Flora's Defiance (16 page)

For a big powerful male Angelo moved with extraordinary grace, but at that assurance he stilled by the window, his simmering tension obvious in his stance. His dazzling blue eyes were bright as peacock feathers between the ebony fringes of his lush lashes.
‘How?’

‘Well, obviously we don’t go on trying to live together as we started out last night. The words “frying pan” and “fire” come to mind. We just forget that angle,’ Flora proposed in a clipped undertone, stress and concern at how he might react to her proposition tightening her facial muscles. ‘You seem to own very large houses, so living separately below the same roof shouldn’t be a problem in the short term.’

It might well have been her imagination but the healthy glow of vitality that Angelo’s vibrant skin tone usually lent him suddenly seemed strangely dull and absent. ‘Is that truthfully what you want? ‘

Flora released her breath in a slow sigh. ‘Right now I don’t want any complications or stress. I want to concentrate on Mariska and these babies I’m carrying.’

Angelo jerked a shoulder in an eloquent shrug. ‘I
can’t fault you for that, but I had hoped that we could
discuss …’

Flora’s green eyes were suddenly as flat and hard as green jade and her chin came up. ‘I don’t want to discuss anything with you. I know what you think of me and that made it clear to me that there was no future for us as a couple,’ she framed doggedly. ‘I may need your support right now because I’m carrying triplets but I would prefer you to treat me only as a friend or … er … housemate from now on.’

Angelo was frowning. ‘If that is honestly what you want?’

Her teeth ground together because he was making it very obvious that he had little experience of a woman saying no to him and that he could not quite credit that she might know what she was doing.

‘It has to be what you want as well!’ Flora snapped back, her temper leaping because even though he had not opposed her his whole attitude seemed to imply that she was being somehow unreasonable. ‘You admitted that my pregnancy had turned your life upside down.’

His very blue eyes burned like sapphire jewels above his hard cheekbones. ‘But it doesn’t necessarily follow that that is a bad thing.’

Flora dragged her attention from his all too charismatic appeal and folded into a bristling ball, with Mariska cradled sleepily on what lap she still had to offer. ‘Oh, come on, you had it
all
before that day your luck ran out on the houseboat,’ she muttered with a snide edge that she could not suppress. ‘The beautiful women, the choices, the lack of ties or commitment. That kind of relationship was never ever going to suit me and it’s
better to recognise our differences now
before
the babies are born.’

A muscle pulling tight at the corner of his unsmiling mouth and his bright eyes veiled, Angelo inclined his arrogant dark head in grudging acceptance. ‘It’s very important that you can feel happy and secure here. I will respect your wishes. But, for the record, I think you’re making a major mistake for both of us.’

Mistake or not, Flora had all the painful satisfaction of knowing at that instant that she had hoped he would fight with her and
for
her, wanting and demanding more than she thought it sensible to give. Of course his ready agreement merely pointed out what intelligence had already tried to tell her. He cared about what might happen to her but his feelings ran little deeper than ensuring she stayed strong and healthy for the sake of the babies she carried.
His
babies and, for a male as fond as he was of children, that was always likely to be a very big deal.

Hot prickling tears stung Flora’s eyes and she lowered her lashes so that he would not see and she hugged Mariska in consolation. She might have fallen hard for Angelo van Zaal, but she had no intention of giving him cause ever to suspect that mortifying truth. From now on, she would be brisk, businesslike and as cool as a cucumber in his radius.

‘Y
OU
look marvellous,’ Bregitta Etten chorused with her usual girlish enthusiasm. ‘The expression “blooming” comes to mind.’

Flora resisted an uncomfortable urge to smooth her lilac dress down over her sizeable bump; she was almost seven months pregnant and pretty large in the tummy stakes and standing for long periods was a strain for her. Unhappily, Bregitta always made Flora feel ill at ease. ‘Do you mind if I sit down?’

‘Of course not. I can see you need to. It must be exhausting carrying all that extra weight around,’ the beautiful blonde carolled, planting her reed-slender body down beside Flora on a hard gilded sofa. Both were attending an event that was being staged in a grand public building offering more splendour than comfort. ‘It is so unfortunate that Henk and I were not blessed with children.’

