Part-Time Father (Harlequin Presents)

by Sharon Kendrick

  She had allowed herself to get carried away, and as soon as the words were out she regretted them— not just because Mrs Spencer was bristling with undisguised indignation, though frankly Kimberley doubted whether she’d actually got the gist of what she’d been saying, but also because Harrison’s sickeningly sardonic smirk left her in no doubt that he knew and she knew that he didn’t have any areas in which he was lacking.

  ‘Are you quite sure you won’t change your mind?’ he mocked softly, and Kimberley knew that he wasn’t just talking about giving her a lift home.

  She blushed madly. ‘No, thank you,’ she reiterated. ‘I’ll walk.’

  She heard Mrs Spencer’s sharp intake of breath, as though she was indignant that someone like her, a little Miss Nobody, should have the temerity to turn Mr Nash down—and on more than one occasion!

  ‘You can’t walk—it’s started to rain.’

  He didn’t give up, she would say that for him. She knew exactly what he wanted—to get her in his car so that he could begin to seduce her again. At least here, in the shop, she was safe from that. And she doubted that Harrison would be desperate enough to follow her home. Ice-blue eyes were turned disdainfully and decisively in the direction of the grey glitter of his. ‘I don’t care. I like the rain.’

  His eyes flickered over the brief little tartan mini, with its short matching jacket. ‘I’m quite sure you do. But, exquisite though you may look, you’re hardly dressed to combat the elements,’ he said softly.

  ‘Let me be the judge of that!’ she answered coolly, and walked out of the shop.

  He walked directly behind her, staying her with a hand on her arm, and she had to steel herself not to respond to the fleeting contact. He bent his head close to her face, and she was caught up in the dazzle from those glittering grey eyes. ‘I told you,’ he said softly, ‘that we had some unfinished business to settle.’

  ‘Oh, go to hell!’ she said exasperatedly, infuriated when he laughed at her, and she stalked off in the direction of her mother’s.

  Even so, she wondered if he’d follow her. But he didn’t, and she walked home with the steady drizzle slowly soaking the woollen fabric of her suit until it clung to her in a soggy mass. Her hair was dripping; the egg-box was drenched, and the bread was virtually inedible—but her mother hardly noticed; she was bobbing up and down with excitement when Kimberley walked through the door.

  ‘Should you be hopping around on your bad ankle like that?’ observed Kimberley mildly.

  ‘Oh—it’s almost better, darling. Dr Getty says I’m as fit as a flea. Listen—they’ve just delivered an invitation from Brockbank. Margaret Nash is throwing a party to celebrate Duncan’s engagement tomorrow night. I’m invited—and so are you!’

  Kimberley put the shopping on the kitchen table and eyed the invitation her mother was proffering. ‘I’m not going,’ she said flatly.

  Her mother’s face fell. ‘Oh, Kim—why ever not?’

  Kimberley sighed. ‘Just think about it, Mum. If I go it’ll just put people’s backs up—especially his new fiancee. I’m sure that if I were her I wouldn’t particularly want his ex-fiancée turning up. People would be bound to make hurtful comparisons—and I don’t expect that Duncan would want to see me either. In fact, I’m surprised that I was included on the invitation.’

  But she wouldn’t even admit to herself the real reason why nothing would make her set foot inside Brockbank House again.

  ‘You go. You’ll have a great time.’ Kimberley picked up a towel and began to rub at her sopping hair. ‘Will you ring up and RSVP for me?’ she asked. ‘Please?’

  Mrs Ryan’s eyes narrowed. ‘I’ve a feeling there’s more to this than meets the eye, but, yes, darling— if you’re absolutely adamant.’

  ‘I am.’ She stared down at her mother’s ankle. ‘And if you’re feeling better now, Mum, then I’ll have to think about getting back to London.’

  Mrs Ryan sighed. ‘I can’t say I wasn’t expecting it. Such a pity, though—I could quite get used to having you around the place again.’

  Kimberley had planned to leave the following afternoon. She had just finished packing after lunch when there was a knock at the front door. Thinking it might be her mother, who had insisted on hobbling next door to see her neighbour, just to prove she could do it, Kimberley opened the door. Before her stood a young woman in her early twenties— someone Kimberley didn’t recognise.

