Postcards From Madrid. Lynne Graham
not like to recall that she had been so keen on him that even after that rejection she had tried to contact him by phone to plead her innocence. Her initial calls had been unsuccessful and then he had phoned her to dismiss the whole situation with galling casualness.
‘Stop worrying about this,’ Antonio advised with nonchalant cool. ‘There is no need for you to make any explanations to me. I had no right to criticise your behaviour. You went out on a date and told me a little white lie. It was nothing and now that we are related by marriage, even less than nothing.’
She discovered that his good manners could be the unyielding equivalent of an immoveable stone wall. He was equally firm about wishing her a good trip home and ending that brief conversation. It was a very long time before Sophie recovered from that disappointment. Foolish though it was, she had fallen madly in love within the space of forty-eight hours. So many times after that she wished that she had never laid eyes on Antonio Rocha. What she had never known she could not have missed. Nor would she have found herself pointlessly comparing the rough-and-ready males she met with a high-born Spanish noble.
Drifting back to the present, Sophie rediscovered her sense of purpose and hope. She was being too pessimistic. She had not really tried to reason with Antonio. Why should he want to take on the burden of a baby? He was a single guy, for goodness’ sake! When Lydia had begun crying, Antonio had been totally unnerved. All she had to do was convince Antonio that she was capable of giving Lydia a loving and secure home. Maybe she would have to find fancier accommodation to please him, but if he was willing to contribute even a small amount towards Lydia’s upkeep that would be possible. Surely then a compromise could be reached?
Antonio had decided to breakfast in the public restaurant rather than in the isolation of his suite. He had just finished eating when the head waiter approached his secluded table to inform him that he had a visitor waiting to see him in the lounge.
A gaunt older woman with grey hair scrambled up to introduce herself as Norah Moore. ‘You don’t know me, but I’ve known Sophie for years,’ she proclaimed nervously. ‘I know it’s early but I wanted the chance to have a private word with you before you saw Sophie again.’
Antonio extended his hand. ‘Antonio Rocha. Please sit down. Would you like something to drink? Perhaps tea?’
‘Sophie said you had lovely manners…she was right. I don’t need tea…thanks,’ Norah told him anxiously. ‘I’m here because I’m worried about Sophie.’
‘How may I help you?’ Antonio enquired.
‘Sophie’s wonderful with Lydia and terribly fond of the kiddie. You mustn’t try to part them.’
‘I only want what is best for my niece,’ Antonio fielded gently.
‘Sophie and your niece are as close as any mother and child. There’s also the fact that Lydia’s own mother wanted her sister to keep her child for good. I was a witness to that being said by Belinda,’ the older woman continued squarely. ‘Were you aware of that?’
‘No, I was not,’ Antonio conceded.
‘There’s something else too,’ Norah continued heavily. ‘Something I don’t want to tell you but I feel I should tell you for Sophie’s sake.’
‘I can be discreet.’
‘Well, Sophie can’t have children of her own. She had leukaemia when she was a kid and the treatment messed her up. Did you know about that?’
‘No, I was not aware of it,’ Antonio said flatly, his strong bone structure tightening, the pallor of shock spreading below his bronzed skin.
Indeed he felt almost sick at that revelation. He was appalled to think of how she must have suffered as a child. He also knew how much Sophie would have loathed his knowledge of such a very personal matter. He did not question how he knew that. He was both angry and relieved that the older woman had decided to betray Sophie’s confidence. His ignorance of just how vulnerable Sophie was had made him behave like a cruel bastard.
‘So obviously that baby is very precious to Sophie. She’s had a rotten life, you know,’ Norah Moore continued accusingly. ‘She works her fingers to the bone seven days a week trying to give that baby something better than she had herself. It may not look like much on your terms, but don’t underestimate the sacrifices she’s made. She looked after that daft sister of hers as well—’
‘You have made your point, Mrs Moore.’
Having escorted the older woman out to her car, Antonio strode back into the hotel. What had Sophie said? I honestly think I will die if you take her away from me. He had preferred to be cynical about the depth of her affection for the child. Now, and thanks only to a stranger’s intervention, he was being forced to face the probability that Sophie was very deeply attached to the child and with good reason if she could not have a baby of her own. He was dealing with a much more complex situation than he had appreciated. If he was to deprive Sophie of Lydia, might grief drive her into doing something foolish? He breathed in slow and deep and then out again in a measured hiss of acceptance. That was not a risk he felt it would be reasonable for him to take. For the first time he acknowledged that Lydia was as much Sophie’s niece as his.
LATER that morning, Sophie saw the limousine first. Antonio swung out and unfolded to his full intimidating height and she had eyes only for him. Immaculate in appearance and stunningly handsome, he was wearing a formal charcoal-grey suit teamed with a white shirt and a blue silk tie. Dragging her enthralled attention from him, she smoothed damp palms down over her most presentable T-shirt.
She was so nervous she started talking before she even had the door properly open. ‘A friend is looking after Lydia for me…I thought we could talk on the beach… It’s a lovely day.’
Lovely? Antonio thought the sky was cloudy, the wind rather strong and the temperature distinctly on the cool side. But then even at its best the British climate could not compete with the sun-drenched heat of his own country, he conceded ruefully.
‘We would have more privacy indoors,’ he suggested.
Sophie tensed. ‘I don’t want you to see where I live,’ she admitted.
Antonio raised a bemused brow. ‘Por qué…why?’
Sophie began walking along the path that led down to the strand. ‘After that crack you made about poverty, I just wouldn’t feel comfortable entertaining you in my home. It may not be much but I like it. Why should I have to put up with you acting like I’m living in a hovel?’
‘I hope I would not be so rude,’ Antonio drawled flatly.
‘Well, you were yesterday,’ Sophie could not resist telling him. ‘On the beach, we’ll be equal.’
Antonio was not dressed for the beach. He wondered if that was supposed to be part of the great levelling exercise or if she was secretly hoping that he would freak out when he got sand on his shoes. He watched her race to the edge of the water like an eager child, her every movement fired with mercurial energy. Beautiful to look at, but almost impossible to handle. She was unpredictable, hot-tempered, impulsive, wildly emotional: she was driving him mad. The proposition he was about to outline, however, would restore the status quo. She would become much more amenable to his guidance when she was living in Spain…
‘I’ve worked out a compromise since we talked last night,’ Antonio imparted in his smooth honeyed drawl.
‘Oh…?’ Her spirits lifted by the bright reflection of the sun on the sea, Sophie pinned hopeful eyes to his bold bronzed profile.
‘You can move to Spain.’
‘No way!’ Sophie gasped in disconcertion.
‘Try not to interrupt me.’ Dark golden eyes levelled on her mutinous face. ‘Lydia will