Best Friend to Wife and Mother?

by Caroline Anderson

  Her eyes filled, and she ran her fingertips lightly over the intertwining branches of a magical tree that scrambled up the wall and across the ceiling, sheltering the corner where she imagined the cot would go.

  ‘It’s wonderful,’ she said, her voice choked. ‘She’s a lucky little girl.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far, but I do my best under the circumstances.’

  He turned away, walking out of the room and down the stairs, and she followed him—through the hall, a sitting room with a sea view, a study fitted out with desk and shelves and storage facing the front garden and the drive this time, a cloakroom with coat storage and somewhere to park Ella’s buggy—and then back across the hall into the main event, a huge room that opened out to the deck and the garden beyond.

  Literally. The far wall was entirely glass, panels that would slide away to let the outside in, and right in the centre of the room was the kitchen.

  And what a kitchen! Matte dark grey units, pale wood worktops, sleek integrated ovens, in the plural—and maybe a coffee maker, a steam oven, a microwave—she had no idea, but a bank of them, anyway, set into tall units at one side that no doubt would house all manner of pots and pans and ingredients as well. There was a huge American-style fridge freezer, still wrapped but standing by the slot designed to take it, and he told her it was to be plumbed in tomorrow.

  ‘So—the verdict?’

  She gave an indifferent shrug, and then relented, her smile refusing to hide. ‘Stunning. It’s absolutely stunning, Leo. Really, really lovely.’

  ‘So who wins?’

  She laughed softly and turned to face him. ‘It grieves me to admit it, but you do. By a mile.’

  His eyes creased into a smile, and he let out a quiet huff of laughter. ‘Don’t ever tell them that.’

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t be so rude, and it’s very beautiful, but this...’

  ‘Yeah. I love it, too. I wasn’t sure I would, because of the circumstances, but I do. I started planning it before Lisa died, but she had no interest in it, no input—nothing. And it’s changed out of all recognition.’

  ‘So she’s not here.’

  ‘No. And she’s never been here. Not once. She wouldn’t set foot in it. And now I’m glad, because it isn’t—’

  He broke off, but the word ‘tainted’ hovered in the air between them.

  She took a breath, moved the conversation on, away from the past. ‘So, will it be ready for filming on Monday?’

  He shrugged, that wonderful Latin shrug that unravelled her every time, and his mouth quirked into a smile. ‘He tells me it’s done, all bar the fridge-freezer plumbing and the carpets, which are booked for tomorrow. I’ve gone over everything with him this evening to make sure it’s OK, and I can move in whenever I want.’

  ‘Oh. Wow. That was quick,’ she said, and was appalled at the sense of loss. She’d thought they’d be next door with his parents, but now they wouldn’t. He and Ella would move into their wonderful new house a few miles up the road, and she’d hardly see them.

  Oh, well. It had to happen sooner or later.

  ‘It had to be. The series team liked the Tuscany idea, by the way, and it’s a brilliant opportunity to showcase the Valtieri produce, so they won’t be unhappy with that. I just need to knock up some recipes, bearing in mind the schedule’s pretty tight.’

  ‘So you’re going to be really busy setting it all up this week. Do you want me to look after Ella from now on?’

  He ran his hand round the back of his neck. ‘Yeah, I need to talk to you about that. We’ll be filming all day from Monday, and I need to spend some time in the restaurant in the evenings, and I can’t do that and look after her. She loves you, she’s happy with you—but I don’t know how you’d feel about moving in.’

  ‘Moving in? Here? With you?’

  He shrugged. ‘Not—with me. Not in that way. I just think it would be easier all round if you were here, but you don’t have to do it. You don’t have to do any of it. It was never part of the deal.’

  ‘I changed the deal. And you agreed it.’

