Book Three: Thirty Days, Book 3

by Bibi Paterson

  “With Richard away in London studying, we felt that Taylor would be free to pursue his dreams without interference and for a short time things were good. But we began to notice subtle changes after only a couple of months and when Hannah died it was like Taylor retreated into himself again.

  “For the first year Taylor ran his business out of a spare office in Lyle’s firm, practically living there, but when it finally became apparent that he would need to employ some people he made the move up to London. At first they operated out of a warehouse in Wembley, but after a couple of bumper years Taylor bought that old fire station and renovated it and slowly seemed to find himself again.

  “Richard, however, appeared to spend the four years he was supposed be studying finance, partying and just about managed to scrape through his finals. He has spent the last few years bouncing from one failed venture to the next, each time buoyed by his father’s cash and Gillian’s connections. He has always attempted to undermine Taylor’s business but he is no longer in a position to act the school-yard bully and Taylor’s reputation is strong enough to withstand the mud that Richard seems intent on slinging.

  “It wasn’t until Taylor met you, though, darling Abigail, that I finally saw the Taylor that I knew in Costa Rica. You chased away the shadows and even though I am aware that you both have been through unimaginable horrors in the last seven months, when I watched him say his vows on your wedding day I can honestly say that I have never seen my grandson happier.

  “But now, as this damn trial approaches, I see Taylor beginning to sink back into himself and see the shadows returning. And it is my entire fault.” The defeat on Genevieve's face is heart-wrenching.

  “Genevieve, I have no idea why you think any of this is possibly your fault?” I say earnestly.

  “Oh Abigail, if only I tried harder in the early days, pushed more, made Harold listen to me, then Taylor and you wouldn’t be in this mess now,” she says in despair.

  “Oh, Genevieve, if anything, all of this has taught me that life is too short for regrets,” I say offering a smile.

  “Darling, when you reach my age you will realise there is plenty of time for regrets.” Genevieve attempts to pick up her cup of tea but her hands are shaking so much the tea slops over the edge into the saucer and she puts it back down. I know I need to the reassure her so I think on my words carefully for a moment.

  “But I don’t regret meeting Taylor, Genevieve. I know our relationship did not exactly have the smoothest of starts, but I can’t regret it for a moment. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have Bean and I wouldn’t be married to the most amazing man I have ever met. All the rest, well the rest is just…incidental.”

  Genevieve gives me a weak smile. “I am not talking about your regrets, darling. I would hope that you never come to regret your relationship with my grandson. I only wish that if I had fewer regrets then you would not have had to suffer at the hands of Richard and Hannah. It breaks my heart when I think that my inaction, my failure to deal with the things that I should have, has dragged you into this web of chaos.”

  I look at Genevieve, her grief splayed across her features as she unburdens herself. My eyes have filled with tears as she talks of regrets, of failures, and I can’t help but wonder what could have been if Richard had not been allowed to become the bully he was encouraged to be. If anything, Genevieve’s tale has given me extra insight into Taylor’s relationship with his brother and how he broke free.

  My hand has never left Genevieve’s and I squeeze it reassuringly as I watch her struggle to compose herself. I let go of her hand and pour her a fresh cup of tea, averting my eyes when the cup rattles against the saucer as she takes it from me. Genevieve has always been so compassionate towards me that it is the least I can do to return the favour to this proud woman.

  I change the conversation bringing it back to safer ground by asking Genevieve how best to look after my new frangipani tree. She gives me a grateful look before giving me some helpful tips. It is not long though before Genevieve makes her excuses and leaves me to dwell on her words.

  The weather doesn’t improve and neither does my mood. I do my best to distract myself from the words endlessly repeating in my head, but it feels like I have a broken record in my mind. The ‘what ifs’ plague me and I can’t even begin to see a way out of this morose internal dialogue that is haunting my day.

