'I don't know that I understand you.' Her mouth was dry; she could hardly get the words out. 'You fired me—'
'I fired you because I'd been hurt. I'd fallen in love with you and had got to the point of telling you so, and you shattered me completely. You let me know you believed I was married.'
She closed her eyes, pulling oxygen deep into her lungs because she was light-headed. 'You went cold on me, told me your wife was dead. Then sacked me. I thought it was because you still mourned her so much, had loved her so much, you thought hearing her name on my lips was sullying her memory. But it wasn't that? Please say it wasn't. I love you, Finn; I want to be your wife. But I wouldn't want to feel I was a second-rate substitute, not daring to mention her name, seeing a silver-framed photograph of her in every room I went into.'
They were on the Mytton Wells driveway now and the headlights illuminated the facade of the lovely old house. Finn switched off the lights, cut the engine, turned to her and tenderly took her face between his hands.
'I love you, Caroline Farr. More than I've ever loved anyone or anything. I keep Fleur's photographs around so that Sophie will grow up knowing what her mother looked like and will be able to identify with her.' The balls of his thumbs stroked the smooth hollows beneath her cheekbones, then slid slowly down to rest at the corners of her mouth.
'I married Fleur because she was in deep, deep trouble. It's a long story, sweetheart, and I'll try to keep it brief because sitting here, talking about my first wife, is not something that's top of my wants list right at the moment.
'After my father retired, he and Ma lived in the south of France. Fleur's adoptive mother came in on a daily basis to cook and clean. I was twenty-four to Fleur's fourteen when I met her for the first time. I used to go out there several times a year and got to know Fleur well. She was a determined young lady. She was going to make something of her life; she wasn't going to scratch a living as her parents did. I admired her spirit. She would have been sixteen or so when my father died and Ma sold up and went back to live in her native Canada.
'I didn't see or hear of Fleur until a couple of years ago—at about the time of that fiasco with Katie. I was in Paris on business. I literally bumped into her on the street. She looked dreadful. She was pregnant. She was ill.
'Over dinner she told me the full story. A matter of weeks after my father's death Fleur had run away from home. She made a living of sorts singing in bars, then she got a job in a nightclub and things began to look up for her. Then came a brief spell of success. She made a record that shot to the top of the charts, but neither of her adoptive parents had lived to see her succeed, and that success turned sour because she became pregnant and within weeks of that she endured two blows—either one of which would have knocked the stuffing out of most other people.
'Her lover dropped her. He disowned the coming baby. He was already married and aiming to go into politics. The second blow was mortal. Literally. She was diagnosed as suffering from a terminal illness and the prognosis was bleak. She could carry the child to term but she wouldn't survive the birth for more than a few weeks. She was alone, she was pregnant, she knew she was dying.'
'So you married her.' Caro didn't have to be told. It was the sort of thing he would do.
'It was the only thing to do. We made sure she looked fabulous in her wedding photographs. She was going out while she was still at the top; she couldn't bear anyone to know her pathetic story. We announced her pregnancy and her temporary retirement from the music scene and went to earth in Canada where we stayed with Ma. When Sophie was born I adopted her, and between that and the security of those few months of stability within marriage I believe her last weeks were as contented as they could be in the circumstances.'
Caro felt almost too emotional to speak. But she managed, 'That is so sad—I think I'm going to cry!'
'Don't.' He cupped her face between his hands again. 'The last thing Fleur would have wanted was for anyone to be sad on her account. She was courageous and cheerful. And I mean always. We often talked about the future, what she wanted for Sophie—and the thing she wanted most of all was for me to marry again, to give Sophie a mother as well as a father. "And next time make sure you marry for love!" she used to say. So don't be sad, my darling.'
This man of hers was a thorough-going hero. Caro wound her arms around his neck and kissed him fiercely.
'Does that mean you're happy to be the second Mrs Helliar?' Finn asked, long minutes later, his breathing ragged, his heart trying to pump its way out of his chest.
'More than happy. Ecstatic. Oh, Finn,' she breathed. 'Kiss me again. Don't start something you've no intention of finishing!'
'I have every intention of reaching a conclusion satisfactory to all parties.' He unwound her arms from around his neck, slid out of the door, helped her down and lifted her into his arms. 'But not out here. Why else did I lay on champagne and a bed?'
He began to carry her towards the door of their future home, the grazing of his lips on hers, the steady beat of his heart against hers a promise of loving to come, a loving that would stay with them until the end of time.
EPILOGUE
'Mrs Helliar, has anyone ever told you how adorable you are?'
As he sat beside her on the bed, Finn's eyes were misty with love. 'Not for all of five minutes,' Caro said, leaning back against the cool linen pillows, her three-hour-old son held tenderly in her arms.
'Then I must remedy that,' he said, and did, then lifted one of her hands to his lips and kissed it softly.
This entrancing, bedazzling, fiercely loving wife of his had just presented him with a beautiful son and his heart was so full of love—for her, for the whole world—he thought it might burst.
The master bedroom at Mytton Wells was cooler now, long gauzy curtains moving idly in the breeze at the open windows. It had been another long, hot, wonderful summer. And for the first time in what seemed like days but which had been, apparently, only a few short hours they had the room to themselves, the midwives finally having departed with instructions to ask his mother—who had flown over from Canada two weeks ago to be sure to be on hand for the birth of her grandchild—to bring Sophie up to meet her baby brother in fifteen minutes.
He hadn't been too happy about the idea of a home birth, but everything had been fine and he was glad it had happened this way. Caro had been right in this, just as she had been right when shortly after their marriage she'd announced her intention of training Honor up to take her place at the agency because she was too happy to spend her time wandering, in theory, around the edges of other people's families. She wanted to concentrate, full-time, and hands very definitely on, on her own. And she was doing a brilliant job. 'You don't think Sophie will feel jealous?' Caro's fingers tightened around his. 'I'd hate that.'
'Of course she won't,' Finn reassured her softly, hearing the unmistakable sounds of his daughter clomping along the polished wood floor of the passage outside the room, her excited chatter almost drowning out what he could hear of his mother's futile instructions to 'Try to go quietly, darling'.
He grinned broadly. 'That little daughter of ours is far too secure in our love and too certain of her position at the centre of our universe to be jealous of anyone or anything. Ever.'
Caro hoped he was right. No matter how many children she ended up having, and how deeply and devotedly she loved them all, Sophie would always have a special place in her heart. She practically held her breath as the sturdy child pushed through the partially open door and walked importantly over to the king-size bed.
At two years and a bit Sophie Helliar was an assured young lady. Her grandmother had dressed her in her best sprigged cotton dress and brushed her golden curls until they positively glittered. But she was dragging the battered old toy rabbit behind her and Caro's heart sank as Lucy announced, 'She would bring that old thing with her!' then stood at the foot of the bed and smiled mistily at her young family.
As if he knew
what she was thinking—that Sophie always took the squashy, lop-eared blue velvet rabbit to bed and was feeling too insecure to do without it in the daytime now—Finn gave Caro's hand a reassuring squeeze and asked his daughter, 'Well, and what do you think of him? His name is Luke. Come and be introduced.'
Sophie said nothing until she'd clambered up onto the bed and settled herself between her parents. She stared intently at the new arrival, kissed him soundly then laid the battered, squashy rabbit on top of him and announced, 'The brother can have Horn to sleep in his bed. Horn will make him feel comfy.'
'Thank you, sweetheart,' Caro said in a wobbly voice. 'That is very thoughtful of you.' And Finn, circling the three most precious people in his world with his loving arms, knew that there was too much love around for anyone, ever, to do anything other than wallow in a glorious surfeit of the stuff.
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