‘Exactly what are you trying to say, Raoul?’
‘That you have to scrap any crazy notions of us having nothing to do with one another. You’re living in cloud cuckoo land if you think that’s going to work. The whole bedtime story, spaghetti Bolognese thing is going to have to involve both of us. Of course it’ll be a damn sight easier when you get out of this place and move somewhere more convenient. And less cramped. On the subject of which—I have my people working on that.’
There were so many contentious things packed into that single cool statement that Sarah looked at him, staggered.
‘When you say involve both of us …’
Raoul flushed darkly and dealt her a fulminating look from under his lashes.
‘I don’t know the first thing about being a parent,’ he told her roughly. ‘You’ve witnessed my sterling performance out there.’
‘I didn’t know the first thing about being a parent either,’ Sarah pointed out with irrefutable logic. ‘It’s just a case of doing your best.’
The thought of doing things with Raoul and Oliver, a cosy threesome, was enough to bring on the beginnings of a panic attack in her. Already she was finding it difficult to separate the past from the present. She looked at him, and who was she kidding when she told herself that she was no longer attracted to him? Raoul was in a different place, and would be able to take her on board as just a temporary necessity in his life, easily set aside once he had what he wanted: some sort of ongoing relationship with his son. But she was aghast at the prospect of having him there in her life. How on earth was she ever going to get to that controlled, composed place of detachment if she was continually tripping over him in the kitchen as he attempted to bond with his son over fish fingers?
Perhaps he had exaggerated, she thought, soothing her own restless, panicked mind. He was still smarting from Oliver’s less than exuberant reception of him. Right at this very moment this was the only plan he could see ahead of him, and Raoul was big on plans. He would not be taking into account the simple fact that when children were involved plans could never really be made. In a day or two he would probably revise his ideas, because she very much doubted that he wanted to spend quality time with her in the picture.
‘And the whole house issue …’ she continued faintly. ‘You have your people working on it?’
‘Here’s one of the things I’ve discovered about having money: throw enough of it at a problem and the problem goes away. Right now they’re in the process of drawing up lists of suitable properties. I will be giving them until the end of next week. So,’ he drawled when she failed to respond, ‘are we on the same wavelength here, Sarah?’
‘I can’t just move into a house you happen to choose. I know you probably don’t care about your surroundings, but I care about mine …’
‘Don’t you trust me to find somewhere you’d like?’
He’d used to be amused at her dreamy, whimsical ideas. From where he had stood there had been little use for dreams unless you had the wherewithal to turn them into reality, and even then he had never made the mistake of confusing dreams with the attainment of real, concrete goals. What was the point in wishing you could own a small island in the middle of the Pacific if the chances of ever having one were zero? But her dreams of cottages and clambering roses and open fires had made him smile.
‘True, the thatched cottage with the roses and the apple trees might be a little troublesome to find in London …’
Sarah blushed, unsettled by the fact that he had remembered her corny youthful notion of the perfect house. Which she recalled describing in tedious detail.
‘But I’ve got them working on the Aga in the kitchen, the garden overlooking water, and the fireplaces …’
‘I can’t believe you remember that conversation!’
She gave a brittle laugh, and went an even brighter shade of red when he replied softly, ‘Oh, there’s a lot I remember, Sarah. You’d be surprised.’
He didn’t miss the flare of curiosity in her eyes. She might have made bold statements about not wanting anything to do with him, about shoving that kiss they had shared into a box at the back of a cupboard in her head, where she wouldn’t have to confront it, but every time they were in each other’s company he could feel that undercurrent of electricity—a low, sizzling hum that vibrated just below the radar.
‘Well, I don’t actually remember all that much,’ Sarah responded carelessly.
‘Now, I wonder why I’m not believing you …’
‘I have no idea, and I don’t care. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting to work on those onions, I’ll go and fetch Oliver.’
She disappeared before he could continue the conversation. When he looked at her like that she would swear that he could see right down into the very depths of her. It was an uncomfortable, frightening sensation that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Once she had gladly opened up to him—had told him everything there was to know about herself. She had taken him at face value and turned a blind eye to the fact that while she had been falling deeper and deeper in love with him, he had pointedly refused to discuss anything that involved a future between them. He had taken everything she had so generously given and then politely jettisoned her when his time on the compound was up.
Raoul was a taker, with little interest in giving back. When he looked at her with those lazy, brooding eyes she could sense his interest. Some of his remarks carried just that little hint of flirtation, of deliberately treading very close to the edge. He had possessed her once, much to her shame. Did he think that he could possess her again?
She returned with Oliver to find him at the kitchen counter, dutifully chopping the onions as instructed.
Oliver had brought in a handful of his blocks, and Sarah sat him on a chair and then called Raoul over. She made sure to keep her voice light and friendly, even though every nerve in her body tingled as he strolled towards them, a teatowel draped over one shoulder.
‘Blocks … my favourite.’
She had sat at the table, next to Oliver, and now Raoul leaned over her, his strong arms trapping her as he rested his hands on the table on either side of her. Sarah could feel his breath whisper against her neck when he spoke.