  The Thirteenth

  The sun has barely made it above the horizon when I finally drag myself out of bed. I spent hours tossing and turning, Genevieve’s words playing over and over in my mind until I wanted to weep. Maybe it is my hormones, or maybe the pain in her words just permeated my subconscious, but I can’t help but empathise with the woman who tried to do the right thing on multiple occasions yet still carries the guilt of others on her shoulders.

  I pad through to the kitchen, my movements sluggish with the lack of sleep. Pulling the carton of milk from the fridge I pour some into a mug before heating it up in the microwave. A couple of spoonful’s of cocoa and a sprinkle of sugar and I have my ultimate go-to comfort drink. A dash of cinnamon gives it a final twist and I take a sip, letting out a sigh before I curl up on the sofa trying to shrug off my unease.

  It also doesn’t help that today Taylor is giving evidence at Hannah’s trial, something that was weighing on my mind throughout the night. He wasn’t due to be in court until next week, but they seem to be getting through the witnesses relatively quickly so he received the call yesterday afternoon which meant that he ended up stay in London overnight. On the one hand, I am relieved that we can get this all over and done with but on the other hand it means that, in all likelihood, I will be facing Hannah sooner than I had anticipated.

  I find myself wishing that Taylor hadn’t stayed in the apartment last night, that I could have talked him through my worries and my conversation with Genevieve. But doing that over the phone would have just been impossible and to be honest what I am really craving is the comfort of his physical presence. I flick the TV on, looking for some form of distraction, but give up when nothing in our vast bank of movies takes my fancy. I pick up my eReader instead but give up after I realise that I have been staring at the screen unseeing for the last five minutes. The delicious aroma of baking bread begins to tease my nostrils and with that I make a decision; I am going to pound some dough!

  Five minutes later and I have hastily pulled on some yoga pants and a ratty old band t-shirt and slipped my feet into my trusty Converse. I walk through the door to the kitchen and am greeted by a solitary Andreas, who takes one look at me and hands me a great big lump of dough. “Bread rolls,” he advises and I nod in response before I begin to vent all of my frustration on the dough. An hour later my arms are aching but my head is clearer. The dough has been completely overworked and is fit only for the bin, but it doesn’t matter, it achieved its purpose.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” Andreas asks quietly. I glance up at the big bear of a man who has become not just one of my employees, but also a trusted friend

  “Nothing really to say, Andreas, but thanks for asking. Taylor is testifying today and I am just on edge about the whole thing, you know?” I shrug my shoulders, not really sure what else I can say to explain my bad mood.

  Andreas nods and carries on with what he is doing, making me grateful that he is willing to let things lie. Time seems to slip away and before I know it Bea is poking her head around the door and chiding Andreas for not having her rolls ready.

  “Sorry Bea, that’s my fault,” I say. “I thoroughly overworked the dough and Andreas had to start again. They should be done in five.” I watch as Bea and Andreas have one of those silent conversations and I can see the understanding dawn on Beas's face.

  “That’s okay, love. The customers will just have to wait,” Bea says with a broad smile, but I can see the worry in her eyes. I can’t help but feel guilty for being the cause of their concern; ever since I entered their lives, all I seem to do is bring them grief.

  “
I am going to head upstairs for a shower,” I say. “Call me if you need a hand serving or anything today, I need the distraction.”

  “Will do, sweetheart. But I think it is going to be a slow one today. This weather is dreadful so I can’t see many people venturing out.”

  “What weather?” I ask. “It was fine when I came downstairs, a bit dull but nothing too bad.”

  “It’s blowing a gale out there. The rain started about fifteen minutes ago and it’s torrential. Apparently there’s a front moving in and it’s going to be like this all day.”

  “Oh, okay,” I respond with a shrug. “Well, give me a shout if you need me.” When I step outside, I realise the Bea was not over-exaggerating. In the few steps it takes me to get through my own front door I am thoroughly drenched, so much so that I peel off my sodden clothes in the entrance hall before quickly climbing the stairs for a shower.

