Hidden Love

by Carole Mortimer

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Rachel handed the newsheet back to Anna. ‘It’s done now.’

  ‘I’m really sorry you don’t like it.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ Rachel assured the other girl. ‘I’m not going to.’

  That must have been the biggest lie of the century! She lay awake all night wondering what Nick was going to say when—if, he saw the article. As he was in Canada there was always the chance that he just might not hear about it.

  But everyone else did! Her mother passed on messages of good wishes from friends she hadn’t heard from for years. But she heard nothing from Nick, something she was grateful for. By tomorrow they would, quite literally, be yesterday’s news, and with luck would hear no more about it.

  This time she took no chances on Nick arriving home early, and stocked the fridge up on Friday with all the foods he liked.

  But she needn’t have bothered. Nick didn’t arrive home Friday, or on the Saturday as he had said he would. By late Sunday evening Rachel was getting really worried, but she knew that if she started checking up on Nick, and there was no need for alarm, he would be furious with her.

  She was sitting in the lounge at nine-thirty when she heard the key in the lock. It had to be Nick, and yet pride kept her seated. He had made no effort to call her and let her know he would be late, or the reason for it, and as far as she was concerned he had some explaining to do.

  She heard him go to the bedroom, and then his firm tread coming in this direction, and her interest was suddenly intent on the play on the television that seconds ago she hadn’t even realised was on.

  Nick didn’t say a word, but moved to the array of drinks on the sideboard to pour himself a glass of whisky. He drank the contents of the glass with one swallow, refilling it to leave the room. A couple of seconds later she heard the sound of the shower being run.

  He had looked so tired, very grey and drawn, thinner in the face too. And in the face of his exhaustion her sulky behaviour suddenly seemed childish. Once he had showered she would get him some dinner and perhaps they could sit and talk for a while.

  But not for too long! One thing his being away from her this time had done was to make her want him quite shamelessly. Only in bed could they truly communicate, and she wanted that closeness with him again as soon as possible.

  She waited in vain for him to return to the lounge, finally getting up to investigate. The bedroom was in darkness, a lone figure stretched out beneath the bedclothes, the even tenor of his breathing telling her that Nick was already asleep.

  Rachel quietly left the room and went back to the lounge, her disappointment acute. It was the first time since their wedding, on the nights that Nick had been home, that he hadn’t wanted to make love to her. Of course he was tired from the flight, but he had been tired other nights, and it hadn’t stopped him wanting her then.

  He didn’t even stir as she got into bed beside him a short time later; his sleep seemed deeply drugged, her own tossings and turnings not seeming to bother him at all.

  When she woke in the morning he was gone, only the indent of his head on the pillow beside her telling her that he had been beside her at all. The case he usually took away with him was still in the wardrobe, so he hadn’t gone on another tournament without telling her.

  He arrived back at the flat at lunchtime, and went briefly into the bedroom to collect the bag he usually took on practice sessions before leaving again.

  Rachel chewed worriedly on her bottom lip, her nerves frayed to breaking point. Maybe he was still angry about their last telephone conversation? Or maybe he had seen the newspaper after all?

  She was in the kitchen preparing dinner when he arrived home shortly before seven, and looked up anxiously as he came to stand in the doorway.

  ‘Don’t get any dinner for me,’ he told her abruptly.

  ‘Oh, but—’

  ‘I’m going out again.’ He moved in the direction of the bedroom.

  ‘Nick—’

  ‘Yes?’ he snapped.

  ‘I—But I’ve made your favourite meal,’ she said desperately. ‘Steak in wine sauce.’

  ‘Maybe it will heat up for tomorrow,’ he dismissed callously.

  Rachel had spent hours preparing the sauce and steak as he liked it, had even gone to the trouble of making him an apple pie for dessert. ‘It will be ruined,’ she told him dully.

  ‘Then throw it away.’

  ‘Nick—’

  He gave an impatient sigh. ‘What is it now?’

