The Mistress: The Mistress\Wanted: Mistress and Mother (28 page)

“No, Dante, it wasn’t.” This time she wasn’t lying, wasn’t
denying what she felt. Looking into his cold, hard eyes, she told him the
absolute truth. “Good sex isn’t just the act, Dante, it’s about how you feel
afterwards, and right now, I couldn’t feel worse.” She knew he was about to walk
off, knew that if she didn’t say what was on her mind now then it would fester
for ever, had learnt that much at least, so whether he was listening or not she
chose to say what she felt. “I don’t know what your problem is, I don’t know
what it is that drives you to shut out something that could have been so good.
Maybe you can justify it by saying that I’m not sophisticated enough to play by
your rules, or that I don’t hold a candle to your wife, but that’s entirely your
business. Frankly, I don’t care any more.”

His only response was a blink, but she knew that she’d
surprised him, knew that even as he shut her out further, right now a little of
what she was saying was reaching him. It gave her the impetus to continue, the
pain he’d inflicted more than enough to go round. “I’m more sorry than you’ll
ever know for having
sex
with you, Dante, but, let’s
get one thing clear—I might have lost a bit of my pride here, but you just lost
one helluva lot more...” It was Matilda who walked off, Matilda who headed to
the house and left him standing in the garden. She refused to cry, just called
her parting shot over her shoulder. “You just lost me!”

Chapter 9

H
is
callousness,
his emotional
distancing after the intimacy they’d shared made the most painful of decisions
relatively easy, made walking away from Dante about need rather than want.
Because sharing his home, glimpsing his life and being shut out over and over
was a torture that couldn’t be sustained and gave Matilda the momentum to pick
up the phone and call on every friend and colleague she could muster with a view
to rapidly finishing the task she had committed herself to, and rapidly removing
herself from this impossible situation she had allowed herself to fall into.

It was the most exhausting time of her life. Hanging the
expense, more than happy to bill him, more than happy to pay for it herself
even, Matilda ordered floodlights to enable her to work long into the warm
nights, grateful for the soothing diversion of nature, grateful that by the time
her aching body fell into bed at night, all she was capable of was rest, taking
the respite of a dreamless, exhausted sleep while knowing the pain would surely
come later.

* * *

“I can’t believe what you’ve achieved.” Deep into a
humid, oppressive Saturday evening, Hugh poured her a glass of champagne Matilda
didn’t want from the bottle he was holding, having wandered over from the al
fresco area where the
family
had eaten a leisurely
dinner. He was now staring in astonishment at the garden, which was almost
complete, the sleeping beauty truly awoken, the overgrown wilderness a distant
memory. In its place was a child’s paradise—a maze of soft hedges, each leading
to its own exciting end, soft turf underfoot and thousands of tiny fairy-lights
adorning the massive willow—twinkling in the dusky light and bidding
enchantment. “What do you think, Katrina?”

“It’s very nice.” Katrina’s response wasn’t exactly effusive,
but Matilda couldn’t have cared less. The only thing she needed to see her
through was the knowledge that in less than twelve hours she’d be out of there,
in less than twelve hours she could start to pick up the pieces of her life
Dante had so readily shattered. “Of course,” Katrina added, “it’s Alex’s opinion
that counts.”

Almost on cue, the gate opened and, as she had over the last
couple of days whenever their paths had inadvertently crossed, Matilda didn’t
even look at Dante. Instead, she focused her attention on Alex, who walked
tentatively alongside him, her tiny hand in his. She looked utterly adorable,
dressed in cotton pyjamas and cute kitten slippers, newly washed blonde curls
framed her pretty face. And as livid and as debased as Matilda felt, momentarily
at least, it faded as she watched the little girl’s reaction. Watched as her
normally vacant eyes blinked in wonder as she actually surveyed the
transformation, a smile breaking out on her serious face as Matilda flicked on a
switch and the water features danced into life. It was like seeing the sun come
out as a tiny gasp of wonder escaped Alex’s lips. She moved forward, reached out
and ran,
ran
as most children would have, but
because it was Alex it was amazing.

“I think she likes it.” She could forgive Hugh’s stilted words,
because tears were running down his cheeks as he watched his granddaughter run
through the water jets, and for that moment in time Matilda decided that the
pain she’d endured had been worth it. To see this distant, reclusive child
emerge from her shell, even if only for a moment, that her vision, her concept
had actually reached this troubled, fractured child caused something good and
pure to well deep inside her. Matilda’s usual happiness, which had been stifled
since Dante’s rejection, bubbled to the surface again as she witnessed her work
through the eyes of a child.

