by Betty Neels
‘Shuli will keep you on the run.’
‘Undoubtedly. Does she go to a playgroup?’
‘One of her nannies took her to something called Tiny Tots at the village hall.’ He turned away, his jaw tightening, and suddenly found something of enormous interest in his mug. ‘It was there that Shuli discovered other children didn’t have nannies, they had mummies. That’s when she started getting so difficult.’
Jane made a move to reach out, cover his hand with her own. He was so close. It would be so easy to offer that simple, wordless assurance that everything was going to be put right. That from this day forward he wouldn’t have to worry about a thing.
He might not, but she was beginning to get an inkling of just how far out on an emotional limb she’d crawled. So she restrained herself, instead picking up the mug of tea and cradling it for a little personal comfort between her fingers. ‘Well, she’s got one now,’ she said. ‘I hope she won’t be disappointed.’
‘No.’ He turned to her. ‘I think she’s been telling me for some time that she’d chosen you.’
She frowned.
‘Think about it. Every time she played up and I had to bring her into the office she spent the day with you. She adores you, Jane. She hasn’t stopped talking about you all weekend. I should have realised sooner, but I guess I just wasn’t listening.’
Who would blame him? It was obvious that such a sacrifice would be above and beyond the call of duty unless desperation drove you to it. She put down the mug before she had another accident.
‘She’ll be waking up any minute. I’d better go and take a shower, see if I can find something to wear. I packed so quickly that it’ll take me days to sort everything out.’
She slipped down from the stool and Mark watched her as she crossed the kitchen, vaguely troubled by his unexpected reaction to a woman he’d thought he knew so well. He knew what he was getting out of this marriage, but what had driven her to make such a choice? Not for the ‘lovely home’ or the ‘comfortable life’, he was certain. Or to avoid the tears and chocolate that went with conventional match-making. Had her heart been broken by some careless man too stupid to recognise what he’d got? Afraid of being hurt again, had she opted out and settled for friendship?
He promised himself that she wouldn’t be sorry with her bargain. That he would be the best friend she’d ever had.
‘I promise you,’ she said, echoing his thoughts as she bent to pick up her tea-soaked jog-pants, ‘I’m not in a habit of sleeping in the clothes I’m wearing.’
‘That was entirely my fault. Maybe I should have woken you, but you looked so peaceful.’
‘Woken me?’ She straightened, slowly turned around. ‘Peaceful?’ She said the word as if it were unknown to her.
‘You were reading to Shuli,’ he said. ‘Remember? It must have been one heck of a boring story because it put you both to sleep. I thought you’d be more comfortable in your own bed.’ A deep flush flamed her cheeks. She was embarrassed? Because he’d picked her up and put her to bed? It wasn’t as if he’d taken her to his. Or even undressed her. This probably wasn’t the moment to admit that he’d kissed her goodnight. ‘I thought I’d better take off your shoes, though. I hope you don’t mind?’
She swallowed. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘You seem a little…disconcerted.’ Then, ‘Has anyone ever told you that you’ve got very pretty feet?’ The desire to tease her, just a little, was a wicked temptation. But irresistible. He’d never seen a woman blush like that before.
‘All the time,’ she said, then added airily, ‘People stop me in the street to remark on them.’
‘And they say the British are a reserved people.’ He shook his head, hiding a smile. ‘I hadn’t noticed how small they are. Your feet.’ He hadn’t been noticing much at all, he thought. Not for a long time.
Unable to shuffle them out of sight, hide the pretty pink toenails, she backed towards the door. ‘I’d better take that shower.’
‘Better make it a cool one.’ Her eyes widened. ‘Hot water will make your legs sting,’ he explained. What the heck had she thought he meant?
‘Oh, right. I’d forgotten all about them.’ She took another step backwards. ‘Great first aid.’
Mark watched her retreat all the way to the hall, where she gave up any pretence of dignity, and turned to bolt up the stairs.
He remained where he was for a long time, just smiling and thinking that this was a great way to start the day.
Then, hearing Shuli squealing with pleasure as Jane went to see if she was awake, he realised that it was time he thought about getting ready for work. And that he might benefit from taking his own advice regarding the temperature of his shower.
