Chapter 16
Leigh Anne hadn’t made a single social call since the carriage accident had destroyed her ability to walk.
That had now changed. The episode with that hideous O’Donnell replayed time and again in her mind.
But she was determined: O’Donnell was not going to destroy her family.
So she was calling on the only person who might actually lend her fifteen thousand dollars—and do so discreetly.
She intended to convince Bartolla Benevente, the wealthy Italian countess, to lend her the vast sum, and if persuasion was not enough, she was prepared to go even further.
Her stomach was in knots. Trembling, she remained seated in her wheeled chair in the foyer of the Channing home, Peter hovering by her.
Bartolla was wealthy, although no one knew exactly how great the fortune was that her dead husband had left her.
She certainly had fifteen thousand dollars, Leigh Anne thought.
However, Leigh Anne knew Bartolla well enough to know that she was selfish and even malicious.
Leigh Anne wished she could share this terrible burden with Rick.
She had actually considered doing so, but she had realized almost instantly that she could not tell him what had happened.
He would arrest O’Donnell, she was certain of it.
What if the courts failed to convict him?
Or what if he was released on bail before any trial?
She was terrified of him. He would come back, she knew it, only this time it would be worse.
Perhaps he would go so far as to abduct the girls.
He was clearly evil and vengeful. Or he might harass her again.
She knew he would not be adverse to using his male power over her and that thought sickened her impossibly.
She was shaking with her fear and her determination. Rick’s income was modest and they had little savings, so she could not go to the banks, as they would never extend such credit to her. Nor could she go to his wealthy family without Rick knowing. Her sole recourse was the countess.
The last time she had seen Bartolla was when the countess had called on her at home, at least a month ago.
Bartolla had seemed to delight in Leigh Anne’s new circumstances.
Leigh Anne had understood. Bartolla enjoyed being the most beautiful woman in any room, and she had always looked at Leigh Anne as if they were rivals, when that was not the case.
While they were not exactly friends, Leigh Anne had never considered her a threat, and they were certainly more than acquaintances.
They had spent some time together in Europe, and not just on social occasions.
It had been completely natural for two American women in a foreign country to seek each other out for shopping and luncheons and chitchat.
God, it seemed like a different lifetime, Leigh Anne thought, perspiring.
Bartolla sailed into the entry hall, a bright smile on her face.
As always, she was beautifully attired in silk and diamonds.
“Leigh Anne! I am thrilled that you have decided to get out and about, at last! I wondered if you would ever return my call. You must be feeling so much better,” she gushed, bending down toward Leigh Anne so she could peck her cheek.
She made an effort to do so, just so Leigh Anne might notice how inconvenient it was to now greet her in her chair.
“Or have you become used to that chair?”
Leigh Anne felt herself smile. The act was a monumental feat.
She did not miss the verbal barb, but she would take any knives that Bartolla wished to throw her way.
“My dear, please forgive me for my rudeness in taking so long to return your call. But you are the very first call I am making since my accident.” Leigh Anne’s mouth was dry.
This was the first time she had ever referred to the accident with anyone other than Rick.
Bartolla must have somehow known. Her eyes widened a fraction with some surprise. “I am so flattered.” She turned toward Peter. “Please, push Mrs. Bragg into the salon so we may sit and chat more comfortably.”
Peter obeyed. The big Swede had been in a state of distress ever since O’Donnell had left and Leigh Anne had refused to let him summon Rick.
She knew how loyal and devoted he was to them both, and he had witnessed firsthand her depression, her sorrow and her inability to get out of the house these past few months.
Understandably, he was suspicious of her outing now.
When he had wheeled her into the salon, Bartolla following, Leigh Anne smiled firmly at him in dismissal. He left the room, leaving both women alone in its vast, exotic interior.
“How is the police commissioner? He must be frantically trying to solve Daisy Jones’s murder.”
“He is deeply involved in the investigation. Of course, he does not apprise me of police affairs,” Leigh Anne said, although that was not quite the truth.
Bartolla gave her a skeptical look. “Is he hoping Hart really is guilty of the dastardly deed?” She laughed.
Leigh Anne controlled a flash of anger. Hart was Rick’s half brother and despite their enmity, that made him family. “Hart is not a murderer. Surely you remain friends with him, and with Francesca?”
