The Arabian Love-Child. Michelle Reid

you’re not.’ Mouth set in a stubborn line, Melanie glared at her with a warning look. ‘I had a bad experience today but I’m all right,’ she insisted, and to prove it she gathered up the tea mugs and took them to the sink. ‘Maybe I even needed it to help me move on from the past.’

      ‘You believe you can do that?’ Sophia sounded sceptical.

      Maybe she was right to. ‘I have no choice.’ Just as soon as I’ve got my papers back, she thought with a shiver. ‘Because I won’t be repeating the same mistake twice.’

      It was such a complete, final statement that Sophia didn’t even attempt to say another word. Ten minutes later she’d gone, leaving Melanie with the rest of the afternoon stretching out in front of her like a long dark road filled with nerve-stretching uncertainty—and a heartache she didn’t want to feel.

      She called Randal’s office three times with no satisfaction. Actually picked up the phone to call Rafiq’s secretary, only to change her mind when his final words came back to hit her full in the face. She would not even get beyond the main switchboard.

      How could a man fester in such hatred that it could make him want to humiliate her like that? Tears threatened again; she swallowed them down and went upstairs to change out of her suit. As she removed the jacket she caught sight of herself in the mirror, saw the black lacy bra and relived the feeling of long brown fingers staking their claim. She shuddered, despising herself for being so easy, finished removing the suit and scrambled into a pair of faded old jeans and a roll-neck top that covered everything. By the time she walked downstairs a few minutes later she was the casual Melanie her son was used to seeing when he arrived home from school. No sign of designer clothes left anywhere for him to pick up on. No hint that she’d been doing anything today that was different from any other day.

      Robbie arrived with a shout and a bump of his school bag against the polished hall floor. She turned from chopping vegetables at the sink to watch him come in through the kitchen door. His maroon and gold striped tie had flipped over his shoulder, and beneath his gaping school blazer she could see the white tails of his shirt hanging free from grey school trousers. One grey sock was up, the other was down, and his glossy black hair looked as if it had been in a fight.

      Her heart dropped like a stricken bird, because even with his rumpled appearance he was hitting her hard with his father’s image.

      ‘Hi,’ he said. ‘Guess what we did today?’

      ‘What?’ she asked.