  She blinked back her tears. ‘Nothing. I’m sorry I troubled you.’ She went back to the kitchen and threw the food away, having no appetite for it herself.

  ‘Goodbye!’ he called out a few minutes later, the flat door banging shut behind him.

  ‘Oh, but—’ By the time she had got into the hallway he had already gone.

  But where had he gone? He hadn’t wanted dinner, so obviously he was going to have it out, but who with? She didn’t really need two guesses at the answer to that. Suzy Freeman was getting her wish, and a lot sooner than anticipated!

  This time Rachel was the one to fall asleep, her sleepless night from the night before taking its toll. The next morning was a repeat of the one before, rumpled sheets and pillow telling her that Nick had slept beside her, although she had no idea what time he had arrived home.

  Well, they couldn’t go on like this. They hadn’t spoken more than half a dozen words to each other in the whole of the time he had been back.

  But it seemed they could go on like that, and for the next two days she saw even less of Nick—if that were possible.

  By the Friday evening she had had enough of it; she couldn’t stand the way things were between them any longer. Instead of going to bed and falling asleep before Nick got home as she usually did, she waited up for him. It was almost one o’clock in the morning when he got home, and his eyes narrowed on her as she came out to meet him.

  ‘What the hell are you still doing up?’ he rasped. He had been drinking—heavily, by the way he lurched into the lounge.

  ‘Waiting for you,’ Rachel stated the obvious.

  His mouth turned back contemptuously. ‘Well, I’m sorry, Rachel, but I’m not in the mood to give you what you want tonight.’

  She flushed at the insult. ‘Nor any other night lately,’ she muttered before she could stop herself.

  ‘Missing it, are you, Rachel?’ he sneered.

  ‘Not at all—’

  ‘Liar,’ he scorned, his tie loosened at his throat, the top two buttons of his Shirt undone. ‘The way you cling to me in the night tells me otherwise.’

  Colour flooded her cheeks. ‘I didn’t know…’

  ‘No,’ he taunted, ‘you do it instinctively.’

  ‘Nick, what’s wrong?’ Her expression was pained, appealing.

  ‘Wrong?’ he repeated sharply, pouring himself a glass of whisky.

  She frowned worriedly as he drank it down as if it were water. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’

  ‘Not nearly enough,’ he growled roughly. ‘And what could possibly be wrong? I have my sweet loving wife beside me, the wife I love above everything else,’ his eyes glittered dangerously. ‘Even tennis, apparently.’

  Her shoulder slumped defeatedly. ‘You saw the newspapers.’

  He nodded grimly. ‘I also had half a dozen reporters on my tail asking for more information.’

  ‘I’m sorry—’

  ‘Sorry!’ Nick repeated harshly. ‘Why should you be sorry? No, I’m the one that’s sorry, Rachel, sorry your little plan didn’t work.’

  She blinked dazedly. ‘Plan? What plan? Anna Hill wanted to ask me a few questions—’

  ‘Anna Hill?’ he echoed sharply. ‘Who the hell is Anna Hill?’

  ‘The reporter—’

  ‘You didn’t tell me you had a friend who was a reporter,’ his mouth twisted derisively.

  ‘I haven’t—’

  ‘No?’

  ‘No!’

  Ni
ck shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter. It isn’t going to work anyway.’

  ‘What isn’t?’ she cried out her frustration.

  ‘This ploy of yours to gain the interest of the public,’ he rasped., ‘I’m not going to feel in the least guilty about throwing you out of my life the moment I know I don’t have to continue with this marriage.’

  Rachel had gone very white. ‘You really mean that?’

  His expression was scornful. ‘Oh yes.’

  She licked her suddenly dry lips, her head going back. ‘Then I might as well go and pack my things,’ she told him stiffly.

  Nick caught up with her at the door, and swung her round, his gaze searching on her face. ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’ he finally ground out.

  ‘Yes,’ she answered abruptly.

  His hand on her arm was painful, but she didn’t feel a thing, hurting too much inside to care about physical pain. ‘How long have you known?’ he demanded grimly.