  ‘And then we moved the goalposts into another galaxy. You have every right to refuse, if you want to.’ His face softened into a wry smile. ‘I’m hoping you won’t because my parents need a holiday and I’d like to cut them some slack. They’ve been incredible for the past nine months, and I’m very conscious that I’ve taken advantage, but I know that moving in with me is a huge step for you, and I’m very conscious of what you said about what happened in Tuscany—’

  ‘Stays in Tuscany?’ she finished for him. ‘That’s not set in stone.’

  ‘But we could still do that. Keep our distance, get to know each other better before we invest too much in this relationship, because we’re not the people we were.’

  ‘So what do you want to know about me?’

  ‘Whether or not you can live with me would be a good start.’

  ‘We seem to have done a pretty good job of it this week.’

  ‘We haven’t shared the toothpaste yet,’ he said, his mouth wry.

  ‘We’ve done everything else.’

  ‘No, we haven’t. We haven’t been together while I’ve been running the business, which takes a hell of a lot of my time, and what’s left belongs to Ella. And that’s not negotiable.’

  ‘I know that, Leo, and I can handle your schedule. I’ve already proved that. I’m not a needy child, and I’m not Lisa. I haven’t been transplanted into an alien environment. I’ve got friends and family in the area, a life of my own. Don’t worry, I’ll find plenty to do.’

  ‘I still think we need to try it. And to do that, I’d need you living here, at least while my parents are away, and preferably for the whole time we’re filming. If you could.’

  She hesitated, part of her aching to be there helping him and spending time with Ella, making sure she was safe and happy, the other part wary of exposing herself to hurt.

  No contest.

  ‘So how long is it? Is it eight weeks, as you thought?’

  ‘I don’t know. They’re talking about eight episodes. Probably a couple of days for each, plus prep and downtime for me while they cut and fiddle about with it. I reckon a week an episode. That’s what it was last time. Or maybe six, at a push. It’s a serious commitment. And it’s a lot to ask—too much for my mother and father, even if they weren’t going on holiday.’

  Eight weeks of working with him, keeping Ella out of the way yet close enough at hand that he could see her whenever he had a chance. Eight weeks of sleeping with him every night? Maybe. Which meant eight more weeks to get to know him better, and fall deeper and deeper in love with both of them.

  And at the end—what then?

  She hesitated for so long that he let out a long, slow sigh and raked his hands through his hair.

  ‘Amy, if you really can’t, then I’ll find another way,’ he said softly. ‘I don’t want to put you under pressure or take advantage of you and it doesn’t change things between us at all. I still want to get to know you better, but if you aren’t sure you want to do it, I’ll get a nanny—a childminder. Something. A nursery.’

  ‘Not at such short notice,’ she told him. ‘Even I know that. Anyone who’s any good won’t be able to do it, not with the restaurant hours as well.’ She sighed, closed her eyes briefly and then opened them to find him watching her intently.

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ he asked.

  ‘With me?’

  ‘So—is that a yes?’

  She tried to smile, but it slipped a little, the fear of making yet another catastrophic mistake so soon after the last one looming in her mind. ‘Yes, it’s a yes. Just remind me again—why it is that you always get your own way?’ she murmured, and he laughed and pulled her into his arms and gave her a brief but heartfelt hug.
/>   ‘Thank you. Now all I have to do is get the furniture delivered and we can move in and get on with our lives.’

  Well, he could. Hers, yet again, was being put on hold, but she owed him so much for so many years of selfless support that another eight weeks of her life was nothing—especially since it would give them a chance to see if their relationship would survive the craziness that was his life.

  She’d just have to hope she could survive it. Not the eight weeks, that would be fine. But the aftermath, the fallout when the series was filmed, the crew had left and he’d decided he couldn’t live with her?

  What on earth had she let herself in for?

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THEY WERE IN.

  He looked around at his home—their home, his and Ella’s and maybe Amy’s—and let out a long, quiet sigh of relief. It had been a long time coming, but at last they were here.

  Ella was safely tucked up in her cot in her new room, his parents had stayed long enough to toast the move, and now it was all his.

