Isabella was certain that they would be turned away. But no. It seemed that here they knew him well. Paulo asked for, and got, a table in one of the recesses of the room—well away from the other customers.
She glanced down at the menu she’d been given, at the meaningless swirl of words there. And when she looked up again, it was to find him studying her intently.
‘Do you know what you want?’
She shook her head. ‘No.’
He jabbed a finger halfway down his menu. ‘Why don’t you try some spinach lasagne?’ he suggested. ‘Lots of nutrients to build you up. And you, querida, could certainly do with some building up.’
She nodded obediently. ‘All right.’
He wasn’t used to such passivity—not from Isabella—and thought how wan her face looked as the waiter came over to their table. ‘Drink some tomato juice,’ he instructed, almost roughly. ‘You like that, don’t you?’
‘Thanks. I will.’ She shook out her napkin and smoothed it out carefully on her lap as he gave their order.
‘So.’ He traced a thoughtful finger on the crisp, white cloth and leaned across the table towards her. ‘We—or rather you—have a few big decisions to make.’
‘I’m not going home!
‘No. So you said.’ His mouth hardened. ‘Anyway, your objection is academic, isn’t it, Bella? No airline will allow you to fly in such an advanced stage of pregnancy.’ He paused, his dark gaze on her belly, as if he could estimate the gestation just by looking. ‘And you’re…how many weeks?’
She hesitated. ‘Thirty-seven.’
‘Only three weeks to go,’ he observed, his eyes burning into her. ‘So when did you conceive?’
Isabella blushed. ‘I don’t have to answer that.’
‘No, you don’t,’ he agreed. ‘But I can work it out for myself in any case.’ His eyes shuttered to dark slits as he did a few rapid sums in his head, then flickered open to stare at her with astonishment. ‘That takes us back to just around Carnival time.’
‘Paulo, must you?’
He ignored her objection, still frowning. ‘That means you must have become pregnant just after I left.’
She supposed that there was no point in denying it. ‘Yes.’
‘Or maybe it was during my visit?’ he suggested, unprepared for the lightning-bolt of jealousy.
‘No!’ she shot back.
He frowned again, not seeming to care that the waiter was depositing their food and wine before them. ‘So who is it? I don’t remember seeing you with anyone. No ardent lover hanging around the place. I don’t remember you rushing off every minute to be with someone.’
Quite the opposite, in fact. She had been at his side most minutes of the day. Her father had even made a joke about it. She has become your little shadow, Paulo, the older man had laughed and Isabella had aimed a mock-punch at her father’s stomach while Paulo had watched the movement of her lush breasts with hungry eyes and a guilty heart. And been very sure that if his host knew what was going on in his mind, then he would have kicked him off the ranch there and then.
‘So who is it?’ he asked again, only this time his voice sounded brittle.
Isabella mechanically ate a mouthful of pasta, forcing herself to meet his eyes. ‘Is my coming to stay with you conditional on me telling you who the father is?’
‘I don’t need to know his name. I’m certainly not going to try to wring it out of you.’ There was a long and dangerous pause. ‘But if he turns up, demanding to see you—’
‘He won’t,’ she put in hurriedly. ‘It won’t happen. I give you my word, Paulo.’
‘You sound very sure,’ he observed. He looked over the rim of his wineglass, fixing her with a dark gaze which was as intense as his next soft question. ‘Does that mean that the affair is definitely over?’
The affair? If only he knew! ‘Yes.’ Isabella swallowed. She owed him the truth. Or as much of the truth as she dared give without earning making herself sound like the biggest fool who ever walked the earth. ‘It’s over. It never really got off the ground, if you must know.’ Her eyes glittered with a defiant kind of pride as she stared at the man she had idolised for as long as she could remember.
‘But I can’t come to stay with you, not even for a minute—not if you despise me for what I’ve done, Paulo.’
‘Despise you?’ He looked across the table, saw the stubborn little tilt of her chin, and felt a wave of anger wash over him. What a way to have a first baby, he thought bitterly. It shouldn’t be like this—not for any woman—but especially not for Isabella.
He remembered Eduardo’s impending arrival, when Elizabeth had planned everything right down to the very last detail. Nothing had been left to chance, save chance itself. He had joked that her hospital bag had been packed almost from the moment of conception, and Elizabeth had laughed, too. His voice softened. ‘Why on earth would I despise you?’
‘Why do you think?’ Isabella stared down at her plate with eyes which were suddenly bright. ‘Because I’m going to have a baby. I’m going to be an unmarried mother! I’ve let my father down,’ she husked. ‘And myself!’
He leaned further across the table towards her, so that the flame of the candle was reflected in the black eyes. ‘Now listen to me, Isabella Fernandes, and stop beating yourself up!’ he whispered fiercely. ‘We aren’t living in the Dark Ages. You’ll be bringing a baby up on your own—so what? A third of the population in England is divorced, for God’s sake—and there are countless children who are the casualties of broken marriages. At least your child won’t have to witness the deterioration of a relationship.’
‘But I didn’t want to have a baby like this!’
‘I know you didn’t.’ He took her hand in his, staring down at it as it lay inertly in his palm. It felt small and cold and lifeless and he began to massage the palm with the pad of his thumb, stroking some kind of warmth back into it. He felt her trembling response and found himself filled with a sudden fierce need to comfort her. Protect her.
‘There is no Merton Hotel, is there?’ he asked suddenly.
She glanced up. ‘How do you know that?’
His mouth twisted into a strange kind of smile. ‘How do you think? I came looking for you.’
‘Did you?’
‘Sure I did.’
After she’d left his house so abruptly, he’d gone to the theatre with Judy. He had sat through the show feeling distracted and bored and had been forced to endure all kinds of intrusive questions afterwards at supper, when Judy had been determined to find out everything she could about Isabella.
Too much wine had made Judy tearful and very slightly hysterical as she’d accused him of concealing something about his relationship with the Brazilian girl. She’d made accusations about Isabella which had appalled him nearly as much as they had aroused him…
Grim-faced, he’d driven her home and resisted all her attempts to seduce him. Afterwards, he had gone home and phoned Directory Enquiries for the number of the Merton Hotel, only to discover that no such place existed.
So Isabella had not wanted him to find her, he remembered thinking, with faint surprise, because women usually made it easy for him to contact them—not the opposite. But that, he had decided reluctantly, was her prerogative.
And now he knew why.
He stared at her. ‘Just why did you come to see me that day, Bella?’ he asked. ‘Was it to ask for my help?’
She hesitated. ‘I…Yes.