Kłamca 2,5. Machinomachia. Jakub Ćwiek

flushed from bathing Charlotte, her hair in slight disarray. His groin stirred and he wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her—thoroughly. He wanted to prove to her that their love had never gone away; it had simply got lost. ‘But there is someone else? I know because you didn’t refute it earlier. In fact I’ve seen him.’

      Megan’s head jerked, her eyes widened. ‘You have?’

      ‘Come and sit down,’ he said. ‘We need to talk.’ He led her downstairs into a cosy little room with panelled walls and a log fire. Red velvet curtains were drawn against the cold winter day and table lamps cast a warm glow. He saw Megan looking around appreciatively. There were a few pieces of antique furniture that he had chosen himself and actually the room was overcrowded, but he quite liked it that way.

      ‘This is my den,’ he told her. ‘It’s—’

      ‘The smallest room in the house,’ she finished for him. ‘Proving that you don’t need a mansion. Big rooms are too impersonal; you can’t relax. It’s like living in a National Trust property that’s open to the public.’ She perched herself on the edge of an easy chair.

      ‘So you’re saying small is cosy?’ He had hoped she would flop down and relax. It looked as though he still had a long way to go. He dropped into the chair opposite so that he could study her to his heart’s content, and stretched out his long legs.

      ‘Absolutely.’

      ‘That’s why you’re happy in your own home?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘It’s not because you can’t afford anything bigger?’ Lord, she was more beautiful than ever. What a fool he’d been not to continue his search. He would have promised her the earth if she’d come back to him. Instead he had given up and got on with what really interested him. And it was only now that he realised his mistake.

      Megan sucked in a disapproving breath. ‘There you go again, bringing money into it. I tell you, money doesn’t interest me.’

      ‘You’re one on your own, Megan, do you know that?

      ‘Because every other woman you’ve met has been more interested in your bank balance than you?’ she asked sharply.

      Her words struck home. It was quite true. He’d never appreciated before he had acquired his wealth how mercenary some girls could be. In one way it pleased him that Megan was different; on the other hand he felt irritated because he wanted her to be excited by what he had achieved.

      ‘It would make life a lot easier for you if you moved in here,’ he said, trying his hardest to sound gentle. In reality he wanted to shake her. He had no idea that she could be so stubborn. This was a side of her that had never surfaced in the early years of their marriage.

      ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ she retorted.

      He could see by the glint in her eyes that she meant living with him would be abhorrent, and it hurt. ‘You’d never need to work again. That must be every woman’s dream?’

      ‘I admit it would be nice not to have to leave Charlotte. On the other hand, she enjoys playing with other children. And soon she’ll be at school.’

      ‘Will that make any difference?’ he asked tersely. ‘What if she becomes ill? Can you take time off work? Would your boss understand? Admit it, Megan, you’d be far better off giving up your job and moving in here. Unless, of course, it’s the boyfriend! Is he the one holding you back?’

      ‘So you have been spying on me?’ Megan spat the words loudly and, without giving him time to answer, added, ‘How low is that?’

      He hadn’t considered it low. He’d wanted to find out where she lived, what sort of a lifestyle she had. He wanted to make sure she didn’t move again. Was that wrong? ‘I must confess that when I discovered your address I did sometimes keep watch. Not that it was my intention to spy, Megan. I was hoping to catch sight of you so that we could talk. I would have preferred it that way rather than knocking on your door and giving you the surprise of your life.’

      ‘Fright of my life, more like,’ she riposted.

      ‘So, tell me about your boyfriend. He’s clearly not asked you to marry him, otherwise you’d have sought a divorce. What does he mean to you? How long have you known him? Does he have a good job?’

      ‘I think,’ said Megan tightly, ‘that it’s none of your business.’

      ‘You’re my wife. It’s every bit my business,’ he challenged.

      ‘In name only,’ she retorted. ‘Our marriage was over a long time ago.’

      ‘Then why haven’t you applied for a divorce?’ he asked. This surely had to be in his favour.

      Megan shrugged. ‘I never got round to it.’

      ‘Because you were secretly hoping that one day we’d get back together?’ he suggested.

      ‘You know that’s not true,’ Megan thrust. ‘And, while we’re on the subject, let me make it quite clear that I shall never come back to you. Never! So we might as well start divorce proceedings as soon as Christmas is over.’

      Stunned by Megan’s statement, Luigi sat forward in his chair and looked at her in consternation. ‘Divorce? Now! When we’ve found each other again? When we have Charlotte to consider?’ Despite the warmth from the blazing logs a chill radiated out from his heart until his whole body felt as though it were packed in ice. This was the last thing he’d expected—or wanted! She couldn’t have given him a crueller Christmas gift.

      ‘I’m perfectly serious,’ she retorted. ‘We’re not compatible, you and I. We each want different things in life.’

      ‘I want Charlotte.’ He was adamant on that point. Whether Megan came with her was her problem, but he wasn’t letting the child go. She meant more to him than any amount of money. The thought surprised him because previously the state of his bank balance was the most important thing in his life.

      ‘Charlotte doesn’t come without me,’ she announced. ‘And as I have no—’

      ‘You’re not being given a choice,’ he warned her testily. ‘I’ve got you here now and you’re staying whether you like it or not.’