The Secret Spanish Love-Child - By Cathy Williams Page 0,23

stunned seconds before she could read and then reread what was clearly being touted as the scandal of the year. She even had to switch off the television so that she could concentrate on the article, which carried on over the page, and also stare at the photograph of the tiny blonde scurrying away from the limelight wearing a pair of oversized designer sunglasses and shielding her eyes from the intrusion of, presumably, a barrage of cameras. Another photo depicted Gabriel dressed in a suit and looking unruffled at the chaos his announcement had provoked. Typical.

There was an awful lot of background information on the ditched fiancée, which only proved her eligibility for a guy like Gabriel. Moneyed background, at home in the playground of the Rich and Famous, as opposed to the playing fields of the Hard Working and Almost Always Broke. And there was wild speculation as to what could have generated the break up but, even on a fourth reading, Alex could find no mention of either herself or Luke.

The shriek of her mobile interrupted a compulsive fifth reading of the article and Alex nearly spilt the glass of wine in her shaking hand.

Even before she heard his voice, she knew that it would be Gabriel. It was as if her antennae had been put on to red alert and primed for his presence in her life.

‘Sitting down, I hope?’ he enquired in a silky voice that made her glance furtively around just in case he happened to be hidden somewhere in the vicinity and could see the reaction his voice had on her mangled nervous system.

‘I…I’ve just read…’

‘I thought you might have.’

‘You…should have warned me that…’

‘You had all the warning you needed. I told you that I would be breaking off the engagement. You must have known that it would hit the news. I’m a public figure, whether I like it or not.’

‘Yes, but…’

‘You can hold that thought. I’ll be over in forty minutes. It would probably be better if I used a back door. Is there one?’

‘Use a back door?’ Alex was fast remembering the past few days of silence, during which her entire life had been turned on its head as she tried to find ways of reconciling herself to his disappearance. She felt as though she was now destined to start the endless cycle of highs and lows all over again. Just like that. He had walked back into her life and instead of finding her defences in place, she had discovered a gaping lack of body armour. ‘Use a back door?’ she repeated in a higher voice. ‘You’re not playing the lead in a spy thriller, Gabriel! And yes, I have a back door and you’re more than welcome to use it but you’ll still have to get to the front of the house first because it’s at the side!’

‘Are you in a mood because I haven’t been in touch for the past couple of days?’

‘I’m not in a mood.’

‘Good. Then I’ll see you shortly.’

Alex was treated to the sound of the dial tone as he rang off and she glared at the phone for a few seconds before springing into action. The constant frustrating whirlpool of nagging, unwanted thoughts about Gabriel was replaced by a frantic rush of blood to her head as she scrambled upstairs, changed out of her sloppy jogging bottoms and baggy T-shirt into a pair of halfway decent jeans and a short-sleeved checked shirt that nipped in at the waist and ran her fingers through her hair.

Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were over-bright. It shouldn’t have mattered what she wore but his disparaging remark about her house not being good enough for his son still rankled. As did the fact that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that the remark also applied to her. House too average for his son, and ex-girlfriend way too average for him.

She was in a fighting mood by the time the doorbell rang forty-five minutes later and she swung to open the door, making a great show of checking the road behind him.

‘Phew. Doesn’t look like you’ve been followed. Maybe you’d better sneak in, just in case.’

‘Hilarious, Alex. Just open up and let me in.’ Gabriel couldn’t help himself. His eyes darkened as they took in the tight faded jeans and the small plaid shirt with the top two buttons undone so that just the shadowy promise of breast was visible.

The past few days had been fairly hellish