Chapter Eight #3
Aristide grimaced. ‘It was nasty. She told me she was pregnant and we got engaged. We set the wedding date and then my father came to see me. He was very upset and told me that I needed to get a DNA test done before I married her. She was the love of my life,’ he bit out in a raw undertone.
‘He told me that there had always been rumours that there were other men in her life but I was furious and I refused to believe him—’
‘And that’s when you had the big fight,’ she guessed, wretched on his behalf that he had had so much faith in the woman he loved and had then had to live with the knowledge that he had been wrong in his every assumption.
‘Yes. Initially I did nothing but my father’s conviction that her child was not mine played on my mind.
I lied to her for the first time,’ he admitted uncomfortably.
‘I told her that I needed a DNA test to ensure my child’s inheritance rights and she insisted that she couldn’t agree to one.
That only made me more suspicious. I had her investigated and, sure enough, my father’s convictions were proven.
I confronted her. She lied and lied. Eventually she lost her temper and came clean.
It wasn’t my child and she already knew that, however she needed a husband for the squeaky-clean advertising campaign that was making her so much money.
She couldn’t be pregnant and unmarried without risking losing the contract.
I was simply…the fall guy. When I heard she’d miscarried some weeks later, I felt sad for all of us because at one time I had believed that child was mine. ’
‘I’m so sorry,’ she mumbled, ashamed that she had pressed him. He must’ve been devastated by the discovery that his idol had had feet of clay throughout their relationship, that she had never really loved him back or been worthy of his trust.
‘It’s a long time ago but it screwed me up for a few years.
I found it impossible to trust any woman,’ he acknowledged tautly as he reached for her hand, his thumb stroking her slender wrist. ‘Now can we sneak off and have sex in a broom cupboard or, indeed, any place? I’m feeling pretty desperate, angelos mou… ’
‘Er…’ Mouth running dry at those images, Tabby stammered, not quite knowing what to say, wanting to agree but nervous of being seen or reported on and embarrassing her sister.
‘Forget it for now,’ Aristide advised on the back of a sigh. ‘Your twin is making signals from the door. Obviously she wants to speak to you about something.’
Tabby walked indoors again with Aristide’s arm wound round her like an anchor keeping her safe while she tried not to dwell on all that he had told her and all that she had deduced from what he had not said.
It was enormously upsetting to finally have the confirmation that she had not been the first woman in Aristide’s life to announce an unplanned pregnancy.
Everything that had happened between them suddenly swam into clearer light from his angry, defensive outburst that first night when her contraception had let them down to his controlled and measured response to her eventual announcement.
And yet, he had not once asked her to go for a DNA test to prove that her children were also his…
‘What’s wrong?’ Tabby asked the instant she glimpsed her twin’s deeply troubled face.
‘You’re not going to believe it but… Dad’s here—’
‘What?’ Tabby exclaimed in disbelief.
Violet grasped her arm and drew her closer. ‘Over by the bar wearing a loud blue velvet dinner jacket. He arrived as the guest of one of our VIPs, Mrs Soames. He’s staying in her home. Apparently this week he’s teaching an art class in Florence…’
‘Oh, my word,’ Tabby groaned, having turned pale at the news of her father’s presence.
Aristide glanced across the ballroom to pick out the black-haired older man beside the bar. He bore not the smallest resemblance to Tabby. He was small, with Violet’s darker colouring and a rather heavily lined and dissipated face.
‘Our father, Sam Blessington,’ Violet supplied. ‘Artiste extraordinaire. A drunk, a wastrel and a wife beater. He’s a horrible man. Tore wanted to ask him to leave but we don’t want to offend Mrs Soames, who runs the charity we’re raising funds for tonight.’
‘Does he know that this is your home?’ Tabby prompted.
‘I’m sure he does. This is hardly his sort of event but he’s always keen to follow the smell of money and he must be broke right now if he’s teaching an art class—’
‘He can hardly expect any help from you,’ Tabby responded. ‘Just pretend you don’t see him—’
‘He won’t allow us to get away with that. He likes attention. He won’t let us ignore him,’ Violet replied heavily. ‘And if we try to, he’ll cause a scene and there are a lot of journalists here tonight.’
‘You can’t let him blackmail us into letting him stay,’ Tore said from behind his wife.
But even as her brother-in-law spoke, an almost forgotten oily male voice sounded behind them and Sam Blessington pushed forward to confront Violet with a sneering smile.
‘Well, isn’t this a surprise? I wasn’t expecting to hear that my younger daughter is currently living in Italy with her new husband and within a few miles of where I’m currently staying—’
As Violet almost cowered, bad memories of their childhood clearly engulfing her, Tabby stepped forward, but Tore had already dropped a controlling hand down on her father’s plump shoulder to steer the older man towards the door.
‘Let’s take this conversation somewhere more private,’ he suggested calmly.
Tore directed their small party into the dining room at the back of the hall. ‘Now, how may we help you?’ he asked politely. ‘I understand that you’ve neither seen nor spoken to your daughters since they were fourteen years old.’
‘Then it’s clearly past time for us to become reacquainted,’ Sam Blessington declared, not one whit embarrassed by the truth that he had abandoned both his daughters as soon as he could. ‘Particularly now when I’m going through a bit of a rough patch and could use a helping hand—’
‘Not from us,’ Violet sliced in thinly, lifting her chin. ‘We owe you nothing.’
‘We don’t,’ Tabby agreed, standing tall even as her father regarded her with unhidden distaste and resentment.
‘You were always a bitch even as a little girl, taking your mother’s side, answering back, refusing to give me the respect I was due—’
‘Perhaps that was because you were beating up her mother…and her,’ Aristide murmured without any expression at all.
‘I think it’s time for you to leave,’ Tore interposed icily.
