Читать книгу: «Public Marriage, Private Secrets»
Raúl. Ex-lover, estranged husband…and the man she had fervently hoped never to see again. Dear heaven. What was he doing here?
Gianna lingered a little too long on his mouth. The sensual curve revived a host of memories she fought hard to control. Vivid, primitive…so much so she could almost feel the touch of his lips, the wicked sweep of his tongue.
Oh, God. The silent despairing groan remained locked in her throat. Don’t go there. It took all her effort to tilt her head a little and summon a wry smile.
She glimpsed a muscle bunch above the edge of his jaw and felt a moment of satisfaction as she enjoyed the small visible sign of his tension too.
‘What brings you here, Raúl?’
One eyebrow lifted in cynical query. ‘You.’
Public Marriage, Private Secrets
By
Helen Bianchin
About the Author
HELEN BIANCHIN was born in New Zealand and travelled to Australia before marrying her Italian-born husband. After three years they moved, returned to New Zealand with their daughter, had two sons and then resettled in Australia. Encouraged by friends to recount anecdotes of her years as a tobacco share farmer’s wife living in an Italian community, Helen began setting words on paper and her first novel was published in 1975. An animal lover, she says her terrier and Persian cat regard her study as as much theirs as hers.
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Chapter One
GIANNA exited her Main Beach apartment block and walked the short distance to where the Pacific ocean’s incoming tide brought rolling waves crashing gently into shore. The early morning sky was pale blue and cloudless, the spring sunshine promising warmth.
Change is good, Gianna assured herself, as she stepped onto the pale golden sand.
Although why she’d chosen a jog along the beach instead of her customary session in a local gym wasn’t something she was prepared to examine in any depth.
The phase of the moon? A restless night due to intrusive dreams?
Whatever…Being outside in fresh sea air held an appeal, and here she was, ready to banish any lingering demons.
Forty minutes of exercise, coffee-to-go to kick-start the day, before returning to her apartment to shower, breakfast, dress and leave for work.
Bellissima, the luxury gift boutique she owned in one of the Gold Coast’s trendiest suburbs, had gained a favourable reputation for its mix of imported and local stock. Exquisite scented candles, beautiful soaps, ornamental glassware, small sculptures whose graceful lines in crystal, ebony and silver drew attention. Embroidered napkins on fine Irish linen, silk pillow-covers, quality gift cards were just some of the wares she offered for sale.
Fate had provided the opportunity for her to purchase the boutique almost a year after being employed as manager during the owner’s absence. Now, two years on, a new shop-fit, quality stock, a twice-yearly catalogue, and turnover had increased dramatically.
Life, Gianna reflected as she broke into a jog along the tightly packed sand, was good. At the age of twenty-eight she owned a successful business, an apartment, and she had carved out a satisfactory existence.
Moved on, she assured herself as a faint sea breeze caressed her skin, from the break-up of her brief marriage to the powerful Spaniard she’d met four years ago at a party during a holiday in Mallorca.
Raúl Velez-Saldaña.
In his late thirties, tall, dark, ruggedly attractive…and dangerous to any woman’s peace of mind.
Who could resist him? What woman would want to?
One look was all it had taken for her to melt into an ignominious puddle at his feet. Well, not quite.
She’d fought him at first, then herself. Knowing even then if she succumbed she’d be lost…completely, utterly.
Gianna shivered despite the increasing warmth of the sun as she headed south along the shoreline.
What they had shared had been more than just sex. It had been intimacy at its zenith…intense, mesmeric, primitive. Six perfect months together, living in the moment, unable to bear being apart.
A time when Raúl had clocked up air miles as if they were nothing, and she’d used allocated holiday time and sick leave to meet him wherever…
Until the moment she had agreed to relocate to Madrid and move into his luxurious apartment in residential Salamanca. Dear heaven, the life she’d shared with him…
A slip, just one gap, where a differing time zone had ensured she slept during a long international flight to Sydney, to attend her brother Ben’s wedding, and she had missed taking a low-dosage contraceptive pill.
She vividly recalled the day when she had first suspected she might be pregnant. Worse, the precise time the pregnancy test had registered positive…a test she’d taken three times within forty-eight hours to ensure there was no mistake.
How she’d agonised for days before telling him. The calm manner in which he had received the news. Even more controlled had been his solution…marriage.
Her spontaneous, ‘Because…?’ hadn’t brought the avowal of love she’d longed to hear.
Somehow his, ‘No child of mine will be born out of wedlock,’ had failed to compensate.
The abortion route wasn’t an alternative she’d been able to condone or consider. Nor his insistence that marriage was the only option.
Yet what had been the alternative? A choice of returning to Australia and raising the child alone? Fighting a custody battle with Raúl…one he’d surely win? Or marriage?
