The Heiress's Secret Baby

by Jessica Gilmore

  Polly didn’t know how she would have managed without Clara’s concierge service to manage her life over the last three years; she had never been more grateful for her friend’s organisational powers.

  ‘That’s okay.’ Polly gave Clara’s hand a squeeze. ‘But I hope you’re sticking around. You’re part of the family now. Where is everyone?’

  Clara smiled back at her friend. ‘Thanks, Polly. They’re in the sitting room. Oh, and just to warn you before you go in, your grandmother is there as well.’

  ‘What? With Grandfather? In the same room? Good God, thank goodness I don’t have any priceless antiques.’

  Polly led the way through the low-beamed door into the pretty sitting room. Gabe was so used to seeing the house empty it was a shock to find the room full of people. Charles Rafferty was ensconced on the straight-backed armchair by the unlit fire, his despised stick by his side. A white-haired, regal-looking woman with an unmistakeable look of the Rafferty twins in her straight nose and shrewd blue eyes was sitting on the sofa talking to Raff while a dark-haired girl of ten or so was lying on the floor whispering softly to Mr Simpkins as he purred around her hand.

  ‘This is quite the welcoming committee.’ Polly looked calm and collected as she walked in. ‘Hello, Grandmother.’ She went over to the sofa and kissed the older lady’s cheek. ‘Raff.’ A cool nod at her brother. ‘Grandfather.’ Another nod. ‘Hi, Summer, how was Australia?’

  ‘Polly!’ The girl scrambled to her feet. ‘Do you know you’re going to be my aunt?’

  ‘I do.’ Polly stepped over and gave her a quick hug. ‘My first niece. I’m looking forward to it.’

  There was an ache at the back of Gabe’s throat as he watched her dance so awkwardly around her family. She was right: he kept his at arm’s length but it didn’t matter. They would always be there, love him, have a space for him. Nothing he could do would provoke this kind of cold and formal reception.

  He should go home more often. Talk to his papa about his future plans. Help out a little.

  ‘Sorry for gatecrashing, Pol.’ Raff was twinkling up at his sister. ‘Grandfather insisted.’

  ‘Clara explained. It’s okay, of course you’re all welcome but there’s not much I can tell you today. Gabe and I haven’t had an opportunity to pull our research together, although after seeing what Natalie is doing with the software on a smaller scale I have to say I’m very close to being completely convinced if we can make the numbers add up...’

  ‘This isn’t about Rafferty’s,’ her grandfather interrupted and Gabe could feel the shock reverberate through Polly as her cheeks whitened and she took a step closer to her grandfather’s chair.

  ‘Not about Rafferty’s? Are you ill? I knew you should have stepped down earlier!’

  ‘Charles isn’t ill, at least, no worse than he was before the angina attack.’ Polly’s grandmother spoke calmly and Polly held her stare, looking for and apparently finding reassurance.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Polly dear, your grandfather and I are going to remarry.’

  * * *

  Polly looked down the wooden table at her family and resisted the urge to rub her eyes. It was ironic, just last night she would have given anything to have her family congregated in her kitchen the way the Beaufils did, all eating together.

  And here they were. Sure, it was a little more formal, a tad more awkward than in the Provence farmhouse. Summer was unusually tongue-tied and Gabe evidently embarrassed about being caught up in the family drama. Clara...

  Clara only had eyes for Raff and he for her.

  A hollow pit opened up in Polly’s stomach. What would it be like for someone to look at her like that? As if she were the answer to every question? To every prayer.

  Yesterday with Gabe she had come close. Close to letting him in. Colour flushed her cheeks as she remembered. She had almost begged him. No wonder he couldn’t meet her eyes.

  ‘Not hungry, Polly?’ Clara looked pointedly at Polly’s almost untouched plate.

  ‘Sorry, Clara. Please don’t tell your father. It was delicious as always. I’m just tired, I guess.’ Without meaning to, Polly allowed her eyes to wander over to Gabe, somehow at the head of the table. Of her table. He looked completely at ease, mid-conversation with her grandfather, long fingers playing on the stem of his wine glass.

