Laura Iding - Pregnant with His Baby!

The line went dead and after a short pause Gianfranco keyed in a number.

Dervla took another doughnut from the bag that Sue had dumped on the tea tray. ‘I don’t usually like these,’ she said, taking a large bite.

‘You need a sugar hit. Trust me, I’m a nurse,’ Sue said, helping herself. ‘Look, Dervla, I think things have just got out of proportion. You two are meant to be together. Give him time and I guarantee he’ll come around about the baby thing. He loves you.’

‘You’re totally wrong. Gianfranco doesn’t love me. He never pretended to be in love with me, not even when he proposed,’ she admitted in a voice that cracked with emotion.

In fact he had made it pretty clear that romantic love was an encumbrance that had no place in his life.

Sue looked sympathetic but unsurprised. ‘Some men find it hard to articulate their feelings.’

Dervla’s eyelashes swept upwards. Her green eyes were bleak as she gave an odd little laugh. ‘Not Gianfranco,’ she promised.

Gianfranco could be very articulate, especially when it came to exposing romantic love for the sham he believed it was. His feelings on the subject were clear and Gianfranco had no problem when it came to clarity.

Clarity was his thing, she reflected bitterly. Her husband was not a man for whom grey areas existed.

‘He just doesn’t have the feelings to express … not for me, at least,’ she added bleakly.

Dervla had suspected early on that it wasn’t love that Gianfranco didn’t believe in, it was the possibility of him ever finding the love he had shared with his first wife, the love of his life, with anyone else.

Being a woman in love, she had ignored the deafening warning bells and decided she would be the one to teach him he could love again.

Feeling the frustrated resentment building inside her, she defiantly reached for another doughnut. It would serve Gianfranco—who had likened her to a sleek and supple little cat—right if she gained twenty pounds! She was definitely beginning to see the attraction of comfort eating.

‘He told me when he proposed that he wasn’t in love with me.’

The older girl shook her head in disbelief. ‘And I thought Italian men were meant to be romantic,’ she exclaimed, looking disillusioned.

‘He still loves Alberto’s mother. She was beautiful and perfect and—’

‘I hate to point out the obvious, but this paragon is also no longer with us, Dervla.’

Dervla’s mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Have you ever tried competing with a ghost?’

Sue’s expression softened with sympathy. ‘Is that how you felt?’

‘She was beautiful.’

‘So are you!’ Sue protested.

Dervla gave an exasperated shake of her head. ‘Not pretty—beautiful.’

‘Does he mention her a lot?’

Dervla gave a sniff and shook her head. ‘Never. See,’ she said when she saw Sue’s expression. ‘You think that’s a bad sign too.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘Carla says he finds it too painful. She says Sara was his soul mate, they never argued and she—’

‘I get the picture,’ Sue intervened quickly. ‘The man has baggage and a son.’ She chewed worriedly on her lower lip as she studied her friend’s unhappy, downcast features. ‘God, Dervla, did you have to marry him? Couldn’t you have just had sex?’

‘That’s what he said.’

Sue’s eyes went saucer-wide. ‘And you said …?’

‘Obviously we’d already—’ Dervla broke off, blushing, and Sue repressed a grin. ‘He made this ridiculously big thing of me being a virgin at twenty-six.’

‘You were a virgin!’

Sue’s astonished exclamation brought Dervla’s head up with a jerk.

‘Gianfranco was your first lover?’

Dervla bit her lip and nodded.

‘Wow!’

They both reached in unison for another doughnut as the phone began to ring.

Sue moved towards it and Dervla cried out urgently, ‘No, leave it!’

Her friend shrugged and settled back in her seat.

Teeth clenched, Dervla stood ten more seconds before she broke and picked it up.

‘Hello.’

‘Dervla.’

His deep honey-timbred drawl was more frayed around the edges than normal but Dervla would have been able to distinguish it in the middle of a male voice choir.

Her mind went blank.

‘Is that you or a heavy breather?’

She expelled the air trapped in her lungs in one gusty sigh and wiped her wet palm against her thigh.

‘Hello, Gianfranco, how are you?’ How are you? Why stop there, Dervla? Why not sound like a complete moron and ask him how the weather is there?

‘How do you think I am, cara ?’

She winced at the acid in his biting response and felt her anger and resentment stir. As if he were the only one suffering here; as if she hadn’t spent two days of hell.

‘How would I know? Silence is kind of hard to interpret. I couldn’t even read between the lines, because there weren’t any. I’m actually feeling fairly honoured that you spared a moment to pick up the phone.’

There was a protracted silence that was more than adequate for Dervla to regret her hasty comments.

‘So you missed me, then.’

He sounded so smug that if there hadn’t been several hundred miles separating them she’d have hit him. Acknowledgement of the distance between them drew a desolate little sigh from her. How could you feel lonely in a place that until recently you had called home? But she did, her home was not here any longer, it was wherever Gianfranco was.

‘Actually I’ve been too busy to miss you. There’s been no time. I’ve been shopping and to lunch, catching up on old friends. We’re on out way our now, actually. You only just caught me.’

At the other end of the phone Gianfranco snapped the pencil he was threading between his long fingers in two. ‘So should I expect to see photos of you staggering out of nightclubs to appear in the tabloids?’ he wondered in a sub-zero tone.

‘Don’t be absurd!’ she snapped, conscious that nothing he said could be as absurd as her trying to convince anyone she didn’t miss him.

God, the ache for him went bone deep.

‘Well, if you could spare a moment out of your busy social diary …?’

Dervla nibbled on the sensitive flesh of her full lower lip. If he’d rung to say come back what was she going to do? Of course, he might have rung to say let’s call it a day. The second possibility almost tipped her over the edge into total panic.

‘If you’ve got something to say, Gianfranco, just say it.’ Whatever he said, she told herself she could deal with it.

‘We have a problem, Dervla.’

She closed her eyes, sure she knew what was coming: it was the second possibility. He was going to say let’s call it a day—this relationship is more trouble than it’s worth.

She had always wondered what she’d feel like when this happened. Now she knew—she wasn’t going to feel anything at all.

She was numb.

‘Well, it could be worse—you could have sent me an email.’ Perhaps one day you’d be able to legally end a marriage that way, neat and clinically without any need for even looking at your partner.

Anger swelled inside her. She wanted to see Gianfranco. She wanted to tell him to his face what he was throwing away. She wanted to tell him that he was damned lucky she loved him and it was his loss.

Her chest tightened … Oh God, and mine, she thought, thinking of her life stretching ahead, a life of days when she would not hear Gianfranco’s voice or see his face.

‘Email? What are you talking about? No, don’t tell me, there’s no time. It’s Alberto.’

‘Alberto?’ she echoed. ‘Not a divorce?’

‘Divorce?’ A volley of Italian words they didn’t teach in the polite surroundings of her language class came down the line. ‘Have you been talking to Alberto?’