A Husband's Vendetta

She burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Luc, if you only knew!’ she spluttered.

Luc growled something rude under his breath, her laughter doing little for his bad temper. ‘I don’t. I’m trying to find out why you took so long to answer.’

Her laughter faded away and her jaw dropped open in amazement. ‘What is this? Working for the KGB, are you?’ she asked crossly.

‘I want to know,’ he said, giving each word heavy emphasis.

Ellen glared, wishing fervently that her contempt could be conveyed down the line. Wasn’t it just typical that Luc’s first thought was to imagine the worst of her? And who the hell did he think he was, asking about her private life?

‘I took a while to answer the phone because my door was stuck,’ she said coolly.

‘Is that so?’

She felt her hackles rising. She’d told the truth. The jammed door had delayed her. But he didn’t believe her. He never believed her.

‘Look, the man lives here. He has every right to answer the phone. Do you have a problem with that?’ she asked, upping the count of frost particles in her voice.

From his silence, it seemed he did, though again she couldn’t understand why. And then she remembered that he didn’t know she lived in a block of flats. He’d assumed that Cyril had answered the phone because they lived together. She frowned. Surely there was nothing wrong with that, even if it were true?

‘You didn’t tell me you had a lover.’

‘No, I didn’t,’ she agreed.

Judging by the heavy breathing at Luc’s end, either he was developing asthma, had just made love himself, or her non-replies were driving him crazy. She grinned to herself, pleased with the fact that she wasn’t melting all over the floor in response to Luc’s voice—or quivering with nerves from his intimidation.

‘So. You omit to tell me something that could affect Gemma. Could your relationship with this man be responsible for her distress last time she visited you?’ he rapped out, for all the world, Ellen thought in amazement, like a prosecutor on a murder case!

‘Absolutely not! I’ve no idea what upset her,’ she answered confidently.

‘Unfortunately I can imagine,’ Luc muttered. ‘Gemma must have been in the way. You had other things on your mind.’

Displeasure and disgust riddled every word. She had an instant and compelling image of him, as clear as if he stood in front of her. Painfully she saw the anger blazing in his smouldering dark eyes, that anger as volatile as a volcano. But then he came from Naples, which was close to Vesuvius, and he’d told her once that people there tended to live each moment to its fullest, loving and hating with intense passion.

That was Luc. Her last memory of him was frozen in that moment when his emotions had erupted and destroyed her. It was frightening how a man could turn from lover to tyrant in a matter of weeks.

God, she’d loved him! Every glorious, gorgeous inch. The glossy black hair, the olive skin and ruinously exotic cheekbones… Ellen groaned. Life was springing into her sexually slumbering body now: fierce, urgent and utterly pointless.

Why was she doing this to herself? Why torment herself with memories of earth-shattering sex, of days in bed, hours talking, sitting silently and just gazing into each other’s eyes? A searing ache slashed at her like a lightning bolt from her breast to the apex of her loins, and she uttered a shuddering gasp of dismay.

‘What the devil is going on now?’ Luc demanded furiously.

‘Nothing!’ she mumbled. But that was untrue. There was a battle raging between her brain and her hormones. ‘Am I forbidden to breathe in and out now?’

‘If that was breathing, your lungs need attention,’ he said scathingly. ‘Get rid of the boyfriend! Tell him to stop playing around! I refuse to talk to you while he whispers sweet nothings—and does God knows what—!’

‘Are you mad?’ she broke in, astounded by his vehemence. ‘Why are you making such an issue of this? You don’t own me body and soul any more! I might have been making mad, passionate love on the kitchen table; you might have interrupted me with my lover,’ she rampaged on, deciding to let Luc stew. ‘But what’s that to you? It’s not any of your business what I get up to!’

‘Unfortunately it is!’ he insisted. ‘Your morals are very much my business. I have to protect my daughter.’

‘From what?’

‘You! And your lovers. I won’t have Gemma mixing with people of dubious character. I don’t want her watching one man after another pawing you—!’

‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, give me some credit!’ she snorted. ‘What do you think I do when she comes to stay?’ she asked indignantly. ‘Take her out for a lesson in needle techniques with a bunch of drug addicts? Read the kiddies’ Bedtime Kama Sutra? Bed three men a night?’ she suggested, so angry that her imagination was overheating.

‘How the devil would I know?’ he flung back. ‘You always wanted freedom from responsibility. And you had one hell of a sex drive—’

‘God, Luc!’ she fumed, her disgust growing with every word he uttered. This wasn’t funny any more. He’d woken her desire. She’d responded only to him. How could he not realise that? She wanted to punch him on the nose for being so dense. ‘You’ve built up a nasty little picture of me in your head, haven’t you? You really think I’m stupid, selfish and irresponsible—’

‘You said it. And, remember, you proved it.’ He let the accusation lie there in a heavy silence which it was beneath her pride to break. She heard him give a heavy sigh of defeat. ‘Now what?’ he muttered, as if to himself. ‘I clearly can’t trust you.’

She felt a small pang, knowing that it must be hard for him to surrender Gemma to someone he thought was utterly irresponsible.

‘I understand why you worry,’ she said, with marginally more sympathy. ‘I see why you were quizzing me. But I assure you that she’s perfectly safe with me—’

‘I would like to believe that. But… Oh, forget it. This is pointless—’

‘No, it’s not!’ she cried quickly, scared that he’d cut her access time. She could have kicked herself for not telling him about Cyril straight away. But it was too late now. He’d never accept her explanation. ‘You must know that I’d never do anything to upset or hurt her,’ she said fervently.

‘Is that so?’ he bit. ‘What do you call abandoning her, then? Why ignore her needs—and why did you run away the minute motherhood didn’t turn out to be all coochiecoos and dimpled cheeks?’

She couldn’t speak. He’d struck her dumb with his cruelty.

‘You can’t answer, can you?’ he said bitterly. ‘God, I was a fool to imagine you’d change. I should have realised that you’d still be going your own sweet way and indulging your selfish needs with an over-active love life—’

Ellen interrupted him with a groan. She lifted her eyes to the ceiling in exasperation. What love life?

‘Tell me about it!’ she said wryly.

‘I only know what I heard your lover say. It seems you’re not even faithful to him,’ Luc said coldly. ‘Poor fool seemed to think I was another of your boyfriends. Is it any wonder that I despair of your morals? Do you know what it does to me, to imagine—’ He broke off. Then he continued with a blistering passion. ‘To imagine my daughter being exposed to the seamier side of life?’

Her teeth ground together hard. She seriously contemplated banging the phone down and ending this pointless conversation. He wasn’t to know that men might pester her, but she kept her distance because as sure as hell she wasn’t going to be hurt so badly again. Nor was she going to tell him. But she’d give as good as she got.

‘So it’s OK for you to take women-friends and Gemma skiing or lazing on beaches in the Caribbean,’ she said, sweetly poisonous, ‘but I have to live like a Carmelite nun?’

‘I should be so lucky.’ He grunted. ‘If you did, at least I’d know Gemma would be cared for and protected.’

‘She is cared for and protected when she’s here!’

‘Huh.’ He sounded utterly unconvinced. ‘What exactly did she tell you about our holidays?’ he asked warily.

Ellen winced. He obviously had things to hide. ‘Not a word. She never speaks about you. Or your home,’ she replied, feeling suddenly mournful. ‘I developed a roll of film for her when she was here in August.’

Seeing the holiday pictures had driven home some painful truths. Luc had no hang-ups about his shattered marriage. The photos had shown him with Gemma, laughing and fooling around and totally at ease with two gorgeous women. She made a face. Was there any other kind where Luc was concerned?

She’d pored over the snaps when Gemma had gone to bed. The intense happiness in her daughter’s face had made her cry. She knew she could never have that effect on her child. It had been a terrible moment, one she’d never forget.

And it was bad enough that she couldn’t afford to take her daughter anywhere exciting, let alone seeing her child being cuddled by a couple of Miss Worlds. One day, Miss World would become Miss Right.