CHAPTER SIX
MARK put his head around the nursery door. ‘Jane, I’ve got an early meeting with the project team, so I’ll get off now. I should be home by seven.’
Jane, who’d discovered that dressing a wriggling three-year-old who would much rather play took a lot longer than she’d anticipated, leapt to her feet. ‘But what about breakfast?’ The whole essential coffee, fresh orange juice, cereals and egg thing that every perfect wife provided for her man. That her mother had provided for her family without apparent effort every morning of her life. ‘It’s the most important meal of the day.’
Mark just grinned, picked up his daughter and kissed her. The dungarees fell off. ‘I’m used to getting my own breakfast. And Shuli’s too.’ He turned to her, still holding his little girl. ‘This morning has been a piece of cake.’ For a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, too, but then he put Shuli down and said, ‘If I’m going to be late I’ll ring you. Bye, Shuli. Be good.’
‘Be good,’ Shuli called back.
‘Take care,’ Jane whispered. Then, when the sound of Mark’s car had faded into the distance, she picked up the little pair of dungarees and started again.
Breakfast took an age. And then, on the dot of nine, two ladies arrived in a bright yellow van and set about dusting and polishing the house with frightening efficiency. They seemed to be everywhere, and Jane didn’t need much tempting to leave the call to her mother for a quieter moment.
Besides, a walk would clear her head, give her time to think through exactly what she’d say. Fastening Shuli into her buggy, she set off to explore the village.
Patsy put her head around the drawing office door. ‘Mark, there’s a personal call for you. Shall I put it through to you here?’
‘Sure.’ Anticipating Jane’s voice, he tucked the phone against his shoulder and carried on hatching in an area to be detailed by a draughtsman. ‘What’s the problem?’ he asked.
‘I don’t know, Mr Hilliard,’ a woman’s voice replied briskly. ‘That’s why I’m calling you. To get some answers.’
‘Sorry?’ He straightened. ‘Who is this?’
‘Jennifer Carmichael. Your mother-in-law?’ she prompted.
The pencil point snapped as Mark pressed down too hard. ‘Jane rang you.’
‘No, Mr Hilliard, she did not. And since I have no way of contacting her to confirm the astonishing news that my youngest daughter was married yesterday, I’m calling you.’
‘Mrs Carmichael—’
‘Is it true?’
‘Well, yes, but I really think—’ He really thought she should be having this conversation with Jane, but Mrs Carmichael was not in the mood to listen to his thoughts.
‘Is she pregnant?’
That at least he could answer. ‘No…’ Realising that twenty pairs of ears, having caught the name, were straining to hear what he had to say, he cut short the sentence. ‘No,’ he repeated firmly.
‘Then maybe you can offer some other explanation as to why she chose to marry in what appears to be unseemly haste and without a single member of her family present?’
‘She was going to call you this morning,’ he hedged, wondering what on earth had happened to stop her. He was certain something had, because Jane wasn’t the kind of
woman to duck a difficult task, no matter how thorny. ‘First thing,’ he added.
‘I’ll talk to Jane later. Right now I’m asking you, Mr Hilliard.’
‘Mark,’ he said, inviting her to use his given name.
Jane’s mother made no indication that she was prepared to make any concession to familiarity until she’d heard his explanation, but he wasn’t about to tell her anything with an audience. ‘I’m not in my office right now, Mrs Carmichael. May I call you back in a couple of minutes?’
‘Please do.’
He didn’t exactly race back to his office, taking the time to call home on his mobile and find out what Jane wanted him to say. He got the answering machine.
Mark arrived home minus the warm feeling with which he’d started the day. In fact he was in a mood to chew rocks. He’d been forced to cancel two meetings and leave a deputy to stand in at a third. In two and a half years as his secretary Jane had never let him down. They’d been married for one day and Miss Jekyll had suddenly turned into Mrs Hyde.
The side gate to the garden was locked, so he let himself in through the front door and immediately heard the sound of childish laughter coming from the kitchen. He felt a rush of relief and was forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t just anger at having his day wrecked that had brought him home in the middle of the afternoon. Each time he’d phoned and got no answer his unease had increased. He’d been here before.
