by Liz Fielding
Just to keep him close.
Even if she believed that he loved her—and she was sure he did—that would be a fatal mistake. He had to know it, too. Recognise it. Admit it. Say it out loud.
She hadn’t thought it would be this hard. Take this long. If he could turn away after the way he’d touched her, if he could step back, detach himself—well, maybe she was wrong. She’d been so certain. That first time it had seemed as if their minds had touched. But now she just couldn’t seem to reach across the space between them.
She wasn’t simply succumbing to floppy muscles…her mental acuity was apparently fogged up with an excess of hormones, too.
She rubbed her palm across her wet cheek. She was losing him. She leaned back, eyes closed. No. It was worse than that. If he didn’t understand what she felt for him, if he felt so little in return, she was going to have to ask him to leave.
Today she’d been good. She’d done nothing, said nothing, but a girl could only stand so much before she succumbed to temptation and started playing dirty.
This was a game that had to be played by the rules or no one would win.
‘It’s finished?’ she asked.
‘All done.’ Jake opened the nursery door and stepped right back so that she wouldn’t have to brush past him. The cold shower had been completely ineffective. One touch and he wouldn’t be responsible…
‘Jake…’ Amy stared at the finished nursery. Then she closed her eyes, did a quick rerun of her mind’s vision of sky-blue, soft rose-pink, the little touches of gold, the vision she had worked so hard to describe to Jake. Then she opened them again.
No. She hadn’t imagined it. The room was a vivid, mind-blowing mix of red and black and white. And gold. He’d remembered the gold. The effect was stunning. The furniture, the walls, the linen. It wasn’t the effect she’d planned, but…something made her look up at the ceiling.
‘A black ceiling?’ The words were startled out of her. She turned and looked at him.
‘You hate it.’
He said the words lightly enough, as if it didn’t matter. But she knew it did. He’d done this not to annoy her, or irritate her, but because of some vision of his own. Aware that he was watching her closely, gauging her reaction, she moved slowly about the room, touching everything.
The old single bed that she’d slept in as a child had gone. Instead there was a futon. A place for her to sit, or open out and lie alongside her baby. There was a cot, a changing station; new cupboards replaced the elderly wardrobe… She opened a cupboard and was unable to stop herself from reaching out to the rows of toys waiting for small hands to play with them.
She took a red-and-black spotted ladybird from a shelf—velvet and satin, beautifully tactile—and turned to him. ‘It’s different,’ she said. ‘Your designer dreamed this up?’
‘No!’ He stuffed his hands into his pockets, stared at the floor. ‘I read an article in one of those baby magazines.’ Baby magazines? He’d been reading baby magazines? ‘Babies can’t distinguish pastel colours. Did you know that? They’re stimulated by—’
‘Let me guess. Red and black and white.’
‘If you hate it, I’ll do it again the way you wanted it…’ She brushed a tear from her cheek. ‘Oh, God! You loathe it. Amy, I’m sorry! Don’t cry, please don’t cry. I’ll change it. I’ll do anything you like…’
She was shaking her head, looking up at him. ‘You did this?’ she asked. ‘On your own?’
‘Yes. I’m sorry. Please, sweetheart.’ He wanted to put his arms around her, comfort her, but was afraid that it would just make things worse. ‘I got carried away, excited. I wanted it to be…’ She was standing in the middle of the room, just standing there, tears pouring down her cheeks. Nothing could make it worse. He reached out for her, held her. Damn! How could he have been so stupid, got so carried away with his own brilliant plans, not thinking, not caring about how she might feel? As if he didn’t know. ‘Amy, please don’t cry. I’ll fix it. I’ll get someone in and you can have exactly what you want.’
‘No.’
‘No, you’re right. I have to do it myself. I’ll have to cancel my trip…’
‘No, Jake. I don’t hate it. It’s just been a bit of a shock, that’s all.’
‘But you cried.’