  She had shiny shoulder-length fair hair, which was cut into a bob, and she wore a superbly cut pair of trousers in an immaculate but very unseasonal cream colour, with a matching cashmere jacket. Gold gleamed discreetly at her ears and neck and she exuded a kind of confidence which only money could give you. And lots of it, too.

  ‘Can I help you?’ asked Kimberley uncertainly.

  The girl creased her eyes into a frown. ‘Are you Kimberley Ryan?’ Her voice was American—cultured and direct.

  ‘Yes, I am—but I’m afraid I don’t——’

  ‘I’m Caroline Hudson—I’m Duncan’s fiancée. Would you mind awfully if I came in?’

  Kimberley pulled herself together and opened the door wider. ‘Of course I don’t mind. Do come in.’

  The American girl immediately stepped over the threshold.

  ‘Won’t you sit down?’ asked Kimberley politely, not at all sure about the etiquette of entertaining your ex-fiancé’s fiancée. ‘And have some tea?’

  ‘Thank you. I will sit down, but I won’t stay for tea.’ Caroline positioned herself in one of the comfy armchairs and began fiddling with the gold link bracelet at her wrist.

  Obviously, thought Kimberley, she wasn’t quite as confident as she had initially seemed. She wondered why the girl had come. She strove to say something neutral which couldn’t possibly be taken the wrong way.

  ‘That’s an absolutely beautiful ring you’re wearing,’ she managed.

  It was obviously the right thing to say, because Caroline smiled as she held her left hand up to the light in the manner of newly engaged women the world over and the mammoth diamond solitaire sparkled and glimmered magnificently. ‘Isn’t it?’ she agreed. ‘We bought it in Tiffany’s. Duncan wanted me to have the family ring—but I wanted something new. I didn’t,’ she said deliberately, ‘want the ring that you’d worn.’

  Kimberley nodded. ‘That seems like a very wise idea.’ She looked questioningly at the American girl. ‘Do you want to tell me why you’ve come here?’ she asked gently.

  Caroline nodded, then fell silent before turning her rather spectacular green eyes anxiously to Kimberley. ‘You aren’t in love with Duncan any more, are you?’

  Kimberley was so surprised that she almost laughed aloud, but then, realising that that could be taken as offensive, shook her head emphatically instead. ‘Heavens, no! Hand on heart. That was over a long time ago, and to be quite honest I think that was the best thing for both of us.’

  ‘So do I,’ said Caroline firmly. ‘Duncan’s told me about you. I know you’re brighter than he is, and I know you’re ambitious—it would have meant that he would always have been competing against you, and he couldn’t have coped with that—not in the long run. He needs someone like me. I don’t care about making my mark on the world and I’ve more than enough money through my trust fund— and if that sounds awful, then I’m sorry, but I can’t help being rich. I’m quite happy to be Duncan’s woman, to support him. That’s what I want to do with my life.’

  ‘Lucky Duncan,’ said Kimberley faintly. ‘But I don’t quite see——’

  ‘Duncan loves me—I know that. But——’ Caroline lifted her hands up in the air and the bracelets at her wrist jangled like wind-chimes. ‘How can I put it? I guess it’s just that you’re a ghost he’s never put to rest. And everyone else here knows that you dumped him.’ She saw Kimberley’s expression. ‘I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to insult you.’

  Kimberley shook her head. ‘Of course you didn’t. Please carry on.’

  ‘It’s just that if you
don’t come to our party tonight, it’s going to become like a sort of thing— you know how people are. They’ll say that you couldn’t bear to see him, or that he couldn’t bear to see you. Maybe they’ll think,’ she finished miserably, ‘that he’s still in love with you.’

  Kimberley looked at the girl who sat, her shoulders hunched up now, in her mother’s sitting-room. Young, beautiful, rich—and bogged down by all the insecurities of love. Damn love! she thought vehemently. ‘What is it that you want me to do?’

  ‘Come tonight,’ urged Caroline. ‘To the party. And show there’s no hard feelings—nothing bottled up.’ She looked up at the ceiling, then down again, swallowing convulsively as she did so. ‘I need to see Duncan. With you. Do you understand what I mean?’

  Kimberley nodded. It seemed that Caroline needed to put her own ghosts to rest. ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Then you’ll come?’

