Passion's Mistress (3 page)

Carly found each minute dragged interminably, and more than once her eyes

strayed across the room to where Stefano Alessi stood conversing with Clive

Mathorpe and two senior partners.

In his presence, all other men faded into insignificance. There was an

exigent force apparent, which, combined with power and sexual magnetism,

drew the attention of women like bees to a honey pot.

It was doubtful there was one female present whose pulse hadn't quickened

at the sight of him, or whose imagination wasn't stirred by the thought of

being able to captivate his interest.

Carly waited ten minutes after Stefano left before she crossed the room to

exchange a few polite pleasantries with Clive Mathorpe and his wife, then

she slipped quietly from the house and walked quickly down the driveway to

her car.

Safely behind the wheel, she activated the ignition and eased the car

forward. A quick glance at the illuminated dashboard revealed it was nine-

thirty. One hour, she reflected with disbelief. For some reason it had seemed

half a lifetime.

Stefano Alessi's disturbing image rose up to taunt her, and she shivered

despite the evening's warmth. He represented everything she had come to

loathe in a man.

For one brief milli-second she closed her eyes, then opened them to issue a

silent prayer that fate wouldn't be so unkind as to throw her beneath his path

again.

It was a relief to reach the sanctuary of her apartment building, and after

garaging the car she rode the lift to the third floor.

'Hi,' Sarah greeted quietly as Carly entered the lounge. 'Ann-Marie's fine.

How was the evening?'

I met Ann-Marie's father,
she longed to confide.

Yet the words stayed locked in her throat, and she managed to relay an

informative account as they shared coffee together, then when Sarah left she

checked Ann-Marie before entering her own bedroom, where she

mechanically removed her make-up and undressed ready for bed.

Sleep had never seemed more distant, and she tossed restlessly from one

side to the other in a bid to dispel a flood of returning memories.

Haunting, invasive, they refused to be denied as one by one she began to

recall the angry words she'd exchanged in bitter argument with a man she'd

chosen to condemn.

CARLY slept badly, haunted by numerous dream sequences that tore at her

subconscious mind with such vivid clarity that she woke shaking, shattered

by their stark reality.

A warning, perhaps? Or simply the manifestation of a fear so real that it

threatened to consume her?

Tossing aside the covers, she resolutely went through the motions entailed in

her early morning weekday routine, listening to Ann-Marie's excited chatter

over breakfast as she recounted events from the previous evening.

When pressed to reveal just how
her
evening had turned out, Carly brushed

it off lightly with a smile and a brief but satisfactory description.

It was eight-thirty when Carly deposited Ann- Marie outside the school

gates, and almost nine when she entered the reception area of Mathorpe and

Partners.

There were several files on her desk demanding attention, and she worked

steadily, methodically checking figures with determined dedication until

mid-morning when she reached for the phone and punched out a series of

digits.

The specialist's receptionist was extremely polite, but firm. Ann-Marie's

results could not be given over the phone. An appointment had been set

aside this afternoon for four o'clock.

It sounded ominous, and Carly's voice shook as she confirmed the time.

The remainder of the day was a blur as anxiety played havoc with her

nervous system, and in the specialist's consulting-rooms it was all she could

do to contain it.

Consequently, it was almost an anticlimax when she was shown into his

office, and as soon as she was comfortably seated he leaned back in his

chair, his expression mirroring a degree of sympathetic understanding.

'Ann-Marie has a tumour derived from the supporting tissue of the

nerve-cells,' he informed her quietly. 'The astrocytoma varies widely in

malignancy and rate of growth. Surgery is essential, and I recommend it be

carried out as soon as possible.'

Carly's features froze with shock at the professionally spoken words, and her

mind immediately went into overdrive with a host of implications, the

foremost of which was
money.

'I can refer you to a neuro-surgeon, someone I consider to be the best in his

field.' His practised pause held a silent query. 'I'll have my nurse arrange an

appointment, shall I?'

The public hospital system was excellent, but the waiting list for elective

surgery was long. Too long to gamble with her daughter's life. Carly didn't

hesitate. 'Please.'

It took only minutes for the appointment to be confirmed; a few more to

exchange pleasantries before the receptionist ushered Carly from his rooms.

She walked in a daze to her car, then slid in behind the wheel. A sick feeling

of despair welled up inside as innate fear overruled rational thought, for no

matter how hard she tried it was impossible to dispel the terrible image of

Ann-Marie lying still and helpless in an operating theatre, her life reliant on

the skill of a surgeon's scalpel.

It will be all right
, Carly determined as she switched on the ignition, then

eased her car on to the street. One way or another, she'd make sure of it.

The flow of traffic was swift, and on a few occasions it took two light

changes to clear an intersection. Taxis were in demand, their drivers

competent as they manoeuvred their vehicles from one lane to another,

ready to take the first opportunity ahead of city commuters.

The cars in front began to slow, and Carly eased her sedan to a halt. Almost

absently her gaze shifted slightly to the right, drawn as if by some elusive

magnet to a top-of-the-range black Mercedes that had pulled up beside her in

the adjacent lane.

Her eyes grazed towards the driver in idle, almost speculative curiosity, only

to have them widen in dawning horror as she recognised the sculpted male

features of none other than Stefano Alessi behind the wheel.