  ‘A couple of days.’

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’

  Because she hadn’t wanted this to happen, had been holding on to him as long as she could possibly could, in the hope that he might come to care for her in return. This last week had told her that wasn’t possible. ‘You haven’t been here to tell,’ she said stiffly.

  ‘No,’ he acknowledged quietly. ‘You’re leaving, then?’

  She looked up at him unflinchingly. ‘That was the bargain, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Yes,’ he agreed gruffly.

  ‘And as you don’t like to say goodbye I’ll say it for you. Goodbye, Nick.’ Somehow her voice remained cool, revealing none of the choking emotion inside her.

  ‘Rachel—’

  ‘Goodbye,’ she repeated hardly, quietly closing the door as she left.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THE young woman walking confidently along the high street, her head held high, bore little resemblance to the girl who had left Nick’s apartment like a whipped puppy almost two years ago. She had matured almost beyond recognition; there was a happy glow in her eyes, a smile on her lips, her step was light and carefree.

  Time has a way of erasing pain, of replacing one love with another, not erasing the first love, but certainly dulling it. That was what Matthew had done to Rachel’s life. He had given her purpose again when the whole world seemed to have gone crazy.

  ‘Everything all right, Hilary?’ she asked the girl behind the counter of the bookshop as she went in.

  ‘Fine.’ The other girl picked up her handbag ready to go to her own lunch-break. ‘He hasn’t stirred.’

  Rachel nodded. ‘I’ll see you later.’

  She sat down behind the counter, looking down indulgently into the reclining push-chair that was serving as a bed for her son’s lunchtime nap. At fourteen months Matthew was a big boy for his age, tall and lean like his father, with hair the colour of sunshine and eyes a deep stormy grey. Like most babies he had been tactful enough to include characteristics from both parents.

  Nick would have been proud of his son—if he had known of his existence! Which he didn’t.

  Matthew was the reason Rachel had left Nick, the reason she had had to leave him. Maybe if he had seemed to be coming to care for her she would have stayed and hoped for the best, but those last heated words had shown her exactly what he thought of her.

  She didn’t happen to agree with Nick’s opinion that a child, any child, needed both its parents. With Nick hating her, and her loving him, their child would have grown up in a battlefield.

  And so she had left, had done the only thing possible in the circumstances. She couldn’t pretend the last two years had been easy, they hadn’t, but with her parents’ help, both emotionally and financially, she had got through it. A few months ago her father had helped her finance a half share in this bookshop with Hilary. It wasn’t exactly the sort of business they had once thought of running, but it was a start.

  Her parents had been wonderful, taking care of Matthew when the shop was first opened, helping her through the first six months of his birth. She had paid her father’s loan back now, but she knew she could still rely on them completely.

  She had heard nothing from Nick, and she made no effort to contact him either, feeling he had no part of their lives now. She occasionally saw items about him in the newspapers, especially the blaze of publicity that had greeted his retirement after his spectacular win at Wimbledon last year.

  She hadn’t wanted to watch the match on television, but in the end she had been unable to stop herself. Nick had played like a demon, his concentration intense, his expression grim.

  Her heart had given a sickening jolt at the sight of him, but she remained calm in front of her parents. It was only when she got to the privacy of the bedroom she shared with Matthew that she had allowed her tears to flow.

  Suzy Freeman had been among the spectators, with her father, and as she moved her hand to straighten her hair, a huge diamond ring sparkled on the third finger. As she and Nick were still married she knew he couldn’t possibly have married the other girl, but the ring on her finger showed that he had officially staked his claim.

  Since his retirement Rachel had heard little about him. Until yesterday. Yesterday evening a photograph of him and a rapidly rising tennis star had appeared on the sports section of the news. It seemed Nick was the younger man’s coach, and that he was bringing him over to Wimbledon with high hopes of him winning.