At the end of the day…days, she amended, when she’d tortured herself in order to reach the right decision…it had been no contest.
Raúl’s widowed mother’s delight and genuine blessing had provided the persuasive factor. A child deserved to have a father in its life, family.
Something which struck a chord with Gianna, for her own mother had been killed in an auto accident years ago. Her father had met someone else, relocated to Paris and remarried. There was a step-family now. Gianna rarely saw them…just a series of e-mails, attachments with photographs, and the occasional phone call.
Ben, her brother, to whom she remained close, kept in weekly contact via phone and regular e-mail.
Girlfriends…the genuine kind with whom she maintained contact…were few, and located in different countries in the world.
Consequently she’d opted for a new beginning in a different locale from Sydney, the city in which she’d been born, educated and employed.
Another state—Queensland, with its sub-tropical climate, beautiful beaches and Australia’s tourist mecca—had beckoned, and now, almost three years later, it felt like home.
Raúl had cared for her, this much she knew. So what if it hadn’t been love? Care was enough…and who could predict what the future might hold?
Bittersweet words, Gianna reflected, given she’d suffered a miscarriage within seven weeks of becoming Gianna Velez-Saldaña.
It had been a time when she’d desperately wanted, needed his comfort. At night she had lain awake, long after he slept, craving his touch. More, so much more, than simply being pulled close and held securely in his arms.
Grief, sorrow…dammit, hormones, had succeeded in providing an altered reasoning. Together with the sweetly delivered but nonetheless heartless words from Sierra, one of Raúl’s ex-lovers, who had essayed it might have been prudent to wait until closer to the child’s birth before rushing into marriage.
From there, it had been downhill all the way, with Raúl spending more time in his city office, caught up with meetings, leaving before she woke most mornings and frequently missing dinner for some seemingly valid reason or another, occasionally arriving home long after she’d retired to bed.
Communication between them had become reduced to the perfunctory. Polite exchanges in private, while maintaining the required image in public.
The explosive meltdown had come when she had called his cellphone one evening while he was on a business trip in Argentina and Sierra had answered, almost purring with delight as she’d revealed that ‘now is not a good time…comprende?’ As if the implication might be misunderstood, Sierra had sharpened the verbal barb with unvarnished clarity. ‘Raúl is filling the spa-bath. Need I say I’m about to join him?’ And cut the connection.
After the numbness had come anger, followed by a crying jag…then she’d calmly packed her bags and called a taxi to take her to the airport, where she’d caught the first available flight home.
Old news, she remonstrated in self-castigation.
She’d moved on, sought solace in the familiar, ensured a new life for herself…a successful one…and rebuilt her confidence and self-respect.
The cry of a lonely seagull rent the early morning quietness, providing a distraction, and Gianna watched the bird’s graceful glide to settle at the water’s edge. Its red beak dug into the wet sand and emerged with a tidbit…a baby sandcrab, perhaps? Then, apparently delighted with its find, it sent up a shrill, keening cry which soon brought several gulls to the scene.
Apartment towers lined the Esplanade—tall concrete sentinels of varying architectural design bearing exotic names.
Already the incoming tide was beginning to swell with white-crested waves that broke and rolled gently into shore…a precursor of bigger waves ideal for surfing.
Within minutes she changed direction and headed up the slight sandy incline to the boardwalk, where she crossed the road to a pavement café and ordered a latte to go.
Already several tables were occupied, as holidaymakers sought an early breakfast beneath colourful shade umbrellas.
It was almost seven-thirty when Gianna entered her apartment, and she stripped off her clothes, showered, dressed, ate fresh fruit and yoghurt, then caught up her laptop and bag, filched her keys from the side-table adjacent to the front door, and took the lift down to the basement car park.
A short drive brought her to an upmarket complex, unique in design, with its arched sails reaching skywards, housing various boutiques of which Bellisima was one, and a faint smile softened her mouth as she took a moment to check the window display.
Visually attractive, she conceded as she bent low to unlock the front doors. Perhaps she could replace the pewter vase with the crystal conch-shell, add a collection of silk flowers. Exchange the stunning beaten silver platter with the pair of multi-coloured glass birds.
The gift boutique was so much hers, with the art of display reflecting her excellent taste, her instinctive knack of placing unusual items together to draw maximum attention to the mirrored walls with their glass shelving.
Each item gleamed beneath the fluorescent lighting, the colours like fine jewels in their brilliance, and she allowed herself a moment of pride before crossing to the service desk, where she prepared for the start of a new business day.
Morning trade was fairly brisk, with purchases made and those chosen as gifts wrapped with exquisite care, earning delighted gratitude from each customer.