‘Did you hear that, Oliver? Raoul loves building things! Wouldn’t it be fun for you two to build something for me? What about a tower? You love building towers! Do you remember how high your last tower was? Before it fell?’
‘Twelve blocks,’ Oliver said seriously, not looking at Raoul. ‘I can count to fifty.’
‘That’s quite an achievement!’ Raoul leaned a little closer to Sarah, so that the clean, minty smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils.
She shifted, but had almost no room for manoeuvre. Her eyes drifted compulsively to his forearm, to the fine sprinkling of dark hairs that curled around the dull matt silver of his mega-expensive watch.
‘Why don’t you sit down, Raoul?’ she suggested stiltedly. ‘You can help Oliver with his tower.’
‘I don’t need any help, Mum.’
‘No, he really doesn’t. I sense that he’s more than capable of building the Empire State Building all on his own.’
Oliver glanced very quickly at Raoul, and then returned to the task in hand.
Sarah heard Raoul’s almost imperceptible indrawn breath as he abruptly stood back, and when she turned to look at him he had removed himself to the kitchen sink, his expression one of frustrated defeat.
‘Give it time,’ she said in a low voice, moving to stand in front of him.
‘How much time? I’m not a patient man.’
‘Well, I guess you’ll have to learn how to be. Good job with the onions, by the way.’
But she could feel his simmering impatience with the situation for the rest of the evening. Oliver was not so much hostile as wary. He answered Raoul’s questions without meeting his eye and, dinner over, finally agreed to go outside with him to test drive the car which had been abandoned in the sitting room.
>
Through the kitchen window, Sarah watched their awkward interaction with a sinking heart.
She had planned on sitting Oliver down and explaining that Raoul was his father once a bond of trust between them had been accepted. To overload him with too much information would be bewildering for him. But how long was that going to take? she wondered. Raoul was obviously trying very hard.
She watched as Oliver sent the oversized car bouncing crazily into the unkempt bushes at the back of the tiny garden, losing interest fast and walking away as Raoul stooped down to deliver a mini-lecture on mechanics.
The consequences of him missing out, through no fault of his own, on those precious first four years hit her forcibly. Another man, with experience of growing up in a real family, might have had something to fall back on in a situation like this. Raoul had no such experience, and was struggling to find a way through his own shortcomings.
She abandoned her plans to have him read something to Oliver before bed, which was their usual routine. Instead, she told him to wait for her in the kitchen while she settled Oliver.
‘You can help yourself to … um … whatever you can find in the fridge. I know dinner was probably not what you’re used to …’
‘Because I’m such a snob?’
Sarah sighed heavily, ‘I’m just conscious that we’re … we’re miles apart. When we were working out in Africa there wasn’t this great big chasm separating us …’
‘You need to move on from the past.’
‘You haven’t moved on from yours!’
‘I’m not following you?’
‘You thought you could buy Oliver with lots of presents because that’s what your past has conditioned you to think! And then you got impatient when you discovered that it doesn’t work that way.’
‘And you can’t move on from the fact that—okay … yes—I dumped you!’ Raoul thundered. ‘You want to find something to argue about—anything at all—because you’ve wrapped yourself up in a little world comprised of just you and Oliver and you can’t deal with the fact that I’m around now! Dinner was disappointing because it was stressful! I didn’t know how to deal with him.’
Hell, Oliver had played with his food, spread most of it on the table, and had received only the most indulgent scolding from Sarah! His childhood memories of mealtimes were of largely silent affairs, with rowdy behaviour at the table meriting instant punishment.
‘I don’t know how to deal with him.’
Dumbfounded by that raw admission, Sarah was overcome with regret for her outburst. He was so clever, so all-knowing, that she hadn’t really stopped to consider that now he really was at a loss.
‘I’m … I’m sorry, Raoul. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about your past …’ she mumbled.
‘Look, we’ve found ourselves in this situation, and constantly sniping isn’t going to get either of us very far.’
Mind made up, Sarah nodded in agreement. ‘I’ll take him up for a bath … Yes, you’re right … it’s difficult for both of us …’ She managed a smile. ‘I guess we both need to do some adjusting …’
She returned forty-five minutes later and looked as fresh as a daisy. He felt as though he had done ten rounds in a boxing ring.
‘I think he’s really beginning to warm to you!’ she said cheerfully.
Raoul raised his eyebrows in an expression of rampant scepticism. ‘Explain how you’ve managed to arrive at that conclusion?’ He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head with a short, dry laugh. ‘There’s no need to put on the Little Miss Sunshine act for me, Sarah. I may not know much when it comes to kids, but I’d have to have the IQ of a goldfish not to see that my own son has no time for me. You were right. All those toys were a complete waste of time and money.’
‘You’re just not accustomed to children. You don’t know how they think. Sometimes it’s hard to imagine you being a kid at all! Oliver enjoys pushing the boundaries. Most children do, Raoul. He’ll fiddle with his food until I have to be firm, and he’ll always go for just another five minutes or one more story or two scoops of ice cream, please.’
‘Whatever happened to discipline?’ Raoul scowled at her laid-back attitude.
‘Oh, there’s a lot of that. It’s just knowing when to decide that it’s really needed.’
