an iron-gated entrance and along a gravelled drive between lush vegetation, to pull up outside a long, low building. As they got out of the car, the humid warmth enveloped her. Beautifully kept gardens, brilliant with hibiscus and bougainvillaea, surrounded the villa, and already she could see the flashing dart of a hummingbird amongst the vivid blossoms.

She took Joey by the hand and followed Xander inside into a cool air-conditioned interior, with a high, cathedral ceiling, and through huge glass doors to a terrace, beyond which Joey immediately spotted the sea again. He cried out excitedly, and tugged on Clare's hand.

Xander turned and held his hand out.

‘Let's hit the beach, Joey,' he said with a grin.

Clare felt pain stab through her. It hurt to see Xander smile like that. A carefree, boyish grin. He was not a man who smiled easily.

‘You'll need beach clothes, pet,' she said to Joey. ‘And sunblock.'

She led him off to find the bedroom, not caring what Xander wanted. Her luggage, such as it was, was already in the bedroom the smiling maid showed her to, and it did not take long to get herself into shorts and T-shirt and Joey into swimming shorts and a top and hat to protect him from the sun. He protested over the sunblock, but she was adamant.

From the verandah on to which her room opened she could see Xander, standing by an azure swimming pool. He, too, had changed for the beach, and Joey ran down towards him. She followed reluctantly, her cheap flip-flops flapping on the stone paving. She watched as Xander gave Joey another grin, took his hand, and headed down the path to the beach.

Clare might as well not have been there.

Pain stabbed again. To be so cut out—as if she did not exist…

Doggedly, she followed the two receding figures. The moment he could, Joey slipped Xander's hand and ran down over the silvered sand into the crystal-clear turquoise water. As she walked onto the beach, Clare looked around her.

It really was like something out of a brochure for paradise. The long, low villa, set into jewelled gardens, the white sliver of beach, fringed by coconut palms whose fronds were swaying in the gently lifting breeze, and everywhere, stretching to the horizon, the fantastic brilliance of the turquoise sea. Far out, she could see waves splashing on a reef, creating the mirrored pond of the lagoon within.

But she would have given anything not to have been here…

‘Mummy! Come in the water!' Joey's voice was high-pitched with excitement.

She waded in with her sandalled feet, feeling the cool water like a balm. Joey jumped up and down, then sat down with a splash.

‘You see how happy he is?' Xander's voice was accusatory. ‘Yet you would have deprived him of this—as you deprived him of a father.'

Her eyes hardened. ‘Don't try and make me feel guilty, Xander!'

Something moved in his face. Then it had gone. In its place was a different expression.

‘This isn't good for Joey. All this aggression. He'll pick up on it and it will upset him.'

Clare just looked at him. Her face was stony. How could she possibly endure two weeks here, like this? For a long moment Xander returned her gaze, level and unreadable.

‘We're going to have to talk,' he said. ‘Tonight, when Joey is in bed.' He turned away, returning his attention to Joey. ‘OK, Joey—I'm coming in. Prepare for some serious splashing!'

Xander peeled off his top in a single fluid movement, and without her volition Clare's eyes went to him. Her breath caught, and she was humiliatingly grateful for her dark glasses.

His body was as perfect, as fantastic, as she had remembered it. The smooth, strong-muscled torso, the broad shoulders, the long, lean thighs, hazed lightly with dark hair. As he ran down into the water past her, her eyes went to the perfect sculpture of his back, the narrow form of his hips.

Memory burned, like a wound in her flesh, vivid and excoriating. Once she had held him in her arms. Once that taut, muscled flesh had been hers to caress, hers to yield to, hers to crush herself against.

And now?

He was gone for ever. Beyond her for ever.

She turned away, heading back up towards the terrace.

This holiday would be a season in hell for her.