  He poured himself a glass of wine, walked out onto the deck and sat down on the steps, staring out over the sea. He was shattered. Everything had been delivered, unpacked and put in place, and all he’d had to do was point.

  In theory.

  And tomorrow the contents of the store cupboards in the kitchen were being delivered and he could start working on some recipes.

  But tonight he had to draft his Tuscan tour blog. Starting with the photos, because they hadn’t got round to them on Tuesday night and he hadn’t had a spare second since. Amy was coming round shortly with her laptop, and they were going through them together. Assuming he could keep his eyes open.

  The doorbell rang, and he put his glass down and let her in. He wanted to pull her into his arms and kiss her, but with what had happened in Tuscany and all that, he really wanted to give their relationship a chance.

  ‘Did she go down all right?’

  He smiled wryly. Typical Amy, to worry about Ella first. ‘Fine. She was pooped. I don’t know what you did with her all day, but she was out of it.’

  She laughed, and the sound rippled through him like clear spring water. ‘We just played in the garden, and then we went for a walk by the beach, and she puggled about in the sand for a bit. We had a lovely day. How did you get on?’

  ‘Oh, you know what moving’s like. I’ll spend the next six months trying to find things and groping for light switches in the dark. Come on through, I’m having a glass of wine on the deck.’

  ‘Can we do it in the kitchen, looking at the photos? There are an awful lot. And can I have water, please? I’m driving, remember.’

  ‘Sure.’ He retrieved his glass, poured her water from the chiller in the fridge and sat next to her at the breakfast bar overlooking the sea. ‘So, what have we got?’

  ‘Lots.’

  There were lots, she wasn’t exaggerating. And there were gaps in the numbers, all over the place.

  ‘What happened to the others? There are loads missing.’

  ‘I deleted them.’

  He blinked. ‘Really? That’s not like you. You never throw anything out.’

  ‘Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,’ she said.

  Or maybe you do, she thought, scrolling down through the thumbnails and registering just how many she’d removed and saved elsewhere.

  ‘Just start at the top,’ he suggested, so they did.

  Him laughing on the plane. She loved that one. Others in their suite, in the pool—still too many of them, although she’d taken bucket-loads out for what she’d called her private collection.

  Self-indulgent fantasy, more like.

  She knew what she was doing. She was building a memory bank, filling it with images to sustain her if it all went wrong.

  There were some of her, too, ones he’d taken of her shot against the backdrop of the valley behind their terrace, or with Ella, playing. She’d nearly taken them out, too, but because nearly all of them had Ella in, she hadn’t. He could have them for his own use.

  ‘Right, so which ones do you want me to work on?’

  He didn’t hold back. She got a running commentary on the ones he liked, the ones he couldn’t place, the ones he’d have to check with the Valtieri family before they were used.

  ‘How about a shortlist for the blog?’ she suggested drily, when he’d selected about two hundred.

  He laughed. ‘Sorry. These are just the ones I really like. I’ll go through them again and be a bit more selective. I was just getting an overview. Why don’t you just leave them with me so I’m not wasting your time? Did you copy them?’

  She handed him the memory stick with the carefully edited photos that she’d deemed fit to give him. ‘Here. Don’t lose it. Just make a note and let me know.’

  ‘I will. Thanks. Want the guided tour?’

  ‘Of your furniture? I think I’ll pass, if you don’t mind. I still have stuff to do—like writing to all my wedding guests.’

  ‘Sorry. Of course you do. And I’ve taken your whole day already. Go, and don’t rush back in the morning. I should be fine until ten, at least.’

  She moved in on Sunday, and the film crew arrived on Monday and brought chaos to the house—lights, reflectors, a million people apparently needed to co-ordinate the shoot, and Ella took one look at it all and started to cry.

  Amy ended up taking her home for the day more than once, which would have been fine if they’d stopped filming at her bedtime, but sometimes it dragged on, and then she’d be unsettled, and he’d have to break off and read her a story and sing to her before she’d go back to sleep.

