Page 92 of A Perfect Algarve Villa
Emily shot him a loving look. ‘We’re going to be OK, aren’t we, you and I?’
Mark bounced off the bed, tucking his T-shirt into his shorts. ‘We’ve got a lot of talking to do. See you later.’
He was early for tennis. Mark raised his racket in a friendly greeting to Fran, who was standing alone on the terrace, her hands clasped in front of her tummy. Now that he’d banished her, he was feeling a little more charitable – silly girl.
‘I was hoping you’d be here before the other players,’ she said.
Mark walked the last few yards to the terrace. If she asked to stay at Villa Anna, he would be firm. He wasn’t feeling that generous! Before he reached the top step, she patted her bulge. ‘I think this is yours.’
He gulped, his eyes darting around the empty courts.
‘There’s no one else here except us two.’ She coughed. ‘Well, us three!’
He pushed past her and tossed his bag onto a chair, then turned to face his accuser, running a hand through his hair and then down his face.
‘Why are you telling me this?’ He still couldn’t recall sleeping with this woman, but then he still couldn’t recall anything past midnight that night. ‘How can you be sure it’s mine? You’re hardly a paragon of virtue, are you?’
‘That’s a bit cheap!’
‘Have you told anyone else?’
She stroked her chin. ‘What? Like Emily?’
‘Well?’
‘Not yet.’ She stared out at the car park. ‘Here come the other players. Shall we continue this conversation later? Meet you down at the bar on Garao beach?’
He had to hand it to her – nice choice for a catch-up spot to rub his face in the mess.
Mark hung his head and stared into his empty glass. The barman caught his eye. Mark nodded and sat back on his bar stool. A few minutes earlier, Fran had been sitting beside him, sipping a glass of water, asking him what he intended to do for her and their baby.
‘It must be yours. You didn’t use any protection.’
He coughed into his beer. ‘No way. I’m not falling for this.’
‘Why would I lie?’
‘Because I’m probably a lot richer than the real father, but don’t take me for a fool. I earned every penny.’ She shifted on her bar stool, then patted her belly. He cringed. ‘Can you please stop doing that?’
‘You are the father.’
His eyes fell on her stomach. He couldn’t be, surely.
‘Do you want me to pay for a termination?’ he offered.
She gaped at him, eyebrows raised, and let out a sharp cough. ‘You what? It’s not our baby’s fault you’re married!’ She reached out, placed a hand on his arm. ‘We both need to deal with this.’
He left her hand where it was and took a long slow pull of beer, letting his eyes circle the bar. There was no one around who could overhear this conversation, but this conversation needed to be over before anyone he knew arrived. How could he explain to Emily why he was sitting in a bar having an earnest chat with Fran?
He met her eyes. He didn’t like it, but she may just be telling the truth, and if not, she could do enough damage spreading rumours. He pushed away his glass, dislodging her hand. He wanted a clear head. His mind was whirring– was this baby his? What would he do if it was? He wouldn’t abandon a child the way his own father did, but how could he afford another kid if the taxman demanded payment? Would Emily divorce him? And what would Alex think about becoming a brother? He needed to know the truth.
‘I want a DNA test,’ he said.
‘Fine.’
‘Andifthe test proves you’re right, what support are you asking for?’
She wriggled on her bar stool, picked up her glass, and took a small sip. ‘We won’t have anywhere to live, and I can’t afford to buy anywhere.’
