A Scandal, a Secret, a BabyMarriage Scandal, Showbiz Baby! Page 23

  Jennifer pulled a face and took the phone. ‘Hello? Jennifer Warren speaking.’

  ‘Jennifer—were you aware that Sophia Perotta has given an interview to a London evening paper about her affair with your husband?’

  ‘I wasn’t,’ she said calmly.

  ‘Did you know that he was cheating on you with her throughout your marriage?’

  There was a pause. ‘I’m not going to comment on that,’ she said, still in that strange, small voice of calm. ‘And now I’m really going to have to go. Goodbye.’

  She put the phone down and ignored all her mother’s questions, but inside she felt queasy, and the feeling of nausea just grew and grew inside her. She only just made it to the bathroom before she started vomiting—and the frightening thing was that she couldn’t stop.

  ‘I’m calling an ambulance!’ her mother exclaimed dramatically. ‘I knew you should never have got back with that cheating bastard!’

  Feeling as if she was taking part in one of her own films, Jennifer was rushed to hospital with sirens and lights blazing, wishing that her mother would just go away. She rolled around in agony, clutching her abdomen—her stomach was empty but she was unable to stop the dry retching which was making her throat burn. ‘Am I going to lose my baby?’ she cried.

  ‘Shh! Try to calm down,’ soothed the nurse in the emergency room. ‘The doctor is on his way down now to see you.’

  Which did not answer her question at all. And Jennifer closed her eyes as tears began to creep from behind her tightly shut lids.

  All this for nothing. Now she would lose the child she had longed for, and along with that terrible heartache would come her final separation from Matt—for he would not want her without the baby. Why would he?

  * * *

  Around a large table, Matteo sat with his lawyers—his face chalk-white beneath the tanned skin. On the front page of London’s biggest-selling evening newspaper was a huge photo of a pouting Sophia Perotta—her brown eyes as widely innocent as a baby deer’s. And there was the splash:

  Cheating Matteo Was A Stallion In The Bedroom!

  ‘Can she say this?’ he demanded hotly.

  ‘She already has.’

  Matteo’s fists clenched and he banged one down hard onto the table, so that the lawyers jumped. ‘Let’s sue her. Let’s take the bitch for every penny she’s got!’

  ‘Are you certain you want to, Matteo?’

  ‘It’s a pack of lies!’

  The lawyer coughed delicately. ‘Did you or did you not have sex with her?’

  Matteo flinched. ‘Once!’ he gritted, a feeling of disgust creeping over his skin. ‘And only when my wife was divorcing me.’

  ‘That’s your story,’ said the lawyer stolidly.

  Matt turned on him, his black eyes flashing with anger, and suddenly he understood. ‘Oh, I see,’ he said slowly, and nodded his dark head. ‘It’s her word against mine.’

  ‘Precisely. She’s deliberately vague about dates and times, but explicit enough about your er…skills…in the bedroom department to make it clear that you did have sex with her. The dispute is when. She says it was during your marriage. You say it was not. We can try fighting it, if you want, but the publicity…’

  He let his voice tail off, and Matteo knew what he was saying. ‘I’ve only just got back with my wife,’ he said urgently.

  And she’s pregnant.

  Oh, Jenny.

  Jenny.

  It was at precisely that moment that one of his aides came grim-faced into the room, with a message from the hospital.

  The journey back to Bath was a like a trip to hell. The worst thing was the not knowing—but no one would tell him anything and he couldn’t get hold of Jenny’s mother. It was an exercise in powerlessness, and Matteo had never felt so frighteningly out of control.

  He made silent pleas to God. He prayed for their baby, and he prayed for much more than that, too. But Jenny would never forgive him for this. How could she?

  ‘I want to see my wife!’ he said to the overwhelmed receptionist at the desk.

  ‘Mr d’Arezzo?’ she verified breathlessly.

  ‘Let me see her,’ he pleaded.

  ‘The doctor wants to see you first, sir.’

  ‘Jenny!’ he cried.

  ‘He looked like a broken man,’ the receptionist was to tell her colleagues in the canteen later.

  Fearing the worst, Matteo paced the room they’d placed him in, and his eyes were bleak when the doctor walked into the room.

  ‘My wife? How is she?’

  ‘Your wife is fine, sir—’

  ‘And the baby.’ Matteo swallowed. ‘She has lost the baby?’

  The doctor shook his head and smiled. ‘No, the baby is fine.’

  ‘It is?’

  ‘Absolutely. The heartbeat is perfect—the scan is normal. We’ve put a drip up, of course, because your wife was dehydrated, and we’d like to keep her in for—’

  ‘But why has this happened?’ breathed Matteo, and dug his nails so hard into his clenched palms that he did not notice he had drawn blood. ‘It is shock which has caused this?’

  ‘Shock? Oh, no. Your wife has food-poisoning, Mr. d’Arezzo. You should tell her to keep clear of prawns in future—particularly during pregnancy.’

