by Liz Fielding
She laughed. ‘I’ll call you later, Jace.’
She was still smiling when she walked into the living room. Ivo, hair damp, was standing back from the window, looking down into the street.
‘You’re still here? Haven’t you got a corporation to run?’
‘The shower was on a go slow.’
‘Sorry. It’s on my list of improvements.’
‘It doesn’t matter. I don’t suppose it will collapse if I miss a morning.’ Then, ‘You might want to get your car keys.’
‘What?’
He indicated the street below and she crossed to the window, standing beside him. Below her, on the pavement, standing next to her convertible, stood Daisy.
‘Purple hair today. Oh, right, here we go,’ he said as she looked up, and realising that she was being watched, took hold of the door handle and gave it a shake.
Belle was already running for the door when the klaxon sound of the car alarm rent the air. Was at the bottom of the stairs when Ivo caught up with her.
‘Don’t!’ she warned, arm extended, palm face up as she held him off. ‘Stay away. I want to do this.’
‘You forgot the car keys,’ he said, taking her hand, turning it over and placing them in her palm, wrapping her shaking fingers around them so that she wouldn’t drop them.
‘Oh…’
‘She came back, Belle. She wants to see you. Needs to talk to you.’
‘I…Yes…’
‘Do you need me to stay?’
‘I…’ Despite her warning for him to stay away, she was suddenly scared.
He laid his hand briefly on her arm, then leaned forward, touched his lips to hers. Barely a kiss and yet it fizzed through her like electricity-pure energy-and for a moment all she wanted to do was reach out and grab him by the lapels of his jacket, pull him close, bury herself in his warmth until the world outside went away. ‘You’ll be fine.’
‘Yes. Of course I will.’
‘Call me if you need anything. You’ll need someone to talk to. Someone you can trust.’
‘Ivo, about last night…’ As he opened the door, her words were drowned out by the car alarm and he turned to look at her. ‘Thank you,’ she said. He nodded once, stepped out on to the footpath, left her.
Goodbye…she thought.
Then, drawing in a deep, shuddering breath, she followed him out into the street where Daisy was leaning on the car, all aggressive angles as she watched Ivo remove a parking ticket from his windscreen-he’d overstayed the night-time parking limit-climb into his car and drive away.
The noise from the car alarm was deafening and Belle didn’t attempt to speak above it, but unlocked the car, turned off the alarm, then relocked it.
‘Neat car,’ Daisy said. ‘Can I drive it?’
‘Have you got a licence?’
‘Oh, forget it,’ she said, stuffing her hands deep into her pockets and turning to walk away.
Belle, instinctively taking a step after her, was brought up short by Ivo’s voice in her head.
It’s a game. She wants you to chase her…
‘I’m going to make breakfast,’ she said and, hard as it was, she turned around and walked back inside, holding the door open. Then, ‘A bacon sandwich.’
Bacon sandwiches had been dream food. Thick white bread, layers of bacon, ketchup…She’d been drawn by the scent to a small café that made sandwiches for office workers. Her mother wouldn’t beg, but Daisy had been hungry and she’d picked a place, just out of sight of the café staff where she could lie in wait for customers, carriers stuffed with expensive calorie-laden sandwiches, coffee or hot chocolate in cartons with lids, huge muffins. Had learned to hit them for change while they still had it in their hands.
Guilt had done the rest.
It had been a great pitch, but it hadn’t lasted long.
Someone had called Social Services. Or complained to the café staff. Only her street-sharpened survival instincts had stopped them from being picked up but, even now, when she caught the scent of bacon cooking she felt something very close to pain in the pit of her stomach.
After a pause that felt like a lifetime, Daisy turned around and walked right by her and up the stairs without a word and was already standing in the centre of the living room looking around by the time her own shaky legs had carried her up.
‘This is a mess,’ Daisy said, looking around.
‘I’m decorating.’ The ceiling, one wall and the French windows so far-she’d needed to get the curtains back up-but all her own work. ‘It’ll look better when the new curtains and carpet arrive.’
‘Are they beige and white too?’
