Trust: Betrayed (23 page)

Sophia paled and didn’t utter a word. She was incapable of speaking, of any kind of coherent thought.

Unbidden, an image took shape in her mind - a large, black-haired, rugged man sprawled on the rug of her TV room with a dark-haired boy, the spitting image of his father, lying on his chest. She heard the child’s giggles over a deeper rumbling laughter - she could see them, there, only a few feet away from her. She almost reached out to touch them.

In her mind, she did. She stretched out her hand to the man’s familiar shoulder, hard and stable as rock. Light shined on their black windblown locks. Unable to help herself, completely fascinated, she reached out, hesitantly, for the child’s face. And beautiful forest green eyes so like his father’s blinked playfully at her. As she watched the scene, she felt a chilling cold spread through her whole body.

She prayed. Prayed for a booming voice to say that Alistair was not sterile. That it was all a huge mistake. But then a horrible black shadow fell over the room and extinguished the light. It swallowed the image whole, banishing it to the realm of unattainable dreams.

Emotion welled up, unlike any she’d known. Tears filled her eyes and she almost sobbed with the grief that permeated her soul. Dazed and faint, she shook her head.

There. I knew it.
“Say something,” he pleaded in a whisper, afraid to touch her and be repelled. “Anything...”

“Are you sure?” Was all she could ask in a voice so low that he more divined than heard the words.

He breathed deep and told her about the awful day when Doctor Ben had given his final verdict.

“There’s no doubt. I can’t have any more children.” His voice was so laden with pain that Sophia shoved her own deep down in her soul.

A thousand thoughts invaded her mind as she tried to sort out what she knew about that disease. Nothing came to her mind. Sophia had never worried about STDs. But she made a mental note to gather all the information she could about it. “And why-”
Why would you think it would matter to me?

Why am I telling you this now?
“I’m sorry.” He ran his fingers through his hair, humiliated. “I should have told you from the beginning.”
Christ!
“But it makes me feel... less of a man. Our relationship is getting serious and I know you want more children. I don’t want you to become more involved, if I can’t fulfill your dreams.” He shrugged self-deprecatingly, but watching her closely for a reaction. “I think it’s only fair so you can decide if you want to conti-”

Sophia put a finger on his lips. “You didn’t let me finish my question.” She felt a sharp pain slice her heart in a million pieces. “Why do you think it would matter to me?”

What?
He remained silent, as if struck by a blow.

Her voice was soothing when she asked, “If it were the other way round, would you not have me? Would it be over for you?”

He gasped, indignant and scowled at her, “I would have you in any way, Sophia.”

She scooted closer to him. “So would I.” Her fingers interlaced with his and she squeezed gently. “So will I.”

“But, my love, I don’t want-”

“Shhh,” she put her fingers on his mouth and browsed the book. “Here, read.”

Alistair read the passage she was pointing at.

And read again.

He raised his eyes seeking her help, because he wished it to be true but needed confirmation.

She knew that the help he was asking was not for translation. His French was better than hers. Anyway, she read out loud in English, “‘You no longer belong to evil, but to good. It is your soul that I buy from you; I withdraw it from black thoughts and the spirit of perdition, and I give it to God.’” She looked up and fixed his gaze with hers, “The bishop bought Valjean’s soul when he gave him the two candlesticks, because it was what Valjean needed. Now, Alistair Connor, I’m buying your soul. It’s not such a high price to pay, is it?”

“Not being able to have children?”

She smiled softly, “That’s only one way of having children. There are others. We could adopt.”

I have been so ignorant.
His chest constricted at the kindness of this beautiful woman.
This is what real love is all about.

London, The City. Ashford Steel Industries.

Tuesday, March 23rd, 2010.

10.08 a.m.

“Mr. Ashford?” Scott asked.

Ethan blinked, focusing on his assistant, who had just interrupted his musings.

“May I come in, sir?” Scott asked, with a big grin on his thin face.

“Yes, of course.” Ethan nodded, already intrigued by what his assistant had to say. His smiles were very rare as he seemed to be always afraid of Ethan’s opinion.