  Kimberley thought of Harrison, and of music, imagined him in a dinner jacket, looking superbly at home in the ravishing surroundings of Brockbank House. She put the thought firmly away. ‘I won’t stay very long,’ she promised. ‘But, yes, I’ll come.’ I owe Duncan, after all, she decided.

  The heavy velvet drapes had been left undrawn and the lights of Brockbank blazed out, shimmering and sparkling from their costly chandeliers, to spill glorious light on to the gravelled drive leading up to the big house.

  Kimberley drove, even though the distance was short enough to walk, but she wasn’t planning to drink anything, not tonight, and with her car there she’d be able to make a hasty getaway. She had packed her suitcases and loaded them in her boot, and planned to drive straight to London from the party. ‘And if I leave before you do,’ she told her mother, ‘then you can always get a taxi if you don’t get a lift from anyone else.’

  Kimberley had deliberated for ages over what to wear. There were so many things she didn’t want to look like—a femme fatale, for one thing, or a defiant ex-lover who was pulling out all the stops to show how good she could look. On the other hand if she dressed like a total frump, for what was obviously going to be quite a smart do, it would be oddly out of character—and quite bad manners.

  In the end she wore her black dress, which had seen her through just about every social occasion imaginable, and had never yet let her down. It came to several inches above the knee, but apart from showing some leg it covered everything else, with its high neck and long sleeves. The beauty of it was in the cut and the material. It was made of butter-soft silk, which rustled like a whisper as she walked.

  Her hair she wore piled high upon her head, with several black corkscrew tendrils teased out to frame her face. With black kid slippers and pearls at her ears and wrists, she felt that she could withstand an hour or so at the party. And surely, in a crowd, it would be easy to avoid being alone with Harrison?

  At first she saw neither brother. She was greeted at the door by Margaret Nash—who thanked her profusely for her help with the house—and by Caroline.

  Caroline looked stunning—and nervous. She wore a slithery sheath of a dress in gleaming scarlet satin. She immediately took Kimberley to one side and took her wrap. ‘Duncan’s gone to order more champagne,’ she whispered. ‘I want to be here when he sees you.’

  An awful, until now formless fear manifested itself. ‘He does know that I’m coming?’ asked Kimberley.

  Caroline looked her straight in the face, her mouth a thin, determined line. ‘No. He doesn’t.’

  Dear God, thought Kimberley despairingly, wondering how on earth she could get out of here.

  ‘I couldn’t see the point of telling him,’ continued Caroline, apparently unconcerned by Kimberley’s shocked silence. ‘And neither could his mother.’

  ‘His mother?’

  Caroline nodded.

  ‘I think you’d better explain,’ said Kimberley faintly, feeling more and more divorced from reality by the second.

  ‘His mother suggested it. Like me, she thinks it’s a ghost he ought to lay to rest. You see, young love is very, very intense—and you were both so young when you were engaged. Added to that, rejection is so much harder to take when you’re that young— by the time you’re in your mid-twenties you’ve usually experienced a bit more of it, so it doesn’t knock you quite so hard! And the person who rejected you assumes a much greater importance over the years than if the affair had just dwindled out naturally. Duncan needs to see you again, Kimberley. To see that you’re not superwoman, that you’re normal—just someone he used to know.’

  It had the air of being a rehearsed speech. Kimberley was quite astonished, and couldn’t help admiring the American girl’s guts, but she felt bound to ask, ‘You’re taking a bit of a risk, aren’t you, Caroline? What if it backfires on you?’

  Caroline smiled. ‘I’m a gambler—and I don’t take unnecessary risks. Oh, my—here he comes.’

  Kimberley automatically straightened her back, as though she were a soldier on parade, watching while Duncan wended his way towards his fiancee, a butler carrying a tray of champagne glasses following closely behind.

  He hadn’t seen her; she was concealed by the stoles and wraps which hung from the oversized coat-stand, and she had ample opportunity to observe him.

  It was amazing how much two years had changed him, and in that time he had gone from boy to man. It shocked Kimberley to see how much he had changed, if only because it emphasised how very young he must have been when he asked her to marry him. He was dressed conservatively, in a wellcut suit, and his hair was short and neatly combed. He had the preppy look of someone who had been influenced by their environment—as obviously he must have been influenced by the country he had chosen to live in. His eyes rested fondly on Caroline, and the look shining from them told Kimberley everything she needed to know.

