Without warning Rose’s headache suddenly reached crisis proportions, and with a gasped apology she fled into James’s bathroom and parted with everything she’d eaten all day. When she emerged, ashen-faced and shivering, James put out a hand instinctively, then dropped it as she backed away.
‘Sorry about that,’ said Rose with what dignity she could muster.
‘Would you like some tea?’ he asked quietly.
‘Thank you. I would.’ She gave him a polite little smile. ‘It’s the travelling. I’m not good at it.’
‘Go downstairs and curl up on a sofa while I change,’ said James, suddenly all brisk sympathy. ‘I’ll make tea. Then we’ll have that talk.’
‘If we must,’ said Rose listlessly, and drifted from the room, suddenly wanting to cry her eyes out at the way things had gone so contrary to the way she’d planned.
James came into the sitting room with a tray of tea, the investment banker metamorphosed into something more approachable in faded old sweatshirt and jeans. He poured tea into a beaker, added a splash of milk and handed it to her, then sat down beside her with his own. ‘How do you feel?’
‘Fragile,’ said Rose, and drank some tea gingerly.
‘Too fragile to listen?’
‘I suppose not.’
‘In that case let me explain in full.’ James took the beaker from her and put it down on a table with his own. He took her hand in his. ‘You remember your famous plan all those years ago, Rose?’
She gave him a derisive, sidelong glance. ‘I’m hardly likely to forget, after the trouble it caused!’
‘Right.’ He frowned, looking down at their joined hands. ‘I never forgot it, either. Nor you. Every time I met a woman I’d think I’d found the one to lay your ghost, Rose. But I never did. So when I received your letter I assured myself that I’d feel nothing for you after ten years. That you would be different. I’d be different. That we’d feel nothing for each other when we met again.’
He was wrong there, thought Rose.
‘When we came face to face that night,’ continued James, ‘ten years disappeared like a flash of lightning, and the idea sprang fully-formed into my mind. Now it was your turn, I swore, before you’d even said a word. This time I’d be the one with the plan. I’d make you fall in love with me all over again, no matter how many men you had in your life.’ He gave a short, derisive laugh. ‘So much for ten years’ maturity. What a fool!’
‘Not really,’ said Rose very quietly. ‘Your plan was highly successful.’
James looked down at her. ‘Was it? Truthfully, Rose?’
Her mouth twisted. ‘Oh, yes. Ten years hadn’t done much for my maturity either.’
He winced, his fingers tightening on hers. ‘The reason I hesitated about having you here in my house was sheer, native Scots caution. I wanted to be utterly sure, first, that you were going to come back to me for good. Because my plan backfired. Whatever your feelings on the subject, I was the one who fell in love all over again.’ He paused. ‘So are you still going home, Rose?’
She hesitated. ‘Actually, I don’t feel very wonderful, so I think I will.’
James’s mouth tightened. ‘Walking out on me again?’
Rose looked at him hard and long. ‘Look, I know you want me, James—’
‘Dammit, Rose, I love you,’ he said, and tried to take her in his arms, but she held him off.
‘I believe that, too,’ she said, surprised to find this was true. ‘But you haven’t forgiven me, James. Not really.’
‘That’s nonsense,’ he said roughly.
‘I don’t think so…’ Rose swallowed hard. ‘Sorry, I feel sick again—’
He pulled her up and raced with her to a ground-floor cloakroom, and this time held her head as she threw up. Afterwards he washed her face gently, and smoothed her hair back, then, ignoring her protests, picked her up and carried her upstairs to his bed.
‘Rest there for a while,’ he said urgently. ‘When you feel up to it come downstairs and I’ll concoct something tempting for your supper.’
Rose lay where she was for a long time, her arm over her eyes, her mind going round in circles. She got up gingerly at last, decided her stomach intended to behave, then washed her face and went downstairs to find him waiting in the hall.
‘I heard you get up, Rose. You’re very pale. What can I do for you?’
She ran her tongue round dry lips. ‘Would you call a cab? I want to go home.’
‘You can’t travel like that,’ he said impatiently.