She looked at Raoul thoughtfully. The man who could move mountains had discovered his Achilles’ heel, and she was sure that he would never ask for her help. He was stubbornly, maddeningly proud. To ask for help would be to admit a weakness, and she knew that was something he would find it very hard to do.
But helping him was the only solution—and, more than that, helping him would give her a psychological boost, even out the playing field.
‘Okay, well, he’s now thrilled with the car. Tonight I’ll pack away all the rest of the stuff you brought for him. I can bring bits out now and again as treats.’ She folded her arms and braced herself to take control with a guy who was so used to having the reins that he probably had no idea relinquishing them was a possibility.
Raoul sat back and clasped his hands behind his head. He had thought for one crazy moment, when he had laid eyes on her again, that time hadn’t changed her. He had been wrong. This was no longer the blindly adoring girl who had yielded to him with such abundant generosity. There was a steely glint in her eye now, and he realised that he had seen it before but maybe hadn’t really recognised it for what it was. The molten charge between them was still there, whether she wanted to admit it or not, but along with that was something else …
Raoul felt a certain fascination, and a surge of raw, powerful curiosity.
‘Am I about to get a ticking off?’ he drawled, his eyes roving lazily over her from head to toe in a way that made it difficult for her not to feel frazzled.
‘No,’ she said sweetly. ‘But I am going to tell you what you need to do, and you’re going to listen to me.’ She smiled a bit more when she saw his frown of incomprehension. ‘You like to think you know everything, but you don’t.’
‘Oh? You’re going to be my teacher, are you?’
‘Whether you like it or not!’
Raoul shot her a slow, dazzling smile. ‘Well, now,’ he said softly, instantly turning the tables on her, ‘it’s been a while since anyone taught me anything. You might find that I like it a lot more than you expect …’
CHAPTER FOUR
SARAH looked at her reflection in the mirror and frowned. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes were glowing. She looked excited. Guilt shot through her, because this was just what she didn’t want. She didn’t want to find herself giddy with anticipation because Raoul was on his way over.
For the past four weeks she had kept her manner brisk and impersonal. She had pretended not to notice those occasional sidelong glances of his, when his fabulous dark eyes would rest speculatively on her face. She had taken extra care to downplay what she wore. Anyone would have been forgiven for thinking that the only components of her wardrobe were faded jeans, tee shirts, shapeless jumpers and trainers. Now that the weather was getting warmer, and spring was edging tentatively into summer, the jumpers had been set aside, but the jeans, the tee shirts and the trainers were still fully in evidence.
Sarah was determined to make sure that her relationship with Raoul remained detached and uninvolved. She knew that she couldn’t afford to forget what had happened in the past.
She had thrown herself into the task of helping him get to know his son, and she had to admit that it was no longer the uphill struggle it had initially been. Oliver was gradually opening up and losing some of his restraint, and Raoul, in turn, was slowly learning how to relate to a child. Like a teacher struggling with troublesome pupils and finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel, she could now cautiously tell herself that her role of mediator had been successful.
And that accounted for the glow in her eyes and her flushed cheeks.
Oliver was actually looking forward to seeing Raoul. In fact, he wa
s dressed and ready to go.
She clattered down the stairs as the doorbell buzzed and smiled at the sight of Oliver in the sitting room, kneeling on the chair by the bay window, eyes peeled for Raoul’s arrival. He had been treated to several rides in Raoul’s sports car, and had gravely told her that he would buy her one just as soon as he had saved enough money. He had two pounds, and considered himself well on the way.
‘Am I dressed correctly for a day out at a theme park, Miss?’ Raoul laughed at her exasperated expression.
‘You know I hate it when you call me that.’
‘Of course you don’t! It makes you feel special. And besides … I enjoy watching the way you blush when I say it.’
On cue, Sarah felt her cheeks pinken.
‘You shouldn’t say stuff like that.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because … because … it’s not appropriate …’
And because it threatened her. She had been walking on thin ice for the past four weeks as he dug deeper and deeper under her defences with his easy charm, his wit, his willingness to tackle head-on a situation that must have rocked his world. She desperately wanted her one-dimensional memory of him back, because it was so much easier to deal with him as the man who had ruined her life.
‘Now you really are beginning to sound like a schoolteacher,’ Raoul said softly. ‘Should I expect to be punished any time soon?’
‘Stop it!’
He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender and laughed, throwing his head back, keeping his velvety black eyes on her face.
Sarah glared at him. This couldn’t continue. Raoul didn’t know what he was doing to her, but she was mentally and emotionally exhausted. She would talk to Raoul today. Begin the process of sorting out visiting arrangements. She couldn’t foresee any problem with Raoul now taking Oliver out for the day without her having to be there as chaperone.
In other words it was time to acknowledge that her brief stint at usefulness was over and Raoul had been right. It had been essential for them to present a united front to Oliver so that his confidence in Raoul could be built. Would it come as a shock for him to accept Raoul as his father? Certainly it would be a lot easier now than it would have been a month ago, when Raoul had been an intimidating stranger bearing expensive gifts who had landed in their midst from nowhere.
The Secret Sinclair Page 7