‘That is sad.’ While striving to remain pleasant in the face of Bregitta’s fake friendliness, Flora endeavoured not to look around to see where Angelo was. The benefit was being held in aid of one of the charities that Angelo headed up, an organisation that raised funds for braindamaged children. As Angelo knew virtually all the
guests present and had given a rousing speech he was very much in demand. He had asked her to attend as his partner and since he rarely asked her to accompany him anywhere she was determined not to be clingy or needy.

‘I’m an old-fashioned girl,’ Bregitta murmured sweetly, eyes as cast down as a dewy teenager’s in her show of modesty. ‘I would have to be married before I could take the risk of having three children at once.’

‘Would you?’ Flora simply laughed, too used to the blonde’s needling little digs to even react. She had long since worked out that Bregitta cherished very personal designs on Angelo and would have been deeply resentful of any woman sharing his home. The news a couple of months earlier that Flora was also carrying triplets had shocked Bregitta rigid and left her as aggrieved as though Angelo had been stolen from her.

That rather amusing recollection made Flora’s soft full mouth quirk, for she was convinced that Angelo did not share Bregitta’s intimate aspirations with regard to their friendship. Furthermore, while Angelo might not have told his friends that he was to become a father
before
Flora’s arrival, he had positively bragged about the fact since then. Although he had failed to be equally frank about the fact that they were only living together now for the sake of convenience, she cherished no doubts about his enthusiasm for his impending fatherhood. And as a daily witness of his relationship with her niece, Flora had come to accept that Angelo was one of those special men who truly loved children and enjoyed their company.

During the past four months, Flora had regained her
health but as her pregnancy progressed she had become more physically restricted in terms of what she could do. She got tired much more easily and her back and hips ached if she walked too far. Getting down on the floor to play with Mariska was impossible now, as was sleeping the night through with three very active babies moving about inside her. Yet she was always aware that the closer her triplets got to term before she brought them into the world, the safer they would be.

Natalie had put her in touch with a consultant obstetrician in Amsterdam, who maintained a careful weekly check on her condition. Jemima also rang her friend regularly to be reassured that she was all right. But Angelo, more than anyone, had provided Flora with unparalleled support. Ironically, that acknowledgement made Flora feel almost unbearably sad, for the more she learned about Angelo van Zaal, the more she knew why she loved him. She might have initially been attracted to him because he was downright gorgeous and very sexy, but he was also courteous, considerate and always ready to listen if she was worried about anything. Indeed she had no grounds for complaint whatsoever because Angelo had given her exactly what she had asked him for: her privacy.

Usually they only mixed when Mariska was present and, with the single exception of tonight’s charity benefit, the several outings they had shared had included the little girl. In every way that mattered, Flora and Angelo currently led separate lives. Angelo spent most of the day at his office and about one week in four travelling abroad. When he was at home they occupied separate rooms and often ate at different times as well.
As the weeks wore on Flora began to wonder if she had made a drastic misstep in her overwhelming eagerness to save face. Angelo was leaving her alone just as she had requested and she had to assume that there were now other women in his life. She could hardly expect a male with a high-voltage libido to abstain from sex and live like a monk. He was, however, being admirably discreet about any other interests. Even so, his discretion was not a comfort for her because jealousy was eating Flora alive if he so much as looked at another woman.

And although Angelo appeared content, Flora was very much aware that she was feeling lonely, unhappy and insecure. Her pride had certainly come before her fall, she acknowledged ruefully. She recognised that her refusal to challenge his belief that she was a gold-digger head-on had put a wall of misunderstanding between them, which he was understandably reluctant to tackle in the current climate. Naturally he did not want to distress her or make her more hostile to him. He could scarcely be expected to understand that as she had got the chance to know him without the unsettling influence of sexual attraction always taking front-row billing he had finally earned her trust. With Angelo, she had come to accept, what you saw was what you got. There was nothing false, nothing hidden, no polite pretences or lies. He was as far removed from a lying, cheating philanderer of her late father’s ilk as any man could be and had a much stronger character than Peter had ever had.

