The Italian's Baby. Lucy Gordon

Black silk stockings sheathed her legs, finishing in dainty black sandals. Tonight she let her long blonde hair flow freely in a ‘natural’ style that had taken the beauty parlour three hours to perfect, and which set the seal on her glamour. Her solid gold necklace and earrings were Danvers’ gift ‘to mark the occasion’.

      ‘We still don’t know who’s actually coming tonight,’ he remarked as the car purred into the drive. ‘Raditore has played coy as to whether it’ll be the chairman, chief executive or managing director.’

      ‘Does it matter?’ she asked. ‘I know my job, and I it’ll be much the same whoever it is.’

      ‘That’s right. Just make his head spin. I must say, you’re dressed for it. I’ve never seen you looking so good.’

      ‘Thank you.’

      ‘I’m always proud of you.’

      ‘Thank you,’ she said again, speaking mechanically. It was hard to respond in any way, since Danvers paid compliments as though ticking off a list.

      The car glided silently through the gate, down the long drive to the house. When they were nearly there Rebecca had a moment of strange and disturbing consciousness.

      Suddenly the luxurious car was every luxurious car she had ever journeyed in, the huge, moneyed house was the end of a long line of moneyed houses, the dinner party to meet rich men, and charm them, was indistinguishable from so many—too many—others.

      There was the house, the front door being pulled open, her hosts coming out onto the step, welcoming smiles in place. Philip Steyne’s suit had been tailored in Savile Row, his wife’s dress was haute couture. Like so many others.

      ‘Danvers, Rebecca, how lovely to see you. Come in, come—Rebecca, you look lovely as always—what a lovely dress…’

      The same words said a hundred times by a hundred people. And her own response, indistinguishable from before. The same smiles, the same laughter, the same emptiness.

      Philip Steyne murmured in her ear, ‘Well done. You’ll reduce him to jelly.’

      ‘Is he here?’

      ‘Arrived ten minutes ago. Just through here.’

      Again, just as before. But then, thankfully, the moment passed and she was free again to live her life on the surface, without thinking or feeling too much. Because only in that way was existence tolerable.

      It had been a bad few minutes, but she was all right again now.

      It was in this mood that she walked into the next room and saw Luca Montese for the first time in fifteen years.

      Now they were settled they could plan the wedding.

      ‘Carissima, you don’t mind a simple ceremony with no gorgeous bridal gown?’

      She chuckled. ‘I’d look a bit odd in a gorgeous bridal gown and a seven-month bulge. And I don’t want fuss. I just want you.’

      They were going to bed and he tucked her up, then knelt down beside her, taking her hands in his and speaking in a low, reverent voice that she had never heard before.

      ‘The day after tomorrow we will be married. We shall stand before God and make sacred promises. But I tell you that none of them will be as sacred as those I make to you now. I promise you that my heart, my love and my whole life belong to you, and always will.’

      He spoke like a man uttering a prayer.

      ‘Do you understand?’ he urged. ‘Whether my life be long or short, every moment of it will be spent in your service.’

      He laid his hand gently over her bulge.

      ‘And you, little one—you too I will love and protect in every way. You will be safe and happy, because your mama and papa love you.’

      Becky tried to answer him, but no words would come through her tears.

      ‘Oh, Luca,’ she managed to say at last, ‘if I could only tell you—’

      ‘Hush, carissima. You do not need to tell me what I see in your eyes.’

      He took her face between his hands and looked down at her searchingly.

      ‘You will always be to me as you are at this moment,’ he whispered before kissing her with heart-stopping gentleness.

      She slept in his arms that night, and awoke to his kiss in the early morning. He was going to work sooner than usual, so that he could come home early to help with last-minute preparations for their wedding.

      Becky spent the day tidying the house, and making sure they had enough food and wine for their friends. She was just putting the kettle on for a much needed cup of tea when the doorbell rang.

      It was almost a relief to find Frank standing there. She felt safer now, because surely her bulge would make him accept the inevitable?

      ‘Hello, Dad.’

      ‘Hello, Becky. Can I come in?’

      He entered without seeming to notice her shape. He had a gift for not noticing what didn’t suit him.

      ‘You’re on your own, I see. Got tired of you already, has he?’

      ‘Dad, it’s three in the afternoon. He’s at work, but he’ll be home any minute.’

      ‘So you say.’

      She’d known then that it wasn’t going to be easy after all. But she tried.

      ‘It’s nice to see you—’

      ‘Yes, I expect you’re fed up with all this.’

      ‘No, I’m not. This is my life. Look around you at all this food and wine. It’s for our wedding reception tomorrow.’

      He shot her a sharp look.

      ‘So you’re not married? Good, then I’m in time.’

      ‘I’m having Luca’s baby, and I’m going to marry him,’ she said firmly. ‘Won’t you come to the wedding and drink our health, and be our friend?’