LITMIR.BIZ

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ruefully as she walked back through the entrance hall to thread her passage through the knots of chattering people. And then she stopped dead, in disbelief, seeing the man she had hoped to avoid standing directly ahead of her. Dropping her head, she sidestepped in haste and then froze as a hand fell on her arm.

      ‘Belle?’ that almost forgotten deep voice prompted.

      Her eyes flashed up into eyes identical to her own and she froze like a woman in front of a steep drop, fearing a fall. ‘Er...Mr Stevenson?’ she said stiffly.

      ‘Do you know how many years I’ve been trying to track you down?’ the older man asked in a pained undertone. ‘How long I’ve been searching for you? And with the first words out of your mouth, you crucify me with guilt. And I deserve it. Yes, I fully deserve it, but I am here to ask you for a few minutes of your time. Will you give me that much?’

      Belle was stunned that Alastair Stevenson had approached her, stunned by his claim to have searched for her and even more stunned by the emotional charge he was emanating, for the man she remembered had been cold and bitter and hostile.

      ‘Please...’ he added with emphasis as the silence between them stretched and stretched.

      Dante was restless because Belle had been away longer than he had expected and there was something wrong. He knew in his gut that there was something wrong. Was she ill? Or had something upset her? Steve and Sancha reappeared and Steve bent down and said, ‘When did Belle get friendly with Alastair Stevenson?’

      That vaguely familiar name rang into Dante’s inner computer chip of contacts and spat out a designation: high-flying hedge-fund manager, well known in the UK. ‘Alastair Stevenson? What are you talking about?’

      And Steve angled his head in the direction of the dance floor and Dante was dumbfounded to see Belle with the older man. Neither could be said to be actually dancing. They were swaying opposite each other, heads leaning forward as they tried to talk over the noise of the music, and even as Dante watched the couple with frank incredulity Alastair Stevenson reached for Belle’s hand, said something in her ear and walked her off the floor.

      Dante swore long and low and inventively in Italian.

      ‘I mean, obviously she knows him well,’ Steve pointed out helpfully. ‘I’ve never seen him hand in hand with any woman other than his wife. Maybe he’s her godfather or some relative or something.’

      ‘I don’t think so.’ Dante had difficulty vocalising the words in English, but he was trying to get a grip on the rage licking at him and stay in control. ‘She would’ve mentioned someone like that.’

      ‘They’re going outside,’ Steve told him helpfully.

      ‘They’re... What?’ Dante exclaimed, leaping upright, just in time to catch a glimpse of Belle vanishing through the French windows standing open onto the terrace to allow a flow of cooler night air.

      ‘Does she smoke?’

      ‘No, she bites her nails.’ And if he had to make a choice Dante knew he would still pick the nails for a bad habit because it was an oddly endearing and revealing weakness. Every time her fingers drifted towards her mouth, he knew she was nervous or afraid.

      Why would she go off to be alone with a married man? It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t that kind of woman, was she? At least he had thought she wasn’t that kind of woman...the type to spot an opportunity and pounce on a rich man for the sake of it. Strictly speaking, she was only obligated to him for another week, he reminded himself grudgingly. He had no official claim beyond that date. Virginity at twenty-two did not indicate sainthood or fidelity or anything else, did it? He was being naïve, he, who was never naïve about women and the evils they were capable of.

      * * *

      Belle and Alastair took a table on the well-lit terrace and he signalled the waiter to order drinks.

      ‘Just water for me, thanks,’ she said awkwardly. ‘So, this private investigation agency you hired to find me traced me through the newspaper photos that were published, but that was only yesterday.’

      ‘And I dropped everything and ran, lest you vanish again. Wrangled a ticket for tonight, praying that Lucarelli would be bringing you with him because I didn’t fancy trying to visit you at his place.’ Alastair grimaced. ‘I need more privacy than that to tell you what I have to tell you but I don’t want to offend you by being too honest about your mother and the dreadful relationship we’ve had since your birth.’

      ‘I haven’t seen Tracy since my grandfather was buried and you couldn’t offend me where she’s concerned.’

      ‘When Tracy fell pregnant I was young and naïve. I didn’t get a legal agreement drawn up with her because I didn’t want anyone to know about our fling. Instead I left myself open to paying every damn bill she sent me, and her financial demands were heavy. When I indicated that I wanted to rearrange the child support through a lawyer, she threatened to visit my wife, Emily, whom I met and married the year after I broke up with your mother. And I didn’t want Emily to find out about you. I didn’t want anyone to know about your existence because I felt like such a fool for letting Tracy take advantage of me,’ he admitted heavily.

      Belle’s brows pleated. ‘Why would her threatening to visit your wife worry you so much?’

      ‘Emily’s suffered from depression all her life and she’s fragile. Back then her biggest dream was to have a child, but she suffered several miscarriages and then we had a stillborn son,’ Alastair revealed sadly. ‘I should’ve told her about you before our marriage because afterwards I couldn’t face telling her that I already had a child.’

      Belle nodded slowly. ‘I can appreciate you wanting to protect your wife.’

      ‘But Emily knows about you now. Tracy can’t hold that threat over me any longer and once I’d told Emily, I was free to look for you. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find you. I had to bribe your mother even for the information of where and when she had last seen you,’ he told her in disgust. ‘By then I had had enquiries made and I had discovered that she had been lying to me and conning me with fake bills practically from the minute you were born. Until recently I didn’t even realise that it was your grandparents who had brought you up and that you’d attended a state school with absolutely no frills and left at sixteen.’

      Belle was frowning. ‘Fake bills?’

      ‘Salaries for nannies, tuition fees for exclusive boarding schools, riding lessons, ballet lessons, private medical treatment, holidays. Everything your mother could think up she billed me for with false documents and yet you received none of those benefits. But I was the idiot who paid and paid and paid even in the early days when I was less affluent and it was a struggle to pay,’ Alastair revealed. ‘I learned to hate Tracy while she bled me for every penny she could and that was the background to my first meeting with you. I took my bitterness out on you and it was wrong and cruel and unjust. You were only a kid hoping to meet your father.’

      ‘I got over it.’ Belle sighed, lifting her hand to squeeze his arm in consolation because she was seeing a complete picture now and it changed everything she had thought she knew about her birth father. Tracy had blackmailed him and lied to him, all to scam money out of him for her own selfish use. ‘Tracy is a bit of a money monster.’

      ‘A bit? She left you high and dry after your grandfather died and took off with her ill-gotten gains! Not a surprise,’ her father pronounced cynically. ‘But let’s see if we can leave all that and her behind us where it belongs. I very much regret the way I treated you when I first met you. Can we move on from that? I would like to get to know you, and Emily feels the same way. All these years on, am I too late? Or is a relationship still a possibility?’

      A wash of stinging tears burned the backs of Belle’s eyes as her father reached uncertainly for her hand and squeezed it with a hopeful look on his face.

      ‘I think we could try it, see how it goes,’ Belle

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