by Penny Jordan
Jay was due home on Friday. She must remember to go up to Whitegates and turn on the central heating; he had given her a key to the house several weeks ago, but she was scrupulous about using it only when she had to. She had fallen into the habit of checking on the contents of his fridge when she knew he was due back, but she had never ventured further than the kitchen when he was not there, nor did she linger when she delivered Heather to him, despite his suggestions that she and Lucy stay and have a meal.
He didn’t make her feel nervous as other men did; she wasn’t frightened of him, and she didn’t know really why she was so anxious to remove herself from his vicinity. Perhaps it had something to do with their very first meeting and her determination that he would never be able to accuse her of running after him. It was, after all, the last thing she was likely to do! Her mind might be able to accept that he was a very attractive and masculine man, a man with an uncommon degree of sex appeal combined with that aura of power that women find so sexually stimulating, but she wasn’t like other women; his sexuality made her cringe. She found conversation with him stimulating and interesting, but only if she could manage to blot out his masculinity. She was glad that he wasn’t the sort of man who liked to touch. She didn’t think she could have endured that.
Mrs Vickers was opening her gate just as Claire went past with the girls on the way to school.
‘Gales forecast for tonight’ she warned Claire. ‘Hope our roofs will stand up to it.’
Claire did too. When she got back from school she saw that the row of elms on the opposite side of the road were swaying fiercely in the strong wind. All the leaves were gone now, and the branches looked starkly bleak. Winter would be early this year.
She spent the morning baking, more for the therapeutic properties of the task than for any real need to provide the girls and herself with sustenance. When she collected them from school, they went first back to the cottage, where Heather sniffed the warm scented kitchen aroma eagerly.
‘Have you made an apple pie?’ she asked Claire, surveying the fruits of the afternoon’s labours enthusiastically.
She had, using the apples from their own tree.
‘It’s Daddy’s favourite. Perhaps we could take him some.?’
On the face of it there was no real reason why they should not; Claire always made something extra when she baked which she normally took round to Mrs Vickers; the three of them on their own would certainly not get through everything she had made—but even so, she hesitated, knowing all too well the construction that Jay could place on her gift of food. However, she knew equally that it was not something she could explain to his six-year-old daughter.
Hating to wipe the happy look of pleasure from Heather’s face, she suggested instead,
‘Perhaps next time. I made this one for Mrs Vickers. It’s her favourite too,’ childishly she crossed her fingers behind her back as she mouthed the small fib, ‘and you can help me make it,’ she told Heather. ‘I’m sure your daddy would like that.’
‘I’ll help too,’ Lucy chimed in. ‘I could make him some of my gingerbread men.’
Claire stifled a grin at the thought of Jay’s expression should he be presented with these tokens of her daughter’s regard. She knew enough about him to know that he would eat the proffered gift whether he wanted it or not, but as yet Lucy’s enthusiasm for the task of baking far outweighed her skill.
An hour later, both girls raincoated and wellingtoned against the heavy rain that had started to fall, they set out for Whitegates.
As Claire opened the front door, the wind shipped it from her fingers, shrieking malevolently and making her gasp for breath. Both little girls clung firmly to her hands as they hurried down the deserted village street. Luckily the wind was behind them, otherwise Claire wasn’t sure how they would have managed to walk. It had increased tremendously in velocity since she had fetched them home from school, and the heavy, rain-sodden clouds darkening the sky promised a very unpleasant night. Already there was evidence of the storm’s hovoc in the branches that had fallen from some of the trees, reminding Claire that she would have to find someone to prune her own fruit trees.
Icy flurries of rain stung their faces; the girls’ hooded coats kept them fairly dry, but Claire’s raincoat had no hood, and one look at the weather had convinced her of the folly of trying to use her umbrella. She could feel the rain soaking into her hair, releasing its errant curl, and the walk down the country lane to Whitegates, which was normally such a pleasure, had become more of an ordeal.
The house was warm, thanks to Claire’s foresight in turning on the central heating when she had called earlier with the shopping. She made both girls strip off their wellingtons and coats in the kitchen, hanging them up to dry.
Jay’s flight should have landed by now, but the bad weather might have delayed it. She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was barely five o’clock, but already it was very dark outside.
Having checked that both girls had put on their slippers, she agreed that they could go into the sitting-room to watch television.
