by Penny Jordan
‘Use it to give the kids and yourself a damn good holiday—you need it,’ Chas told her, adding wickedly, ‘Believe me, I’ll get more than my money’s worth back in the long run.’
It was silly to cry, but the cheque and Chas’s warmly friendly manner, both so very welcome after the traumas of the last few months, overwhelmed her.
Chas reacted automatically, providing one of the large soft handkerchiefs he invariably had to hand out to the models he reduced to tears, and taking her in his arms.
It was sheer luxury to sob weakly against his shoulder as though he were the brother she had never had, and she was forced to smother a small laugh when he exclaimed in avuncular tones, ‘Come on now, no more tears; you should be smiling, not crying.’
‘I am,’ Tara protested, proving it with a rather wobbly and watery grin.
‘Mummy…!’ Accusing blue eyes stared up at her as Mandy rushed into the kitchen and came to a standstill in front of her mother.
‘Why has Uncle Chas got his arms round you?’ she demanded critically, eyeing Chas with disfavour.
‘Mummy was feeling upset and I was kissing her better,’ Chas responded wickedly, deliberately teasing the little girl, raising his eyebrows expressively in Tara’s direction when Mandy frowned.
‘Something tells me I’m not altogether popular in that quarter,’ he murmured under his breath to Tara, when Mandy had retreated. ‘And by the way, who’s this Uncle James I’ve been hearing so much about?’
‘No one,’ Tara lied forcefully, flushing a little as Chas scrutinised her features closely, but to her relief he ventured no comment, simply saying that it was time he left as he was taking Nina out to dinner.
* * *
Armed with Chas’s very generous cheque, Tara spent her lunch hour the following day arranging for the twins and herself to spend a fortnight on the edge of Dartmoor, a venue which she felt offered equal attractions for both the twins; Simon would enjoy the moor and the wild life and Mandy the coast and the sleepy, quaint villages. She had been fortunate enough to be able to rent a small cottage not far from the coast, and even after allowing for all expenses there was still enough money left to equip the twins and herself fully for their holiday.
Shopping would have to wait for another day, she decided firmly as she glanced at her watch and saw how late it was. To make up the time she had spent shopping Tara decided to work later than normal. A phone call to her neighbour elicited a promise to collect the twins from school and keep an eye on them until her return home. Janice had a key for the house, and Tara had no qualms about leaving the twins in her care.
She was a little surprised by Janice’s flustered, almost bemused expression when she knocked on her front door later in the afternoon. Janice was a no-nonsense type, unflappable and possessed of a strong streak of Northern common sense.
‘My, my, you have been playing the dark horse, haven’t you?’ she grinned, rolling her eyes expressively as she led the way into her sitting room. ‘And no wonder! Where on earth did you find him?’ she added, further puzzling Tara. ‘He’s gorgeous enough to make me think twice about my Tom—and that takes some doing, I can tell you!’
Tara was just about to tell Janice she had no idea what she was talking about when movements in the garden caught her eye. Her heart dropped, furious anger mingling with disbelief as she saw the twins playing a bastardised game of football with James—a James, moreover, who appeared perfectly at home in Janice’s minute back garden wearing jeans and an open-necked shirt, his dark hair ruffled by the breeze and his exertions. As she watched Tara saw Mandy clamouring to be picked up, her face alight with pleasure as James swung her heavenwards in muscular dark arms. How dared he! she thought bitterly; how dared he seek to subvert her children’s affections, to alienate them from her by… By doing what? her conscience demanded sardonically. By playing with them? by behaving like the father he actually was?
It didn’t matter; he still had no right, her anguished heart protested—it was wrong, unfair of him to allow the twins to become so fond of him when his appearance in their lives could only be brief. Hadn’t she herself experienced the pain of loving him and losing him? Didn’t she know from experience how much it could hurt? And yet watching him with the twins Tara admitted that her primary overriding emotion was not fear for the twins, but a gut-wrenching envy, especially of little Mandy, held so protectively in his arms. She was being foolish, she chided herself; how could she be immature enough to be jealous of her own child? Surely she couldn’t really want to be in her place. She hated James.