‘You are so brave, Flora. How can you be so calm?’ Bregitta asked in measured disbelief, lifting her pencilled brows in emphasis of the point. ‘In a few months you’ll have four children under two years old and
Mariska is already running around and creating havoc as toddlers do. I’m afraid I cannot picture Angelo in so domestic a role.’

‘He’s crazy about kids,’ Flora fielded confidently.

‘Any man in my life would have to want me more than any children I might have,’ Bregitta informed her without hesitation, ‘but with Angelo that could be a problem for you.’

Stung by that all too perceptive comment, Flora made no response for on that score she had no comment to make. Angelo was only with her, after all, because she was pregnant, and once her babies were born they would have to come to some other convenient arrangement, which was highly unlikely to be one in which they continued to live below the same roof. Soon, she recognised painfully, even living within easy reach of Angelo on a daily basis would just be a fond memory. Then wasn’t it time for her to speak up in her own defence? Was he content with the way things were? And if he wasn’t content, why hadn’t he said anything?

‘If you ask me, the only woman who ever held Angelo’s heart was Katja.’ Bregitta sighed. ‘And as she’s the one who got away, metaphorically speaking, who else is likely to make the grade?’

Flora was confounded by the idea that Angelo might once have loved and lost a woman, or might even have been rejected, but she was too proud to question Bregitta, who she was well aware was a troublemaker. Instead Flora looked across the room to where Angelo was laughing with another gorgeous blonde in a skimpy red cocktail frock that showed off her pert breasts and slender thighs. A sharp and painful pang darted through
Flora because her own once shapely figure had vanished. Were Angelo and the blonde sharing an innocent joke? A flirtation? Or was Flora, in fact, seeing lovers using the opportunity to enjoy a brief moment of intimacy in public? That she had no idea of what she was seeing or indeed what was happening in that part of Angelo’s life hurt her and underlined the gulf she had opened up between herself and the man she loved. For, in spite of all her efforts to the contrary, she loved him more than ever, she conceded ruefully.

Angelo joined her ten minutes later. ‘You look sleepy,’ he murmured softly.

Lie,
she wanted to shout at him. Tell me I look sexy or beautiful or anything other than tired even if it is a barefaced lie! But she swallowed back her discomfiture over her excessively sensitive reaction while he stretched down a hand to help her upright with as much care and concern as if she were an ailing and elderly lady. Suddenly she hated being pregnant and longed to be small and blonde with pert breasts and a tiny waist! I’m so shallow and superficial to feel that way when I’m pregnant, she thought shamefacedly, but with all her heart she was longing for the smallest sign that Angelo could still find her attractive.

Jolted by the strength of that craving, Flora was furious with herself and she went straight up to bed, turning down the offer of the supper that Angelo suggested they share. She was cutting off her nose to spite her face, she reflected ruefully as she settled heavily under the covers. In spite of the uneasy mood she was in she slept for a couple of hours, though only to waken to the sensation of what felt like a game of football being
played inside her womb. She lay still for a few moments, her palm lightly covering her swollen abdomen and the little movements she could feel with a tenderness she couldn’t help. A pang of hunger assailed her about then and although she tried to ward it off, she failed and her mind was soon awash with images that merely revved up her taste buds. Minutes later, she finally climbed out of bed and reached for her robe.

In the basement kitchen Mango purred continuously and wound himself round her legs while Skipper continued to snore in his basket. The big traditional kitchen in the Amsterdam house was a wonderfully warm and inviting place. Delft tiles covered the massive chimney-piece while cream-ware crockery was displayed on the painted dresser and polished copper utensils on the walls. In one corner an antique walnut grandfather clock slowly ticked out the time.

’Dios mio …I
thought I heard someone …’

At the sound of Angelo’s voice Flora turned her bright head and saw him framed in the doorway. Skipper loosed a sleepy bark and then scrambled out of his bed to go and welcome Angelo while his mistress watched with jaundiced eyes. She had discovered that Skipper was very much a man’s dog and prone to lying in wait at the front door waiting for Angelo to come home. How Angelo had accomplished the feat of overcoming Skipper’s distrust and replacing it with downright devotion, she had no very clear idea, for she had yet to see any sign of Angelo doing anything more than giving Skipper the most cursory pat on the head.