‘I cry all the time. I cried yesterday because a little girl let go of a balloon and it floated away.’
‘Really?’
‘Well, she cried first and it just set me off…’ She sniffed. ‘Vicki bought me a waterproof mascara.’
He lifted the hem of his T-shirt and wiped her eyes. ‘That’s what I call a friend.’
‘Um.’ She tightened her lips against her teeth and looked up. And tried not to shudder at the ceiling. ‘What have you done with the light?’
‘Oh! You haven’t seen the best bit.’
‘There’s more?’
‘The best bit.’ He drew the heavy red curtains, darkening the room almost to night. ‘You now have two light switches. Switch one,’ he said. And downlighters illuminated the room, brilliantly. ‘It’s on a dimmer switch,’ he said, and turned down the wattage until it was no more than a soft wash against the walls. ‘And switch two.’ The downlighters went off and the black ceiling was suddenly picked out with little points of light, like stars, that twinkled here and there.
For a long time she stood and watched. ‘Did you really do all this, Jake?’
‘The electrics?’ He looked like a man torn between damning himself with truth or damning himself with a lie. ‘I held the ladder,’ he said, opting for the truth. ‘You needn’t worry…the guy was an expert.’
‘I wasn’t worrying… I’m just speechless.’
‘Er… Is that good, or bad?’
‘Come here.’
He crossed to her and she reached up, took his face between her hands and she kissed him. It was a sweet kiss, a kiss that said Thank you, and, I think you’re amazing and for a moment it seemed as if it might be a whole lot more, but it was over so quickly that he might have got entirely the wrong idea…
‘That means it’s good, right?’
‘I think it’s incredible,’ she said. Then, because he didn’t look convinced, she added, ‘It’s amazing, imaginative, exciting. But the best bit—the very best bit—is that you’ve put yourself into the nursery. That’s why I kissed you.’
Entirely the wrong idea… ‘I did try the blue. For the sky. But that translucent colour you wanted just didn’t work. Not the way you wanted it to. Sometimes it isn’t possible to translate it from the imagination into the physical.’
Paint was one thing. She was something else. As far as Amy was concerned, the physical had outstripped his imagination by every measure known to man.
She was wearing a black poet’s shirt, loose and baggy, that concealed all those wonderful curves, but his mind’s eye was more than capable of filling in the details. His mind was giving him a seriously hard time.
‘That’s when I started looking around for something else. I knew it was radical—’
‘It’s certainly that.’
‘Which is why I didn’t want you to see it until it was finished. If you don’t like it, Amy, I’ll change it. Just promise me you won’t be climbing any stepladders the moment my back’s turned.’
Amy looked up. ‘You said something about cancelling a trip. You’re going away?’
Half an hour ago she had been sure that she should ask him to leave, but at the prospect her heart sank like a stone.
‘I have to go to Brussels for a few days. A week, maybe. After that I’m heading for the Far East, coming back via California. I put it off for as long as I could—’
‘Don’t apologise, Jake. You’ve done everything you came for and more.’ She’d miss him so much… But she mustn’t cling. ‘Mrs Cook will miss you,’ she said.
That was it? ‘Mrs Cook will miss me?’
‘Cutting her grass.’
‘Summer’s nearly over,’ he said brusque
ly. It was just as well. He couldn’t stay. Wouldn’t make the promises he didn’t know how to keep. ‘This isn’t what I do, Amy.’ He made a vague gesture in the direction of the nursery.
‘I told you that.’
‘I heard you. And you’ve been wonderful. I really appreciate you giving me so much of your time.’
Her voice was quiet. Barely there. Dammit, how dared she make him feel guilty? He’d warned her… ‘You didn’t leave me much choice.’
‘That’s not true, Jake.’ She lifted her head a little, looked straight at him. And that was worse. ‘The choice was always yours, but I’m happy you made the one you did. And I’m glad you made the nursery truly yours. I’ll make sure Polly knows.’
