The St. Tropez Lonely Hearts Club Read Online Free PDF Page A

thrust so hard that she screamed with pain.
    ‘Stop it, Nico – stop it, please!’
    ‘Why should I?’ he growled. ‘You’re mine, I can do what I want with you. You belong to me now.’ He thrust harder and grabbed her breasts, squeezing them violently as she moaned in agony.
    ‘Stop it, Nico, stop it! You’re hurting our baby!’
    ‘Our
what?’
Nicanor stopped abruptly and stared at her with bloodshot eyes.
    ‘Our baby,’ cried Carlotta. ‘Nico, I’m pregnant.’
    ‘Oh, my God! Oh, my God!’ He rolled off her and sat on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands, his flaccid penis hanging forlornly on his thigh. ‘When did you . . . are you sure?’
    ‘Yes,’ said Carlotta quietly. ‘I went to see a nice American doctor today because I suspected and it’s true – I am.’ She smiled pleadingly, hoping that now perhaps Nicanor would become the tender lover that he had been before the marriage. ‘I’m only seven weeks but it’s definite.’
    ‘Then you must rest,’ he slurred, as he staggered up and walked shakily to the bathroom. ‘I won’t bother you again, my dear.’

    Throughout Carlotta’s pregnancy, Nicanor had seldom come near her. They returned to San Miguel, where the family doctor told her that, given her young age, barely seventeen, and petite build she must spend the next six and a half months confined to her bed. Carlotta was lonely and horribly confused.
    Her mother, despite being happy now that the Di Ponti family had bought her a cottage on the outskirts of the village, rarely came to visit. Madame Elsa was seldom at home, busy socialising in all the jet-set spots of the world, and Carlotta’s grandmother, racked with arthritis, couldn’t make the journey. Therefore Carlotta’s only visitor was her schoolfriend Livia. Livvy had married her boyfriend and was divinely happy. She visited often, regaling Carlotta with tales of family gatherings and outings to the beach, pizza restaurants and the movies – all things Carlotta could no longer do.
    When Carlotta’s daughter Flora was finally born, Nicanor couldn’t hide his disappointment. ‘Why couldn’t it have been a boy?’ he whined. He started blaming Carlotta for ‘the mistake’, as he referred to the child. When she asked him if he still loved her he replied bitterly, ‘To quote Prince Charles, my dear, “Whatever love is” – quite apt for a Brit, I thought.’
    Nicanor’s desire for a son became more and more obsessive. His monthly lovemaking, if you could call it that, was timed to Carlotta’s menstrual cycle. The doctor had told the couple which were the optimal times of the month to conceive, so for three days in the middle of her cycle, Nicanor pounded relentlessly into his young wife. These couplings were completely without affection or even a modicum of lovemaking. He seemed to think that the rougher and more brutal the sex, the stronger the chances were of producing a boy. She had endured his perversion as long as she could until, after a near-death episode involving a vodka bottle, she decided that a sexless marriage was preferable to what he demanded. This was reinforced by her doctor who informed her she was badly scarred by the incident. Carlotta became resigned to the fact that he found satisfaction elsewhere. ‘Just not in our house,’ she had requested.
    Carlotta’s life revolved around her gorgeous baby Flora, and eventually she gave in to the blandishments of the Buenos Aires socialites and started frequenting their gossipy lunches and get-togethers. She adored her daughter and spent her days involved in charities helping the poor and destitute of San Miguel. But she was not happy. It was an empty life, and when she brought up the subject of divorce, Nicanor refused to even consider it.
    ‘You have your new life – I have mine, and if you divorce me I will see to it that you don’t receive a penny from me or my family,’ he threatened.
    His jaunts with his motorcycle buddies became more