‘Please! The walls, when they’re finished, will be Velvet Latte, the paintwork Silk Frost,’ Belle said, hoping to raise a smile. Light, uncluttered after three years living in the Grenville family museum. ‘It’s minimalist.’
Like her marriage. Maybe it hadn’t been such a good choice of look.
‘It’s boring. And no one has carpets now. It’s all hardwood floors.’
‘Not exactly neighbour friendly when you’re in the top floor apartment.’
‘I suppose.’ Then, ‘Your furniture is junk.’
‘I’m going shopping for a new sofa this afternoon.’ She’d picked out something ultra-modern in brown suede but she’d suddenly gone right off it. ‘Do you want to come with me? Clearly I could do with some help.’
Daisy shrugged her skinny shoulders without taking her hands out of her pockets. ‘Like I care what sofa you buy. You said you’d help me look for my dad.’
‘We can do both. If that’s really what you want.’
‘You knew your father,’ Daisy said, picking up the negativity of the question in her voice, turning on her. ‘I never…’ She broke off. Then, ‘I never had anyone.’
‘Mum loved you, Daisy.’
‘She died.’
Belle swallowed down the words that leapt to her lips. Blaming Daisy’s father for what had happened to them wouldn’t help. They’d all abandoned her, one way or another.
‘What about the people who adopted you? Didn’t they love you?’
‘They lied to me! I waited and waited and they said you’d come but you didn’t. I wanted you, Bella, and you weren’t there!’
Bella.
Daisy, only Daisy, unable to manage ‘Belinda’ had ever called her that.
‘Where did you go?’ she demanded and Belle, jolted out of memory, shook her head. ‘Nowhere. A care home. Nowhere…’ She shook her head. There was nothing to be gained from telling Daisy that her new family had only wanted her. That everyone had said it would be easier for her to settle down without disturbing memories of her previous life. She had known they were wrong, but no one would listen to her. And she’d been hurt and angry and grieving too.
She knew what Daisy was feeling now because she’d lived it.
‘What happened to you, Daisy? Why are you living like this?’
‘Like what?’ Then, abruptly, ‘I thought you were going to make breakfast.’
‘I am. Do you want to come through to the kitchen while I cook?’
If she’d ever imagined this was going to be a joyful reunion, then last night had crushed that hope beyond recovery, but this was more difficult than anything she could have imagined.
Simone, Claire, she thought, I really hope, wherever you are, it’s going better for you.
She took a pack of bacon from the fridge, turned just as Daisy swept something into her pocket. What? There was nothing on the counter top but a couple of mugs, the empty carton of coffee.
The muffin…
She bit down hard to keep the pain in, began to lay strips of bacon on the grill. ‘Do you want to take off your coat?’ Daisy’s only response was to wrap it around her more tightly and Belle didn’t press it, but it took her a moment to compose herself. ‘I’ll find your father, Daisy.’
She just hoped the reality wouldn’t hurt her sister too badly.
‘Whatever. Can I use your bathroom
?’
‘Of course. Use the en suite in my bedroom.’ The one in the spare bedroom was a bit bleak. Definitely on her list of improvements. ‘First door on the left.’
CHAPTER EIGHT
IVO, uneasy, drove round the block, parked out of sight of Belle’s apartment, bought a paper and walked into the small café on the far side of the street, ordered coffee and settled down to wait.
Belle had taken the unilateral decision that her past and their future were incompatible. That finding Daisy meant she had to lose him. That once the truth about her past became common knowledge-and the press, once they got a sniff of a story, would be digging around for every grubby detail-he wouldn’t want to know.
That she felt that way shamed him.
Maybe she had wanted the security he could offer, but she’d wanted more than that. A real marriage. A family.
She wasn’t the one lacking the courage to confront what that meant. He was the one who’d been incapable of embracing life with all its messiness.
