The Italian's Secret Baby (2 page)

‘Get to the point,' he'd said. What did he think she'd been trying to do while he'd been cracking jokes at her expense?

Of course she should have called for an ambulance, she knew that—did he think she didn't know that?

David Anderson, the university's vice-chancellor, looked incredibly relieved as she walked through the door.

‘I thought you were only going to be a second, Scarlet?' he said, drawing her a little to one side and out of earshot of the pale-faced woman sitting in the chair.

‘How is she?' Scarlet asked, responding to his hand signals to keep her voice low.

‘Better than she was, I think. She wants me to ask her driver to bring her car around.'

‘I wouldn't bother, David; her son is on his way over,' she revealed casually.

On the whole, and considering how stressed David was already, Scarlet didn't see much point explaining that the millionaire property developer in question was in a very vengeful and litigious mood.

Obviously threats were part and parcel of Roman O'Hagan's
modus operandi
. Scarlet knew the type; she had suffered in silence at the hands of bullies during a lot of her school years. Years of unhappiness that she could have been spared if she had realised earlier that all you had to do with a bully was show them you weren't scared—
even if you were
!

It hadn't been bravery in her last year at school that had made her turn around and tell her gang of tormentors exactly what she thought of them, it had been simply a matter of reaching the end of her tether.

The experience had left Scarlet with a loathing of bullies and a determination to never again put herself in the role of victim. Every time she replayed the phone conversation in her head she felt her anger rising. How dared he threaten her? It wasn't just
what
he had said, it was the
way
he had said it.

And that
voice
; she recalled the inexplicable reaction she had had to the low drawl. Incredibly it had actually produced a physical response. She had reacted to it like a cat whose fur had been stroked the wrong way, her skin literally prickling in an uncomfortable way.

He had the sort of voice that could make an eviction notice sound sexy.

The vice-chancellor shot her a look of annoyed disbelief, which she pretended not to notice.

‘You called Roman O'Hagan after she
specifically
asked you not to?' He groaned.

‘Did she?'

‘I know she did, Scarlet, because I was there at the time and I heard what she said, not once, but twice.'

‘So maybe she did,' Scarlet conceded. ‘But she also
specifically
asked us not to call a medic or ambulance,' she reminded him. ‘And I thought that was wrong too.'

‘She's a very important woman; we can't go around ignoring her wishes.'

‘You didn't; I did.'

David looked somewhat mollified by this reminder. ‘That's true.'

‘Just call me Scarlet the scapegoat,' she suggested cheerfully.

David shot her a reproachful look from under his half-moon specs. ‘I'll just go and organise someone to meet Mr O'Hagan.'

A three-man job at least, Scarlet mused scornfully: one person to grovel, another to sprinkle rose petals in his path and, last but not least, one to stroke the guy's massive ego. She for one didn't envy anyone the task of being nice to him. Even allowing for his concern over his mother, the mega-rich playboy had come across as a nasty bully of a man. Being rich, in her view, did not give anyone carte blanche to be rude.

‘Where's a spare red carpet when you need one?'

David shot her a wary look. ‘I hope you weren't rude to him.'

Scarlet adopted a puzzled expression, her eyes wide and innocent.

‘Don't look at me like that, Scarlet, it worries me. I've known you since you were six years old,' he reminded her drily.

‘Why would I be rude to the man? I rang to tell him his mother wasn't well.'

‘Hummph.' David left her with a firm admonition not to take any further unilateral decisions if she wanted to keep her job.

‘Are you feeling any better?' Scarlet asked, approaching the slim, elegant figure who was dressed in a soft apricot suit that hinted tastefully at a good cleavage.

‘Much better, thank you,' Natalia O'Hagan replied in her soft, attractive Italian accent.

She didn't look nearly old enough to have a son the age of Roman O'Hagan.

Unless he had begun his infamous playboy lifestyle when he was still at school he had to be in his early thirties at least to have fitted in all the beautiful women who had reputedly enjoyed his admiration. As aloof and arrogant as he was widely reported to be, he was rarely photographed without some lush beauty gazing adoringly up into his face.