  Fingers that just yesterday had been playing on her skin.

  Polly shivered. How could a kiss be that sensual? More erotic than the most practised lovemaking?

  What would it have been like if they had been somewhere more private? If they had gone further? If she had been able to explore that tattoo the way she had burned to, tracing it with the tip of her finger. With kisses. With her tongue, slick on salty skin.

  She clenched her hands, allowing the nails to dig into her palms. She was at dinner, for goodness’ sake. With her grandparents.

  With her brother.

  With Gabe...

  He looked up, with that sixth sense he seemed to possess whenever she thought about him, eyes dark and intent.

  ‘We should celebrate,’ he said abruptly. ‘Two engagements require champagne.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ She should have thought of that. It was her house after all. And she was the only one without news to celebrate. Publicly at least. ‘There’s a couple of bottles out back.’

  ‘I’ll get them.’ He pushed his chair back and disappeared into the pantry, reappearing with one of the bottles that had been chilling in the old stone cold room.

  ‘Summer, ma chérie, could you go to the cupboard there and get me six of the long glasses? Oui, clever girl.’ He flashed his warmest smile at the small girl as Summer proudly put the glasses on the table and Polly pushed her still-full wine glass to one side.

  It had been easier to accept the glass and not touch it rather than face any questions. Gabe was right, she needed to say something. But how?

  With an expert twist Gabe loosed the cork and began to pour the bubble-filled amber liquid into the first glass, handing the first to her grandmother and the second to Clara. When every glass had been filled and handed around every face turned expectantly to Polly.

  Of course. This was her role. Head of the family firm.

  She got to her feet, trying to drag her thoughts back to the here and now, to the unexpected news that had greeted her return home.

  ‘So there are two engagements to celebrate,’ she said, keeping her voice as steady as she could. Raff and Clara were smiling up at her, her grandparents regarding her with more warmth than she had seen from them in a long time.

  Her eyes flickered to Gabe. His eyes were fixed on her, expression inscrutable.

  ‘I know my job involves looking for trends and seeing what lies ahead so all I can say is that thank goodness I don’t run a dating agency because I didn’t predict either of these. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not truly happy for you all. Clara, you’ve been my closest friend in Hopeford.’

  So close that I haven’t seen you since I returned, a little voice whispered but Polly ignored it.

  ‘I know how much Raff loves you and I know he will do everything he can to make you happy—and when Raff sets his mind to something he usually achieves it!

  ‘And Grandfather, Grandmother. Thank you for raising Raff and me. I know it wasn’t easy, that we weren’t easy. I know it put a strain on you. I’m just glad you’ve found your way back together after thirteen years. You’re the most formidable team I know. So.’ She held her glass high. ‘To the Raffertys. Congratulations.’

  ‘The Raffertys,’ they chorused, glasses held to hers before they sipped.

  Polly put her glass down thankfully.

  ‘Aunty Polly,’ Summer’s voice rang out clearly. ‘Why aren’t you drinking yours?’

  Every eye turned to
Polly and she sank back into her seat, instinctively looking over at Gabe for help.

  But he just sat there.

  ‘You didn’t drink any wine either.’ Raff sounded accusatory.

  For goodness’ sake, wasn’t a girl allowed to not drink? It wasn’t as if she were a lush!

  But maybe Gabe was right. They had to know soon enough and although a big announcement hadn’t been her plan maybe it would be better to tell them all in one fell swoop. Like ripping off a plaster.

  Polly took a breath, feeling the air shudder through her.

  ‘I have a little announcement of my own. This isn’t quite how I wanted to do it...’ she looked around the table, desperate for some reassurance ‘...but I suppose there isn’t an easy way so I’m just going to say it. I’m pregnant.’

  ‘That’s great, Polly.’ But Clara’s voice was lost as both Raff and her grandfather sprang to their feet.

  ‘Pregnant?’

  ‘You’ll marry her, of course!’ Her grandfather was glaring at Gabe.