  She stepped forward, a genuine smile on her face. ‘Hello, Duncan,’ she said quietly.

  There was a moment’s silence. She noted every emotion which passed in quick succession over his face. Part recognition, surprise, bewilderment and then, heart-warming, but heart-rending too-—because she didn’t think she really deserved it—a wry smile, which became wider. He put his hands on her shoulders, kissed both cheeks, and stood staring down at her. ‘Kimberley,’ he said. ‘You’re looking good.’

  ‘So are you.’ There were so many things she wanted to say to him, things she knew must remain unsaid—because if she told him she was sorry it would resurrect it all, and wasn’t the past best left buried?

  But it was as though Duncan could discern her mixed feelings, because he looked down at her, a glint of amusement in his eyes—such warm, uncomplicated eyes when you compared them to those of his older brother.

  ‘Kimberley,’ he said quietly. ‘Would you understand if I said thank you—for doing me the biggest favour of my life?’

  Kimberley nodded, a lump in her throat, knowing exactly what he meant. ‘I would. And thank you, Duncan—for being so big about it.’

  There was a rustle behind them. ‘Have you met Caroline?’ He was eager, proprietorial, as his beautiful fiancée stepped forward and he bent to place a brief but possessive kiss on her mouth.

  ‘I have.’ Kimberley smiled. ‘She invited me. I do hope you didn’t mind?’

  Caroline was smiling the reassured and victorious smile of the woman who has got her man. ‘Of course he doesn’t mind, Kimberley—he doesn’t mind a thing I do! Let’s all go into the other room. And, Duncan—you must dance with Kimberley. I’ll bet you have heaps to talk about!’

  In the event they didn’t; they survived on niceties but Kimberley knew that that had not been the purpose of the dance. The public show of unity, Caroline’s smiling approval of their dance all served to show the assembled guests that there were no deep yearnings from the former partners. No broken hearts which hadn’t healed. Everything was all right.

  But not for long.

  Kimberley became aware that they were being watched, and she didn’t need to be psychic to know
by whom. Some sixth sense had alerted her to his presence as soon as he’d entered the ballroom.

  It was evident from the little buzz of whispered excitement that the most eligible bachelor had just walked into the room. Kimberley saw women actually preening themselves—saw bosoms being thrust out and stomachs sucked in. Saw women tossing extravagant curls around their heads like tempestuous young fillies.

  She looked up into Duncan’s face, and had opened her mouth to say that she wanted to go and find her mother when a deep voice, which was about as welcome as a heat-wave in the desert, penetrated her consciousness.

  ‘Why, Duncan,’ came the sardonic admonishment, ‘I’d be careful if I were you. If you leave that beautiful fiancée of yours on her own much longer then someone might just whisk her away.’

  Duncan dropped his hands from Kimberley’s waist immediately, and looked around. ‘Sure. Thanks, Harrison. I’d better go find her. Nice to see you again, Kimberley,’ he said absently, and set off in search of Caroline.

  ‘Excuse me,’ said Kimberley, and made to push past him, but he stopped her with an arm of steel.

  ‘You’re not going anywhere.’

  ‘Let me go,’ she said desperately, as just the touch of him started that familiar aching.

  The deep velvet voice was tinged with anger— restrained but unmistakable anger. ‘But surely you want to dance with me, Kimberley? Or is it just Duncan that you want to turn those big blue eyes up at? What the hell do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘As a matter of fact Caroline came to my house today and asked me to come. She wanted to make sure that Duncan only had eyes for her, which, as anyone can see, he patently has.’

  ‘Oh, really?’ he mocked.

  ‘Yes!’ she answered impatiently. ‘Realty! And now can you go away and bore someone else with your nasty suspicious mind? And damn well take your hands off me——’

  But he ignored her protests, pulling her into his arms to lock her against the warm and beckoning sanctum of his broad chest. His arms went about her waist, as lightly as Duncan’s had done, but oh, the difference took all her breath away. She was aware of the weight of each long finger as it rested at the narrow indentation between her ribs and the gentle curve of her hips. The butter-soft silk, which had seemed such a good idea at the time, now mocked her with its insubstantiality—for it felt as though he touched her skin instead of her dress.