  Hot on the heels of exquisite relief that his wife and his baby were going to be all right came the bleak realisation that Jenny would never want him now. How would he feel if the situation were reversed? Could he bear to think of her in the arms of another man? And then to read about it in graphic detail in a newspaper, even if the facts had been twisted?

  He walked along the corridor, and when they showed him into her room she was asleep against a great bank of pillows. She looked so small and so fragile that his heart turned over, and seeing the curve of her belly made an indescribable pain hit him.

  Feast your eyes on her now, he told himself. For this will be the last time you shall see her so defenceless and vulnerable. Your access to her and to the baby will be barred from now on, and she will look at you in the wary and watchful way in which divorced wives do. From now on your relationship with Jenny will consist of brief meetings and visitation rights—and a whole legal framework.

  ‘Aren’t you coming in?’ she said softly, without opening her eyes.

  He stilled. ‘Jenny?’ he whispered hoarsely, as if a ghost had spoken to him.

  She opened her eyes. ‘Hello.’

  He started. ‘Did you hear me come in?’

  ‘Yes.’ And she had felt his presence, too—her senses were so alerted to him.

  He rubbed his hands over his face, suddenly weary. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘So am I.’ She managed a smile, wanting to banish some of the bleakness in his black eyes. ‘But that’s what comes of eating seafood! I shall have to be more careful in future.’ She gave him a wobbly smile. ‘But the baby is safe, thank God.’

  He felt as if she had driven a stake through his heart. ‘Jenny, don’t!’ he said savagely. ‘Rail at me and tell me you hate me, send me away, but don’t do this to me! For when you are kind it makes it so much harder, and I cannot bear to see it crumble—not what I thought we were on the way to regaining—’ He shrugged his big shoulders. ‘I just don’t think I can bear it,’ he repeated brokenly.

  Jennifer stared at him. ‘Matt—you’re not making any sense. Didn’t you hear me properly? Don’t torment yourself. Please. Your baby is safe. Isn’t it wonde
rful?’

  ‘Yes, it’s wonderful,’ he said heavily. ‘But I deserve all the torment in the world.’

  ‘Would you mind telling me what the hell is going on?’

  He blanched, praying for the courage to give his wife the facts which would finally put closure on their marriage. ‘You haven’t been shown a newspaper?’

  Jennifer stilled. ‘No. They’ve been keeping me quiet.’

  He nodded. ‘Well, you’re going to find out sooner or later.’

  ‘Matt, just tell me!’

  ‘Sophia Perotta has given an interview claiming that I cheated on you with her throughout our marriage.’

  Jennifer stared at him, searching his black eyes, the sombre slash of his mouth. ‘You told me that it was just once. Afterwards.’

  He nodded.

  ‘So she’s lying.’

  Matteo stared at her. ‘Jenny?’

  ‘You told me you did not stray in our marriage. I believe you.’ She had to believe him, or else there was no future for them.

  She had done a lot of thinking in that quiet white hospital room, and had come to the conclusion that she couldn’t spend the rest of her life reacting like a spoiled teenager. She was a woman with a baby on the way—who needed to look at a bigger picture than pride and hurt feelings.

  ‘I know what happened between you, and I have to learn to live with that—but that doesn’t mean I need to torture myself with badly written detail. We’ve both made mistakes, Matt, and one of those was my lack of trust, I don’t intend repeating it. It’s the way things were—but I’m more interested in the way things are now. And I’m going to work at our marriage—because I want it to survive.’

  ‘Survival?’ he asked, and his heart sank. ‘That is all you hope for?’

  ‘Isn’t that enough? Trust and respect make a pretty good substitute for love. When we were apart I missed you more than words can say, and I want to be married to you. Just as you want to be married to me. B-because we’re having a baby.’

  ‘No!’ he denied furiously. ‘No!’

  She started. ‘You don’t want to be married to me?’

  He could have kicked himself. She was ill, and yet managing to be so understanding that she’d taken his breath away—while he was behaving with all the finesse of a bull. ‘I don’t want to be married to you just because of the baby,’ he corrected. ‘I want to be married to you because I love you.’

  ‘Don’t say that,’ she said shakily. ‘Please.’

  And then he saw his own fears and uncertainties reflected in her sapphire eyes. ‘Even if it’s true?’ he whispered. ‘And you the great champion of the truth? Do you know something else, Jenny—I will carry on telling you that I love you even if it takes for ever for you to believe me and to learn to love me back again.’

  Joy licked over her skin with warm fingers, and tears began to well up in her eyes and spill down her cheeks. ‘I’m a quick learner,’ she wept. ‘I already do. I’ve never stopped—and if you don’t come over here and hold me properly then I shall create a scene as only an actress can!’

  He was smiling as he took her in his arms—as if she were a delicate parcel and any pressure might make her snap.

  ‘Hold me tighter,’ she protested.