  ‘What do you mean, pregnant?’

  So much for extending the celebrations.

  The noise levels rose. Polly couldn’t think, didn’t know which angry, accusatory face to answer first. ‘Stop it!’ She had risen to her feet as well, hands crashing down onto the table, rattling the crockery and silverware.

  ‘Come on, Summer, let’s go for a walk.’ Clara threw her an apologetic glance as she shepherded her daughter from the table. ‘We’ll talk later, Polly. It’s great news. Raff?’ Her eyes bored into her fiancé, an implicit warning. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

  Raff sank back into his seat. ‘Sorry, Polly. It was just, it was a shock.’

  Charles Rafferty wasn’t so easily cowed. He was still on his feet and glaring over at Gabe. ‘Well?’ he demanded.

  ‘Grandfather!’ Polly said sharply. ‘For goodness’ sake. You are not some medieval knight, much as you might wish it, and I am not some dishonoured damsel to be married off to avoid a scandal. This is a good thing and it has nothing to do with Gabe.’

  Maybe she had put too much emphasis on the ‘nothing’, she conceded as the Frenchman whitened, and added: ‘I’ve only known him a few weeks.’

  ‘Then whose is it?’

  ‘Mine,’ she said firmly. ‘This is the twenty-first century, I am thirty-one and I am quite capable of doing this alone.’

  ‘Yes, dear, we know how independent you are.’ Her grandmother sounded like a dowager duchess from the turn of the last century. ‘But what your grandfather means is who fathered it? Unless you went to one of those clinics,’ she said a little doubtfully.

  If only she had! That would be so much easier to admit.

  ‘Someone I met travelling.’ She held up her hand. ‘I don’t know his surname. Obviously if I had foreseen this I would have exchanged business cards but I didn’t. So it’s up to me. And you, if you want to be involved.’

  ‘Of course we do, dear, don’t be so melodramatic.’

  But her grandmother’s words were negated by her grandfather’s expression. Shock, disapproval, horror, disgust passing over his face in rapid but sickening procession.

  ‘A granddaughter of mine? Besmirching the family name with some dreadlocked backpacker? I told you to get married, Polly. I told you to settle down...’

  ‘With respect, monsieur, that’s enough.’ Now Gabe was on his feet. ‘Polly has done nothing wrong. It may not be your preferred path for her but she is going to be a great mother—and a great CEO.’

  ‘A single mother in charge of Rafferty’s?’ Charles Rafferty huffed out a disparaging laugh. ‘I thought you had more sense than that, Beaufils. As for you, Polly, I knew letting you take over was a mistake. I should have stuck with my gut instinct.’

  The blood rushed from her cheeks and her knees weakened. He’d admitted it. He didn’t want her. Her appointment, her career was nothing but a mistake in his eyes.

  ‘Clara’s a single mother,’ Raff said. His voice was mild but there was a steely glint in his eyes. ‘At least she was. Polly, I’m sorry, you...’ He rubbed his jaw, the blue eyes rueful. ‘You surprised me but you’re not alone. I hope you know that. Clara and I are right here.’ Polly nodded, numb inside, her eyes returning to her grandfather, still standing up, still glaring.

  ‘You two always did stick together,’ he said. ‘It doesn’t change anything. It’s hard enough for any working mother to be at the top, impossible for a woman on her own. It’s not old-fashioned, it’s common sense.’

  ‘There are plenty of single parents at Rafferty’s, men and women.’ Gabe’s voice was soft but it cut through the tense air, drawing all the attention away from Polly, and she folded herself back into her chair, clasping her hands together to keep them from trembling.

  ‘The only person, monsieur, who sees a problem here is you. Which is ironic because if you had seen her worth earlier, if you hadn’t pushed her away, then maybe she wouldn’t be in this position. You need to think very carefully about how you treat and value your granddaughter before you lose her for ever—and the great-grandchild she is carrying.’

