A Husband's Vendetta. SARA WOOD
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she wasn’t ready to risk a new relationship. Some time in the future, perhaps. Not now.
‘OK. Coming!’
Reluctantly she replaced the school photo. Her daughter was growing up fast—without her. Ellen drew in a ragged breath and scrubbed her eyes with a handkerchief. Tough. That was her lot. Some people had worse burdens.
Fiercely counting her blessings, she stood up, rearranged her face into an expression of polite enquiry and yanked her skirt snugly into place as her fluid stride took her quickly across the poky little room and she began her struggle with the door.
‘Push!’ she yelled.
Cyril leant his considerable body-weight against the door, and after a while they managed to drag it open. ‘Sounded urgent,’ he wheezed, in his sleazy manner.
As always, he did his best to remove her clothes by will-power alone, leering eagerly at her bra-less top and her bare legs and feet. Ellen gave him a cool and level stare.
‘Then I suggest you move out of my way so I can get to the phone quickly,’ she said briskly, determined not to squeeze past his sweating bulk on the narrow landing.
He smirked, clearly wanting her to do just that. Ellen hardened her eyes till they gleamed like flint, folded her arms and took a purposeful step forward. ‘Move,’ she said, sweetness laced with steel. ‘Or delicate parts of your person and my knee will become painfully acquainted.’
He stepped aside faster than she would have thought possible. With her body jarring on every angry thump of her bare heels, she stalked to the phone.
Girl power 1, vile old man 0! She blessed the girls in the supermarket where she worked during the day. It was they who’d taught her how to deal with male harassment and had coaxed her back into the real world again.
‘Italian bloke. Loo-charno,’ offered Cyril grumpily.
Luciano! Her stomach and heart did a few high jumps. Incredulously, she saw that her hands had begun to shake at the prospect of talking to him. Since their parting they’d only spoken through intermediaries.
Suddenly, into her head came the unforgettable sound of his liquid, seductive voice which made everything he said sound lyrical and sensual—even the reading of a shopping list. She’d adored listening to him. Often she’d coaxed him to talk about his life in Naples purely to hear him speak.
Her bones seemed to flow like warm treacle in anticipation. ‘OK. Thanks,’ she said, trying to get them back to their normal state. What a stupid reaction!
And then it dawned on her why he must be calling. Gemma! Something must be wrong! Petrified, she froze, staring at the dangling receiver and listening in dismay to the violent bumping of her heart.
Cyril’s hot breath drifted moistly over the long sweep of her exposed neck, sending shivers down her back. ‘Men are always calling you!’ he complained loudly. ‘I’m fed up with answering the phone and taking messages.’
‘You’re exaggerating! This,’ she snapped, grabbing the receiver from him and covering the mouthpiece as a precaution, ‘is probably my husband.’ Wisely she omitted the word ‘estranged’. ‘A bad-tempered and possessive man, topping six foot and with the biceps of an ox,’ she invented in a rush, desperate to get rid of her landlord.
To her relief, Cyril took the heavy hint. In the ensuing silence, she could hear Luc impatiently calling her name. Her breathing quickened. She knew he wouldn’t have rung unless it was a real emergency. Blocking her mind to several nightmare scenarios, she made herself speak.
‘I’m here,’ she said, fear making her voice catch breathily in her throat. ‘Is it Gemma? Is she all right? What—?’
‘She’s fine,’ he broke in.
‘Thank goodness!’
Ellen subsided in relief and then registered that he didn’t sound liquid or seductive at all. In fact he seemed positively furious, his voice harsh and rasping.
‘Who was that man I spoke to?’ he demanded.
Ellen blinked, her anxiety forgotten. ‘Nobody you need to know about!’ she replied in stunned surprise.
‘I do. So stop stalling and tell me!’ Luc ordered.
‘What on earth for?’ she countered, bristling at his arrogant manner.
‘Because,’ he said tightly, ‘he was panting.’
In exasperation she racked her brains to understand why that should annoy him so much, but couldn’t think of any explanation. ‘Probably. He often does,’ she agreed, like a mother humouring a child.
Luc inhaled deeply, as if she’d said something inflammatory. ‘Because he suffers from asthma,’ he queried cut-tingly, ‘or because I interrupted something intimate?’
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!