‘You still love him,’ an inner voice told her, ‘more than ever, and that’s why you’re so jealous.’
She stood blindly, watching the trio outside, trying to assimilate what her heart told her was true. She did still love James, had never stopped loving him, if the truth were known. All those years when she had pretended to hate and despise him she had been merely whistling in the dark, forcing herself to feel the emotions convention demanded of her, but they were unreal, dissolving like the fragile fabrications they were when faced with reality.
A terrible ache began somewhere deep inside her. Janice touched her arm, her face concerned, and she made some light remark which seemed to banish her friend’s unease.
Like a sleepwalker she went into the garden, one part of her mind registering with deep pain the defiant expression on Mandy’s face, and the worried one on Simon’s. With absolute recall she remembered how often she had spoken sharply to the twins whenever James’s name was mentioned; how she had stopped them from talking about their visit to the Zoo, and remorse filled her.
Dropping down on one knee, careless of the damp grass and her best suit, she held out her arms to them impulsively.
Simon reached her first, his smile radiant. Mandy held aloof for a couple of seconds, glancing uncertainly at James before running across the lawn to join her twin.
‘Quite a touching sight!’ James’s voice came from somewhere above her, and Tara refused to acknowledge the gibe, although tears stung her eyes. ‘What a pity Saunders isn’t here to witness it. I hear from the twins that he’s an extremely frequent visitor these days; even to the extent of bringing them presents.’
The critical tone of his voice scraped painfully across Tara’s already taut nerves.
‘What are you trying to imply?’ she demanded bitterly, ‘That Chas is trying to buy the twins’ favour with toys?’
‘Hardly,’ came the sardonic retort, ‘they’re far too sensible and astute to be open to bribery.’
His meaning was cynically plain and drove the colour from Tara’s face.
‘Chas doesn’t need to resort to bribery,’ she enunciated with deadly calm, letting her fury swamp the pain his taunt had caused. ‘And I could remind you that you’ve been very generous to the children yourself.’
This time it was her turn to use innuendo, but her sarcasm was lost on her victim. Grimacing slightly, he eyed her with an icily distant scrutiny before saying softly, ‘Unlike your boy-friend, my interest is solely in the children.’ His gaze flicked her like a whip as he added cruelly, ‘I don’t need to resort to bribery to induce a woman to share my bed, and in that regard you’re perfectly safe, my dear Tara.’
‘As I was the summer I was seventeen?’
The bitter, hurt words were out before she could stop them, and in the ear-shattering silence that followed Tara turned cold with dread.
‘You still remember that?’
James’s tone was carelessly light. ‘You amaze me. I should have thought my image had long ago been supplanted by the man you married so quickly afterwards—the twins’ father. What was he like?’ he asked unexpectedly, drawling the words in a coolly insulting fashion that suggested that he found it extraordinary that any man should want to marry her. Here was her chance, her opportunity to destroy him as he had once destroyed her by extolling the virtues of her supposed ‘husband’, but somehow the lies would not come. In her kitchen she saw Janice making
a pot of tea, such an ordinary homely task so far removed from her own state of mind and the vulnerability she experienced whenever James was near her.
‘Well?’
‘Our daddy was killed abroad,’ Mandy supplied eagerly. ‘Before we were born.’
‘And Mummy loved him very much,’ Simon piped up, obviously remembering what Tara had told him.
‘Did you? He seems a strangely disembodied character to me, far too much so to have generated this all-consuming “love”. Did you “love” him?’
She had every intention of saying ‘Yes’, every intention in the world, but somehow the words would not come, and James was looking at her with sharply narrowed eyes while the world seemed to rock to a standstill and she felt he was looking into her heart and reading the truth engraved on it.
‘I… I loved the twins’ father very much—and still do,’ she managed in a husky whisper, only realising when the words were spoken exactly what she had said. Hysterical laughter bubbled up inside her. She had just told James how much she loved him while he, all unknowing, continued to look down the length of his arrogant nose at her, his eyes as chilly as winter skies. How much more sardonic he would look if he knew the truth—that she had been foolish enough to love him then and that she had compounded that folly by loving him now.