  Charles Rafferty paled and Polly and Raff exchanged a concerned glance as he sat down heavily in his chair. His tongue wasn’t weakened though. ‘I thought we had established that this has nothing to do with you.’

  Gabe didn’t quail under the withering tone. ‘Non? Who held her hair when she was sick? Who sat with her during the first scan? I didn’t ask to be involved but she has no one else. You make it quite clear that she can’t come to you.’

  Charles Rafferty gasped, a shuddering intake of breath, and Polly was back on her feet. Before she could move round to him Raff had passed their grandfather a glass of water and her grandmother had moved round to him, her usually aloof expression one of concern.

  This was all getting horribly out of hand. ‘Gabe!’ How dared he? How dared he try and explain away her actions? Interfere? ‘A word? In private?’

  Still trembling but now more with anger than with shock, she led him outside. Normally her garden was one of her favourite spots with shady, hidden spaces and a stream running across the bottom. Today it was just somewhere convenient.

  ‘How dare you talk to my grandfather like that? What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  His mouth hardened into a thin line. ‘Standing up for you.’

  The nerve of him! ‘I didn’t ask you to.’

  His eyes narrowed contemptuously. ‘Non? I must have misunderstood the beseeching look you threw me when you sat there mute as your family shouted at you.’

  ‘I didn’t, at least I didn’t mean for you to attack my grandfather! I don’t need help. I am quite capable of standing up for myself.’

  ‘Oui, keep telling yourself that.’

  The words were thrown at her, sharp as arrows, and she quailed under them. ‘What do you mean by that?’

  ‘What I say. You tell me, you tell yourself that you don’t need anything—anyone.’ His eyes had darkened with an unbearable sympathy. ‘But you’re still just a little girl tugging at her grandfather’s sleeve wanting attention. Without it, you allow yourself to be nothing.’

  Polly hadn’t known words could hurt before, not physically, but each of Gabe’s words was like a sharp stab in her chest. ‘How dare you...?’

  ‘He rules the board, he rules you. He uses his health to keep you quiet and his disapproval to keep you tame. When he said you couldn’t take over, did you stay to fight, to prove him wrong? No, you ran away.’

  How had this happened? How had the passion and need of yesterday turned into these cruel words, ripping her apart?

  ‘I couldn’t stay. You know that.’

  ‘You chose not to stay.’ He laughed, not unkindly but the tone didn’t matter. The unbearable sympathy on his face didn’t matter. The
words were all that mattered and they were harsh.

  They were true. He had seen inside her and he was stripping her to the bone.

  ‘You were quick enough to label me a coward, to judge me, but you know what, Polly? You were right when you said we were just the same. We define ourselves through work because without it? What is there? Who are we? Nothing.’

  Polly stood there looking at him. She had thought that she knew him. Knew the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. The way the muscles on his shoulders moved, the play of them under her hands.

  She’d thought that she understood him. That he might be coming to understand her. Maybe he did, all too well. She was defenceless.

  ‘Get out,’ she said, proud when her voice didn’t waver. When the threatened tears didn’t fall. ‘Get out and leave me alone.’

  He stood there for a long moment looking at her. She didn’t move, didn’t waver.

  ‘You need people in your corner, Polly,’ he said softly. ‘People who will be there for you no matter what. Pick wisely.’

  And he was gone.

  Tears trembled behind her eyes but she blinked them back. You don’t cry, remember?

  She took a deep breath, almost doubling over at the unexpected ache in her chest, the raw, exposed pain and grief, like Prometheus torn open, awaiting the eagles. She had lost everything. Her grandfather. Gabe.

  But no. She straightened, her hand splayed open on her still-flat stomach. Not everything.

  She could do this. She could absolutely do this alone. Gabe was wrong. In every way.

  Slowly she turned and walked back to the kitchen. Her family were at the table where she had left them and she was relieved to see colour in her grandfather’s cheeks. Maybe she could fix this. She had to fix something.

  ‘I’m sorry about what Gabe said.’ She took her seat and picked up her water glass, relieved that her hands had stopped shaking enough for her to drink. ‘He was out of line.’