Bella had every confidence, however, that Sergio would not let her down, not after telling her to book a flight. Sergio had obviously matured into a decent man, like his father. Nothing like the kind of man she kept getting mixed up with and who always let her down in the end.
‘It must be somewhere warm, by the look of the clothes you’re taking,’ her mother said, having not moved an inch from where she was standing at the foot of the bed, her arms crossed, her expression as stubborn as usual.
Bella didn’t comment, just kept on packing.
‘Dare I hope you’ve come to your senses and are going to meet up with Andrei in Europe somewhere? It is summer over there, isn’t it? If truth be told, I still can’t fathom why you left him in the first place.’
Exasperation finally had Bella’s head lifting, her glare more than a little angry. ‘I didn’t actually leave Andrei, Mum. We never lived together. I broke up with him because he was sleeping with other women at the same time as he was sleeping with me.’
‘So you said. But truly, Bella, all seriously wealthy men have wandering eyes. And Andrei isn’t just wealthy. He’s a billionaire many times over. I read on the internet that he’s just opened the most luxurious hotel in the world in Istanbul. Just think what kind of life you could have as his wife. He doesn’t care about those other girls. It’s you he pursued and wanted. You he would have proposed to, in the end.’
‘No, he wouldn’t have, Mum. Andrei’s not the marrying kind.’
‘Which is why I advised you to get pregnant. He would have married you then. A proud man like that would not have wanted to have an illegitimate child.’
Bella shook her head, thinking ruefully she should have told her mother the truth about Andrei. Yes, he was proud but was also totally selfish with absolutely no conscience. He’d fallen in lust with her when he’d seen her on stage one night in New York, pursuing her quite ruthlessly—and romantically—till she’d given in and gone to bed with him. At the time, she’d actually thought he loved her, and vice versa.
Unfortunately, their sex life was not a great success. Her fault, of course. It was always her fault; all of her lovers over the years—and there’d been a lot less than the tabloids suggested—having grown bored with her after a relatively short while. None of them could believe that she was actually quite shy in the bedroom. That was why she’d been a virgin till she was twenty-one, and why it always took a very determined admirer to seduce her.
When Bella had confronted Andrei with his unfaithfulness last year—his cavorting on the deck of his yacht with some female had been all over the gossip rags—he’d claimed that her lack of passion was why he had to have other women. He’d said he’d grown tired of her refusing to do all the erotic and exotic things he craved. But he would put up with her being somewhat boring in bed, he’d added, because he loved having a woman of her exquisite beauty on his arm in public. He’d even offered to buy her an apartment in Paris, if she would overlook his other mistresses and continue to go out with him. He’d actually been shocked when she’d told him their relationship—such as it was—was over. Andrei was not used to rejection from the opposite sex.
Of course, if Bella had told her mother all that, she would have said that she’d been a fool not to at least accept the apartment in Paris.
She was indomitable, her mother. Indomitable and dominating and downright infuriating, with a moral compass that was as suspect as Andrei’s. Bella had grown up thinking Dolores was wonderful: a single mother who’d become estranged from her own family when she’d fallen pregnant during a working holiday overseas; supposedly seduced by a married Swedish chap she’d met on the snowfields of Switzerland. She’d refused to tell her disgusted parents the father’s name, refused to have an abortion, then refused to live under their roof by their rules. Bella had admired that. If it were true, that was. She’d come to believe in recent times that maybe a lot of what Dolores had told her over the years might not have been strictly true. Still, it was true that Dolores had worked hard to give her daughter everything she’d needed. She’d even managed to budget her meagre wage as a receptionist to pay for dance and singing lessons. Though not with the kind of teacher she’d wanted for her talented Isabel.
So when a new boss had arrived on the scene, an Italian widower who’d been sent out to Sydney by his father to head the Australian branch of the family’s import business, Dolores had seen the answer to all her problems. From photographs Bella had seen, Dolores had been a very attractive woman back then. Poor Alberto hadn’t stood a chance, and soon Dolores had acquired a husband able to provide everything for his new stepdaughter that Dolores had wanted. Not only the best private tuition money could buy but also enrolment at a top school that specialised in the performing arts.
And the rest, as they said, was history.
Bella looked at her mother and wished she didn’t still love the woman. Impossible not to, she supposed. She was her mother. On top of that, she knew Dolores did love Bella back, even if she was a pain in the neck.
‘Mum,’ she said firmly. ‘I am not going to Europe to meet up with Andrei. Neither am I going to tell you where I’m going, except to say that I am going alone. Now I want you to leave this room ASAP. If you don’t, I will pick you up bodily and carry you out.’ Which she could. All those years of dancing had made Bella very strong. She was also a good eight inches taller than her mother, who barely topped five feet. Bella had obviously inherited her height and fair colouring from her Swedish father.
‘Well, really!’ Dolores exclaimed with a huff and a puff. ‘There’s no need to get nasty. I don’t need telling twice when I’m not wanted. Just don’t come crawling back to me the next time you need a place to run to.’ And she stormed off.
Just in time too, Bella’s phone ringing less than ten seconds after Dolores had slammed the bedroom door.
Relief flooded Bella when she saw it was Sergio calling. Relief and excitement. Already she was looking forward to seeing him again; to being in the company of someone she could relax with.
‘Sergio,’ she answered with pleasure in her voice. ‘I’ve been waiting for you to call. As luck would have it, I’ve been able to get a flight which leaves Mascot late this afternoon.’
‘That was quick,’ he said.
‘Yes, well, flying first class does have its advantages. But there’s still two stopovers. One in Singapore and one in Rome. I won’t arrive in Milan for simply ages.’
His silence on the other end of the line worried her for a moment. ‘You still want me to come, don’t you?’
‘Oh, definitely,’ he said. ‘I’m very much looking forward to it.’
Bella smiled. It was good that he actually wanted her to come. She didn’t like to think he’d said yes out of pity for her.
‘It will be good to catch up,’ she said. ‘I’ll want to hear about everything you’ve been up to over the past decade or so. I know we ran into each other a few years back but we didn’t actually talk much. I presume you’ve been successful at whatever you’ve been doing. You looked very impressive that night. But then you always were frightfully clever.’
‘I’ve done all right for myself over the years,’ he said with a modesty she wasn’t used to in men. Usually they couldn’t wait to brag. ‘As have you, Bella. Impossible not to know about your successes when your life is lived in the spotlight. But let’s not waste time exchanging personal details over the phone. I’d much rather do that when I see you in the flesh. Now I suggest you text me the time of your arrival when you get closer to Milan airport—at your last stopover, perhaps—and I will arrange for a car to pick you up. What name will you be travelling under? Not Bella, I hope.’
‘Good