He walked with them back to the house, and although every instinct screamed at her not to do so, politeness demanded that Tara ask him in. He wandered into the kitchen while she was preparing the twins’ supper, picking idly at the bowl of salad she was preparing, Mandy at his side, saying disapprovingly, ‘You shouldn’t do that, should he, Mummy?’
‘No, he shouldn’t,’ Tara agreed automatically.
‘Perhaps he’s hungry,’ Mandy added. ‘Can he stay for tea?’
‘I’m sure Uncle James has other things to do,’ Tara told her firmly. ‘Now be a good girl and go and wash your hands. We’re having strawberries for afters tonight.’
‘Really? My favourites,’ James admitted, to Mandy’s obvious delight.
‘Then you are going to stay?’ she demanded, all excitement.
James looked enquiringly at Tara. ‘If your mummy doesn’t mind,’ he assented. ‘Contrary to her supposition, there’s nothing I’d rather do than share supper with my very favourite twins.’
Supper was a hectic meal. Watching James with a twin either side of him in her small dining alcove, Tara couldn’t help contrasting their surroundings with those he must normally enjoy. The furniture was old—junk shop bought most of it, lovingly painted and refurbished, but with no pretences to being anything other than what it was. The curtains had been a lucky buy and home-made, she had painted the woodwork and papered the walls herself. She had also sanded the floorboards, stained them and made the multi-coloured rag rug lying on the floor. Up until now she had been perfectly content with her small home and its contents, but suddenly she was bitterly conscious of how shabby it was. Some of Simon’s paintings from school were pinned on the wall, a jar of flowers Mandy had picked for her adorning the bookcase. The meal itself was very plain—chicken salad and plenty of wholemeal bread and butter for the twins to fill up on before she gave them the strawberries she had bought as a treat and the icecream she made herself and which she knew they loved.
When it was time to get the sweet she brought in the three previously prepared dishes and a bowl of icecream, placing the dishes in front of James, Simon and Mandy.
‘Aren’t you having any?’ Simon questioned her innocently.
Avoiding James’s eyes, Tara shook her head. ‘I’m on a diet,’ she said lightly. The truth was that the strawberries had been an expensive luxury, barely large enough to stretch to the three of them, and her face flamed as she dwelt on what conclusions James would draw from the incident. There was scant chance of her deceiving him as easily as she had deceived Simon, she thought bitterly, and humiliation welled up inside her as she imagined his disdainful contempt. In the circles in which he moved, people thought nothing of ordering out-of-season strawberries for breakfast if they felt so inclined.
After supper she left him playing on the floor with the twins while she cleared the table. She was elbow-deep in hot sudsy water when he surprised her by strolling into the kitchen, taking up a stance against the fridge, reminding her unbearably of the circumstances of their very first meeting. If she had known then what the outcome of their relationship was to be, if she could turn back the clock, would she? She thought of the happiness the twins had brought her, and knew the answer.
‘I’m sorry—about the strawberries.’ The husky timbre of his voice shivered across raw nerves, anger snapping in her eyes as she turned towards him.
‘So am I,’ she agreed evenly. If he thought his comment would embarrass her then she would quickly disabuse him. ‘I was looking forward to them.’
Just for a second she thought she saw amusement and admiration, gleaming in his eyes, but it was gone too swiftly for her to be sure she had not imagined it.
His smooth, ‘Then perhaps you’ll allow me to make reparation,’ stung, underlining the huge social gulf between them. She was a single parent struggling to bring up two children on a slender salary; he was a wealthy man, he drove an expensive car, wore expensive clothes. And yet looking at him now, the tanned column of his throat exposed by the open-necked shirt, his folded arms unconsciously drawing attention to muscled forearms, she was conscious not of the differences between them, but the musky scent of his body, the fine tracing of hairs curling over his chest, and the trembling, weakening desire coursing through her to go to him and slide her fingers over his skin into the thick darkness of his hair, to press her lips against the warm column of his throat and feel his body clench in fierce need.
