by Ally Blake
‘Don’t promise her what you can’t give—’
‘I won’t leave her with anyone she doesn’t want to be with.’
If almost anyone else had made that statement Lydia wouldn’t have believed them, but Nick said it in a way that made her believe he would do exactly what he said he would. Goodness only knew what upheavals it would cause in his professional life.
Nevertheless it was the right decision. Unquestionably. Rosie needed him. It was what being a parent was all about. Selfless love.
As an onlooker Lydia could see it clearly. It was why she never wanted children of her own. She wasn’t capable of selfless love. She never wanted to be in a position where she’d have to choose between what she wanted to do and what other people needed her to do.
Who was it who said it was a wise man who knew his limitations? Well, that applied equally well to women. She knew she could never subjugate her desires to the needs of another. She was too selfish. She hadn’t been able to do it at eighteen and there was no reason to suppose she could ever do it in the future.
Lydia tapped Rosie on the shoulder. The little girl turned round. She could see from her hopeful expression that she trusted her father. Carefully she signed out what Nick had said. Rosie glanced at him and Nick nodded in confirmation.
Then Rosie smiled, her tiny heart-shaped face lit up with a beauty that defied the tear-stains. Seeing it, Lydia felt her own heart contract. If that expression didn’t reward Nick for doing the right thing, then nothing would.
For the second time in as many days Lydia felt an outsider. She was a bystander to an emotional connection she wasn’t part of. An onlooker. Not really needed.
It wasn’t as if she really knew Nick Regan-Phillips and his daughter. She was here purely because of a series of circumstances and the sooner she left the better. Witnessing this kind of connection made her aware of an ache within herself. The emptiness and a longing for something more in her life. Something career success didn’t give her.
Lydia stood up and, the minute she did so, Rosie turned. She stretched out her hand. Lydia took it in her own, but with her one free hand signed that she must go home.
The little girl vehemently shook her head.
Nick stood up a little shakily. ‘I don’t think she’s ready to lose you.’
‘I—’
‘Have you eaten?’
It was such an abrupt change of subject that Lydia frowned in an effort to make sense of it.
‘Eaten. I asked if you’d eaten yet?’ he repeated slowly. ‘After everything you’ve done for me today the least I can do is offer you dinner.’
‘No, I haven’t.’ In fact, since Izzy’s spectacular and totally sinful fried breakfast, she’d not eaten anything but the half packet of chocolate biscuits she’d tucked in the glove compartment of her car.
‘Then stay for dinner.’
‘But Christine Pearman won’t be expecting another mouth to feed …’
‘Christine is paid to expect the unexpected,’ he said with all the old arrogance she disliked. How could he make a statement like that? Didn’t he know that meals couldn’t conjure themselves out of thin air? That they required planning and preparation before they appeared on the table?
But then Lydia thought of her empty flat. Her two close friends exploring Vienna without her. What was there to rush back to London for?
It was tempting to stay. Rosie tugged on her hand and Lydia felt herself weaken. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes.’
She looked up into Nick’s dark brown eyes and thought what a staggeringly complicated man he was. He was also fascinating. It was at that moment that she knew she’d stay.
‘I’ll need to stay with Rosie until she’s asleep, but then we could … talk.’
Her eyes moved to his mouth. Talk. Hmm, yes. They could talk. Did he know he had the sexiest mouth? Or that his lips would be described as firm and sensual in a romance novel? And then there was that slight indentation in the centre of his chin. She’d read somewhere that it was indicative of a sensual personality.
Who knew whether that was true, but looking at Nick Regan-Phillips you kind of suspected it might be. Lydia pulled her eyes away from his face, horrified at where her thoughts had taken her.
‘You’ve obviously got some experience of being in contact with deaf people. I’d like to hear your suggestions for what would help Rosie.’
‘Of course.’ Put like that, how could she refuse?
‘I’ll ask Christine to bring you a drink through to the sunroom. Or even on the terrace, since it’s been a lovely day.’
