Betrayal (21 page)

Once or twice he glanced sideways at her and when their eyes met she was always the one to look away from his unblinking appraisal, but there was the suggestion of a smile round her lips and he noticed that when she curled her fingers round the stem of her wine glass, she ran her thumb lightly down the side in a gesture plainly intended for him.

After dinner the women withdrew while the men began to talk of share prices, shooting parties and horses. Only the horses interested Renato and once he'd discovered that none of the men really knew anything about horseflesh he sat silently, curled up in a vast leather armchair, wondering about the girl with the titian hair.

'We'd better rejoin the ladies,' said Giovanni at last, noticing his guest's silence.

'I wonder what they talk about?' mused one middle-aged man. 'Us!' laughed Giovanni.

'How to catch us if they're single and how to keep us away from them if they're married to us!' retorted a cynical-looking man in his late thirties.

'Do you think that's true, Renato?' asked Giovanni, wishing his guest of honour wasn't so quiet. It made him wonder if the auditor had spotted some error in the bank's accounts.

'Undoubtedly, but I don't hold them to blame. If we’re so desirable early on then it's our duty to remain so!'

'Wait until you're married!' retorted the cynic. 'You can try every trick in the book but they'll still spend their lives with headaches and female problems.'

'Then find a mistress. If she too becomes unwell, you might perhaps begin to wonder where the blame lies!' smiled Renato, but the smile was too sharp, the eyes too challenging, for his companion to object as he normally would . This man wasn't to be trifled with, they all knew that, and so he swallowed the insult and gave a light laugh.

'You may be right, but probably Italian women are naturally more sensuous. All that hot weather, I expect!'

Ignorant pig! thought Renato, smiling again and standing back until only he and Giovanni were left. 'The auburn-haired woman in the black dress, Gianni. Is she alone?'

'Not exactly. She came with James Hatherley-West, but he's not really interested in her. She's just one of the women he uses as a cover. He needs to marry and it's vital that no one … '

'Quite. Is she married?'

'Widowed once and divorced once. She's… ' 'Yes?'

'Very friendly.'

Renato was genuinely amused. 'I wasn't looking for a virgin!' 'You don't like Deborah?'

'She's a very nice girl and therefore not my type at all! No, seriously, I do like her which is why I couldn't possibly get involved. She'd cling, Gianni. I imagine she's like ivy—very difficult to prise loose!'

'She's a friend of Eleanor's.'

'Enough said! I shall naturally take her home to her little flat but I might, I think, arrange for this Julia to go to my house later on. You may inform her escort of my intentions. He could be pleased to have a night to visit his boyfriend.'

Julia felt a thrill of excitement run through her when Bellini approached. She knew exactly what was coming and hadn't been as excited for several years. He was unbelievably attractive and she'd watched him moving round the room with a panther—like grace that told her he'd be a wonderful lover.

As for his eyes, they were so full of experience and promise she could barely control herself when he looked her way. There was no point in being coy when he finally approached her. He wasn't the kind of man to want her to play games. They were certainly two of a kind when it came to sex.

'I have to take someone home, Julia' he said quietly. She was surprised that he knew her name. 'I've called a cab to take you to my apartment so that you'll be there when I return. I trust this suits you?' 'Very nice,' she said diffidently, but her eyes sparkled with anticipation.

He reached out and ran one finger lightly down the side of her neck. 'You have wonderful skin.'

'It bruises easily.'

'I'll remember that. Until later then.' Much to her surprise he turned away without even a token kiss of her hand. She was almost shaking with desire and as soon as he left with Deborah Sinclair—a born loser, if ever she'd seen one—she collected her wrap and said goodnight to the Mutis. Eleanor's smile was fixed, her eyes cold with annoyance, while Gianni gave a non-committal shrug as though he were no longer surprised by anything she managed to do.