  Her parents had looked at her rather anxiously as the newscaster passed on to something else, and she had steeled herself to show no emotion, excusing herself a short time later to go to the privacy of her bedroom. Matthew lay upside down in his cot, the sheet that had been his only covering in the hot June weather thrown to the floor before he fell asleep.

  He looked so angelic as he slept on, completely unlike the mischievous little imp he was during the day, his still-baby face chubby and cute, and Rachel was rather proud of the eight teeth he had developed rather late in his young life. He was dressed in light blue pyjamas patterned with little brown teddy-bears, his hands stretched out star-like in his deep sleep, his blond curls giving him even more the look of an angel.

  It was as she looked at Matthew that Rachel knew the last two years without Nick had been worth it. Matthew had so far grown up in a world of love, his grandparents adoring him, and her own love for him surpassed everything else, even her love for Nick. As a result Matthew was a happy, contented child, full of mischief, with a smile guaranteed to soften even the hardest heart. How would he have fared in the love-hate relationship of his parents, love on her side, hate on Nick’s? Every time she asked herself that, and she did it a lot, the answer always told her that she had done the right thing, the only thing.

  ‘Letter for you, love,’ her mother told her when she arrived home later that evening, the chuckling Matthew going into his eager grandmother’s arms while his mother opened her letter.

  It was an invitation, to a birthday party—Eve Lennox’s birthday party.

  ‘Anything interesting?’ Her mother looked concernedly into her pale face.

  ‘No, nothing,’ she replied brightly, screwing the invitation into a ball before throwing it into the bin.

  Kay Lennox had made several attempts to see her since her break-up with Nick, and each time she had rebuffed the other woman, mainly out of necessity. She could hardly keep her baby a secret when she was six or eight months pregnant.

  For a while after her first half a dozen refusals she had heard nothing from Kay, then had come the telephone call from the other woman asking her to be a godmother to little Eve. That refusal had been the hardest to make, but in the last months of her pregnancy she could hardly see Nick’s sister. Besides, she had a feeling Nick himself would be there, would possibly even be a godfather, which was all the more reason to refuse.

  A few weeks after the christening she had received an invitation to Eve’s first birthday party. This invitation had gone unacknowledged; she had de
cided that if Kay were to get the hint to leave her alone that the break would have to be a clean one.

  Like her break from Nick. She had heard nothing from him in two years, she hadn’t expected to, and she hadn’t been disappointed. She was hurt, and felt betrayed, but not disappointed.

  For months after their separation she had lived in hope that Nick would miss her, that he would realise that he did love her after all. As the months passed and she heard no word from him she knew her hopes were in vain, and seeing him at Wimbledon last year, the way Suzy had congratulated him afterwards, had convinced her of it.

  And now there was Kay’s invitation! Nick on television yesterday, an invitation to Eve’s party next would—would she never be rid of the St Clares from her life!

  Not while she remained one herself! Maybe divorce was the only answer but so far she had heard nothing from Nick on the subject, and she was loathe to make the final break herself. Besides, there was always the chance that if she and Nick met in a courtroom Matthew’s existence would come to light. No, it was better to leave it this way, to be a forgotten part of Nick’s life.

  Nevertheless, her unease deepened with the opening of Wimbledon, and she feared that at any moment Nick would come knocking on the door. Matthew, like most babies, was able to sense his mother’s preoccupation, and instantly began having a series of minor accidents, the last one resulting in a slight concussion, stitches in the back of his head, and a night in hospital.

  Rachel stayed with him as late as she could, not wanting to leave him. She had never been without him for a night before, although Matthew seemed to have no qualms, falling asleep at his normal time, and looking set to sleep through to the morning. It was at times like this that she wished she had the support of her husband, although as usual her parents were wonderful, only leaving the hospital an hour before she did.

  The tears streamed down her face as she drove home, determined to be back at the hospital in the morning before Matthew had time to wake at his usual eight o’clock. Her eyes were watery, her nose red from crying when she entered the house at nine-thirty, with no premonition of the shock that awaited her.