Scott entered the room and put the folder he was carrying in front of Ethan. “Sir, Mrs. Chanda, the president-”

“I know who she is, Scott,” Ethan said impatiently. “What about her?”

“Sir, it’s wonderful. They have already created a new strategy for the contribution you wanted to make in India and China and she just called saying they are ready to discuss it with you. I took the liberty of scheduling them for Friday, at eleven, here, if it is okay with you, sir.”

“Good,” a smile spread over Ethan’s now permanently shaved face. He turned to his computer and quickly scanned his schedule for that day. Scott had already booked the hour. “I’m sure you made certain that Ms. Leibowitz is going to be at the meeting.”

“Mrs. Chanda said that Ms. Leibowitz is personally supervising this project. I think, sir, that we should plan a charity gala event to launch it. Maybe a black tie ball. The Leibowitz Foundation and Ashford Steel together.”

“That has a nice ring to it, Scott. I’ll talk about it with Sophia. Please, make reservations for lunch after the meeting. At one o’clock. At L’Atelier. Inform Chef Olivier that I’ll be celebrating a business transaction and that I want the last table by the living wall. Scott, make sure that Sophia and I are both seated on the sofa. I don’t want a single table.”

“Sir, perhaps a restaurant with a private and cozy room?”

“Hmm. No, I don’t think so.” Ethan thinned his lips and shook his head. “Sophia is still with MacCraig. She wouldn’t like it. You can start planning the charity ball. Show me your ideas before the meeting so I can talk her into it.”

Scott put his narrow shoulders back and puffed his thin chest, proud of himself. “Yes, sir. I’ll make sure the Leibowitz and Ashford ball is as spectacular as the two people who name it.”

“Please, inform Carter that I have scheduled a conference call with Mr. Chang, from Ashford China, at 10 p.m. today, and that I’ll need him.”

“Yes, Mr. Ashford. I’ll stay later too, preparing everything for the ball.” Scott smiled inwardly. “Ah, and I have news. Good news. Ghost has already started to work on the Leibowitz network.”

Ethan smiled like a child that been given a much wanted toy. “Good, Scott. Very good. Keep me informed, please.”

“Of course, Mr. Ashford.” There was no doubt in Scott’s mind that his boss’s weakness was Sophia Leibowitz. And to keep him pleased and the bonuses coming into his bank account, he would do everything. Anything.

Atwood House.

Wednesday, March 24
^th
, 2010.

7.28 p.m.

“No, Alistair, I can’t,” Sophia propped the handset between her cheek and her shoulder as she walked to her bookshelf looking for a book, “not tonight.”

“Again?”
I shouldn’t have told her. She is keeping me away.
“Sophia, I miss you. Somewhere simple, something quick.”

It has been only three days.
“Alistair, my dear... I’m tired. My day was just terrible. I got stuck in a huge traffic jam on the way back from Cambridge; Edward is still ill; and my computer crashed twice at the end of the day.” She singled out the book she was looking for and walked back to her desk. “I brought some work home, but Gabriela demanded my attention. I’m reviewing a pro bono case that Paul Evergreen discussed with me today.”

Almost the same excuse she used on Monday and yesterday.
“Not even a quick dinner?”

“Hmm. Maybe later.” She put the call on speaker, opened the file she was working on and started to type. “And somewhere casual, I don’t feel like dressing up tonight.”

He breathed relieved at the other end of the line. “Anywhere would be great.”

She frowned and deleted an incoherent sentence she had just typed, absentmindedly agreeing, “Mm-hmm.”

Alistair looked at his watch in the dim light of his car. “In let’s say... Fifteen minutes?”

“Alistair Connor, I...” Giving up her work, she swiveled her chair. “Why don’t you have dinner here with me instead? In two and a half hours. It would give me time to finish the pro bono case and a quick shower.”

“Only if you wait for me to take your shower. I want to wash your back.”

“My back. Right,” she laughed. “While I would love to shower with you, I can’t spare the time, Handsome.”

You can’t spare me time...
He frowned, worried and aggravated. “I’ll be there in two hours then.” He crossed his fingers before he asked, “Do you want to sleep with me tonight? Here?”