Scarlet smiled at Natalia. She had taken to the older woman immediately. Unlike her son she came across as a warm, genuine woman with no airs and graces. Just thinking about the vile son with his hateful, sarcastic drawl sent a shudder of antipathy down Scarlet's spine.

Maybe Roman O'Hagan had inherited his arrogance from the paternal side of the equation. It was quite a combination of genes, Italian and Irish, Scarlet reflected, and on the evidence so far she'd say the result of that fusion had produced a person who lacked the charm of the Irish and the charisma of the Italians.

Despite her reassurance as she lifted the glass of water, there was a visible tremor in the older woman's hand.

‘Let me,' Scarlet said, taking the glass from her and placing it back on her own desk.

On closer inspection she could see that the scary bluish tinge had receded from around the older woman's lips. This was good news, but despite these small signs of improvement the woman still looked far from well.

‘Can I get you anything else?'

Natalia O'Hagan lifted her head, her lips formed a weak smile, but she didn't appear able to respond to the question.

Scarlet's anxiety increased. She privately called herself every sort of weak idiot for not having stood her ground in the first place and rung for a doctor straight off as she'd wanted.

In that at least her wretched son had been right.

She could have insisted, but when the university bigwigs, who had tagged along with David for the official opening ceremony of the crèche, had overruled her, what had she done? She'd meekly rolled over.

As far as the powers that be were concerned they weren't going to risk upsetting the woman whose generous donation had been responsible for the refurbishment and extension of the crèche facilities, not to mention the new state-of-the art IT building. And Natalia O'Hagan had managed to make it quite clear despite her weak condition, that she did not want a doctor.

That was fine and their call to make, but where were they now, those men and women in suits who knew better? Their absence from the vicinity was pretty conspicuous.

Scarlet had only been half joking when she'd called herself a scapegoat. If anything went wrong it wasn't difficult to figure out who would be left to carry the can, especially if Roman O'Hagan had anything to do with it. She couldn't see the men and women in suits leaping up to take responsibility.

‘Won't you let me get someone down from Occupational Health, at least—?' Scarlet began, only to be cut off by an impatient, slightly imperious nod of the smooth dark head.

‘You sound just like my sons.'

Scarlet had no control over the expression of horror that spread across her face.
‘Me?'

‘You know, I consider myself a lucky woman,' Natalia revealed. ‘Two sons who I love dearly, and they are so good to me. But,' she explained with a shake of her head, ‘they are both ridiculously overprotective. Roman is possibly the worst.

‘He has a terrible habit of thinking he knows what is best,' Natalia continued ruefully. ‘If I'd let him he'd run my life, I swear he would.'

‘You have to stand up to him!'

Natalia's delicate brow lifted at the heat of Scarlet's stern declaration.

Scarlet coloured self-consciously and forced her expression to relax. ‘I suppose it's a son's job to be protective of his mother. I expect mine will one day,' she added lightly.

‘
You
have a son?' Liquid dark eyes scanned Scarlet's slim figure. She was wearing her usual work garb, jeans and one of the bright child-friendly tee shirts all the helpers in the crèche wore. It had been suggested that, as the manager of the centre, she ought to wear something more in fitting with her management role, but Scarlet, a hands-on sort of manager, had stuck to her guns and her tee shirt.

‘Goodness, you look so young, or maybe that's just me getting old.'

‘You're not old.'

‘When I look at those little ones I feel…' She suddenly went very still as she looked through the plate-glass partition to the room beyond. It should have been empty; the children were enjoying the party on the lawn. ‘That child—what is his name?'

It was a casual enough question, but
casual
in Scarlet's experience didn't equate with the lines of tension bracketing the older woman's soft mouth or the tortured twisting of the hands clasped in her lap.

‘Which one? We've got quite a few here. Should you lie down, perhaps…?' she suggested tentatively. ‘If you're not feeling well?'

‘I'm feeling fine.' The strained smile she produced to prove the point did nothing to soothe Scarlet's fears. ‘The little boy I'm talking about is the one who gave me the flowers? The one sitting there.'

