D'Alessandro's Child Read online

  “If Michael’s so unimportant, why are you making such an issue of my associating with him?”

  “Because both your father and I feel there’s more to his being here than meets the eye, and we’re worried by your willingness to let him into your life. Think about it, Camille! The man claims he’s here on vacation, but even the most dedicated tourist can see everything Calder has to offer inside two days. So why do you suppose he’s still hanging around over a week after he first showed up? More to the point, what’s his real interest in you?”

  “Maybe he likes my company.”

  “Or maybe he has a more devious agenda. It doesn’t take a genius to see you’re a wealthy woman. One look around at everything you have here…!” Graceful hands fluttering like doves, she’d gestured at the gardens, the pool, the house.

  If she hadn’t still been too close to tears, Camille might have laughed. “Is it so inconceivable to you that a man might want me for myself?”

  “Of course not! But why this man? What does he hope to gain in making such a play for you when, by his own admission, he’s just passing through the area? I know you think I’m overly critical and suspicious—”

  “You’re a snob, and we both know it.”

  “Perhaps so. But I’m also a mother who’s afraid her daughter is being used and will end up being badly hurt—again! Whether or not you’re willing to admit it, the divorce did leave you very vulnerable, Camille.”

  “At the time, yes. But it’s been over two years now and I’ve recovered. Enough that I’m ready to resume a normal life.”

  “Normal’s one thing!” Her mother’s well-modulated voice had risen dramatically. “But stepping out with a man like Michael D’Alessandro, just because he’s making himself available, is pure madness.”

  Oh, Mother, she thought, closing her eyes to the beauty of the night, how would you react if I’d confessed that I’m in too deep to simply walk away? What would you say if I told you I’m already half in love with his smile, that his voice stirs my blood, and that with one kiss he melted the cold protective wall I’d built around my heart?

  The owl hooted again, a sleepy, hypnotic sound. The stars swam in the sky, their bright edges less sharply defined than they’d been a moment ago. A wisp of cloud hung over the moon. She found, if she stared at it long enough, that she could make out Michael’s face in its shape.

  Yes, there was the strong line of his jaw, the sweep of his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth….

  He’d had enough for one day.

  When he arrived at St. Mary’s, Kay had barely known he was there. She’d opened her eyes once, smiled at him, and reached for his hand before sinking back into a sleep so closely imitating death that, if it hadn’t been for the rhythmic leap of the pulse at her throat, he’d have thought she’d slipped away.

  He’d remained with her well into the evening, the questions, the accusations he’d wanted to fling at her, vying with the pity he couldn’t suppress. So he’d kept everything bottled up inside, along with the anger he’d brought with him from Camille’s.

  It was a deadly mix that stayed with him during the drive back to Calder, and he was in no mood to play good Samaritan when he saw the other car pulled so far over on the soft shoulder of the road that it was in imminent danger of sliding into the ditch.

  He drove as far as the B and B, parked in his usual spot, grabbed the flashlight from the glove compartment, and headed back to investigate. If a couple were making out in the back seat, it was probably expecting too much to hope they still had their clothes on. But given the way his luck had been running lately, it was more likely he’d come across a body—some poor slob who’d maybe lost everything on the stock market and decided to end it all on a quiet country lane.

  The moon cast just enough light for him to make out a top-of-the-line BMW with the sunroof open. To prevent the windows from steaming up? He didn’t think so! The silence emanating from within the car was too deep. If there were occupants inside, they weren’t moving around.

  He approached the driver’s door, aimed the flashlight’s beam at the window, and let it play over the face of the woman stretched out behind the wheel. He hadn’t known he’d been holding his breath until it blasted out of his lungs in shock.

  What the hell…!

  She wasn’t moving. She lay flat on her back. One arm dangled between the front seats, the other was tucked out of sight beneath her body. But apart from the fact that her being there made absolutely no sense, what scared the living daylights out of him was that her legs were sprawled slackly apart in a way that would have had Mother Younge reaching for the smelling salts.

  Something was very wrong. In fact, it looked to him as if she was unconscious.

  Stepping closer, he rapped sharply on the window.

  At first, she didn’t know where she was. Was aware only of a chill on her skin, pins and needles in her hands and feet. And light, relentless and brilliant, scoring at her sleep-dazed eyes.

  Then, in a rush, memory returned, and with it sudden stark fear. Beyond the aura of light outside her car, a figure loomed; a murky silhouette imprinted darkly against the fitful glow of the night sky.

  She let out a shriek and scooted across to the passenger seat, one hand shielding her eyes, and the other searching for the door handle. But if there was no recognizing the face of the man peering in at her, nor was there any mistaking his voice.

  “Camille? What the devil are you doing out here at this hour?”

  “Waiting for you,” she wheezed, clutching one fist to her racing heart. “What the devil are you doing spying on me like that? And will you please point that blasted light somewhere else before I go blind?”

  He stepped back and directed the beam over her car. “I don’t know who you paid to teach you to park,” he said conversationally, “but either you should ask for a refund or else negotiate a few free lessons.”