Julia didn't care. She'd wanted Bellini's hands on her body from the moment she first saw him lunching in the marble courtyard of the Georges Cinque in Paris two summers ago, but she'd been married then and he'd been with a group of dark-suited, hard-talking business men. Tonight was her first sight of him since, and she'd certainly managed to make the most of it. The car that took her to Eaton Square was no normal cab. When it halted, the driver carefully escorted her into the ground floor apartment which occupied the width of two adjoining buildings.

'The Signor will be here soon,' he assured her, opening the door into a double reception room. It had a pale grey carpet, cool blue settees and armchairs. They were littered with huge grey scatter cushions that looked as though a small child had been playing with them, as indeed Luciano had on his visit earlier in the day.

'The visitor's bathroom is off to your left,' the driver told her. 'And the bedrooms?'

'The Signor will show you those. Goodnight, signora.'

She was allowed to bathe but not to slip between the sheets, she thought with amusement, but deciding against a bath sank down in one of the chairs, having first removed the cushions and thrown them into a corner of the room.

On the glass-topped coffee table in the middle of the room was the usual collection of magazines. It was only when she finally felt too tense to sit doing nothing that she picked one up and very nearly dropped it as she found herself looking at some of the most erotic pornographic photographs she'd ever seen in her decidedly unsheltered life.

She was so deeply engrossed in them that she failed to hear him enter the room, nor did she see the satisfied yet faintly contemptuous expression on his face as he saw what she was reading and knew that once again he'd been right and they would have a marvellous night.

'Come,' he said harshly. 'We've wasted too much time.'

Julia had never been propelled out of a room so firmly, nor had she ever been before held tightly by one wrist while a man unlocked a bedroom door and then almost flung her inside. Nursing her bruised wrist, she stared about her.

There were mirrors everywhere. Floor-length mirrors on every cupboard door, a mirror above the headboard of the super-king-sized bed, with a mirror directly overhead taking up most of the ceiling.

'I need to shave closely,' said Renato with a smile. 'The mirrors assist.'

'Who did that?' enquired Julia, pointing at a painting on the wall depicting a man and a woman closely entwined , the woman's mouth open in ecstasy as the man entered her from an impossible angle with disproportionately large male organ.

'I've no idea. He must have been a keep-fit fanatic!' 'I meant who painted it?'

'As a matter of fact, I did.' 'You?'

'You're surprised? I have many talents, but not all of them will interest you.'

She began to slide the side zip of her dress down but he put out a hand to stop her. 'I will do it in time. You liked the photographs in the other room?'

Julia knew the game—the prolonged teasing, the extensive foreplay—and normally she loved it, but this time she simply wanted to feel him penetrate her. She wanted him inside her body, she wanted…

'Of what do you think, Julia?' he enquired calmly, smiling inwardly at the light flush staining her magnolia skin. 'I was thinking that I wanted you.'

'Perhaps a drink first? A brandy or… '

'I've had enough bloody drink at that boring party.'

He shook his head. 'Swearing is only attractive in women once their clothes are off! Besides, a connoisseur in love such as yourself must surely enjoy the preliminaries?'

'Usually, yes.'

'Good. I will pour us some brandy.'

Julia watched the way he walked with a measured stride to the concealed drinks cabinet, and wished he'd take off his jacket so that she could see the muscles across his shoulders.

'In the day there is a lovely view of the square from here,' he informed her, as though he genuinely thought she'd care. 'Here, your drink.'

He never took his eyes off her as she once again ran her thumb down the stem of the glass before tilting it and swallowing the brandy, her exposed throat moving as the liquid passed down it.

Renato took off his jacket and tie and undid the top buttons of his shirt before removing the glass from Julia's hand while pressing her back towards the bed. He eased her shoes off her feet and then turned his attention to the zip of the dress which he quickly slid from her body.

All she wore beneath the dress was a suspender belt and stockings and he smiled his approval. She was full-breasted with a small waist but rounded hips and thighs. In time she would become fat, but not yet. At this moment in time she was almost perfect. It wouldn't last much longer, she was a rose at its moment of absolute beauty, and he appreciated the fact as he knelt down beside the bed and buried his mouth between her breasts.