Lydia looked down at Rosie, who was staring up at her with wide eyes. She must have been so lonely. As the thought popped into her mind she realised that anything she could do to help Rosie she would do. It had been a long time since anyone had looked at her with such blatant adoration. Even if it was only the hero-worship of a five-year-old—it felt really good.
‘Actually,’ Lydia said, looking round for where she’d dropped her handbag, ‘I’ve left my car halfway down your drive. I think I’ll walk down and fetch it.’
‘Okay. I’ll ask Christine to watch for you and I’ll meet you on the terrace in …’ He glanced down at his watch.
‘When Rosie is asleep.’
Nick’s smile was swift. ‘When Rosie is asleep,’ he agreed.
She watched the two of them leave the room. They looked like one of those arty photographs of a dad walking along with his little girl. Certainly Rosie was pretty enough to be a child model. She had one of those symmetrical faces and huge speaking eyes.
Her mother must be a very beautiful woman. Lydia glanced around the room. There were no photographs—although that was to be expected. They were divorced, after all. It would be very unusual if there had been any.
But she was curious to know who the enigmatic Nick would have married. If she’d anticipated any part of the events of today she’d have spent longer on the Internet and discovered who it had been.
Lydia spotted her handbag tucked next to a red cushion and went to pick it up, just as Rosie burst back into the room. The question on her lips died the minute she saw the little girl’s face. Lydia crouched down and received a resounding kiss on the cheek. Slightly moist, but completely perfect.
For the first time in her life Lydia thought it might be nice to have a child of her own one day. Someone who would love her unconditionally—and then she brought herself up short. She totally disapproved of people who had children for reasons like that. If she wanted unconditional love it would be better to get a dog. And she hadn’t even got space in her life for one of those.
Standing up, Lydia signed ‘goodnight’. That brought back memories too. Her mother had always signed the same thing every night. ‘Goodnight. Sleep tight. Don’t let the bedbugs bite.’ It was almost painful to remember. It was as though she’d blocked so many of those happy memories because of the ache they brought with them.
Rosie smiled shyly and then bounced from the room. The child’s whole body language had altered in the short time she’d known her. The truly astounding thing was how little it had actually taken to have wrought such a change.
Nick had to be able to see that for himself. His daughter had simply needed to be listened to. Nothing earth-shattering about that. Everybody needed to be listened to. Lydia picked up her handbag. And then she wondered a little more about the former Mrs Regan-Phillips. What kind of woman was she? Would she object to the summary removal of the nanny she’d presumably chosen?
It wasn’t her problem. She had to remember that. It was time she started to let other people fight their own battles. Izzy had said that yesterday.
Izzy.
Why hadn’t she thought of that before? She needed to telephone her sister. Izzy was a teacher for special needs children. She might even know of someone who would be a perfect nanny for Rosie. Lydia started to fumble in her handbag for the cellphone as Christine came back into the room.
‘Do you
want me to show you out? Mr Regan-Phillips says you are bringing your car back up to the house.’
Lydia’s hand, still in her handbag, closed around her mobile. ‘Yes. Yes, I am.’
The older woman seemed to be a picture of cool control. If she hadn’t seen her so flustered she wouldn’t have believed it possible for this woman ever to be ruffled. ‘I’ll watch for your car and will take you through to the terrace as soon as you return.’
‘Thank you.’
Together they walked along the hallway with its beautifully nourished oak floor. Lydia couldn’t help but think how many hours it must take to keep it looking like this. Christine opened the heavy front door and held it wide.
Lydia paused on the top step as a thought occurred to her. She turned back. ‘I hope my staying isn’t too inconvenient for you.’
The housekeeper’s mouth almost stretched to a smile but stopped short. ‘It’s not a problem.’
‘Good.’ Lydia skipped down the steps and started down the path towards her car. Glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure Christine Pearman had returned inside, she pulled her mobile from her handbag and dialled her sister’s number.