  As I walk into the bathroom, I change my mind, opting for a bath instead. In no time at all steam has filled the room and I sink into the fragrant bubbles. Immediately Bean begins to move, the warm water prompting a gymnastics demonstration in my belly. I watch with fascination as a foot pushes outwards, at least I assume it is a foot, and moves towards my ribs. I begin to talk to Bean, telling her how much I love her and that I can’t wait to finally meet her until eventually she calms downs and stills. I find myself slipping into a light doze and the water soothes the aching muscles in my arms and shoulders until I finally feel the majority of the tension leave me.

  I spend the rest of the morning feeling restless, despite my relaxing bath. I have messaged Taylor several times but have had no response, though I wasn’t really expecting one if he was in court. I feel useless stuck here and all I can think about is being with Taylor. An idea strikes and I spend a few minutes internally debating the merits of going up to London and surprising Taylor. He does it enough for me and I think after the day he is probably having, he would more than likely welcome a distraction.

  With my mind made up, I quickly give Henry a call outlining my plan and asking him to give me a heads up when it looks like things are wrapping up for the day. When I ask him how things are going, knowing that he has been popping in and out of the courtroom all day, he responds that everything is fine. But I can tell from the tone of voice things are everything but.

  Despite the inclement weather, my trip up to London is quick. Before I left, I had packed an overnight bag with everything I could think of that we would both need but I am missing something to wear tonight. I tried on several of my loosest dresses, but nothing fit over my baby bump so for tonight I require something new.

  At my mum’s suggestion, I end up in a boutique specialising in maternity wear in Kensington trying on dress after dress until finally I settle on a gorgeous navy one. The soft silk chiffon drapes beautifully over my frame and is complemented by a lace bodice that sweeps across my shoulders. The moment I try it on I feel like a million dollars and immediately I know that this is the dress that I want to seduce my husband in.

  My next stop is my mum’s hairdresser just off Carnaby street who tuts loudly in exasperation when he takes in the state of my hair. The last time that I saw him he had cut my hair into the most incredible pixie cut with a cute little faux hawk. But given that I have not managed to make it back to get it trimmed it has grown out into a scraggly mess that I have been taming by clipping it off my face.

  “Something a little more manageable this time I think, darling,” George sighs as he runs his hands through my locks. Once again, I am led across to the basin where the most alarming shade of purple goop is massaged into my hair. I lie back with my eyes closed enjoying my scalp massage until I almost drift off to sleep in the chair. The sensation of warm water rinsing my locks brings me back to myself and I open my eyes lazily. An hour later my hair has been snipped and dried into an angled bob that is softened by the waves of hair that frame my face and I can’t help but grin at my reflection.

  “Maintenance is essential, Abby,” George scolds. “Make sure you come back a bit sooner this time, you hear.” I assure George that I won’t leave it another four months before gathering up my parcels and jacket and heading towards Regent Street to hail a taxi. I head across to Threadneedles, a gorgeous five-star hotel that I have booked for the night as part of my plan, where I dropped my bags off earlier. I have nothing left to do apart from have a nap and then get ready for my surprise date-night with Taylor.

  .........................

  The view across the rooftop towards St. Paul’s Cathedral is stunning as the sun begins to set. I am sat in a restaurant called Madison which is at eye level with the building’s iconic dome and, if I turn my head, I also catch glimpses of the London Eye and The Shard, one of London’s newest landmarks. I find myself appreciating the blend of old and new as I glance at the horizon; it shouldn’t work, but actually it does and for the umpteenth time I find myself grateful to be able to experience such a unique city. Less than five minutes’ walk away you can find the remains of the old Roman wall that once surrounded the original city right next to the Barbican, one of London’s many cultural icons. Wherever you turn ancient nestles with modern making this city, in my opinion, one of the greatest in the world.

  My original plan had been to surprise Taylor by picking him up outside of the Old Bailey, but things were running late at the Central Criminal Court so Henry promised to get him delivered to me. A text five minutes ago let me know that he was on his way so now I am waiting, suddenly anxious that maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he is too tired or the day went badly, I don’t know, but I guess I will just have to wait and see.