He enjoyed the feel of her creamy skin, the fullness of her buttocks that he cupped in his hands as he lifted her slightly in order to move his mouth between her thighs. She tried to keep him there by gripping them together but his hands moved up and held her so that she had no control over when he stopped.

He kept her trembling deliciously on the edge of her first orgasm for what seemed an eternity, moving hands and mouth from her head to her toes until every nerve end was screaming out for release. Finally, he moved fully over her, his huge body poised above her, and for one brief moment she wondered if she could possibly take him inside her. He saw the doubt in her eyes, but was used to that and murmuring assurances he began to ease his way inside her, enveloped by the moist warmth that he'd known she would possess.

As he began to thrust she began to moan, her head moving from side to side, and she gripped his shoulders in desperation, urging him on. Using all the words he'd expected and some that he hadn't.

It was then, at the very moment when he normally felt the greatest pleasure, just as Julia's body began to arch in an uncontrollable spasm of relief , that he lost all his desire for her . She wasn't perfect, she was over-ripe. There was too much creamy flesh, too much expertise in the way she touched him and in the words she uttered.

She wasn't what he wanted. He wanted a tall, slim, dark-haired girl with a finely honed beauty that would never turn to fleshy opulence, and whose touch would be more hesitant but instinctive.

Julia didn't notice any change. Renato's desire turned in seconds to dislike bordering on hatred, and it was this hatred that carried him through. He thrust into her savagely, ignoring her screams of ecstasy—genuine or assumed—pounding his fury with himself into her until her screams were tinged with pain and she tried to loosen his huge hands from where they were gripping her breasts, but he wasn't to be moved and continued thrusting into her long after she'd climaxed until finally, with a shout of despair that Julia mistook for pleasure, he ejaculated violently and then almost threw himself off her, turning on his side so that he didn't have to look at her face.

For five minutes or more she lay quietly, feeling somewhat sore but definitely satisfied. Eventually she touched him lightly on the shoulder but he shrugged her hand away. She sighed to herself. So many men were like that once it was over, but for some reason she'd expected better from him.

At last he got himself under control and turned to her, putting one hand beneath her chin and kissing her lightly on the cheek.

'You were wonderful, cara. You are made for love.' 'For sex,' she corrected him dryly.

'Most of us are made for sex, love is usually the more acceptable word.'

'Not to me.'

He was relieved that he'd chosen her. His behaviour would have hurt and bewildered little Deborah, who worked without working and wanted a husband.

'We must get dressed and leave,' he said slowly. 'I shall return to my son tonight.'

'Where does he live?'

'In another of my London apartments. This one is for beautiful women, the other for my work and my son!'

'How practical. No wife?' 'She died.'

'Perhaps you would get someone to drive me home?' she asked as she slipped on the crumpled black taffeta dress.

'I myself will take you.'

'No thank you. A driver will be fine.'

She had noticed, he thought regretfully. A pity, it wasn't her fault. 'As you wish.'

'Tell me, Renato, since we won't be meeting again—at least let me know one thing. Are you looking for love any more, or have you given up as I have?'

He smiled a half-smile and his amazing eyes stared thoughtfully into the distance. 'I look for nothing, but I think that one day I might find something by mistake.'

‘Lucky girl!’ said Julia with feeling. He pressed a bell and knew that she’d be taken home safely. An unusual woman but an honest one, which made a change.

Chapter Fifteen

That weekend, Neal was due to go home to his family again. He apologised profusely but Lisa was secretly grateful to have some time to herself. These days she was permanently tired, and the thought of three evenings free was bliss, although she knew she'd miss his company. It was just that sometimes she wished their entire life didn't revolve round social functions. They had so little time to themselves, and when they were alone all that Neal wanted to do was take her to bed.