‘Izzy?’
Her sister’s voice sounded happy. ‘Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you for the last hour—’
‘I know—’ Lydia cut her off ‘—I’ve had my mobile turned off.’
‘Why?’
‘That’s not important. Just listen to what’s happened to me.’
Nick sat on the edge of Rosie’s bed, watching her eyes close. Every so often she would force them open to check he was still there. Each time he smiled and gently closed her eyelids with his hand.
She was so lovely. His little girl. He’d hoped she’d been too young to fully appreciate what had gone on with her mother. It seemed she knew too much of some things and not enough of others.
Ana wasn’t a bad person, just selfish. She wouldn’t have actively wanted her daughter to be hurt. Perhaps that was why she’d not told Rosie that her grandma had died. She probably thought Rosie was too young to understand what was going on around her. How wrong Ana had been.
Rosie might not have picked up on everything, but she was in no doubt that her father was too busy for her and her mother didn’t like her being deaf. Nick shook his head as though to rid himself of the thought and watched as his daughter fell into sleep. What kind of long-term damage did that do to a child?
He didn’t know. Damn it! Nick reached out and stroked back Rosie’s soft curls. It didn’t matter any more. Whatever happened now, things were going to change.
Nick stood up quietly and turned off the main light, leaving the soft night-light on. He hadn’t thought before how terrifying it must be for a deaf person to be left entirely in the dark. There was so much he hadn’t considered. Rosie’s world was completely different from his. Her experiences, now and as an adult, would be different.
He ran a hand across his neck tiredly. It was the first time in his life when he wasn’t sure he had what it took. Could he learn to be a good father? He smiled. Wendy would be amazed if she ever heard him say that. Knowing her, she’d probably think it was the beginning of wisdom.
‘Is the little girl asleep?’ Christine Pearman asked, coming up the stairs, towels in her hand.
‘Rosie is, yes.’ It was time they stopped thinking of her as a ‘little girl’ and started thinking of her as a fully formed human being, with needs and deep-seated worries of her own.
‘Would you like me to listen out in case she wakes? Sophie has gone out to a movie. I think she assumed you’d given her the evening off …’
Nick stopped with his hand on the banister rail. ‘That would be excellent. Thank you. Has Ms Stanford returned to the house yet?’
‘No.’ The housekeeper hesitated. ‘I think she had a phone call to make. Sir, do you think this is a good idea? Ms Stanford is a journalist and you’ve always resisted—’
‘Lydia Stanford is Wendy’s choice of biographer. And since Wendy is coming to stay, I think you and I ought to get used to the idea of having Ms Stanford around.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘And, considering everything she’s done for me today, I think the least I can do is offer her a meal.’
Christine shifted the towels in her arms. ‘Of course, sir.’
She walked down the landing, leaving Nick alone to wonder why Lydia Stanford had needed to make a call. Why she’d waited until she was out of the house.
Nick turned back to his bedroom and went through to his dressing room. He needed to get out of this suit. He tore off his rich burgundy silk tie and then hung it neatly in between red and purple ones on his colour-coded tie rack.
Was this a good idea? His fingers paused on the top button of his shirt.
Almost certainly this was not a good idea. Lydia Stanford was an ambitious woman. But, he argued, this was a thank you meal. A chance to learn more about the deaf world his daughter would inhabit. It was not a chance to get to know a woman who made him want to slowly undress her and throw her blasted Anastasia Wilson jacket out of a top floor window.
He swore softly. As long as he remembered that nothing was sacred to Lydia Stanford, he’d be all right.
CHAPTER FIVE
LYDIA stood on the terrace, but given the choice she would have preferred to wait for Nick inside. It had been a pleasantly warm day rather than hot and now it was beginning to cool down still further.