  ‘I’m sorry, this is really tough for you both,’ Leo said after a particularly late shoot. ‘I didn’t know it would disrupt her life so much. I should have thought it through.’

  ‘It’s fine, Leo,’ she assured him. ‘We’re coping.’

  And they were, just about, but it was like being back in Tuscany, tripping over each other in the kitchen in the morning, having breakfast together with Ella, doing all the happy families stuff that was tearing her apart, with the added bonus of doing it under the eyes of the film crew.

  And because of the ‘what happened in Tuscany’ thing, the enforced intimacy was making it harder and harder to be around each other without touching and she was seriously regretting suggesting it.

  Then one night Ella cried and she got up to her, but Leo got there first. ‘It’s fine. I’ll deal with her, you go back to bed,’ he said, but the fourth time she woke there was a tap on her door and Leo came in.

  ‘Amy, I think she needs the doctor. She must have an ear infection or something. I have to take her to the hospital. They have an out of hours service there, apparently.’

  ‘Want me to come?’

  The relief on his face should have been comical, but it was born of worry, so she threw her clothes on and went with him. It took what felt like hours, of course, before they came home armed with antibiotics and some pain relief, and Leo looked like hell.

  ‘I feel sorry for the make-up lady who’s going to have to deal with the bags under your eyes in the morning,’ she said ruefully when the baby was finally settled.

  ‘Don’t you mean later in the morning?’ he sighed, yawning hugely and reaching for a glass. ‘Water? Tea? I’ve given up on sleep. Decided it’s an overrated pastime.’

  She laughed softly and joined him. ‘Tea,’ she said.

  ‘Good idea. We’ll watch the sun come up.’

  Which wasn’t a good idea at all. Tuscany again, and sitting on the terrace overlooking the valley with the swallows swooping. Except here it was the gulls, their mournful cries haunting in the pale light of dawn.

  ‘Thank you for coming with me to the hospital,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Yo
u don’t have to thank me, Leo. I was happy to do it. I was worried about her.’

  She stared out over the sea, watching it flood with colour as the sun crept over the horizon. It was beautiful, and it would have been perfect had she been able to do what she wanted to do and rest her head on his shoulder, but of course she couldn’t.

  ‘How’s the filming going?’ she asked, and he sighed.

  ‘OK, I think, but I’m neglecting the restaurant, and I haven’t even touched the Tuscany blog. On the plus side, we’re nearly two weeks in.’

  Really? Only six more weeks to go? And when it ended, they’d have no more excuse to be together, so it would be crunch time, and she was in no way ready to let him go. She drained her tea and stood up.

  ‘I might go back to bed and see if I can sleep for a few more minutes,’ she said, and left him sitting there, silhouetted against the sunrise. It would have made a good photo. Another one to join the many in her private collection.

  She turned her back on him and walked away.

  * * *

  The filming was better after that, the next day not as long, and Leo had a chance to catch up with the restaurant over the weekend. Ella was fine, her ear infection settling quickly, but she’d slept a lot to catch up so Amy had helped him with the blog over the weekend, edited the photos, pulled it all together, and she showed it to him on Monday night after Ella was in bed.

  ‘Oh, it looks fantastic, Amy,’ he said, sitting back and sighing with relief. ‘Thank you so much. The photos are amazing.’

  ‘Better than your selfies?’ she teased lightly, and he laughed.

  ‘So much better!’ He leant over and kissed her fleetingly, then pulled away, grabbing her by the hand and towing her into the kitchen. ‘Come on, I’m cooking you dinner.’

  ‘Is that my reward?’

  ‘You’d better believe it. I have something amazing for you.’

  ‘That poor lobster that’s been crawling around your sink?’

  ‘That was for filming. This is for us. Sit.’

  She sat, propped up at the breakfast bar watching him work. She could spend her life doing it. What was she thinking? She was spending her life doing it, and it was amazing. Or would be, if only she dared to believe in it.