‘Polly?’
‘It’s a pet name for Mary. That was my mother’s name.’ She stroked the bump. ‘I’m going to call her Polly.’
‘Funny name for a boy. I’d settled on George.’
There was a moment of silence before Amy said, ‘I mustn’t keep you. You must have a lot to do.’
Amy heard her quiet, measured voice saying all the right words while inside her head she was screaming. A week in Brussels! A whole week! Their baby would grow a centimetre, nearly half an inch, while he was there. And then he was going to the other side of the world…
After the last few weeks, his absence would be like a hollow pain. An empty space where there had once been his crooked smile, the unconscious touch of his hand on her arm any time he was close. She’d ache for those lightest of kisses on her cheek when he arrived out of the blue at the shop to take her out for lunch, or give her a lift home. She’d even miss the distracted way he pushed his fingers through his hair when he felt under pressure. He was doing it now…
Maybe he was right to go. If he was leaving it was better that he went sooner rather than later. She’d started to get used to him being around. Started to listen out for him, to rush home hoping he’d be there and, oh, the heart-lift when he was…
He’d fixed all kinds of things that had needed doing for ever. The garden looked wonderful. And she’d been good. She hadn’t made even the feeblest of protests when he’d installed a clothes drier in the scullery without asking her first.
And he hadn’t once raised the question of her learning to drive.
‘How was your day?’ he asked, obviously hoping to change the subject.
Her day had been difficult. Stressful. Oddly satisfying.
‘I…um…took a driving lesson.’ He turned to look at her, his face giving nothing away. She’d thought he would be pleased. Might even reward her with a kiss. Just a little one. On the cheek would do to be going on with. Anything could happen when they were that close. Anything almost had…
‘A driving lesson?’ he prompted.
Obviously not. Well, she was a big girl, she could handle it. She would have to. She was the one who didn’t have any choice.
‘Well, not a driving lesson exactly. I sat in the driving seat of a car and went through the controls.’
‘That’s a start.’
‘I even managed to switch on the engine and move the car a few feet.’ She smiled, ruefully. ‘Unfortunately my leg was shaking so much that I stalled.’
‘Well, that’s to be expected.’
‘Is it? The instructor said so, but I thought she was just being really, really kind. She was incredibly patient with me. We’re having another go tomorrow.’
‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Why are you putting yourself through this?’
She looked up at him. ‘Because you’ll feel better about leaving me. Because I wanted to convince you that you’re truly free. That you don’t have to stay for any reason.’ Other than that he wanted to. She’d been fooling herself. He was already making plans to move on. ‘To save you the embarrassment of having to drive that car yourself,’ she said, forcing herself to make light of it. No point in saying the words if the face, the body language were saying something else.
‘I was wrong, Amy. There’s nothing sham about you. Will you forgive me for accusing you of playing games with me, trying to entangle me, hold on—?’
‘You were angry,’ she said quickly, stopping him from saying the words. ‘In your place I’d probably have felt the same. And I’m glad you said those things because it made me see things from your point of view. Made me think about what it would really be like on my own.’
Lonely.
She’d been on her own for years, ever since her grandmother had died. But she’d never felt lonely before. Without Jake…
She crossed to the window, pulled back the curtains and looked down on the small patch of lawn that would be just perfect for a swing. She’d only have to say the word and she knew it would appear. But Jake wouldn’t be there to push it. Money couldn’t buy you everything.
‘I’ll always be there, at the end of the phone,’ he said, as if reading her mind.
‘Will you? And if I phone and you’re in California, or Japan, or Australia? Suppose the baby is sick, or later, when she’s walking, she falls and hurts herself? What if I have to get to the hospital and there’s no one around to help? I can’t rely on someone just being available. Can I?’ She turned and looked up as he joined her at the window. When he didn’t answer she said, ‘My imagination went into overdrive and I realised that you were right. I was being pathetic and selfish. Learning to drive was something I had to do.’