However, by the Sunday afternoon she'd decided that life without him wasn't so desirable. Thirty-six hours of Jessica seemed like thirty-six weeks. There was no longer any doubt her behaviour was deteriorating. She was impossible to toilet train, squatting down whenever the mood took her whether she was out in the shops, playing in the secluded garden area or sitting on her mother's bed. She also hated wearing clothes, and was forever tearing them off, taking great delight in the feel of various textures on her bare skin.

'How about the park?' suggested Lisa after lunch. Jessica stared at the floor. 'Remember the park? You liked it there. We saw a boat, didn't we?'

For an instant she thought something stirred behind Jessica's eyes, but then it was gone and her daughter looked away as she scuttled into a corner and began to gnaw on her thumb.

'Park,' reiterated Lisa. 'Let's get a jacket on you. It's beginning to turn cooler in the afternoons.'

An hour later, and wondering if it had been worth the effort, Lisa finally managed to strap her daughter into the pushchair and set off. The park was crowded with children making the most of a sunny September afternoon. Jessica tried to twist round and hide her face in the back of her pushchair, making mewing sounds of fright and clawing at the striped canvas. Lisa sat on a bench and gently pushed her to and fro until the sounds stopped and she settled herself into a bunched heap with her chin down on her chest.

She recognised him the moment he came through the park gates. His height alone made him stand out, but the thick windswept hair and the distinctly Roman nose were what caught her eye. That and the athletic way in which he moved. He was very light on his feet for such a big man.

Coming directly across to her, he sat down so close that she felt she ought to move away but was terrified of disturbing Jessica.

'How pleasant, Mrs Walker. I'd hoped to find you here,' he said cheerfully.

'It's only our second visit.'

'I am very fortunate. And this is your daughter?'

She was glad he didn't attempt to touch Jessica. 'Yes.' 'You look worried.'

'I'm terrified of what she's going to do. She's been very difficult today.'

'It's a lovely day.'

'Yes.' She wondered how she could carry on such an inane conversation when her stomach was churning and her hands shaking simply because he was sitting next to her, his left leg touching hers.

'What's the matter?' he asked gently. 'Is it me you're afraid of, or what I'll think of your daughter?'

You, she thought despairingly. I'm afraid of you because you make me realise that I'm not like I thought, and at the moment I'm cheating Neal and cheating myself because he doesn't make me feel like this and he should. 'Neither,' she lied.

'I wonder what life must be like for her?' he mused, letting his hand rest on top of the pushchair. 'It is hard enough for ordinary people. No wonder some children opt out straight away.'

'Is that what you think autistic children do?'

'It's one theory, and seems to make sense. Perhaps they're exceptionally sensitive children who can't cope with ordinary childhood experiences, therefore they cut themselves off; pretend the rest of us aren't here. I can think of many people I'd prefer to obliterate from my mind!'

'Me too! It seems such a waste. I know I'm being stupid but sometimes it seems Jessica knows far more than I think and I wonder, if I could find the magic key to unlock the barriers she's put round herself, whether she'd be perfectly normal? I know she desperately needs my love, yet she totally rejects it. She can't bear to be touched or held. Even dressing her's a job for two people. I wish… '

'What?'

'That I had someone else to help me, I suppose.' 'Her father?'

'No!'

He was taken aback by the vehemence of her denial. 'Not the right man?'

'He wouldn't understand. He's too wrapped up in himself. Anyway, sometimes I think it's all his fault.'

'But you're not alone,' he pointed out, keeping his eyes on Jessica as she started to sit up and take fleeting glances around her.

'No, I'm very lucky. Not many men would be interested in a woman with an autistic child.'

'Then why are you worried?'

Lisa looked at the back of his head, noticing how his hair curled upwards on the nape of his neck. As she looked he turned his face towards her and when their eyes met it was as though he could see right through her. See through the façade that she, Neal and Carol had created between them and know with absolute certainty what she was really like. Know all her anxieties and fears, and understand.