A crude expletive escaped Sam Blessington.
Obviously drunk and out of control, he rounded on Tabby, cruel fingers biting into her arm as he gripped her and shook her violently while he screamed invective in her face.
And the next moment, a shocking hush fell and her vicious father was lying flat on the floor, silenced and left unconscious by a punch.
Tabby stared down at his prone body in disbelief.
Aristide had moved so fast to silence her inebriated parent that he had simply blurred out of focus as he stepped between her and the older man to free her.
Tore opened the door to signal an employee and returned to them with a serene smile.
‘I’ll have him driven home to Mrs Soames’ villa.
He was embarrassing her earlier and she’ll be relieved to be free of him for an evening,’ he surmised.
‘I imagine that she’s already regretting her invitation for him to stay with her. ’
Pale as milk, Tabby turned to look at Aristide. ‘You hit him—’
His lean, hard-boned face was taut, his dark golden eyes glittering. ‘Yes. I would’ve preferred not to but he was in no condition to be reasoned with and I could not allow him to continue assaulting you or to cause you further distress,’ he confessed in a roughened low voice.
‘Thank you for stopping him,’ Violet said shakily.
‘Yes, that was done very neatly and quietly,’ Tore interposed with approval.
But Tabby was still in shock at the knowledge that for the first time in her life someone had protected her from her father and he had done it without fanfare.
Yet Aristide had had to employ violence, which she abhorred because the memories of her abusive childhood still haunted her in low moments: all the times she had tried and failed to safeguard her mother, the injuries they had both sustained during her father’s assaults, the sick terror of knowing that nobody could stop him and that he wouldn’t stop until he ran out of rage.
‘I’m sorry about that,’ Aristide reiterated as he guided her out of the room and across the hall to the ballroom, which was now heaving with dancing and chattering guests. ‘I know how you feel about that sort of thing.’
‘Let’s go out onto the terrace again,’ she whispered unsteadily. ‘I need fresh air—’
‘And perhaps some food?’ Aristide said hopefully. ‘You’re very pale, in shock from that horrible confrontation. In fact I asked your sister if there was a doctor amongst the guests this evening—’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, I’m fine,’ Tabby said defensively.
Aristide laced her fingers into his to raise her arm where angry purple bruises were already becoming visible. ‘No, you’re not fine and why should you be? That man is your worst nightmare and you never expected to see him again.’
Breathing in deep, Tabby dropped down into a comfortable seat on the terrace and he left her to bring her some food.
A split second later, Violet dropped into the seat beside hers and gripped her hand.
‘Are you OK?’ she gasped. ‘I’m so sorry.
Everyone but Aristide just froze when Dad grabbed you.
I wasn’t expecting that but I should’ve done.
Of course he always reserved the worst for you. You were always standing up to him—’
‘Trying to,’ Tabby corrected. ‘That’s why he hates me a little bit more.’
‘I was like a little mouse around him, like Mum. I always hated myself for being so weak—’
‘You weren’t weak, you were understandably scared—’
‘And tonight it was just like I was five years old again. I was terrified and I froze,’ Violet groaned.
‘He’s gone,’ Tabby soothed. ‘And I doubt if he’ll come back to visit.’
‘Tore wished he had been the one to hit him but he was in shock. I hadn’t warned him just how bad Dad could be—’
‘Don’t talk about it,’ Tabby urged as Aristide reappeared and the fast beat of her heart steadied, her heart surging with sudden warmth and appreciation because he had sheltered her, even knowing that she would judge him for utilising force to intervene.
Aristide set out the food and she picked at it to please him because, in reality, she had little appetite.
But the food and the tea took away the hollow feeling in her tummy and she began to relax again.
The crisis, such as it had been, was over and she didn’t want to make a fuss.
He kept on checking her forearm, where deep purple bruising showed the indent of her father’s fingers.
‘I think we should get this cleaned up,’ he said.
‘No, the skin’s not broken,’ she protested, wishing he would forget the whole ghastly embarrassing scene that he had witnessed. ‘Let’s go and dance.’
Open surprise showed in his appraisal. She bore adversity well, Aristide reflected, made little of it, hated to be fussed over and yet that was all he wanted to do, along with wrapping her up in cotton-wool layers to ensure that nobody could ever hurt her again.
He was still seething that the mother of his unborn children had been assaulted and denigrated before his eyes and that he himself had failed to see that more than a verbal attack was imminent.
Sam Blessington, a man who had never learned how to control his temper, had bullied and victimised his wife and daughters until they had finally escaped his abuse.
Tabby drifted round the edge of the floor, calm in the circle of Aristide’s arms. He smelled of wintry woods, crisp and clean and oh-so sexy and every time his thigh moved against hers, awareness flooded her and sent a delicious little shiver burrowing up through her.
‘Was your father always like that?’ Aristide asked.
‘Grasping about money, yes. Violent when life goes against him, which it must be at the moment. I think he married Mum because her father was wealthy and he assumed he’d be a good bet but my grandfather was no fool and he refused to give him a penny.
My father has a sell-out exhibition, spends all his money on the high life and then ends up broke again.
He doesn’t keep friends or girlfriends. He always turns on them and, unlike my mother, they don’t take it.
But give him a few months and he’ll start painting again and reclaim his fame and his earnings.
It’s always boom or bust with him, nothing in between.
Let’s not talk about him any more,’ she urged ruefully. ‘I want to forget about him—’
‘And your wish, angelos mou,’ Aristide husked in her ear as he lifted his head to look down at her, ‘should be my command.’
As her gaze clashed with shimmering golden eyes, her heart started pounding hard inside her and a heated liquidity surged at her core. ‘Then take me upstairs,’ she whispered softly and she didn’t have to ask him twice.