‘I don’t know what to say.’
She choked out a laugh. ‘You’re supposed to say, You could never be pathetic under any circumstances. Of course,’ she rushed on, not giving him time to say anything, ‘there’s another, less noble motive.’
‘Oh?’ His brows knit together in a frown and she wanted to rub it away with the pad of her thumb. She restrained herself. Kissing him had been bad enough. Kissing him and wanting him to lose control and be the way he had when they’d made their baby—
‘I’m determined to have your entire life story, chapter and verse. You haven’t forgotten your promise?’
And, just in case he had, Amy took his hand and with his fingers drew a cross over her heart.
Jake could feel the heat of her skin through the silk and he opened his hand, pressed his palm against the slow, steady heartbeat that found a hot echo in his own pulse so that it was like a drumbeat in his ears.
Her mouth was soft, her lips slightly parted, her body ripe, his for the taking if he’d say the right word.
That word, he knew, was ‘love’.
A word that had no meaning for him. Desire, he understood. Basic physical attraction that seized a man and held him briefly captive. But beyond that…
He wasn’t going to pretend. Not to Amy.
As if she sensed something of what he was feeling, wanted to spare him more pain, Amy covered his hand with her own and, weaving her fingers through his, she carried it to her waist.
He didn’t resist her, but as his hand curved over the swell of her abdomen the baby moved beneath his palm.
‘Polly’s been restless today,’ she said.
‘Behave, George,’ he murmured. ‘Give your mother a break while I’m away.’ But his casual tone belied the jag of real pain, the bubbling up of long-suppressed anger as for the first time he fully comprehended the enormity of the emptiness within him.
‘You’re going now?’ The words escaped before Amy could corral them. Needy little words that betrayed her. ‘Pity,’ she said, retrieving the situation with a careless shrug, and, turning away, headed for the stairs. ‘I’d planned something special for dinner. To celebrate the start of my driving lessons. Smoked salmon…’
‘Save the celebration until you’ve passed your test. I’ve made you some pasta. I was on my way to put it in the oven when—’ He stopped. ‘It’ll only take twenty minutes.’ He ducked under a beam as he followed her into her pretty living room, catching her hand and leading her to the sofa. ‘I’ll put it in and while it’s cooking you can put your feet up and start learning your Highway Code.’
&nb
sp; ‘No, leave it. I’ll have it later,’ she said, retrieving her hand, glancing at the clock. ‘And I’ve already started learning the Highway Code.’
‘You haven’t got much time,’ he said. ‘Give Willow a ring; she’ll help you with it.’ He started for the front door. Then stopped. ‘I’ve asked that old guy from the cottage down the road to come in and keep the garden tidy for you.’
‘There’s no need,’ she said. ‘Can you see my handbag? I put it down…’ She spotted it on the hall table, picked it up.
‘There’s every need. He won’t get paid until I get back, though, and I’ve made it quite clear that while he’s welcome to work wherever he chooses, I’m only paying for what he does in your garden.’ She gave him a reproachful look and he threw up his hands. ‘All right, he can keep Mrs Cook’s garden under control, since I won’t be here to cut the grass, but that’s it, Amy. He’s saving up to visit his daughter in Canada, so he needs the money. Don’t make it difficult for him.’
‘That’s so sneaky of you,’ she said, taking her velvet cloak from the coatstand.
‘I’m learning,’ he said, trying not to concern himself with what she was doing. Where she was going.
He’d learned a lot. Not the gardening and DIY skills. He’d learned them long ago, when the excessive amounts of pocket money had abruptly stopped and the only way he’d been able to buy the things he wanted had been to work for them. Household chores, cutting grass, digging. Rough on a boy who’d never had to wash a dish, make his own bed, peel a potato in his entire life. This was different. This was doing something because you wanted to.
But he’d also learned that each day spent at the cottage chipped away at his resolve, his determination to do the right thing, put desire on hold and keep his distance.