A child like Alex.

“Look!” Matilda’s voice was an excited whisper. She crouched to
Alex’s level, as she had on the first day, taking her cautious hand as she had
back then and beckoning Alex to new wonders as Katrina and Hugh wandered around
to explore. “Look what’s here!” Parting the curtain of willow, Matilda led her
inside the cool enclosure, the fairy-lights she had so carefully placed lighting
the darkness and creating a cool, emerald oasis, an enchanted garden within a
garden, a place for Alex to simply just be. But the innocent pleasure of the
moment was broken as the leaves parted, as Dante stepped into the magical space
and completely broke the spell.

“You could put engravings on the bark.” Matilda’s voice was a
monotone now as she addressed Dante, talking like a salesperson delivering her
pitch. “Or hang some mirrors and pictures, perhaps put down a blanket and have a
crib for her dolls...”

“She loves it,” Dante broke in, the emotion that was usually so
absent in his voice rolling in the distance as he sat down on the mossy ground,
watching as his daughter stared up at the twinkling lights, her hands held in
the air, fingers dancing along with them. “It is the first time I have seen her
happy in a long time.”

“Not so bad for a
stupido
garden?”
Matilda said, and if she sounded bitter, she was: bitter for the way he had
treated her; bitter for all they had lost. But because Alex was present, Matilda
swallowed her resentment down, instead giving Dante the information he would
need if the garden she had planted was to flourish. “I’ve just got to clean up
and attend to a few minor details tomorrow, but I’ll be gone by lunchtime.”

“By lunchtime?” There was a tiny start to his voice, a frown
creeping across his brow, which Matilda chose to ignore. “I probably won’t catch
up with you tomorrow, but I’ll write up some instructions for your gardener and
run through a few things with you now. Know that the whole garden will improve
with time.” Picking at some moss on the ground, Matilda continued, “Every day
you should see some changes. The paths are littered with wild seeds—buttercups,
daisies, clover—so you shouldn’t mow too often...”

“Matilda?”

“There are no sharp edges.” Ignoring him, she continued, trying
to get through her summing-up, knowing this was one job she wouldn’t be
following up, knowing she was seeing it for the last time. “And no plants that
can hurt, no thorns that could scratch, nothing that might sting—she should be
perfectly safe here. This garden is what you make of it—you could pick marigold
leaves with Alex to add to your salad at night—”

“Matilda, we need to talk,” he interrupted again, one hand
creeping across the ground to capture hers. But she pulled away, determined to
see this last bit through with whatever dignity she could muster, yet unable to
stop herself from looking at him for what was surely going to be the last time.
Her final instructions to him were laced with double meaning, littered with
innuendo, and from Dante’s tense expression she knew he felt each one.

“No, Dante,
you
need to listen.
This garden may look beautiful now, but tomorrow when I’ve cleaned up and gone,
you’ll come for another look and see its apparent faults. Tomorrow, in the cold
light of day, you’ll wonder what the hell you paid all this money for, because
the lights won’t be on and the bushes will look a bit smaller and sparser than
they do tonight. You’ll see all the lines where the turf was laid and the sticks
holding up the plants and—”

“It will still be beautiful to me,” Dante interrupted. “Because
it’s already given me more pleasure than I ever thought possible.” And, yes, he
was talking about Alex, because his hands were gesturing to where his daughter
sat, but his eyes were holding hers as he spoke and she knew that he was also
referring to them. “Yes, it might just take a bit of getting used to, but I can
understand now that in the end it would be worth it...” She stared back at him
for the longest time, swallowing hard as he went on. “That if I nurture it, care
for it, tend it...” With each word he tempted her, delivering his veiled apology
in a low silken drawl. “Then it will reward me tenfold.”

“It would have,” Matilda said softly, watching his wince of
regret at her refusal to accept it, actually grateful when Katrina and Hugh
ducked inside the emerald canopy and broke the painful moment, because whatever
Dante was trying to say it was too little, too late—even a garden full of
flowers wasn’t going to fix this.

“Join us for a drink,” Hugh offered. “Dante’s just about to put
Alex to bed...”

“I’ve got too much to do here.” Matilda smiled as she shook her
head. “But thank you for the offer.”

“I think we might have to stay over.” Katrina pretended to
grimace. “Hugh’s had a couple too many champagnes to drive.”

“I’ve had one,” Hugh said, but Katrina had clearly already made
up her mind. Matilda was tempted to tell her that she needn’t bother, that Dante
didn’t need to be guarded on her final night here, but instead she offered her
goodnights and headed to the mountain of tools that needed to be sorted.