Scarlet followed the direction of the ashen-faced woman's strangely haunted gaze as Natalie nodded through the glass partition that separated Scarlet's office from the big, newly equipped play room, towards a small dark-haired figure sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Sam was meant to be outside with the other children watching the magician they'd engaged as entertainment. With the party in full swing he had obviously managed to slip away unnoticed. Sam was a very resourceful child.

He had wanted to finish his jigsaw earlier, and when he wanted something, as she knew to her cost, he could show remarkable focus. His little face was a mask of concentration as he slotted the final piece into a complicated wooden jigsaw and gave a triumphant smile.

‘Sam,' Scarlet replied, a puzzled frown forming between her brows as she registered the throb of emotion in the other woman's attractively accented voice.

‘I hope I didn't alarm him.'

‘Sam takes most things in his stride,' Scarlet returned honestly.

‘I thought he might,' came the puzzling dry rejoinder. ‘His mother…does she work at the university?'

‘Sam's my son, the one I mentioned.' Scarlet was trying very hard not to glow too obviously with pride. ‘One of the perks of running the university crèche is I get to bring him to work with me.'

This hadn't happened by accident. Early on Scarlet had realised to leave Sam on a daily basis would be too painful, not necessarily for the child, who possessed an adaptable and sunny personality, but for herself.

‘You?'

Scarlet endured with equanimity the astonished, searching scrutiny that came her way. The reaction didn't surprise her. Sam was an exceptionally beautiful child, and Scarlet knew the only thing exceptional about herself was her ordinariness, but even so the softly breathed,
‘Unbelievable!'
did bring a faint flush to her pale cheeks.

As if she realised her lapse in manners, a flicker of something akin to embarrassment flickered across the beautiful features of the VIP guest.

‘And how old is Sam?'

‘He was three in April.'

‘He seems very advanced for his age.'

‘Sam is quick,' Scarlet agreed, unable to stifle a flicker of parental pride at this praise.

‘You and your husband must be very proud of him.'

‘I'm not married.' Even in this enlightened age Scarlet was used to her single motherhood producing disapproval in varying degrees, but the inexplicable flicker of relief she saw in Natalia's brown eyes was not a reaction she'd encountered before.

It only lasted a moment and Scarlet almost immediately put it down to a trick of the light or her imagination. After all, she asked herself, why would her being unmarried make a total stranger relieved?

‘Then Sam's father…?'

‘There's just me and Sam and we like it that way,' Scarlet explained cheerfully.

‘B
UT
it must be hard for a woman alone?'

‘One-parent families are not exactly unusual.'

‘But you've
never
been married?'

Scarlet, who was beginning to feel puzzled with the older woman's pursuit of the subject, shook her head. ‘Never.' This might be a good time to change the subject and admit she had contacted the tyrannical son.

‘Listen, Mrs O'Hagan—'

‘Natalia, please, my dear.'

‘
Natalia,
I know you asked me not to.' Scarlet took a deep breath and made a clean breast of it. ‘The thing is I called Mr O'Hagan…that is your son, the control freak one,' she explained unhappily.

‘I don't blame you being angry with me,' she continued, ‘but I really did think that someone should know—' Scarlet stopped in response to a cool hand laid on her arm.

‘I'm not angry with you, child.'

Scarlet gave a sigh of relief. ‘I'm glad about that.'

‘Did you speak to Roman yourself? I ask,' she added, ‘because I have a problem doing so myself sometimes.' She gave a light laugh. ‘He is guarded zealously.'

You can say that again!

‘I did manage to,
eventually
,' Scarlet admitted with a guarded smile.

There was something in the other woman's manner…she couldn't quite put her finger on it, but Scarlet couldn't shake the feeling that she was missing something.

‘My, you must be a determined girl, or have special access that I don't?' Her laughter had a forced sound to it.

‘I could have done with it, but I had to fall back on my natural talent—I'm stubborn.'

Natalia nodded; her expression suggested her thoughts had already moved on. ‘I sometimes think this security business has got out of hand, you know. Since the stalker affair Roman is not a very accessible person, but no doubt you know that.'

‘Stalker?'
Scarlet queried, pausing to briefly wonder why his mother would assume she knew anything at all about her son.