“I can’t. I had to cancel my fencing class today and I moved it to tomorrow morning. Why don’t you sleep here? I’ll make up for the lost shower. When you come for dinner, bring your clothes for tomorrow.”

He blew out an irritated breath. “See you later, then.”

Alistair felt a strange and cold sensation fill him as he hung up the phone. He was sure Sophia wasn’t behaving normally.
Fuck, Alistair Connor. You have just began this relationship. Don’t rush things. You know what happens when you lose your mind over a woman.

He didn’t know why he was trying to fool himself. He was already head over heels with Sophia.

Kensington, Palace Gardens Terrace.

Alistair MacCraig’s Apartment.

7.44 p.m.

Alistair opened his apartment door and entered it with a heavy heart. He wanted to hear Sophia’s greeting and Gabriela’s laugh as he walked into the living room. He wanted them to live with him. He didn’t want to come back from work to a place devoid of warmth and love.

He was seeing his home with new eyes. It felt so cold and empty after Sophia’s cozy and colorful house.
Where are the flowers? Where are the books forgotten on the floor for Sophia to pick up, flaunting that delicious butt in the air? Where’s the laughter?

He pushed his bedroom door and his eyes searched for Nathalie’s plush pink elephant seated on the shelf beside her photo.
Sophia would have been a great stepmother, Nathalie. You would have liked her.

He took a warm shower and dressed in loose gray jeans and a red and charcoal striped sweater.

Alistair stopped in the middle of his dressing room, studying his reflection in the full length mirror for a moment, then abruptly walked out.

In his kitchen, he grabbed a large rubbish bag and walked back resolutely, opening the door on the left of his dressing room door. He looked at his collection for a second and then started shoving most of it into the bag, knotting it closed. He opened his apartment door and walked down the corridor opening the garbage room and threw the plastic bag inside. He closed it with finality.

He returned to his apartment, washed his hands as relief flooded his heart. He looked at his watch. He had plenty of time.

He poured himself a shot of whisky and settled in his armchair with the wireless phone in his hand, dialing his father’s mobile number.

“Father? How are you? Can you spare me a few minutes?” He paused as he listened to his father’s greeting.

Alistair talked about banalities while he put his thoughts in order. Then, he gently probed his father for his impressions on Sophia. He exhaled as his father’s voice became lighter and happier as he told Alistair that he was enchanted with his girlfriend.

Alistair closed his eyes for a brief moment and hoped he was doing the right thing. He interrupted his father’s praises of Sophia and said, “Father, the thing is... It’s Alice’s birthday in two weeks and I’d like the whole family at Ells Hall. Not a party, really, more of a double celebration.”

He listened as his father asked what else there was to celebrate. “Well, since it’s a long weekend...” He cleared his throat, but his voice came out hoarse anyway, when he explained, “I’m going to propose to Sophia.”

Atwood House.

9.57 p.m.

“May I offer you anything to drink, Mr. MacCraig?” Lucy, Sophia’s housekeeper, asked as she ushered him into the formal living room.

“No, thanks, Lucy, I’m fine.” Alistair entered the room and walked toward one of superb paintings hanging on the wall to distract himself from his rapidly beating heart.

“Mrs. Leibowitz will be down in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” he said again, nodding in confirmation, without taking his eyes of the red and pink Rothko.

He looked around and his eyes stopped on the piano. He could still hear his mother playing. He walked up to it and sat down on the bench. Running his hands over the keyboard, a sad smile curved his lips and he lost himself playing Schubert’s Ave Maria as he remembered his mother’s lessons.

He was so caught up in the piece that he didn’t hear Sophia open the door. He didn’t see as her eyes teared and the effort it took for her to compose herself before walking up to him.

When he did look up at her face, the smile she gave him held so much love that he kept playing without saying a word. He scooted on the bench, making room for her.

The last notes sounded in the room and Sophia shifted on the bench to enlace his waist with her arms and put her head on his muscular back, murmuring, “So beautiful, Alistair Connor, it makes me want to cry.”

While he played, he forgot about all his worries and doubts about Sophia’s distancing herself from him. He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her head in the hollow of his neck and hugged her.