Gianna derived immense pleasure in providing warm and friendly service. Something which had earned her a loyal and select client base.
She’d made the boutique her life, constantly searching for unusual items to attract her customers. She also provided a comprehensive catalogue, and maintained a constantly updated Web page to showcase upcoming imports and deliveries.
The fact she’d achieved it on her own, with loan funds from the bank, was a source of pride. Monthly amounts paid by Raúl directly into a separate bank account remained untouched.
Work had become all-involving, filling her waking hours. Her focus was now, and the immediate future.
There were a few good friends, but, while she occasionally socialised, she didn’t date. Dinner and pleasant conversation didn’t include an automatic agreement for consensual sex at evening’s end. At least not in her book.
She tried…she really did. Her friends meant well. They wanted to see her happy, content, with a regular man in her life who cared.
‘He’s wonderful—a real gentleman’ didn’t hold true, she had discovered to her cost.
‘You’ll adore him, he’s so charming…’ Uh-huh—if you enjoyed the obsequious type.
No matter how well-intentioned, their efforts failed. Or perhaps she failed…for moving on from Raúl wasn’t happening.
He was there, his physical image so easily summoned to mind she almost expected to see him, and occasionally felt the breath catch in her throat whenever she sighted a tall, broad-shouldered male whose stance at first glance seemed achingly familiar. Followed by a heart-lurching few seconds when everything within her peripheral vision froze into a fixed tableau…until she glimpsed his profile and saw the face of a stranger, and her personal world returned to its normal kilter.
Oh, for heaven’s sake, she chastised in self-castigation. There was work to do. Stock to arrange. Deliveries to check. And her clientele. A business to run.
Busy was good. A steady flow of people wanting assistance ensured there was little time in which to think or reflect, and Gianna welcomed Annaliese, the part-time assistant who helped out in the boutique from ten-thirty to four, seven days a week.
It was an employment arrangement that worked well, and had done so for the past two years.
Attractive, intelligent, sunny-tempered, with a droll sense of humour, Annaliese was a superb salesperson and, importantly, dedicated.
‘Hi. One double-shot skim latte for madame.’
Delivering coffee, hot and strong, had become a welcome habit Annaliese had initiated during the first week of her employment.
‘Thanks.’ Gianna’s gratitude was genuine, and Annaliese offered a warm smile as she took the capped takeaway cup to the small back room. ‘Busy morning?’
The day brought several customers into the boutique. There were the serious buyers, and those who merely browsed, as well as a few regulars.
It was almost five when Gianna checked the sales register. The recorded total revealed a satisfactorily high figure…sufficient to warrant ordering replacement stock. Something she’d tend to prior to closing time.
A faint prickle began at her nape and slipped down her spine as she cut the phone connection to her supplier with bare minutes to spare before she was due to walk out through the door.
The electronic door buzzed, and she summoned a pleasant smile…only to have it freeze with shock at the sight of the man entering the boutique.
His powerful frame appeared no less imposing than she remembered, and his dark hair gleamed beneath the artificial lighting, emphasising broad-boned facial features, a strong jaw, wide cheekbones, the Mediterranean skin tone…and eyes so dark they appeared almost black.
Raúl.
Ex-lover, estranged husband…and a man she had fervently hoped never to see again.
Dear heaven. What was he doing here?
For a startling moment she was flung back to a time when her life had been everything she could want it to be.
Until it had all fallen apart in those wretched few months following her miscarriage, when the pain of grief had wrought such havoc.
He’d phoned, and when she had refused to take his calls he’d arrived on her doorstep, demanding she return with him to Madrid.
Except she’d stood her ground, wanting time and space alone…and he’d left, assuring her the next move had to be hers.
‘Nothing to say, Gianna?’
The slightly accented drawl curled round her nerve-ends and brought her crashing back to reality as she took in his etched features.
Eyes as dark as sin, with tiny lines fanning out from the edges. Vertical grooves bracketing each cheek, which seemed slightly deeper and more clearly defined.
She lingered a little too long on his mouth…The sensual curve revived a host of memories she fought hard to control. Vivid, primitive…so much so she could almost feel the touch of his lips, the wicked sweep of his tongue.
Oh, God. The silent despairing groan remained locked in her throat. Don’t go there.
It took all her effort to tilt her head a little and summon a wry smile.
‘What would you have me offer? Hello, how are you? seems…’ She paused deliberately.
‘Inadequate?’
‘Incredibly banal,’ Gianna concluded, and saw his eyes darken.
‘Now, there’s an interesting word.’
She glimpsed a muscle bunch above the edge of his jaw and felt a moment of satisfaction as she enjoyed the small visible sign of his tension.
Even though she wore high heels Raúl still towered above her, and she tilted her head in order to align her eyes with his.