‘Oh, I'm sure you read about it. That woman who became obsessed with him? It was about four years ago.'

Scarlet shook her head. She was not about to explain that four years ago her world had narrowed to the bedside of her dying sister.

‘Perhaps you were out of the country?'

‘Not likely,' Scarlet returned. ‘I get seasick and have a phobia of flying.'

‘How inconvenient. Actually it was covered quite widely in the papers—this woman developed a thing about Roman.'

‘An ex-girlfriend?' That figured. Any woman who went out with him had to be slightly unbalanced to begin with.

‘Well, no, that's the thing, they had never actually met, but she became convinced they had a relationship. She wrote to him, telephoned him, sent him gifts…initially Roman felt sorry for her and thought if he ignored her she'd go away. Things came to a head when he arrived at the office one morning to find her holding his PA at knife-point.'

‘Gracious!' Scarlet gasped, her eyes widening in horror. ‘Was anyone hurt?'

‘Roman managed to talk her into letting Alice go and apparently she was going to hand over the knife when the police arrived. The woman panicked and became quite frenzied. Roman and Alice both got injured, Alice badly. Fortunately they both recovered.'

‘That must have been very traumatic.'

‘It was, though Roman was more concerned that he had unwittingly put someone else's life at risk. Oh, I know it wasn't his fault.' Scarlet, who hadn't been going to suggest anything of the sort, remained, silent. ‘But Roman has a very overdeveloped sense of responsibility.'

Scarlet smiled politely and wondered privately how much a mother's natural bias had coloured this version of events. Certainly this caring, sensitive paragon didn't sound much like the man the newspapers were so fond of writing about or the one she had spoken to earlier!

‘Roman admires a woman with spirit.'

Roman manages to hide his admiration pretty well.
‘Really…?' she responded, not sure what else she was supposed to say to this apparently irrelevant comment.

‘And what did my son have to say for himself?'

Beyond threaten to sue the socks off me?
‘Oh, we didn't really chat,' she responded lightly.

‘Well, you'll be able to get reacquainted properly when he arrives. The years have changed him, you know, my dear.'

The turn of phrase struck Scarlet as distinctly odd, but she was so relieved that the older woman appeared resigned that her son was coming to collect her that she didn't comment on it.

‘Scarlet.' David appeared at the door. ‘Could I have a word for a moment? Mrs O'Hagan, it's good to see you looking so much better.'

Now that he said so, Scarlet too saw that the older woman had perked up considerably. ‘I'll be right back,' she promised.

Actually she wasn't right back because David had been informed that Roman O'Hagan was in the building and, as he put it, thought that, ‘a more
senior
member of staff should be here when he arrives. No reflection on your abilities, Scarlet, but as a sign of respect.'

Scarlet gave him no argument. ‘I think it's the least he would expect,' she agreed.

It suited her down to the ground not to be there when the bullying millionaire put in an appearance. If she had to be nice to him she'd choke.

‘I might take that time owing me and nip off now with Sam, unless you want me to hang around?'

 

Roman ran his long fingers through the gleaming strands of his dark hair in a gesture of impatience. The same impatience was etched in the strong, symmetrical lines of his darkly handsome face as he looked down at his mother.

‘Yes, it
was
necessary for me to bring Philip; he is your doctor.'

‘And as I have told him, I fainted, nothing more. You are fussing like an old woman, Roman,' she told her son scornfully. Graciously she extended her arm for the suited figure to apply a blood-pressure cuff. ‘Normal?' she asked as the medic removed the stethoscope from his ears.

The doctor nodded. ‘If all my patients were this healthy I'd be out of business,' he told her cheerfully.

Natalia shot her son a triumphant look. ‘I told you so,' she murmured complacently.

‘But you will carry out further tests?' Roman addressed his query to his friend.

‘I could, but—'

‘Do them.'

Natalia gave a sigh of exasperation. ‘This is exactly why I didn't want them to ring you. You come rushing here when I'm sure you have a million more important things to do.'

‘Several million things, actually,' Roman corrected, the corners of his wide, sensual mouth lifting in a sarcastic smile. ‘Naturally all
much
more important than my mother's health.'

