Baby of Shame (9 page)

A harsh, disbelieving and derisive laugh broke from her.

‘Go to hell! No court in the land will let you do that!’

He smiled. It chilled her to the bone.

‘And how will you apply to the courts, I wonder? This is my island. The staff work for me, are answerable to me.
Only to me.’
Emotion suddenly blazed in his eyes, as if it could no longer be contained. ‘My God, you
dare
to fight me? You keep my son from me for
four years
and you think I am going to be in a forgiving mood when I discover his existence? Four years of his life I’ve missed—all of his life he has never known what it is to have a father. Well, that ends
now!’

She stood swaying, the world moving in and out around her.

‘Why?’ she whispered. ‘Why are you doing this? I don’t understand. What
possible
interest do you have in Nicky?’

If she had thought his face carved from stone before, now it was as if it were made of granite.

‘
Thee
mou
,’
he said in a low voice, ‘if ever you condemned yourself out of your own mouth, you have now. Now you have betrayed exactly what you are. A woman so completely bereft of humanity that you can understand
nothing
of what it means to have a child.’

There was
a bleakness
in his voice that seemed to drain the light from the sun. He was overwhelmed by his own scarring memories for a moment. His eyes rested on her unseeingly,
then
they shifted back into focus.
Hard, condemning focus.

‘Keep out of my sight. I don’t want to breathe the same air as you.’

He walked away.

She felt faintness drumming around her, closing in on her. She clasped the stone balustrade, fighting for breath. Her heart was pounding in her chest. She could hardly breathe. The blood pressure surged in her skull. She felt sick and dizzy.

But it was not the pain in her body that was crucifying her.

‘Nicky,’ she whispered.

It took all Alexis’s self-control to get through lunch with his son. It had been a mistake to try and eat with him. His fury was still seething through his veins, whipping him into a cold, relentless rage. He could not put it aside.

Her defiance against him enraged him.
Her lies, her despicable attempts at self-exoneration, trying to whitewash her drugs habit.

The kind of woman who would try and persuade you black was white, that filthy slush was driven snow!

His memories slammed into him. His eyes grew bleak.

His mother’s lovers.
So many of them.

He’d even seen one of them in bed with her.

He could remember it clearly.
Coming into his mother’s bedroom early one morning, escaping his nurse.
Clambering up onto her bed.
Seeing someone else there with her.
Not his father.
His mother waking, seeing him, shouting angrily for his nurse, yelling at her.
His nurse rushing in, scooping him away.
Him starting to cry, to hang on to the blankets, which pulled back, revealing the naked sleeping form of Demos, who cleaned the pool with a strange sucking tube that used to fascinate him…

Like a guillotine he brought the blade down on the memory.

Across the table, Nicky was drinking
gluggingly
from a blue plastic mug adorned with the image of a cartoon character.

My son, thought Alexis, with that surge of fierce protectiveness going through him.
My son.

Even if his mother is as worthless as mine, he will have me.

He will have me.

This I swear.

Nurse Thompson had come out after a while—presumably, thought
Rhianna
, when she’d
realised
Alexis Petrakis was now with Nicky and Karen—and helped her back to her room. Had she heard that hideous scene out there?
Rhianna
wondered dully. It would be amazing if she had not—if the whole household had not.

But all Nurse Thompson said was, ‘Bed. And you are not to move. You’ll end up back in hospital if you carry on like this.’

Rhianna
was docile, beyond protest.
Beyond anything.
But her brain was going round and round and round, like a rat in a trap.

But how?
Where?

She felt so weak, so helpless,
so
ill.

And so completely, absolutely alone.

There was no one.
No one.

Tiredness dragged at her, reminding her how weak she still was.

She went on lying in her bed, staring at the ceiling.

While she was weak like this she was helpless. She had to get well again, strong again. When she was strong—then she could fight Alexis Petrakis.

Fight him and win.