‘If I’ve got a stomach bug I’d rather cope with it at home.’
James thrust a hand through his hair in exasperation. ‘I’d forgotten how stubborn you can be. All right, all right,’ he added, as her mouth set mutinously. ‘If you must go I’ll drive you.’
The late Friday night traffic was heavy enough to prolong the journey, and by the time James drew up in the niche behind the shop Rose felt like death. Neither of them had said much in the car, but the things left unsaid had hung heavy in the air, and when James put her bag down in the sitting room Rose took her courage in both hands.
‘I need to be on my own for a while, James.’
‘Shouldn’t you call a doctor?’
‘Not tonight. If I’m not better in the morning I will.’
They looked at each other in silence.
‘I don’t want to part like this. What the hell went wrong, Rose?’ demanded James.
‘A stomach upset,’ said Rose woodenly. ‘An unromantic complaint. It needs privacy.’
James stiffened. ‘Are you suggesting I turn tail and drive back to London? Is that the kind of privacy you mean?’
‘Yes. That’s exactly what I mean.’
For a moment he stared at her in utter disbelief, then with a smothered exclamation he strode from the room and ran downstairs, banging the back door shut behind him.
Rose forced herself to go down and check that everything was secure, then she rang Minerva about the change of plan. ‘But I’d like the day off tomorrow just the same,’ she added apologetically. ‘I feel terrible.’
James rang late that night after he arrived back in London. ‘You and I have things to discuss.’
‘I know,’ said Rose wearily. ‘But not right now. I need some time to myself.’
There was a pause. ‘How much time?’
‘A week or two?’
‘If you need that much time away from me perhaps we should just pack it in altogether and go for the divorce,’ he said savagely, and rang off.
When a couple of days went by with no word from James, Rose began to think he’d meant what he’d said.
‘I just can’t see why you told James to back off,’ said Bel, who was now in possession of most of the facts. ‘The minute I saw you both together it was obvious you were meant for each other.’
When she’d asked for time Rose hadn’t expected James to take her quite so literally, and slept badly, the resulting shadows under her eyes causing comment when she joined Minerva and Henry for supper a day or two later. When Henry, with his usual tact, left them alone for a while after the meal Minerva eyed her niece searchingly.
‘You look terrible, Rose. You’re obviously pining for this James of yours. So what’s wrong?’
‘I have this rather ironic little problem,’ said Rose bitterly. ‘When I went to Cheltenham last week I bought a pregnancy test, and found a little blue line in the right—or the wrong—place.’
‘Darling child!’ Minerva got up and sat beside her, patting her hand. ‘Are you sure?’
‘That’s the whole point,’ said Rose miserably. ‘James married me the first time round over a false alarm, so I waited until I’m absolutely certain this time.’
‘Do you mind?’ said her aunt gently.
‘I don’t mind about the baby, Minerva. But I mind because it complicates things. Last time James spoke to me he was angry with me, even made noises about getting on with the divorce. Though I don’t think he meant
that. I think—I hope—he was just angry because I pushed him away. I went down to London determined to tell him. But we had a row. And in the end I couldn’t.’ Her eyes filled. ‘The baby’s all my fault, anyway.’
‘Not quite,’ said Minerva dryly. ‘James is at least half to blame.’
‘But in the heat of the moment I never told him I don’t take the necessary pills any more.’ Rose blew her nose angrily. ‘So now I’m pregnant, which is like holding a gun to his head.’ She shuddered. ‘I wanted us to be together because we can no longer bear to be apart, not because of James’s sense of duty all over again.’
‘Does he love you?’
‘He says he does.’
‘Do you love him.’
‘Of course I love him,’ said Rose tearfully, and jammed her knuckles in her eyes. ‘Otherwise I wouldn’t be in this stupid predicament.’
Rose was in bed, feeling very sorry for herself that night, when her cellphone rang.
‘How are you, Rose?’ said James, and she closed her eyes in thanksgiving.
‘Better.’ Miraculously better just for hearing his voice.