He stopped the thought. Clearly no disaster had befallen either of them.
Then, as he opened the kitchen door, he was forced to revise that conclusion. ‘Disaster’ might be overstating it, but Jane, looking as if she been dragged through a muddy pond by her hair, was down on her knees scrubbing at the tiles with a hard brush. Lying on an old blanket, his nose flat to the floor and looking decidedly sheepish, was a shaggy half-grown pup of doubtful parentage. Shuli, sitting high above the mess, fastened safely in her old high chair, was laughing delightedly.
‘Daddy!’ she cried, reaching out her chubby little arms to him.
Jane, up to her arms in hot soapsuds, shuddered. ‘Not yet, sweetheart,’ she said, looking up at the child. ‘Not for hours. Please,’ she added fervently.
Then, realising that Shuli wasn’t looking at her, but at something or someone behind her, she turned and saw him. Six foot plus of elegant, three-piece-suited and perfectly groomed manhood standing in the kitchen doorway, looking as if he’d just been hit with a brick. Her heart, which was already struggling to maintain an optimistic beat, gave up the effort and hit her boots. ‘Oh…sugar.’
‘It’s great to see you, too,’ Mark said, crossing the kitchen to Shuli.
This was her worst nightmare. The dog. The mess. And Mark arriving home to find his beautiful home not the haven of peace he had anticipated, he’d bargained for, she’d promised, but in uproar.
It shouldn’t have happened. It wouldn’t have happened if he’d stuck to his usual routine. She’d never known him leave the office before six. She should have had plenty of time to clean up the house—and herself—and prepare the quiet, relaxed evening she’d planned. First some quality time, while Mark played with Shuli before bedtime. Then a drink while she was putting the last-minute touches to dinner. Only then had she planned to admit to the puppy. When he was in a relaxed and receptive mood.
Some plan. She hadn’t even taken the meat out of the freezer.
‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you all day,’ he said, unfastening Shuli from the safety restraints. ‘Where on earth have you been?’
Jane belatedly discovered that she wasn’t perfect wife material. She found herself wanting to ask him where he got off, talking to her like that. She wasn’t his secretary any more. He wasn’t paying for her time by the hour.
By reminding herself that he might, just might, have a point, she managed to restrain herself. ‘Do you want the whole story, or just the edited highlights?’ she asked, finally getting to her feet and pushing back the damp strands of hair that were clinging untidily to her face. She didn’t wait for an answer, preferring not to confront his shocked expression at her appearance, but took the bucket through to the utility room and tipped the water down the drain.
‘I think we’d better stick to the highlights for now,’ he said, following her but remaining in the doorway, presumably to avoid contamination.
‘Right.’ She dried her hands and turned to face him. She didn’t think this was the moment to tell him that Shuli had left a sticky handprint on the lapel of his dark suit. ‘Well, let’s see,’ she began. ‘This morning, after breakfast, the cleaning team arrived. What with the noise of the vacuum cleaner and being underfoot no matter where I went, it seemed like a good idea to take Shuli for a walk—explore the village, check out the post office and the village shop. You know—show myself, give people something to talk about.’
‘You certainly know how to make yourself popular.’
She glanced at him uncertainly. Was that supposed to be funny? There was nothing in his expression to suggest he was clamouring to join her fan club. ‘I didn’t get very far before this walking hearthrug decided he wanted to come along.’ He glanced at the dog but made no comment on his appearance. ‘I tried to discourage him, but he would keep running out into the road so I had no choice,’ Jane said, just a little desperately. ‘I had to grab hold of him.’ He didn’t commend her public spirit, either. ‘There might have been an accident, Mark.’
‘That’s why you brought him home?’
‘No!’ Then, ‘Well, yes, but that was later. When I needed the car. He didn’t have a collar, you see.’
‘He’s got one now.’
This was like wading through treacle, Jane thought, but she refused to get upset. This was Mark’s home. She’d never seen it looking less than pristine. He had every right to be angry, she reminded herself. ‘I asked at the village shop and the post office and the pub but no one recognised him.’