Bartolla merely smiled benignly. “Hart despises me—and I despise him. But of course, I adore Francesca. She is so good and she can do no wrong, ever!”
Leigh Anne did not like the sound of that, but she could not be diverted now. “Bartolla, how is Evan?”
“Wonderful, wonderful, and thank you for asking. We are more in love than ever.” She lowered her voice. “We shall soon tie the knot, I think, my dear, and I have never been happier.”
“I am so happy for you.” Her heart continued to race madly in her chest. “Our lives have certainly changed, haven’t they, since we were both in Europe?”
“Yes, our lives have changed. I hadn’t really thought about it.”
Sweat ran down Leigh Anne’s body in streams. “Dear, I was actually hoping to ask a rather important favor of you. I am in a bit of a difficult situation,” she managed to say.
Leigh Anne could feel Bartolla’s avid curiosity—or was it delight? “You wish to ask me a favor? How odd! What trouble could you possibly be in? Other than the fact that you have suffered a terrible, tragic accident, of course.”
Leigh Anne smiled stiffly. Bartolla was never going to let her forget that she was crippled for life. “I really cannot say. I do know this request is somewhat unusual, but…could you lend me some funds? It is extremely important,” she added nervously.
Bartolla was clearly stunned by the request. “You wish to borrow money from me? But of course, Rick works and makes a modest living. Are you thinking of buying some expensive jewelry? Why wouldn’t you approach his father? Rathe Bragg is a millionaire.”
“I can’t. This favor must remain a private matter, strictly between you and me.”
Bartolla understood. “You don’t want Rick to know.”
It was so hard to do this, Leigh Anne thought. But then an image of the girls swept through her mind, Dot so blond and angelic, Katie so worried and needy. “No, he can never know.”
Bartolla took a closer seat. She leaned forward. “This is intriguing!”
“It really isn’t,” Leigh Anne somehow said.
“Well, what do you want the money for? I must know!”
Leigh Anne had no intention of telling her. “Bartolla, I am afraid that is also a very private matter. But I am quite desperate. I am asking you for help. I will be indebted to you forever.”
Bartolla blinked, sitting upright now. After a thoughtful pause, she said, “Well. How much do you need?”
Leigh Anne felt her lips stretch into a frozen smile. “Fifteen thousand dollars.”
Bartolla cried out. “That is a small fortune!”
“Yes, and your husband left you a fortune. Please.” Leigh Anne felt as if she could no longer breathe. “Please.”
Bartolla stood up and she looked down at Leigh Anne. “Darling, I cannot help you. I am sorry. I simply cannot lend you such a sum, as we both know you would never be able to pay it back.”
Leigh Anne instinctively seized the arms of her chair, her body urging her to leap to her feet. “Of course I will pay it back.”
“How?” Bartolla was disbelieving.
“In a few months, I will borrow the money from Rathe. He will not hesitate to loan it to me and I know you are aware of that.”
Bartolla seemed perplexed. “Then borrow the money now.”
“I can’t.”
Bartolla was clearly trying to ascertain what Leigh Anne was up to. “Darling, I do apologize. I simply cannot help you. You will have to go to your father-in-law.”
Leigh Anne was ready to weep. Instead, she said tersely, “Will you change your mind if I invite Evan for supper, and regale him with tales of our adventures on the Continent?”
Bartolla blanched and Leigh Anne knew she understood.
Bartolla had married an Italian count at the age of sixteen.
He had been sixty. Within a month of that highly publicized marriage, she had begun a series of sensational, very public affairs.
Those affairs had continued for three years, until his dying day.
The count had not seemed to know—either that, or he had not cared.
Leigh Anne hated descending to blackmail. She had no choice.
“I will deny everything,” Bartolla finally said.
Leigh Anne shrugged. “I intend to tell him the truth, Bartolla. I hate doing this, I do. But I desperately need fifteen thousand dollars—and I need it by tomorrow night.”
Bartolla was tight-lipped with anger now. “Evan will not believe you.”
Leigh Anne said nothing.
“Why do you wish to hurt my chances for marriage with him?” she cried.
“I don’t. I just need the money. Please.”
Bartolla remained as white as a sheet. “I am with child, Leigh Anne. Now I am asking you for a favor—do not say anything to Evan.”