For Nicky’s sake.

Alexis was working in his study after dinner, catching up with the essentials of Petrakis International via e-mail, fax and phone. He had spent the afternoon with Nicky, once he’d surfaced from his after-lunch nap. They’d gone swimming again, built a sandcastle and played football. Then he’d sat in on Nicky’s supper, and read to him before
bathtime
.

A knock on the door interrupted him.

‘
Mr
Petrakis?’

It was the nurse, standing in the doorway. She had a determined look on her face.

Alexis sat back, control in his movement.

‘Yes?’

She advanced into the room with her stolid tread, closing the study door behind her.

‘I must speak to you,’ she announced.

He nodded.
‘Very well.’
His face was impassive.

She took a breath. There was a determined look on her face.

‘My responsibility, as you will appreciate, is to my patient,’ she began. ‘And for that reason I must request that she is not subjected to…’ The woman hesitated a moment, then continued, ‘To the kind of emotional…upheavals…that have happened these last two days. Such episodes are not helpful to her recovery. She had been making excellent progress, but she is in significant danger of relapsing. I have had to sedate her again, and that is
not
conducive to her convalescence.’

Alexis’s face was a mask. Choosing his words carefully, he answered.

‘I appreciate your concern, Nurse Thompson. However, the best way to ensure the…
tranquillity
…of your patient is to keep her away from me.’ Alexis felt the grip on his pen tighten as he spoke. Abruptly, he took the helm of this exchange. ‘While you are here, Nurse, I want to understand precisely what your patient’s medical condition is and how her treatment is being handled.’ His voice was expressionless. ‘You will understand, naturally, that an essential aspect of her treatment is to expedite her removal from drug dependency.’

The nurse raised her eyebrows. ‘The dosages are declining, certainly, but she can’t be taken off them too quickly or she could well relapse. Her body is still reliant on them.’

Alexis’s face darkened.
So much for
Rhianna
Davies’s self-righteous denial that she was a drug-user.

‘She’s that severely addicted?’ he demanded grimly.

The nurse’s eyebrows rose even higher.

‘Addicted? I don’t understand.’

There was something in the woman’s tone of voice that infuriated Alexis.

‘If you’d taken the trouble to read her medical records you might know what I’m talking about!’ he snapped at her icily.

The nurse bridled. ‘There is absolutely nothing in her medical records to indicate she is a drug addict!’

‘She was under the influence of drugs when she walked out in front of a car!’

Nurse Thompson took a deep breath. ‘
Mr
Petrakis, a detailed medical examination was made when Ms Davies was admitted to the Accident and Emergency department of
Sarmouth
General Hospital. The only substance in her blood was an over-the-counter flu remedy!
Far too much of it, but nothing, absolutely
nothing,
illicit.
Nor did any of her very many subsequent medical examinations during her
hospitalisation
reveal the slightest sign that she is or was a substance-abuser. And
if
you do not believe me consult with your own Dr
Paniotis
,’ she finished witheringly.

‘She must have been high on something to walk out blindly in front of that car!’

Nurse Thompson looked at him disbelievingly.

‘She was knocked down by a speeding car. There were witnesses to the accident and the driver was later arrested on a drink-driving charge. It is all documented, and I’m sure the
Sarmouth
police will confirm it to you if you insist!’

Alexis stared at the woman.

‘Are you telling me,’ he said slowly, ‘that she is not a drug addict?’

‘I most certainly am! I’ve never heard such nonsense in my life!’

‘Her social worker—’

A harrumphing sound came from Nurse Thompson’s throat.

‘Her social worker,’ Alexis continued tersely, ‘said she had evidence of drug usage and violence.’

Another dismissive snort came from the nurse. She eyed Alexis beadily. ‘I can assure you,
Mr
Petrakis, from all my considerable number of years in nursing, that my patient is neither violent nor a drug addict!’

Alexis ignored her indignation.