“You really ought to think about finishing up,” Dante called.
“There’s a storm brewing and with all these cables and everything it could be
hazardous.”

She didn’t even deign a response, grateful when they left, when
finally the garden gate closed and she was alone.

* * *

Despite her utter exhaustion, working a sixteen-hour
day, when finally Matilda showered and fell into bed, sleep evaded her, the body
Dante had awoken then tossed aside twitching with treacherous desire. Lying in
the darkness, she gazed out over the bay, watching the dark clouds gathering in
the distance, the ominous view matching her mood as she listened to the talking
and laughter coming from the garden below. Katrina’s grating voice telling tales
about the wonderful Jasmine did nothing to soothe her and she wished over and
over that she’d managed to avoid Dante tonight.

Reluctantly she replayed his words in her mind. With total
recall she remembered the look on his face as he had spoken to her, and she knew
that she’d almost forgiven him, that had he touched her, she’d have gone to him.

A whimpering cry carried down the hallway and Matilda listened
as Alex called out in her sleep. Her first instinct was to go to the little
girl, but she stayed put, knowing that Dante would hear her on the intercom. She
waited for the sound of his footsteps on the stairs, but they never came. Alex’s
cries grew louder and more anguished and Matilda screwed her eyes closed and
covered her ears with her hands in an attempt to block them out, knowing that it
was none of her business, while praying someone would come soon.

“Mama!”

Alex’s terrified little voice had Matilda sitting bolt upright
in bed, the jumbled babbles of a child’s nightmare tearing at her heartstrings
until she could bear it no more. The sensible thing would have been to go
downstairs and alert Dante, and she had every intention of doing so, even
pulling on a pair of knickers for manners’ sake! But as she padded down the
hallway in her flimsy, short nightdress, as the screams got louder, instinct
kicked in, and pushing open the bedroom door, she called out to Alex in the
darkness, gathering the hot, tear-racked body in her arms and attempting to
soothe her, trying not to convey her alarm as Alex sobbed harder, her balled
fists attempting to slam into Matilda’s cheeks.

“Shush, honey,” Matilda soothed, capturing her wrists. Instead
of holding her away, she brought a hand up to her face, controlling the
movement, stroking her face with Alex’s hand as over and over she told her that
everything was OK, relief filling her as gradually the child seemed to calm.

“It’s OK, Alex.” Over and over she said it, even letting go of
Alex’s wrist as finally the little girl started to relax, rocking her gently in
her arms.

“What happened?”

She’d been so focused on Alex, Matilda hadn’t even heard him
come in, but as his deep-voiced whisper reached her ears, for Alex’s sake she
forced herself not to tense, just carried on rocking the child as she spoke.

“She was screaming. I was going to come and get you, but...”
Her voice trailed off. How could she tell him that she’d been unable to just
walk past? “I thought you’d hear her on the intercom.”

“It’s not working—there’s a storm coming so it’s picking up
interference.” He was standing over her now and she assumed he’d take Alex from
her, but she was wrong. Instead, he gazed down at his daughter, his hand
stroking her forehead, pushing back the damp blonde curls from her hot, red
face. “She was really upset,” Dante observed, then looked over at Matilda. “And
you managed to calm her.”

“I just cuddled her,” Matilda said, “as you do, and spoke to
her.”

“No one can usually calm her.” Dante blinked. “No one except me
and sometimes Katrina.”

They stood in silence for the longest time, a deep, pensive
silence broken only by the fading sobs of Alex, until finally she was quiet,
finally she gave in. “I think she’s asleep,” Matilda whispered, gently placing
Alex back in her cot, grateful she’d remembered to put on knickers as she
lowered the little body.

“It’s hot in here,” Date said, his voice not quite steady. As
he opened the window a fraction more, the sweet scent of jasmine filled the air.
Matilda stepped back as Dante took over tucking the sheets around Alex, tears
filling her eyes as he placed a tender kiss on his daughter’s cheek until she
could bear it no more, the agony of witnessing such an intimate scene more than
she could take. Matilda headed out into the hall, wiping the tears with the
backs of her hands, cringing as his hand closed around her shoulder, as Dante
tried to stop her.

“Matilda...”

“Don’t,” Matilda begged, because she knew what was coming, knew
he was going to apologise again, and she was terrified she’d relent. “Just leave
me alone, Dante.”

“I cannot do that.” His hand was still on her shoulder but she
shook it off, turned her expressive face to his, the anger that had never really
abated brimming over again. Aware of Alex, she struggled to keep her voice
down.