  Oh, how like a man! “If you think I’ve been sitting here half the night for the pleasure of listening to you lecture me on my driving skills, think again! I had something a bit more important in mind.”

  “I’m sure you had, and heaven forbid I should be handing out unwanted advice.” He was laughing at her, not outright perhaps, but it was there in his voice. “However, at the risk of being told it’s none of my concern, your car appears to be listing dangerously to starboard. I suggest you drive up onto the road before we take this conversation any further—unless, of course, you prefer to conduct it from the bottom of the ditch?”

  It occurred to her then that the car was sitting at an even steeper angle than it had been before, and as if to verify the fact, it gave a little lurch to the right. She braced her arm against the door and tried to sound nonchalant. “I think I might’ve left it too late.”

  He climbed back onto the road and took stock. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought he was openly grinning. “Not if I give you a boost from behind,” he decided. “Quit cowering over there and get back behind the wheel.”

  “And do what?”

  No doubt about the grin this time; he was definitely having a good time at her expense. “Start the engine, honey child, what else? Then shift into low gear and step on the gas. Gently.”

  “It sounds too dangerous. What if I slide backward?”

  He practically cackled aloud at that. “Then you’ll have to scrape up my remains and your mother’ll declare a national holiday to celebrate my early demise.”

  The car sighed gently and settled further into the unstable shoulder of the lane like a weary body sinking into a mattress. Through the open sunroof she heard gravel slithering out from under the wheels. “This is no time for jokes!” she said, her voice splintering with fright.

  “And you’re in no position to be giving me orders, Camille,” he said calmly. “Trust me, together we can do this.”

  And together they did, though not before she felt the car skidding out of control and, in an effort to correct it, pressed her foot down hard on t
he accelerator.

  A rooster tail of dirt spurted out from under the rear wheels. She heard a yell, felt pinpricks of sweat break out down her spine, and almost sheared off one of the trees ahead as the car shot out of the hollow and onto the pavement.

  Legs shaking, blood pumping, she set the parking brake and climbed out. “Michael?”

  But all the moon showed was an empty strip of road and, off to one side, the dark shape of a prostrate body.

  “Michael!” She had no recollection of covering the distance between them. Felt no pain as she fell to her knees beside him. All her awareness was focused on her fingers sliding over the warm skin of his neck in search of a pulse, and the relief that flooded through her when she found it to be steady and strong.

  He moved then, heaving himself onto all fours and hunching over with a muffled groan that lapsed into something which sounded suspiciously like retching.

  “Are you throwing up?” she cried, envisioning all manner of internal injuries.

  His eyes gleamed malevolently in the moonlight. “No, sweetheart. I’m trying to spit out the mouthful of dirt your car threw up when you stepped on the gas. I thought I made it clear that gunning the motor isn’t a good idea when you’re up to your hubcaps in sand and loose gravel?”

  “I panicked,” she said. “I thought the car was going to roll. I’m so sorry.”

  He ran an experimental finger over his mouth. “I guess I should be glad I still have all my teeth.”

  “Let me look at you.”

  They were kneeling so close that his shirt brushed the front of her blouse. Cupping his jaw, she turned his head from side to side. He hadn’t shaved since that morning. Except for the silky line of an old scar just below his right ear, his skin had the texture of fine pumice against her fingertips. His eyelashes threw inky crescents of shadow over his cheekbones. And his mouth…. Oh, better not to dwell too long on his mouth!

  “I don’t see any blood,” she said, “but you do have a scratch on your chin.”

  “No kidding!” His voice slid a husky octave lower than usual and his fingers closed around her wrist to imprison her hand against his cheek. “And what do you propose to do about it?”

  The way he managed to infuse the question with outright invitation left her in no doubt about what he had in mind. His mouth was so close to hers, his words vibrated against her lips.

  Sounding as if she’d been winded from a blow to the solar plexus, she said, “You want me to kiss it better?”

  “Isn’t that what mothers do best?”

  “Not to grown men.”

  If she’d tried, she couldn’t have found a more effective way to ruin the mood or the moment. “You’re quite right,” he said, hauling her upright and putting a safe six feet of space between them. “In that case, why don’t we stop playing games, and you tell me why you were lying in wait for me to get back?”

  She’d been so sure he was going to take her up on her first offer, so ready to throw caution and propriety to the winds and kiss him, that she could barely swallow her disappointment. “Oh…it’s nothing really. I just thought, what with it’s being such a lovely evening…so mild and all—”

  “Camille, by your own admission you’ve been waiting half the night to speak to me, which leads me to expect it must be a matter of some importance to you and perhaps even to me, right?”

  She nodded, miserably aware that she was making an utter fool of herself.

  “Then don’t expect me to buy the lame excuse that you wanted to chat about the weather.” His gaze scoured her face in the moonlight. “What’s really going on here?”

  “I feel I owe you an apology. Not only was my mother very rude to you this afternoon but she interrupted us before I had the chance to explain—about my marriage to Todd and the reasons we adopted Jeremy. But it’s a long, sordid story which you probably don’t want to hear.”

  “Wrong. I’ve got nothing but time on my hands and I don’t subscribe to the catchphrase ‘never apologize and never explain.’ I happen to believe confession is good for the soul.”