‘Well, I'm glad to see that family is still important to you, Roman.'

One dark brow quirked as, with slightly narrowed eyes, he scanned his mother's face. Never slow when it came to reading between the lines, he asked, ‘Am I missing something here?'

‘You spoke to Scarlet on the phone, I believe.'

‘Scarlet—the blonde?'

‘She is not blonde. Though I suppose she might have been blonde when you knew her, though women usually go from brunette to blonde, not the other way.'

‘I don't and didn't know her.'

‘Well, why did you say she was blonde?'

‘She sounded blonde.'

His mother looked at him blankly. ‘
Sounded
blonde? Really, Roman, do not insult my intelligence,' she rebuked coldly.

‘Did she say I knew her?' He was accustomed to women trying to get to him, but if this one thought she could use his mother to do so she could think again!

‘Relax, Roman. She hardly mentioned you at all, which,' Natalia added heavily, ‘is hardly surprising,' his mother reproached. ‘This must have been a very painful experience for her.'

‘Told you I threatened her, did she? Well, she deserved it. How could anyone not have the wit to get medical help?'

Natalia stared at her son for a moment, then appeared to come to a decision. She turned to the doctor. ‘Philip, dear, do you mind? I've got something I need to say to Roman.'

The doctor clicked closed his case. ‘Of course, no problem.'

Roman flashed his friend a brief nod. ‘We'll see you back at the clinic in fifteen minutes.'

Other than give an exasperated click of her tongue, Natalia did not respond to his comments.

‘Is this going to take long, Mother?' Roman asked as the door closed.

‘Should I have made an appointment?' Natalia enquired spikily. ‘You may be a
very
important man, but you might want to remember that you're running the company because
I
persuaded your father to retire.'

It had actually been his father's heart attack that had persuaded him and his equally reluctant brother to put their careers on hold and divide their father's responsibilities. The injection of fresh blood and new ideas had produced results that had seen the O'Hagan family's fortunes grow rapidly.

Unfortunately the success had increased, not lessened, the tension between father and sons.

‘I'll pass on the fact that two minutes ago you were telling me my time was too important to spend it doing anything as frivolous as rushing to my mother's side.'

‘Don't change the subject, Roman.'

‘I wouldn't dare if I knew what it was. Are you going to tell me any time soon what exactly I've done?' Roman drawled. ‘I know all the signs,' he added grimly. ‘I've searched my conscience and nothing immediately springs to mind. I must admit I'm curious.'

Natalia's eyes flashed as her son gave a smile that was both cynical and charming in equal measure. She didn't smile back, but instead snatched from his fingers the pen he was idly doodling with and banged it down on the blotter.

‘Don't do that.' Her sons had inherited their father's Irish charm, her own dark Italian looks and, sadly, neither had very many scruples when it came to using either to get what they wanted. Roman had been getting pretty much what he wanted all his life, with one notable exception.

A frown formed between his dark, strongly delineated brows as Roman studied his mother's face. ‘Has something happened? Dad…?'

Natalia heard the anxiety enter his deep voice, roughening the velvet-smooth tone, and immediately shook her head reassuringly. Eyes trained on his face, she took a deep, shuddering sigh.
‘Scarlet Smith.'
She flung the name like an accusation.

‘The woman with the smart tongue and the bad attitude who is not a blonde. If you want to know anything else you're going to have to go elsewhere because that about exhausts my knowledge of the woman.'

Natalia searched her son's face for a moment before her body sagged in relief. ‘You didn't know, then.' She sighed. ‘I didn't think you could have,' she revealed.

‘Didn't know and still don't,' he inserted drily.

‘She must have changed her name, or maybe she gave you a false name?'

‘Are we back on the not-blonde?'

‘I don't approve of everything you do, Roman.'

Roman's expression became stoical as he prepared to endure one of his mother's lectures on his lifestyle with a modicum of patience—patience he would not have extended to anyone else who chose to criticise him.

‘But I simply couldn't imagine you abandoning your responsibilities and letting your own son grow up not even knowing who you are.'