  I am nervously twiddling the swizzle stick in my lime and soda when I spy Taylor across the room looking around. I am suddenly reminded of the night we decided to pretend we didn’t know each other and he fingered me in the lift of the Oxo Tower and feel a blush creeping up my cheeks. My eyes lock with Taylor’s and I feel my body respond as he smirks at me, almost as if he knows what I am thinking.

  Moments later Taylor is across the room and pulling me up out of my seat and into his arms. “You are a sight for sore eyes, Abs,” he murmurs into my ear. “You have no idea how happy I am to see you.”

  “A good surprise then?” I ask as I beam back at him, glad I made the decision to come.

  “The best,” Taylor responds earnestly. “I was dreading going back to the apartment tonight by myself. It has been way too long since I gave my gorgeous wife a hug. Give me a twirl,” Taylor commands swirling his finger around.

  I take a step back on my low nude heels and spin in a slow circle, the soft chiffon of the skirt sliding across the tops of my thighs, the movement giving him a glimpse of the tops of my stockings underneath.

  “Stunning, just stunning,” Taylor says with a cheeky grin before leaning over to whisper in my ear, “I can’t wait to get you out of that tonight.”

  The blush spreads right up my neck and across my cheek bones, heat flooding my face as my body responds to the promise in Taylor’s voice.

  Taylor motions me to take my seat, pulling out his own chair and settling into it after discarding his charcoal-grey suit jacket. The shirt underneath looks vaguely crumpled and the knot of his tie has been loosened giving him a slightly rakish, devil-may-care look, but I know the truth; the signs of his agitation are visible to anyone who actually cares to look.

  “Do you want to talk about it?” I ask softly. Taylor shakes his head in response and I see his fingers clenching the napkin so hard his knuckles have turned white. I let out a soft sigh before pasting a bright smile on my face. “So I hear the truffle macaroni is to die for here…” The words are out my mouth before their meaning register and, as Taylor stares at me slightly aghast, I can’t help but dissolve into a fit of giggles. Okay, so making jokes about dying when you are the victim in an attempted murder case is probably not the wisest of moves but a moment later Taylor joins in with loud guffaws drawing looks from the people around us and, just like that, t
he tension between us has been broken.

  We chat about inconsequential things while we wait for our food and I fill him in on Genevieve’s visit, leaving out the part about the family history lesson. Instead, I make light of it telling him that finally figured out where my gorgeous tree came from. Throughout my delicious meal of Moroccan-spiced lamb neck with apricot and almond couscous Taylor never stops touching me; a brush of a hand here, a caress of my knee there, his calf sliding against mine with a constant pressure that has my senses on high alert. Taylor knows what he is doing to me, though; I can see it with the occasional smirk when he leans forward to tuck my hair behind my ear or he offers me a mouthful of his sea bass.

  Looking at us, we must just seem like a young couple out for a relaxed evening meal in the heart of the city. Yet no one would guess that right now I am aching to tear my husband’s clothes off, or that I am desperate for him to take me into the bathroom and fuck me until I scream his name; seriously pregnancy has made me so horny.

  When neither of us can eat another mouthful, we head out onto the rooftop terrace to enjoy the spring air as the sun finally sets. As we settle on one of the couches, Taylor pulls me into his warm frame to ward off the slight chill that is creeping in as the first stars begin to glimmer in the sky. I nestle my head into the crook of Taylor’s neck, one arm slung across his chest, revelling in our closeness. For the most part, we sit in silence my fingers entwined with his, just enjoying the music and the tranquil atmosphere while Taylor rubs my belly softly and plants kisses on my hair.

  Eventually, though, the terrace gets busy and the last of our coffees have been drunk so Taylor suggests heading back to the apartment. I give him a wicked smile and tell him that I have another surprise for him, subtly running my fingers down his pants and across his cock. An arch of his eyebrow is all the response I get before Taylor is pulling me to my feet and planting a fierce kiss on my lips, leaving me breathless.