‘Thank God for that,’ said James gruffly. ‘Look, this has gone on long enough. You’re coming between me and my work. My assistant keeps offering me medication and making noises about a holiday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ said Rose, brightening.
‘So no more nonsense about giving you more time, lady. Time’s up.’
‘Yes, James.’
‘I should bloody well think so. I’ll be with you on Saturday evening, so just make sure your dancecard’s empty.’
Rose blinked away the tears that never seemed far away lately. ‘Right. I’ll do that.’
‘But until then I want you to keep one very important fact uppermost in your mind, Rose Sinclair.’ James cleared his throat. ‘I love you. I always have and I always will.’
Which, thought Rose, as she settled down to sleep, was the only thing that really mattered.
Until that point life had been hard, with everything a chore to be got through as best Rose could manage. But after talking to James her lift in spirits was so visible Bel was euphoric with relief when she arrived next morning. And Minerva, who dropped in later to check on her niece, expressed similar satisfaction when she heard James had been in contact and was coming up at the weekend.
‘I take it that after Saturday we can all relax?’ she demanded.
Rose nodded. ‘I hope so.’
‘In which case, Bel dear,’ said Minerva, ‘you and I must have a little talk. I’ll be needing a new manager soon.’
James rang on Saturday from his car to say he’d arrive at seven, by which time Rose had groomed the flat, prepared a simple meal, and had worked herself up into a state of such anticipation she couldn’t keep still. When her small French clock struck seven she rushed back to her bedroom to add a few finishing touches to face and hair, then stiffened in horror at the sound of breaking glass somewhere below. Rose raced downstairs to check the shop windows, blew out her cheeks in relief when she found them intact, and went to investigate outside in the arcade.
But as she opened her private door she gasped in astonishment as James thrust a youth through it and slammed the door shut behind him.
‘Don’t be frightened, darling,’ he said swiftly, ‘but I think it’s time you met your stalker.’
Rose gazed in utter disbelief at the defiant, scarlet-faced boy James was holding by the scruff of his neck. ‘Marcus?’
‘So you know him,’ said James grimly. ‘I thought you might. I caught him red-handed, posting a rose through your door.’
‘Get your hands off me,’ spat the boy furiously. ‘I wasn’t doing any harm—’
‘Like hell you weren’t! You’ve been frightening my wife to death with your nonsense,’ said James with menace. ‘You need a good hiding, my lad—’
‘Let him go, James,’ said Rose, pulling herself together. ‘Marcus is Anthony Garrett’s son.’
‘Lord, I might have known.’ James thrust the dishevelled boy away and brushed his hands together, as though ridding himself of contamination, heightening Marcus’s colour still further. ‘I was just leaving the off-licence when I saw the young idiot sidling towards your door, rose in hand. I collared him, but lost a couple bottles of champagne in the process.’
‘So that was the breaking glass I heard.’ Rose gazed at the boy, baffled. She knew Marcus Garrett so slightly she had no idea how to deal with the situation. ‘Did you send me a card, and make anonymous phone calls too, Marcus?’ she asked after a moment, her eyes severe.
‘Yes,’ he said miserably, white as a sheet now. ‘I didn’t mean any harm, I swear. I just wanted to—I mean I needed to—’ Sudden, racking sobs overtook him, putting an end to his confession.
Rose put an arm round him, pulling a face at James over the boy’s dishevelled head. ‘James, why not go and buy some more wine while I have a chat with Marcus?’
‘Is it safe to do that?’ James demanded, eyeing the slim, heaving shoulders with deep distaste. He sighed impatiently as he met the look in her eyes. ‘Oh, very well, Rose. If I must. But you behave yourself, laddie,’ he warned Marcus. ‘I won’t be long.’
When James had gone Rose put the distraught youth away from her a little. ‘Come into my office, Marcus. I’ll give you a drink.’
‘Thank you. Sorry to blub like a baby,’ he said thickly, following her. ‘I suppose you’ll tell my father now.’
‘It depends.’
By the time Marcus had downed a glass of water, and splashed more on his face, Rose had reached a decision. She fixed the boy with a stern look.