‘What brings you here?’
‘Australia? The Gold Coast in particular?’ he drawled, and she swept an arm to encompass the boutique.
‘Here.’
One eyebrow lifted in cynical query. ‘To see you.’
‘A phone call would have taken care of whatever you have to say.’
‘If you chose to take my call.’
Would she have? She still had his name on her caller register. So she could pick up or ignore if he rang. He hadn’t, but she’d felt the need to have the option.
‘I can’t imagine anything being sufficiently important to warrant your personal appearance.’
He looked at her carefully, examining her slender form…more slender than he remembered. Pale features beneath the skilled touch of light make-up, the almost undetectable shadows beneath her brilliant blue eyes. The deep-beating pulse at the base of her throat.
Not so calm beneath her projected persona, Raúl detected with a degree of satisfaction.
‘No?’
She couldn’t quite restrain the faint edge to her voice. ‘There’s nothing you could say that I want to hear.’
At that moment the door buzzer sounded, and it took her a few seconds to ignore the silent as if I need this now? before she turned towards the entrance.
‘Excuse me? Are you still open?’
Raúl inclined his head towards Gianna in silent query, admiring her switch to polite composure as she summoned a smile and moved forward to greet the customer.
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’
‘The large red bowl in the window display. As soon as I saw it I knew it would be perfect.’
‘Exquisite, isn’t it?’ Gianna relayed with professional ease. ‘Imported Venetian glass.’ She crossed to the display and carefully removed the item. The ticket price was clearly visible and, although expensive, the woman didn’t hesitate.
‘I’ll take it.’
Gianna produced a warm smile. ‘Is it a gift? Would you like it gift-wrapped?’
‘If it’s no trouble.’
‘It’ll be a pleasure.’ It took only minutes to extract the appropriate box and carefully package the bowl, select wrapping paper, ribbon and effect an elegant bow.
With deft movements the task was completed, credit card swiped, a signature attached to the slip, and a very satisfied customer expressed gratitude as Gianna accompanied her to the entry, wished her good evening, then carefully locked the glass doors.
‘Do whatever needs to be done, then we’ll leave.’
‘We?’ Gianna queried with deliberate emphasis as she crossed to the sales counter. ‘I’m not going anywhere with you.’
‘I think you will.’ His voice held a dangerous silkiness, and her eyes sharpened into deep blue shards.
The thought of sharing time with him and pretending to make polite conversation was the last thing she wanted to do.
‘Give me one reason why I should.’
He didn’t prevaricate or lead into it gently…just a single word, aware that it would get her attention as no other would. ‘Teresa.’
Gianna’s eyes widened, only to cloud with concern at the mention of his mother. For it had been Teresa Velez-Saldaña who had welcomed her son’s lover with affection, fondly sanctioned the marriage and wept genuine tears at the loss of their child.
A very special woman, who’d kept wise counsel when Gianna had left Madrid, and who’d chosen to remain in contact at regular intervals…warm, quirky missives despatched in a continued bid to maintain their close bond, including an open invitation for Gianna to visit at any time.
Letters to which Gianna had responded with caution at first, managing to overcome her initial reserve only as the months passed with no mention of Raúl’s name.
Her stomach clenched in pain at the thought Teresa might be ill, injured or…heaven forbid…worse.
‘No.’
‘No what?’ Gianna demanded trenchantly, unbearably irked that he still retained the ability to read her mind. Somehow she’d imagined, hoped, she had acquired an impenetrable façade in the past few years.
Apparently not.
For a long moment she simply looked at him, silently daring him to shift his gaze. Except he didn’t, and she became conscious of the pulse at the base of her throat kicking into a quickened thud.
Every cell in her body seemed to blaze into life, and she hated that he knew.
‘Tell me, dammit.’
His eyes darkened measurably. ‘A few weeks ago Teresa was diagnosed with inoperable cancer.’
For a few seemingly long seconds she was lost for words. ‘Teresa made no mention of illness in any of her letters,’ she managed at last—for affection, trust and mutual respect had developed into a genuinely warm friendship between both women. ‘I’m so sorry.’
‘Yes, I believe you are.’ His eyes held her own, and she almost swayed at the intensity of his gaze. ‘Enough,’ he continued quietly, ‘to fulfil one of her dearest wishes?’
She schooled her voice to remain calm in spite of the premonition that she wasn’t going to like what he intended to say. ‘If it’s possible,’ she managed with instinctive caution.
‘Teresa has requested the pleasure of your company.’
Gianna froze, the colour leaching from her cheeks, revealing starkly pale features as she contrived to control the onset of nerves threatening to play havoc with her emotions.
‘In Madrid?’ An unnecessary query, when she already knew the answer before he could confirm it.
‘Initially.’
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