Look away! she told herself urgently. Don't get involved. He's only here for a few months and you'd just be another conquest. Look away. 'The problem is that he's not interested in Jessica!' she blurted out, then covered her mouth in horror. For all she knew, he might repeat what she'd said and let Neal hear of it. 'I didn't mean that,' she added quickly. 'I'm being unfair. Why, only next week I'm taking her to see a specialist from Switzerland. Neal arranged all that for me, and he pays for a nurse to help. He's wonderful about that side of things, it's simply that he finds coping with her difficult. But then, she isn't his child.'

'Quite.' It was impossible to tell from his voice exactly what he meant, but he gave her a quizzical look as though he wondered precisely who she was trying to fool.

'I'm far better off than most women in my position,' she continued, untying Jessica's harness. The child wanted to get out and roll on the grass. 'It must be dreadful to worry about money as well.'

'Yes.'

'I was coping quite nicely until recently. Now I'm so tired all the time that I just want to crawl into bed and sleep the days away. Perhaps it's emotional exhaustion!'

He watched Jessica start to pull handfuls of grass out of the ground before stuffing them in her mouth and then chewing enthusiastically, and all the time she darted short glances at him, watching him so furtively that unless he'd kept his eyes constantly on her he'd have sworn she was ignoring him.

'Of course you're tired,' he murmured while Jessica began hitting her head against the toe of his shoe. 'Weren't you tired when you were carrying this little one? I remember that my wife… '

His voice faded a long way away until it had no meaning. The world tilted and turned black and Lisa gave an inarticulate cry before toppling on to the grass next to her daughter. Unperturbed, Jessica continued to bang her head.

Renato swiftly bent down and gathered her in his arms. He put her tenderly back on the seat and began to rub her hands as he murmured her name.

The moment she regained consciousness, Lisa snatched her hands away from him and began a mad scramble to push Jessica back into her pushchair. Infuriated, Jessica screamed and kicked out, spitting when her mother got too near.

'Please stop!' The Italian was appalled by her distress. He stood up and caught hold of her arms. 'Leave Jessica alone and wait a moment. Obviously I've made a mistake. Naturally I'd assumed that… You look exactly as my wife did and I simply thought you were again pregnant. I didn't mean to offend you.'

'I'm not!' she shouted. 'I can't be. I won't, not again. What would I do? No, you're wrong, totally wrong.'

'I'm sorry,' he repeated helplessly. 'Of course you know best. It was a foolish error.'

'What right have you got to march up to me and start telling me how to look after my daughter before insinuating that I'm pregnant again? Who the hell do you think you are!'

He saw the tears brimming over in her eyes and wished that he could take away some of her pain. He was right, they both knew that, but he'd have given anything not to have been the person who made her face the fact.

Her distress affected Jessica who began hitting her chin against the leg of the park seat with ruthless determination, as though only through pain could she shut out her mother's emotional turmoil.

Renato picked the little girl up and put her in her pushchair. He didn't look at her or speak to her and she went limp, flopping helplessly while he did up the straps.

'I'm going home.' Lisa's voice was strained. 'I hope you enjoy the rest of the afternoon.'

'Let me walk back with you.'

'Even if I wanted you to, which I most certainly don't, Bishop or some other hanger-on would see us and then I'd have that to cope with. I'm beginning to think you're nothing but trouble.'

'What else have I done to you?'

'Only caused Neal and me to have our first quarrel.' 'For that I am not sorry.'

'If what you say is true, I certainly can't afford any more of them. Good day, Mr Bellini.'

He didn't reply but she was aware that he watched her as she left the park, and her ridiculous desire to turn round and rush back to him for some kind of reassurance that he couldn't possibly give made her all the more furious with herself.

Now that she knew the truth, something that she would certainly have worked out for herself had it not been for the fact that she'd been irregular ever since Jessica's birth, there was no room for anyone else, even if the handsome Italian had been as interested in her as he appeared.