  ‘Later,’ he promised, as he eyed the needle in her arm. ‘I’m not risking the wrath of the doctors.’

  And Jennifer laughed, because she had never seen her husband look intimidated over anything. ‘Won’t you at least kiss me?’

  ‘Mmm.’ His mouth curved. ‘Posso controllare quello,’ he murmured, and touched his lips to hers. He kissed her until he felt her heart hammering like a little bird, and he rested his palm over it and sighed softly. ‘Now you must rest,’ he said firmly. ‘And listen to what I have to tell you about our future.’

  She leaned back against the pillows.

  ‘After my next two films I’m taking a break from acting—because there are a thousand possibilities out there and I don’t want to be at the opposite end of the world from you any more. Especially if you’re on location with the baby.’

  ‘But I won’t be on location with the baby,’ she said softly. ‘Because I don’t want to live that kind of life any more, Matt.’ She edged her way a little farther up the bed. ‘Acting works well for lots of people, but I want to look after my baby myself, and concentrate on you and me. At least for a while. After that we can reconsider—maybe take it in turns to film. Or maybe I’ll just retire and have a big, old-fashioned, Italian-sized family!’

  Matteo stared at her, his black eyes full of gratitude and wonder. And excitement. Because for the first time in his life he could understand what it was all about. The houses didn’t matter, nor did the awards and the fame and the riches. Jenny and the baby they would have—they were what mattered. His family. Their family.

  They were still blinking at each other like two people who had emerged into the sunlight after a long time in the dark when there was a brisk rap on the door. In walked a nurse, with two minders close behind.

  One of them came up to Matteo and spoke rapidly in his ear. When he’d finished, Matteo looked over at Jenny.

  ‘Much as I’m grateful for your mother’s spirited defence of my morals—I think I’d better go downstairs, cara mia,’ he said, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth. ‘I’m afraid that your mother has just started to hold a press conference!’

  * * * * *

  Keep reading for an excerpt from Playing the Royal Game by Carol Marinelli

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  CHAPTER ONE

  SHE was better off without the job, Allegra told herself.

  No one should have to put up with that.

  Except that walking in the rain along grey London streets, taking the underground to various employment agencies, the anger that her boss could make such a blatant a pass at her and then fire her for not succumbing started to be replaced with something that felt close to fear.

  She needed that job.

  Needed it.

  Her savings had been obliterated by the bottomless pit that was her family’s excess spending. At times it felt as if her lowly publishing wage supported half the Jackson family. Yes, she was the boring reliable one, but they didn’t mind her dependability when their erratic ways found them in trouble. Just last week she had lent her stepmother, Chantelle, close to five thousand pounds in cash for credit card debts that her father didn’t know about. It was laughable to think that she might now have to have her family support her.

  It was a miserable day, with no sign that it was spring; instead it was cold and wet, and Allegra dug her hands deeper into her trench coat pockets, her fingers curling around a fifty-pound note she had pulled out of the ATM. If her boss refused to put her pay in tomorrow it was all she had before being completely broke.

  No!

  She’d been through worse than this, Allegra decided. As Bobby Jackson’s daughter she was all too used to
the bailiffs but her father always managed to pick himself up; he never let it get him down. She was not going to sink, but hell, if she did, then she’d sink in style!

  Pushing open a bar door, she walked in with her head held high, the heat hitting her as she entered, and Allegra slipped off her coat and hung it, her hair dripping wet and cold down her back. Normally she wouldn’t entertain entering some random bar, but still, at least it was warm and she could sit down and finally gather her thoughts.

  There had been a confidence to her as she’d stalked out of her office with dignity. With her track record and her job history, a lot of the agencies had called over the years offering her freelance work.

  It had been sobering indeed to find out that they were hiring no one, that the financial crisis and changes to the industry meant that there were no causal jobs waiting for her to step into.

  None.

  Well, a chance for a couple, but they added up to about three hours’ work per month.

  Per month!

  Allegra was about to head to the bar but, glancing around, saw that it was table service so she walked over to a small alcove and took a seat, the plush couch lined with velvet. Despite its rather dingy appearance from the street, inside it was actually very nice and the prices on the menu verified that as fact.

  She looked up at the sound of laughter—a group of well-dressed women were sipping on cocktails and Allegra couldn’t help but envy their buoyant mood. As her eyes moved away from the jovial women they stilled for a fraction, because there, sitting at a table near them, lost in his own world, was possibly the most beautiful man ever to come into her line of vision. Dark suited, his thick brown hair was raked back to show an immaculate profile, high cheekbones and a very straight nose; his long legs were stretched out and crossed at the ankle. But despite his rather languorous position, as he stared into his glass there was a pensiveness to him, a furrow between his eyebrows that showed he was deep in thought. The furrow deepened as there was another outbreak of laughter from the women’s table, and just as he looked up, just as he might have caught her watching, Allegra was terribly grateful for the distraction of the waitress who approached.