Her initial reaction was to look away, except she hesitated too long, and in

seeming slow motion she saw him turn towards her.

With a sense of fatalism she saw his strong features harden, and she almost

died beneath the intensity of his gaze.

Then a horn blast provided a startling intrusion, and Carly forced her

attention to the slow-moving traffic directly ahead. In her hurry she crashed

the gears and let the clutch out too quickly for her aged sedan's liking,

causing it to stall in retaliatory protest.

Damn
. The curse fell silently from her lips, and she twisted the ignition key,

offering soothing words in the hope that the engine would fire.

An audible protest sounded from immediately behind, quickly followed by

another, then a surge of power shook the small sedan and she eased it

forward, picking up speed as she joined the river of cars vacating the city.

It wasn't until she'd cleared the intersection that she realised how tight a grip

she retained on the wheel. A light film of moisture beaded her upper lip in

visible evidence of her inner tension, and she forced herself to relax, angry

that the mere sight of a man she professed to hate could affect her so deeply.

It took almost an hour to reach Manly, yet it felt as if she'd been battling

traffic for twice that long by the time she garaged the car.

Upstairs, Sarah opened the door, her eyes softening with concern at the sight

of Carly's pale features.

'Sarah helped me draw some pictures.'

Carly leant forward and hugged her daughter close. Her eyes were

suspiciously damp as Ann- Marie's small arms fastened round her neck in

loving reciprocation.

'I'll make coffee,' Sarah suggested, and Carly shot her friend a regretful

smile.

'I can't stay.' Her eyes assumed a haunting vulnerability. 'I'll ring you.' She

paused, then attempted a shaky smile. 'After eight?'

Entering her own apartment, Carly moved through to the kitchen and

prepared their evening meal, then when the dishes had been dealt with she

organised Ann-Marie's bath, made the little girl a hot milky drink, then

tucked her into bed.

It was early, and she crossed to the phone to dial directory service, praying

they could supply the number she needed.

Minutes later she learned there was no listing for Stefano Alessi, and the

only number available was ex-directory.
Damn.

Carly queried Consolidated Enterprises, and was given two numbers,

neither of which responded at this hour of the night. There was no

after-hours number listed, nor anything connected to a mobile net.

Carly cursed softly beneath her breath. She had no recourse but to wait until

tomorrow. Unless she rang Clive Mathorpe at home and asked for his

coveted client's private telephone number.

Even as the thought occurred, it was instantly dismissed. What could she

offer as the reason for such an unorthodox request? Her esteemed boss

would probably suffer an instant apoplectic attack if she were to say, 'Oh, by

the way, Clive, I forgot to mention that Stefano Alessi is my estranged

husband!'

Tomorrow
, she determined with grim purpose. Even if she had to utilise

devious means to obtain her objective.

A leisurely shower did little to soothe her fractured nerves, nor did an

attempt to view television.

Long after she'd switched off the bedside lamp Stefano's image rose to taunt

her, and even in dreams he refused to disappear, her subconscious mind

forcing recognition of his existence, so that in consequence she spent

another restless night fighting off several demons in numerous guises.

The next morning Carly dropped Ann-Marie at ' school then drove into the

city, and on reaching her office she quietly closed her door so that she could

make the necessary phone call in private.

It was crazy, but her nerves felt as if they were shredding to pieces as she

waited for the call to connect, and only Ann-Marie's plight provided the

courage needed to overcome the instinctive desire to replace the receiver.

Several minutes later, however, she had to concede that Stefano was

virtually inaccessible to anyone but a chosen few. The majority were

requested to supply verbal credentials and leave a contact telephone number.

The thought of waiting all day for him to return the call, even supposing he

chose to, brought her out in a cold sweat. There was only one method left

open to her whereby she retained some small measure of power, and she

used it mercilessly.

'Stefano Alessi,' she directed coolly as soon as the receptionist answered,

and, hardly giving the girl a chance to draw breath, she informed her, 'Tell

his secretary his wife is on the line.' That should bring some response.

It did, and Carly derived some satisfaction from the girl's barely audible

surprise. Within seconds the call was transferred, and another female voice

requested verification.

Stefano's personal staff were hand-picked to handle any eventuality with

unruffled calm—and even a call from someone purporting to be the

director's wife failed to faze his secretary in the slightest.

'Mr Alessi isn't in the office. Can I have him call you?'

Damn. She could hardly ask for his mobile number, for it would

automatically be assumed that she already had it. 'What time do you expect

him in?'

'This afternoon. He has an appointment at three, followed by another at four.'

Assertiveness was the key, and Carly didn't hesitate. 'Thank you. I'll be there

at four-thirty.' She hung up, then quickly made two further calls— one to

Sarah asking if she could collect Ann-Marie from school, and another to

Ann-Marie's teacher confirming the change in routine.

The day loomed ahead, once again without benefit of a lunch-hour, and

Carly worked diligently in an effort to recoup lost time.

At precisely four-fifteen Carly entered the lobby of a towering glass-faced

edifice housing the offices of Consolidated Enterprises, stabbed the

call-button to summon one of four lifts, then when it arrived stepped into the

cubicle and pressed the designated disk.

The' nerves she had striven to keep at bay surfaced with painful intensity,

and she mentally steeled herself for the moment she had to walk into

Reception and identify herself.

By now Stefano's secretary would have informed him of her call. What if he