  “But it’s all rather…personal.”

  “In my experience, anything to do with marriage generally is.”

  She sighed. “You’re not going to let me off the hook, are you?”

  “Not a chance.” He took her elbow and steered her across the lane. “We’ll walk down by the river. You might find it easier to talk if I’m not staring you in the face the whole time.”

  She thought it unlikely. Dredging up those painful memories was never easy. But doing so with the trees casting deep pools of shadow over the moon-splashed path at least made her feel less exposed.

  “I guess,” she began, “to put you fully in the picture, I should mention that Todd and I grew up in Calder. Our parents were good friends, belonged to the same clubs, supported the same charities, attended the same church. They were thrilled when we told them we wanted to get married and went out of their way to give us a fairy-tale wedding.”

  “Why don’t we skip ahead to the reason you decided to adopt a child?” Michael said, with more than a touch of impatience. “I’m not a great fan of fairy tales.”

  “The point I’m trying to make is that we—Todd and I—thought we had it all. We were the golden children of golden parents—families with old money and social prestige to spare. We were rich, educated, socially aware, and beautiful in the sense that we were young and fit, with perfect teeth and shining hair and clear bright eyes.”

  “And then you found out that money couldn’t buy love? You disappoint me, Camille. I expected you to come up with something more earth-shaking than that old cliché to explain your failed marriage. Is that why good old Todd started hitting the bottle?”

  She glanced at him sharply, surprised by the bitterness in his tone. “No. That came much later, after years of trying to conceive a child.”

  “Uh-oh! Golden boy couldn’t deal with a wife who couldn’t lay the golden egg?”

  “You know, Michael,” she said, his sneering attitude beginning to grate on her nerves, “I don’t owe you this explanation, but since you insisted on hearing it anyway, the least you can do is keep the editorializing to yourself until I’m finished.”

  He stuffed his hands in his pockets and looked suitably chastened. “Point taken.”

  “I couldn’t conceive. At least, that was the assumption for the first three years of our marriage. Finally, though, we went to a fertility specialist who diagnosed Todd as having…um….” She paused, searching for a delicate way to phrase the diagnosis. “The…problem.”

  Michael shared none of her diffidence. “Low sperm count, huh?” he said bluntly.

  “Um…yes.” She stared across the river to hide her discomfiture. “For the next two years, we tried without success every invention known to science in our desperate efforts to have a baby. Although I was disappointed, I believe Todd suffered more. You’ve never had children, Michael, so you might not think it all that important—”

  He inhaled sharply and she tensed, expecting another derisive comment. But whatever he might have been inclined to interject, he thought better of it and said simply, “Go on.”

  “His inability to produce a son to carry on the family name took a terrible toll on his pride and self-esteem. Our relationship deteriorated. He changed. Closed himself off from me. Perhaps when a man is told he can’t fertilize a woman’s egg, he feels less like a man. Or perhaps what others viewed as unfortunate, Todd saw as shameful.”

  Afraid her voice would break as the memories came rushing back to haunt her, she lapsed into silence. “Take your time,” Michael said, watching her. “I’ve got all night.”

  They strolled perhaps another hundred yards along the riverbank before she felt able to pick up the thread of her story. “I don’t pretend to have all the answers. I only know that he grew increasingly sullen and resentful, refused to seek help, refused to consider adoption, and refused to discuss ways of dealing with this crushing disappointment.
”

  “Cripes, talk about spineless!”

  Force of habit had her defending Todd, even after all this time. “Until you’ve tried to father a child yourself, Michael, you’re hardly in a position to pass judgment!”

  The breath hissed between his lips as though it was all he could do to hold on to his temper. “I don’t have to be in his place to recognize the man was missing a few neurons if he couldn’t figure out you were in as much pain as he was!”

  “I don’t know why you’re getting yourself into such a state,” she said. “I’m the one who had to live with him.”

  “Which prompts me to ask the obvious. Why the devil didn’t you leave him?”

  “When things reached the point where I was afraid of him, I did.”

  “If you’re saying you waited until he started smacking you around before you took action, Camille, don’t expect me to smile and slobber sympathy all over you. He might have made you his victim, but you’re the one who let him get away with it.”

  “He never laid a hand on me. He took out his frustrations in other ways, drinking too much, driving too fast, being verbally aggressive with other people. He channeled all his energy into a controlled rage which was eating us both alive and I’d finally had enough. I told him I wanted a separation.”

  “And?”

  “It did what no amount of pleading or persuading had managed to do. It seemed to be the shock that brought him to his senses. He begged for another chance, promised he’d clean up his act. And for a while, he did. Some of his old sweetness returned. I believed we were back on track, especially when, for the first time ever, he agreed to look into adopting and made good on the promise within weeks by finding a child for us.”

  “And you weren’t made the least bit suspicious by the speed with which he managed to do that? Where I come from, adoptions take months, sometimes years.”

  “I was surprised at how quickly a baby became available, but Todd’s a lawyer and he had connections. He put out the word and because we had the money to pay for a private adoption, I guess we were able to cut a few corners.”