Angry with herself, she tried to stem the feelings growing inside her and said acidly,
‘How, by flaunting your wealth? By “buying” me, the way you’ve bought the twins?’
Scorn trembled through her voice and Tara knew that he was angry. Even so, she was caught off guard when he moved towards her, gripping her waist with fingers that punished her flesh, his grated, ‘What do you prefer? Payment in kind?’ sending trickles of tension coursing icily down her spine.
She tried to articulate; to demand that he release her, telling herself that this was a ridiculous, farcical situation, but when she raised her soapy hands to fend him off they clung damply to his shirt, his body tautly muscled and warm beneath her fingers, sending erotic messages flashing to her brain until she was drowning in the heady sensation of being close enough to him to breathe in the male scent of him and to be beguiled by memories of the past, rising up to swamp the present.
She must have made some involuntarily movement, some gesture of defeat, because she saw his response to it in the sudden narrowing of his eyes before they dropped to her mouth and his head bent slowly towards her.
She knew that he was going to kiss her, but what she hadn’t bargained for was the hard brutality of a kiss that took without giving, ravaging the softness of her lips, reducing her to the mere recipient of some male-driven aggression that found relief in the rape of her mouth. Before she could move his hand stroked upwards, his palm burning into the tender skin of her breast.
Just for a moment she experienced a traitorous urge to yield, to mould her body to his and respond with fierce need to the raw sexuality of his embrace, but just in time self-respect urged her to resist. She was confusing the hard, cynical man who held her in his arms with the tender lover he had been in her youth—and he had been tender, no matter what might have followed later. As though he sensed her withdrawal, James raised his head and stared down at her, studying her swollen mouth and shadowed eyes.
Turning on his heel, he left the kitchen without a word to her, leaving her drained and sick to her soul with self-revulsion because she had so nearly given in to the dangerous undertow of desire whispering falsely in her ear that to be made love to by James once again, no matter through what motivation, was more than wor
th all the tears and heartache which would inevitably follow.
How could she so easily have forgotten all her hard-earned lessons, have been ready to throw away the self-respect and self-confidence she had built and nourished so painstakingly since the twins’ birth?
In the distance she registered his goodbyes to the twins and their disappointed response. It was not Mandy’s fault, she told herself tiredly later in the evening when she was bathing the little girl, and she came very close to losing her temper with her when she kept insisting that ‘Uncle James’ was her very favourite man. It was not Mandy’s fault at all. If anything it was hers, but knowing that didn’t make bearing her burden of guilt any the easier.
CHAPTER NINE
FOR two weeks Tara saw and heard nothing of James, and then one afternoon in Knightsbridge, where she had gone searching for some props Chas needed for a ‘County’ shot he was filming, she saw him coming out of an expensive-looking mews, a slim, dark-haired woman clinging to his arm.
For a moment Tara simply froze, and then realising how easily he could turn his head and see her she panicked, darting into the first shop door she came to.
As it happened, it was a dress shop and she was able to make a pretence of browsing while James and his companion strolled past.
Tara recognised her immediately. It was the woman who had come over to their table in the restaurant the day he had driven them down to Sue’s. The dull ache inside her became a sharp pain, jealousy a bitter gall tainting the back of her throat.
When she was sure that they had gone she escaped from the expensive and slightly overpowering environs of the shop. She was grateful for Chas’s forbearance when she returned to the studio minus several of the items he had asked for, but one look at her pale face and huge, agonised eyes had warned him against questioning her. He had seen that look on too many women’s faces to mistake it, and he found himself wondering about the man who had brought it to Tara’s. Outwardly she was so cool and in control; unflappable and pleasant always and yet retaining a detached, keep-your-distance air that never failed to intrigue him. She was adept at holding people away from her, and yet he had sensed from the very first moment she had come for her interview that beneath the cool surface lurked a woman of deeply felt emotions. Recognising that in her present disturbed state she was not likely to work to optimum proficiency, he suggested they make an early night of it. Surprised, but too wrapped up in her thoughts to question his decision, Tara thanked him.