He didn’t blame her for leaving him-there wasn’t a day in his life when he hadn’t wished he could leave himself. On the contrary, he was grateful to her. He felt like a man who’d had his head yanked out of the sand. And Belle, still touchingly vulnerable, unsure, beneath the surface skim of professional polish, had broken out of her own shell. She was still vulnerable, still believed that her success was a fluke, the result of good PR, but she was making an effort to stand on her own feet, to do things for herself. Had been prepared to tell him that she no longer needed him as a prop.
In doing that, she’d kicked the legs out from under him. As they untangled themselves he had to make sure their feet were pointing in the same direction and somehow, he knew, Daisy was the key.
Daisy was gone for so long that Belle was afraid that she’d slipped out, disappeared again. Had to force herself to stay in the kitchen, watching the grill, sensing it was a trust thing. That she was being tested.
Her reward came when Daisy finally sauntered back in to the kitchen, smelling sweetly of vanilla-scented shower gel, her damp hair minus the purple streaks.
‘Does he live here?’ she asked, sliding back onto the stool, her look daring her to say one word about using the shower.
‘Ivo?’
‘Ivo! What kind of name is that?’
‘It’s a diminutive of Ivan. He was named for his Russian great-grandfather.’
‘Lucky him. We don’t even have a father between us.’ Then, ‘He said he was your husband, but there’s no men’s stuff in the bathroom.’
‘He did? When?’
He’d said he’d seen Daisy outside the flat, but he hadn’t said he’d spoken to her.
‘He got all protective when I got too close to your car.’
‘Oh.’ She found herself smiling. Then, catching Daisy’s ‘yuck’ look, said, ‘He is. But we’re separated.’
‘Not that separated. He was here at the weekend helping you decorate. And he hadn’t shaved this morning so I’m guessing he stayed all night.’
‘Yes…’ She could still feel the warmth of his kiss. Hear his soft, ‘Call me…’ ‘Your fault. It was the early hours before we got back here last night,’ she said, ‘so he slept on the sofa.’
He’d got it so wrong! Thinking that Daisy was her daughter. But he hadn’t been judgemental. Far from it. He’d said a child of hers would be his responsibility too. He’d hung in there, been there for her, even when she had been horrible to him. Would have gone out to continue looking if she hadn’t stopped him. Then, when she’d fallen asleep on him, he’d stayed with her, holding her. All night. It must have been the first time they’d just slept together. Without getting naked.
Just like a real husband and wife.
She poured mugs of coffee, leaving the sugar and milk for Daisy to help herself.
‘What about you?’ she asked, pushing away the desire to do it again. Very soon. ‘Are you living with your baby’s father?’
‘No.’
‘Do you love him?’
‘Oh, please!’
‘You had unprotected sex.’
‘There’s no other way to get a baby.’
‘You wanted…’ She swallowed. Of course she did. Someone who would love her without reservation.
‘She shouldn’t have told you I was pregnant. That nurse. That kind of stuff is confidential.’
‘She wanted me to understand why you’d passed out.’ Wanted to be sure that someone responsible knew. Someone who would take care of her. ‘Are you booked into an antenatal clinic? Getting vitamins? Have you been tested?’
‘What is this? The Inquisition?’
‘Your baby needs you to protect her. Keep her safe.’
‘Like you would know all about that.’ Then, ‘I’ll sort it, all right? I’m still getting my head around the idea.’
‘How pregnant are you?’
‘Totally. It’s the only way.’
Her sister had a sense of humour. Things were looking up. ‘I’ll rephrase the question. When can I plan on being an aunt?’
‘I didn’t know I was pregnant until last night. I’m about six weeks gone, so somewhere between seven and eight months, I suppose.’ Then, ‘I didn’t pass out on purpose, despite what Ivan the Terrible thinks.’
Belle struggled to hold back a smile. ‘He’s not so terrible. In fact he offered you five thousand pounds. Why didn’t you take it?’
‘He just wanted to get rid of me.’
‘No…’ The word had been an automatic response, but having thought about it, she said it again. ‘No. He was just testing you.’
Protecting her. Treating her like some idiot who didn’t know what she was doing.
‘Then I guess I passed,’ Daisy said.