‘Then why does she look like a walking corpse?’ he demanded.

Nurse Thompson’s chest swelled.

‘Probably because she very nearly became one,’ she riposted defensively. ‘When she was admitted to hospital after being knocked down by that hit-and-run driver she was discovered to be suffering from a severe, long-standing and untreated lung infection, exacerbated by chronic exhaustion. It required urgent and continued medication—medication that is still continuing, though in ever-decreasing dosages, as I indicated. Given the state she was in when she was run down, I wonder she was still on her feet at all—and, far from being able to threaten anyone with a knife, I would be surprised to hear that she had the strength even to lift such a weapon, let alone use it!’

For a long moment Alexis said nothing. Nurse Thompson went on standing in front of him, breathing heavily. His eyes went to her. She didn’t look like a fool.

But if she was telling the truth…?

He turned away, staring out of the window over the darkening sea.

Thoughts he did not want to think were circling slowly in his head. He needed to think them through alone.

‘Thank you, Nurse Thompson. That will be all.’

His voice was remote as he dismissed her.

Rhianna
had been telling the truth. It was a disturbing
realisation
.

‘Mummy!’

‘Hello, muffin. Did you have a good nap?’

Nicky climbed up into his mother’s lap and snuggled for a moment.
Rhianna
smoothed his hair, ignoring the pressure of his body on her still tender ribs. She had spent the morning, just like the previous afternoon and evening, in bed—at Nurse Thompson’s insistence. But after lunch she had been allowed to get up, and was now installed on the terrace.

‘Yes, but I want to play now.
On the beach.
You come too.’

‘Oh, darling, perhaps tomorrow.’

A mutinous look crossed Nicky’s face.

‘No—now!’

‘Nicky, your mother needs to rest. You know that. Resting will make her better sooner.’

The deep, accented voice was firm, but not admonishing.
Rhianna’s
eyes flew to where Alexis Petrakis stood in the doorway, watching them.

There was a strange expression in his face. Different from any she’d seen before.

He looked—guarded.

Assessing.

Instinctively her arms tightened around Nicky, as if protecting him from Alexis Petrakis. She hadn’t laid eyes on him since that hideous exchange yesterday morning. Now her pulse-rate had risen automatically, and she could feel herself tense.

‘She’s always resting. Like Grandpa. He was always tired and resting. And then he…he…’

Nicky’s little mouth quivered.

Rhianna’s
heart wrenched. She folded her arms more tightly around Nicky.

‘Oh, sweetheart, I’m not ill like Grandpa was ill. I’m getting better all the time—I promise. Look, I’ll come down after all—all right? You get down first.’

‘One moment.’

Before she
realised
what he was doing Alexis had leant forward and lifted Nicky off her lap. Though she let go of Nicky as quickly as she could it wasn’t in time to stop Alexis’s bare arm brushing against her hand.

Every muscle in her body froze.

He set Nicky down.

‘Go and tell Karen we’re going down on the beach.’

He ruffled his son’s hair. He did not know where the gesture had come from, it just had.

‘With Mummy?’

Alexis nodded. Nicky ran off, cheerful again.

Alexis turned back to
Rhianna
.

‘What’s this about Nicky’s grandfather being ill and, I assume, not getting better?’

The question came out of nowhere.

‘No, he didn’t.’ Her voice was tight. She didn’t want to think about her father, his difficult, long-drawn-out dying. And she certainly didn’t want to talk about it to Alexis Petrakis.

‘Nicky remembers him?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was terse.

‘When did he die?’

She didn’t answer. Her throat was tight.
Far too tight.
Like a thick elastic band constricting her.

‘Last month.’

‘
What?’

There was shock in Alexis’s voice. She could hear it. But she couldn’t do anything about it. He’d asked and she’d told him. God knows why he’d asked.

‘You lost your father a handful of weeks ago?’

There was still shock, and incredulity, and something more in his demand.