Mills & Boon Stars Collection: Passionate Bargains: The Perfect Cazorla Wife / The Russian's Ultimatum / Once a Moretti Wife. Michelle Smart

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      The scent of fresh coffee and newly baked bollos—sweet rolls—pervaded the air: morning aromas that never failed to lift his spirits. The household staff worked at their chores with their customary zeal. The dining table had been set...

      Set for one.

      On the placemat sat a folded letter.

      Eyes wide with disbelief, he read it.

       Gone to the centre. Back some time this evening.

       Charley.

       PS: Have borrowed the helicopter.

      Of all the reactions provoked by the note, the one that came to the forefront the quickest was laughter.

      He could scarcely credit her nerve.

      That feeling of witnessing the Ghost of Wife Past consumed him again. The Charley he’d first met had been impulsive, living for the moment...

      But surely she must know what the consequences would be?

      The laughter died as quickly as it had come. By the time his café con leche and bollos were brought through to him, all amusement had gone.

      Did she seriously think she could take off to the centre in direct contravention of his wishes?

      Was she seriously serious, as she herself would have put it?

      Did she think that now she was back in his bed she could do as she pleased and he would be as forgiving as he had always been?

      It was time his wife learned a lesson. If she refused to learn it then he would cancel their agreement and to hell with the day care centre. It meant nothing to him anyway.

      * * *

      Raul parked the Lotus next to the minibus Charley had been driving the week before and stared at the institutional-looking building with the same distaste as when he’d first been there.

      When he’d called his helicopter back to Barcelona, his pilot had been full of contrition.

      It hadn’t taken Raul long to put the pieces together. Charley had got the pilot’s number from the household directory and said she wanted to go to Valencia. The pilot hadn’t thought twice about the instruction. He would think twice if Charley tried the same stunt again.

      Raul assumed she’d turned his alarm clock off at some point during the night in the snatches of sleep he’d managed between bouts of lovemaking.

      He had to press his thumb on a buzzer at the door and wait for someone to approve his admittance before he could enter. When he was finally granted entry, his initial reaction was that he’d walked into a clinic.

      To his mind, day care centres were supposed to be bright and colourful places full of squealing children. The exterior might have an institutional feel to it, but he’d expected the interior to be more fitting, not grey and lifeless.

      The man he recognised as Seve greeted him at the door of a large room that looked more as he’d imagined, filled with colourful drawings and bright furniture. He could smell food cooking and the aroma was not at all unpleasant.

      Seve shook his hand enthusiastically, treating Raul as if Elvis himself had walked into the building. ‘It is an honour to meet you. We are all so grateful for what you have done for the children here. It is an amazing thing.’

      As Seve droned on Raul took stock of what surrounded him. The harder he looked, the harder his heart pumped and the lighter his head felt.

      Of the dozen or so children in the room at least half were in wheelchairs. All of them sat in a horseshoe around a woman dressed in a bright yellow all-in-one outfit, bright red curly wig and a round red nose. The woman was juggling soft balls, while standing on a plank of wood atop a football. Her balance looked precarious, her juggling atrocious—she dropped more balls than she caught—but it made no difference to the children, all of whom watched with rapt attention, some of them squealing their laughter loudly.

      It took a few moments for his brain to comprehend that it was Charley in the ridiculous clown outfit.

      A small hand tugged at his arm and he looked down to see a young boy gazing up at him.

      ‘This is Ramon,’ Seve said, with a benevolent smile. ‘I think he wants you to watch the show with him.’

      ‘I’m not here for the entertainment,’ Raul said, intending to add, ‘I’m here to take Charley home.’ But when he opened his mouth to say the words, he caught Ramon’s eye and was rewarded with a smile that could melt the entire Arctic Circle.

      Somehow Raul allowed himself to be guided over to the floor by the child who, it was obvious, had Down’s syndrome. As he looked at the other faces one thing was abundantly clear—every single one of these children was severely disabled. One other thing was clear though too: every single one of these children was enthralled with the performance Charley was giving them.

      Suddenly she spotted him and for a moment she faltered. When the balls fell out of her hand this time, there was nothing feigned about it.

      A girl who looked to be no more than eight, who had the most beautiful curly white-blonde hair, toddled over to Raul, her head turned to one side, and stared with curiously vacant eyes, then prodded a finger into his cheek.

      ‘Leave the nice man alone, Karin,’ Seve said, scooping the little girl up into his arms. Karin thus proceeded to poke Seve in the face.

      ‘Sorry about that,’ Seve said, gently taking Karin’s hands to stop any more incessant prodding. ‘She doesn’t know what she’s doing.’

      ‘It’s no problem.’ Other than a slightly tilted head, there was nothing Raul could see physically atypical about the little girl. But something clearly wasn’t quite right.

      Charley had stopped juggling and was now making balloon animals in the same slapstick manner that had most of the children, those who could, laughing. When she spoke it was in precise Spanish without any of the inhibitions she’d displayed when speaking the language to Vittore.

      She finished her act with a bow, then Seve and two other workers took on the task of wheeling and walking the children into an adjoining room that looked, from where Raul sat, like a dining room, while Charley gathered her props together in a battered old suitcase.

      She didn’t say a single word to him. If he hadn’t caught her eye during her little show, he would have thought she hadn’t noticed him.

      Done packing, she picked up the suitcase and carried it off. Raul followed her out of the room and into the entrance hall, where she turned off down a connecting corridor and opened the door into a large storeroom.

      ‘I’m sorry, okay?’ she muttered, stacking the suitcase upright next to a shelving unit crammed with waterproof paints, non-toxic glues and all manner of child-friendly crafts.

      For once, he was at a loss for what to say.

      Charley pulled her red nose off, followed by the wig, which was making her scalp itch.

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