Page 29 of Happy Mother's Day!

‘You miss me?’ he questioned.

If the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious, Aisling might almost have laughed at his arrogance. ‘That’s not why I’m ringing.’

‘Then just why are you ringing?’ he questioned coolly.

It was not something she had planned to say over the telephone—but what choice did she have?

‘I’m pregnant, Gianluca. With your child.’

There was a silence so long, that for a moment Aisling thought that the connection might have been broken, but as soon as she heard his harsh, cold voice she knew she had been wrong.

‘What’s your address?’ he demanded.

‘W-why?’

; ‘Why do you think?’ he demanded furiously. ‘I’m on my way!’

CHAPTER NINE

GIANLUCA was angry when the plane touched down at the private airfield outside London and even angrier when his car became snarled in a jam outside the capital.

‘Can’t you hurry it up?’ he demanded.

The chauffeur shot a quick glance in his mirror. ‘I can try, sir.’

To give the man his credit, he did. They passed the river and then row upon row of narrow streets, crammed with houses which looked tiny to Gianluca’s eyes.

‘We’re here, sir.’

‘Pull up a little way back,’ Gianluca instructed—because instinct made him want to see her before she saw him. As the car pulled to a halt in front of a tall house, not far from the tube station, Gianluca sat there—brooding and waiting.

How things could change, he thought—and how quickly.

Earlier that day, he had risen from his bed and showered, slid into one of his immaculate suits and drunk some coffee. He had been excited about a new merger—but even more excited about setting up a school sports programme which was to be affiliated with the new football stadium.

Before his breakfast had even been completed he had arranged to buy a new helicopter and refused the opportunity to take part in a forthcoming television series about successful tycoons. Overall, his feeling as he had been driven to work had been one of a quietly underlying sense of satisfaction. The world according to Gianluca.

And then had come Aisling’s phone call.

Apparently he was going to be a father!

Cancelling all his meetings, he had made a few calls before immediately arranging a plane to take him to England. During the flight and the drive from the airport, his thoughts had spun round and round in an unchanging circle as he tried to work out the approximate date of the last time he’d slept with her. Because if she was telling the truth and he was the father of her child as she had implied—then the baby must be due any time soon!

He stared out at the tree-lined road. It was the most beautiful English summer’s evening—with the intense green leaves of the trees almost blocking out the bright blue of the sky above. Sunlight dappled through the available space, making bright, unmoving patterns on the dusty pavement—for there was not a trace of wind.

But Gianluca found himself looking at it with a highly critical eye. This place was pleasant enough, yes—but it was surrounded by the rest of the city with its noise and crowds and potential dangers. Was this where she planned to bring up the baby? In a culture so alien to his own? And was she intending to give him any say in the matter?

And then he saw a woman walking down the road, walking slowly and rather awkwardly as if the weight of the bags she carried and the heat of the late afternoon were proving too much.

His eyes narrowed and for a moment he didn’t recognise her, even though the jacket of her pale summer suit had been cut cleverly in an attempt to conceal her pregnancy. But there was no tailor in the world—no matter how talented—who could disguise the tell-tale signs of impending birth and Gianluca stared at her incredulously as she grew closer.

Madonna mia—but this could not be Aisling!

Narrowing his eyes, he realised he hadn’t thought of the baby in real terms—his head had known the facts, but his heart had refused to accept them. He must have slept with her last … last November. He knew that. But time passed and you barely noticed it. That was how lives went by.

Yet this.