The view, though, was spectacular. Everything about this house was spectacular. The lawn reached out in a gentle swathe to a wooded area below and continued on to what looked like a walled garden. In between there were huge specimen trees that had been allowed to grow to full maturity. Plenty of places for Rosie to hide from a nanny she disliked.
‘She’s asleep.’
Lydia turned at the sound of Nick’s voice. Her first thought was that he’d changed out of his suit and into more casual clothes. Her second was that it was totally unfair.
He wore black jeans which hugged thighs that belonged on a professional sportsman, a white T-shirt and a thick charcoal-coloured over-shirt. The effect was electric. She, by contrast, was still in the clothes she’d left London i n yesterday.
‘Has Christine given you a drink?’
Lydia shook her head. ‘I didn’t want one. I have to drive back to London tonight.’
‘It’s getting cold out here. Shall we go back inside?’
Gratefully she moved towards the house. ‘The end of summer already. It’s sad, isn’t it?’
‘Doesn’t last long,’ he agreed.
Their conversation seemed formal and awkward, as though neither of them knew quite what they were allowed to talk about. They were not friends, Lydia reminded herself. Their relationship could only be described, at best, as uneasy.
‘It’s a fabulous garden,’ she observed, stepping through fully open glass doors that folded back to completely merge inside and outside spaces.
‘It’s my passion and why I bought this house. There’s a little over six acres here and yet I can be in the centre of London within an hour.’
‘It’s very convenient,’ she agreed as he led her through the reception room and across the hallway to a formal dining room.
It was exquisitely decorated although in slightly too heavy a style for her taste. The walls were papered in what she recognised to be an original William Morris design. The dining table was a rich oak and surrounded by the Rennie Macintosh chairs she’d imagined he’d own.
A traditional man in a traditional home. She loved it when people met her expectations. There was something so comforting about it.
‘So,’ she said brightly, ‘how long have you lived here? And have you done much to the garden?’
‘A little over two years. And—’ he smiled ‘—not as much as I would like.’
‘Spoken like a true gardener.’ Lydia slipped off her jacket and laid it across the back of one of the chairs.
‘Would you
like to hang that up?’ Nick asked, pulling out one of the chairs so that she could sit down. An old-fashioned gesture which suited the image she was building of him.
‘I’m sure it’ll be fine there. I might as well hang on to it in case I want to go out later and inspect what you’ve done.’
His mouth quirked into a smile. Her stomach did a little flip in recognition. It was a sexy smile and its power was increased by the fact that it came almost without any warning. She could imagine it could easily become something of an obsession to see how often she could make them happen.
Nick took the seat at the head of the table, immediately to the left of her. It was already laid for two, with fresh rolls and small curls of cold butter in tiny round dishes. ‘I believe we’re to have Celeriac Soup followed by Haddock Fillets with Coriander and Lemon Pesto.’
‘Don’t you know? I imagined you’d give your orders in the morning and the staff would …’
‘It’s too big a house to manage alone,’ he replied neutrally. She had to admire him for refusing to rise to her bait.
‘How disappointing! I was hoping for something much more “lord of the manor”.’
Nick laughed. His face relaxed and Lydia felt her stomach clench. Sexy. The man was just sexy. Maybe breaking into Wendy Bennington’s house had been a very good idea.
‘It’s difficult to get abject obedience past the unions these days.’
Christine walked in with a large tray, setting it down on an oak sideboard.
‘Ms Stanford—’ Nick began.
‘Lydia, please.’
‘And I’m Nick.’
It seemed a little late in the day to be deciding on using first name terms, but then she realised it was because she’d been thinking of him as Nick for a while. Yet neither of them had used the other’s name in conversation. How strange.
‘Lydia,’ he continued smoothly, ‘was wondering how much say I have over what I eat.’
Christine set the bowls in front of them. ‘It would be lovely if he took an interest. He only cares about his garden. I think I could serve the same meal every night and he wouldn’t notice.’
Nick raised an eyebrow as his housekeeper left. ‘Well, there you have it.’