All she could do was hope that she hadn't been mistaken in Neal and that he'd stay with her once he found out about the child. Until now she'd never doubted his feelings, but a pregnant mistress was a mile away from a young, fashionably dressed one whom he was proud to escort round London.

As she remembered only too well from Toby, pregnant women were not the epitome of most men's dreams, and the prospect of telling Neal the news was the most daunting challenge she'd had to face since leaving Toby.

It was Tuesday night before he contacted her again, by which time she'd gone through so many imaginary conversations in her mind that she was totally exhausted. He sounded slightly offhand over the phone but said that he had tickets for a surprise treat the following Thursday and he'd collect her at six-thirty.

She was ready half an hour early, totally disinterested in their destination because all she could think about was when she'd get the chance to tell him about the baby, and what he'd have to say.

'Guessed where we're going?' he queried when she opened the front door.

'No.'

'Where's all the legendary female curiosity?'

'I thought that was cats!' she said shortly. He looked considerably taken aback. 'We're going to the opera, darling.' They were always going to the opera and although she loved it she couldn't think why this visit should be particularly exciting.

'I've got tickets for
Chenier
.'

'Was it difficult?'

'It certainly was! Didn't you read the reviews? They say it's stunning.'

'I haven't looked at a paper for days. Is it Domingo?'

'It's your favourite, Carreras.'

For a brief moment she forgot her dilemma. 'How fantastic, I've never heard him sing live!'

'Let's hope he's as good as they say.'

He was. He was so good that he broke Lisa's fragile composure with the sheer beauty and poignancy of his voice. From his rendition of
Un di all'azzuro spazio
she was lost. Totally caught up in the world of the idealistic poet who believed in love and the power of the human spirit. When he sang the beautiful
Comme un bel di maggio
shortly before his death, Lisa began to cry. By the time he and his lover, Madeleine, went to their execution together, their voices soaring as they proclaimed their love, she could no longer see for tears.

As the audience rose to its feet in recognition of the skill of the artists, Lisa looked at the slender Spaniard and wondered if he realised what pain his gift could bring to people. Tonight he'd forced her to face the fact that true love, the burning, consuming passion that he and Rosalind Plowright had portrayed so vividly, did exist. She knew that. It was possible to love deeply and intensely, and she was carrying the child of a man she liked and respected, but now—after this evening—she knew that wasn't enough. She cried not only for the doomed lovers but also for herself.

'An expensive way of making you miserable!' joked Neal when they were on their way home. 'You've cried non-stop tonight'. Presumably that means you enjoyed it?'

Her head was throbbing and her eyes felt hot and swollen. 'Yes, it was… I can't describe it, but I'll never forget tonight, never.'

'He's certainly improved. I don't usually care for him. Too much passion and not the best actor on the opera circuit. Mind you, he excelled tonight. I doubt if anyone could have done it better. I'll find out when he'll be here again.'

'No!'

He turned to her in surprise. 'No?'

'Nothing could be like tonight. Besides, I'd rather not. He makes me feel things too intensely.'

'Fine, I'm a Pavarotti man myself. Now if you'd heard him sing Rodolfo…'

She stopped listening. She was still with the lovers. What must it feel like to love a man so much you wanted to die with him? she wondered. She'd never choose to die with Neal. In fact, she couldn't imagine wanting to die with anyone she knew, but she could imagine what it would be like to love intensely. She would be alive.

'We're here,' said Neal. 'It was only a story, you know. The magic of the theatre. You don't get many singing poets in real life! I took you because I thought it would give you a lift, not to sink you into total depression. We'll go up and get ourselves a drink. You can go now, Mike. I'll drive Mrs Walker home.'

'Very good, sir. Goodnight.'

'Do you like opera, Mike?' she asked as she walked past him. 'No. A lot of overweight people running round the stage singing words I don't understand isn't my idea of pleasure!'