‘This tends to be a pedigree dog neighbourhood. Good-looking dalmatians and Labradors, mostly. I shouldn’t think too many people around here would admit to owning this apology for a dog.’
‘He’s got a lovely nature,’ she declared defensively. Then, realising that she was not helping things, she said, ‘Yes, well, I took him to the police station. They thought he’d probably been abandoned overnight. That someone had just dumped him from a car. How could anyone do that?’ she demanded.
‘It beats me.’ The puppy shuffled closer so that his nose was touching the toe of Mark’s shoe.
‘They suggested I take him to the RSPCA,’ Jane said, ‘but he cried so when we walked away. And then Shuli cried.’
Mark looked up. ‘And then you cried?’ he suggested.
‘Of course not.’ She blinked rapidly. She did not get sentimental over abandoned animals.
‘Of course not,’ he repeated, clearly unconvinced. ‘So, what this short version comes right down to is that we now have a dog?’
‘I don’t know what else I could have done, Mark.’ He shook his head as if he couldn’t believe his ears. ‘Are you very angry?’
‘Angry?’ Mark regarded the sweet, caring woman who was looking at him as if he might throw her and the dog out of the house. And felt like a heel. ‘How can I be angry? You did what you always do. You saw a need and dealt with it. First Shuli, then me, then the dog.’ Which sort of put him in his place.
‘He’s a nice dog, Daddy,’ Shuli said helpfully, reaching down, wanting to touch. The dog sat up hopefully.
‘It’s only temporary. Until his owners turn up,’ Jane offered optimistically. ‘I left a phone number with the police and the RSPCA.’
‘I won’t hold my breath.’
‘No,’ she admitted. ‘That probably wouldn’t be wise. Is it a terrible imposition, Mark? I will find a new home for him.’ She didn’t actually say, If you insist, but he saw the words in her eyes.
Mark felt the tension of his own bad day melting beneath the twin assaults of two pairs of brown pleading eyes
. Putting off the inevitable moment, clinging to the pretence that this would be his decision, he bent to ruffle the fur behind the pup’s ears.
‘He’s a really nice dog, Daddy,’ Shuli said, her little face furrowed with anxiety.
‘I’m sure he’s a very nice dog.’ The dog, his immediate slave, licked his fingers. ‘Have you given him a name yet?’
‘Name?’ Jane repeated, as if such a thing had never entered her head.
‘His name is Bob,’ Shuli said. ‘Bob the dog. Here, Bob!’ The pup wiggled ecstatically at so much attention.
Mark looked up. ‘Bob?’
‘It doesn’t mean anything.’ Jane, pink and flustered at being caught out in this act of gross sentimentality, rushed to defend herself. Things had been going so well; she didn’t want to ruin it now. ‘We—Shuli and I—thought he looked like a Bob. That’s all.’
‘Yes,’ he agreed, straightening. ‘He does.’ Oh, heck, he was not amused. Well, why would he be? One day—he’d been married to her for just one day—and instead of peace and tranquillity he’d got Bob. And no dinner.
‘He’ll need a collar and lead. And some shots,’ he said. She made a sort of noise in the back of her throat. ‘He’s already had them?’
‘The RSPCA gave him his shots and a health check before I brought him home.’ For a small fee.
‘Along with the collar?’
‘And lead. He’s been well looked after. No fleas—’
‘Just surplus to requirements?’
‘And a bit muddy after a night on the common.’
‘And he chased a duck, Daddy. Right into the pond. There was mud—’ she flung her little hands wide in a vivid demonstration ‘—everywhere.’
‘Thank you, Shuli,’ Jane said, wondering if it could get any worse. ‘I can’t imagine how I forgot that part.’ Then she realised that, contrary to expectations, Mark was struggling not to laugh. ‘I bathed him outside, but he escaped before I’d quite finished.’
‘He ran inside and shook himself all over the kitchen,’ Shuli added, quite unnecessarily. ‘See, Daddy?’ And she very kindly pointed to a splatter of mud that Jane had missed. Because it was halfway up one of the pristine white walls.