‘You don’t have to prove anything to me,’ Belle snapped. Then, ‘Sorry. Late night.’ And, changing the subject, she said, ‘Okay. We can fix you up with a clinic. Go to classes together, if you like.’
‘I don’t need you.’
‘Everyone needs someone,’ she said. Someone to reach out a hand, to say ‘…Call me…’. Someone who you know will be there. Who cares how you’re feeling.
How was Ivo feeling?
How had he felt when she’d told him she was leaving? Really?
She buttered bread, keeping her hands busy, but her mind needed total distraction. ‘What about a job?’ she asked. ‘Or are you at college?’
‘No.’
This was not going well.
She was paid ridiculous amounts of money to chat to total strangers every morning. She put them at their ease, made them laugh, drew them out with open-ended questions. The difference being that she’d done her homework on the people she interviewed. Knew the answers before she asked the questions, mostly. The trick was to avoid the obvious, get them to open up, forget the answers they’d prepared ahead of time and relax.
There was only one rule. Never ask a question that could be answered with a simple yes or no.
It hadn’t occurred to her that it was a rule she would need when she finally came face to face with her sister. That a shortage of words would be a problem. On the contrary, she’d imagined that all the feelings would just come tumbling out. The anger, yes, she’d expected that, but had believed that the early years when they had been everything to each other, when she’d taken care of Daisy, looked out for her, would mean enough to override the years they’d spent apart.
It wasn’t going to be that way. The wound had gone too deep and despite the fact that it would probably choke her, she bit into her own sandwich simply to stop herself from blurting out needy questions about her sister’s life, the people who’d adopted her, knowing that she was just longing for answers that would absolve her of guilt, somehow justify what she’d done.
‘Thanks for the sandwich.’
While she was still chewing through her first mouthful, Daisy had finished and she slid off the stool.
‘You’re leaving?’
Let her go.
She’ll come back.
That would be Ivo’s advice, she knew. But then, detached, emotionally disengaged, that was easy for him to say. Much harder for her.
‘Don’t you want to stay and help me search for your dad on the Internet?’
‘You think I haven’t done that?’ Daisy said, heading for the door. ‘I’m not dumb.’
‘I was going to contact an agency who specialise in finding people.’
For a moment she hesitated. Tempted. Then she said, ‘What’s the point? If he wanted to know, he’d be looking for me.’ And she kept walking.
‘Maybe he’s scared, Daisy. Maybe he thinks you wouldn’t want to know. Have you any idea of the courage it takes to seek out someone you’ve hurt? Let down?’
Her sister paused, glanced back from the doorway, her thin face wreathed in sudden doubt. But she rallied, said, ‘Maybe he just doesn’t care. Maybe he’s just a…’ She stopped, apparently unable, despite her defiance, to say the word.
‘Say it, Daisy. It won’t be anything I haven’t heard before.’
‘Babies can hear, can’t they?’
Belle tried not to smile at this unexpected evidence of maternal care. ‘So I understand.’
‘You don’t have any kids?’
She shook her head just once.
‘Men are a waste of space.’
‘Not all of them,’ Belle said. Then, trying to keep the need from her voice, ‘You can stay here, Daisy. There’s a spare room. All the hot water you can use.’
‘I’ve got a place.’
‘Somewhere suitable for a baby?’
‘I lived in worse when I was a kid,’ she said.
‘Then you know enough not to inflict it on your own child.’
‘I was happy…’ She snapped her lips shut, her lips a thin tight line.
Happy then? Was that what she’d been about to say? If that was her yardstick for happiness, what horror had she lived through since?
Belle shivered, but managed to hold in her concern. ‘The offer’s open. Any time.’ Then, ‘Do you need anything?’
‘From my glamorous, famous big sister who couldn’t be bothered with me all these years?’ Belle caught the telltale sparkle of tears before Daisy blinked them away. Not so tough, then…‘I worshipped you.’ Then, ‘Not you. Belle Davenport. She was everything a big sister should be. Fun, warm, smart, caring and just so lovely. I used to watch her every morning and think if my sister had been anything like her I’d have been the luckiest girl in the entire world. Big mistake, huh?’