‘Right then, Marcus. I’ve decided I won’t tell your father about this.’
His eyes lit with hope, then dulled in despair. ‘But he wants to marry you. You’re bound to tell him—’ He scowled suddenly. ‘Wait a minute. That—that gorilla who mauled me about said you were his wife.’
‘I am.’
Marcus looked bewildered. ‘But you were seeing my father.’
‘I’ve been separated from my husband for a long time,’ said Rose gently, ‘but we’re together again now. Which naturally means I can’t go on seeing your father. So I see no need to tell him about this. Or your mother,’ she added, startling him. ‘But I keep quiet on one condition, Marcus. I need your solemn promise you’ll never make phone calls like that again. To anyone. Or keep sending roses all the time.’ She shook a finger at him. ‘One card, one rose, fine. But to someone more your own age. OK?’
Marcus nodded, then smiled soulfully. ‘I’m not sorry about you and Dad. You’re loads too young for him. I think you’re really cool, Rose.’
‘And in any case I’m married to someone else,’ said Rose hastily, to stem further outpourings. ‘Are you seeing your father tonight?’
Marcus looked at his watch, and swore in a way that would have shocked his parents. ‘Sorry! I’m supposed to meet him at the King’s Head any minute.’
‘Off you go, then.’ She opened the office door as she heard James come in. ‘We’re in here,’ she called.
James strode in, carrying a wine-store bag clinking with bottles, his eyes steel-hard as they fastened on the youth. ‘Have you called the police yet, Rose?’
‘No,’ said Rose swiftly, as Marcus turned a sickly shade of green. ‘We’re settling this out of court, so to speak.’ She gave the boy a stern look. ‘Right?’
He nodded dumbly, eyes averted from James.
‘Right,’ said Rose, purposely brink. ‘Have a nice evening with your father, Marcus. And don’t worry. I won’t say a word, I promise.’
He gazed at her in worshipful gratitude. ‘Thanks, Rose, I mean Miss—’
‘Mrs Sinclair,’ said James very deliberately. ‘I’ll see you off the premises. And let me add a piece of advice, young Garrett. Make sure you never bother my wife again.’
Rose stayed at the foot of the stairs while James thrust the boy out, then bolted the door
. He turned to look at her, with a smile that turned her heart over.
‘Are you all right?’ he said, as he took her in his arms. ‘If that young villain upset you I’ll—’
‘He didn’t, and I’m fine.’ she said and kissed him. ‘In fact,’ she added breathlessly, ‘I’m relieved to know it was just Marcus, not someone with something more sinister in mind for me.’
‘That’s what I thought.’ James kissed her at length, then held her close, his cheek rubbing hers for a moment, then to her surprise he picked her up and carried her upstairs.
‘I’m not ill any more,’ Rose protested, laughing.
‘I just like having you in my arms,’ he said, grinning, and sat down with her on his lap. ‘God, I’ve missed you!’
Rose returned his kisses with ardour for a moment, then came to a decision. No way was she going to be able to cook dinner, or even just enjoy being with James again, until everything was out in the open for good or ill.
‘James,’ she said, sitting up to look him in the eye. ‘Before we go any further there’s something you should know.’
‘Is there?’ His eyes lit with a surprising gleam. ‘Tell me, then.’
Rose swallowed hard, feeling the colour rise in her cheeks. ‘Sorry to confront you with the same old problem again, James.’ She gazed at him in desperate appeal. ‘Though it’s not exactly the same problem, because this time—this time I really am pregnant.’
‘I know you are, darling,’ he said, taking the wind out of her sails. He caught her close, rubbing his cheek against her. ‘I’ve just been waiting for you to tell me.’
‘How do you know?’ she demanded indignantly, pulling away a little.
‘Minerva told me.’
Rose stared at him, utterly dumbstruck.
‘When you told me to get lost for a bit I was worried sick,’ he said hastily. ‘I needed to know how you were, so I rang your aunt. Apparently she thought I had a right to the truth. I like your aunt, even though I haven’t met her yet,’ added James with feeling.
Husband for Real Page 16