Despite the expensive furnishings, the house always struck Claire as being very unwelcoming. She had always been very sensitive to atmosphere, and it sometimes seemed to her that the house was rejecting its inhabitants in the same way that a child will reject those it senses do not give it love.
The kitchen was fitted with every electrical device known to man, or so it seemed; the units were undoubtedly very expensive and stylish, but Claire found the white and grey décor of the room distinctly chilling. It was not a kitchen she could ever imagine herself enjoying working in. It was too glossy and sterile, looking more like something out of a magazine advertisement than part of a home. She always felt faintly uncomfortable in it, afraid almost of leaving so much as a fingermark on the brilliant work-tops.
What she had seen of the rest of the house was the same: sterile and cold. She often wondered who had chosen the décor, Jay or his wife. It seemed inconceivable that any woman with a small child would opt for off-white carpet and white leather furniture, but then neither could she see Jay choosing the thick white goatskin rugs in the drawing room.
White was the colour of purity; it was also the colour of snow, and that was how Claire perceived the house’s décor, cold and frigid, unwelcoming, and unliveable-in.
She turned on the oven and took out of the fridge the casserole she had brought with her earlier in the day. She didn’t normally prepare a meal for Jay, but tonight was an exception; no doubt he would be feeling both cold and tired when he did arrive.
Both she and the girls had eaten at the cottage. She didn’t like the thought of them spilling anything on that sterile white marble kitchen table, or those immaculate grey tiles that covered the floor.
Jay had managed to find an agency who had agreed to take over the cleaning of the house, but as yet he had found no one who could care for his daughter. Secretly Claire was glad, and she knew that when the time eventually came she would miss Heather very much indeed. Lucy, with her sunny practical nature, was not the slightest bit jealous or resentful about sharing her mother with her friend.
As she moved automatically about the kitchen she frowned, wondering what the future held for Heather: a succession of nannies, perhaps, followed by boarding school? There were doubtless many children for whom such a regime would lead to a perfectly happy and well adjusted adult life, but Heather was so sensitive and withdrawn already. It was none of her business what arrangements Jay might choose to make for his daughter, Claire reminded herself firmly, but no amount of logic or reason could cancel out the bond of love that had built up between Heather and herself. When she lost her, it would in some ways be like losing her own child. Ridiculously, especially in the circumstances, she was already worrying about whether someone else would know how much care and cherishing the little girl needed. And that wasn’t her only concern. She was also worried that Heather would see her withdrawal from her life in the manner of a betrayal, or
worse, and although she had scrupulously tried to prepare her for their eventual parting, she sensed that Heather was too young to genuinely comprehend what lay ahead.
It was gone seven o’clock when Claire eventually heard Jay’s car draw up outside.
Lucy came dashing into the kitchen almost before the engine had died.
‘Jay’s back!’ she called out excitedly, pouting a little when Claire grasped her firmly by one arm and reminded her,
‘Jay is Heather’s daddy, Lucy.’
But for all her encouragement, Heather made no attempt to rush to the door and give Jay the exuberant welcome Lucy always favoured him with.
Claire saw the moment that the kitchen door opened that he was tired. He dumped his overnight case by the door and grimaced faintly across the kitchen.
‘Sorry I’m late, but the plane was delayed.’
‘Yes, we thought it might be.’ She gave Heather a little push towards her father, releasing a faintly tense breath as the little girl gave him a slightly shy hug.
Lucy had no such inhibitions, flinging herself against his knees and lifting up a shining little face for his kiss.
With one little girl in his arms and the other clinging to his side, he still managed to retain the aura of the male predator rather than that of domesticity.
His hair had grown, Claire noticed idly, and he seemed to have lost a little more weight. It was stupid and totally unnecessary for her to worry about him; if he knew, he was more likely to be irritated by her concern than anything else.
‘Something smells good.’
‘It’s a casserole. I thought you might be hungry.’
‘I am. Have I got time to shower and change?’
Claire nodded her head.
‘Good. How about someone bringing me a drink?’ he suggested, putting Heather down and smiling at her.
‘I’ll do it,’ Lucy piped up instantly, and Claire suppressed a faint sigh.
‘Why don’t both of you do it?’ suggested Jay diplomatically. ‘I shan’t be long,’ he promised Claire. ‘About ten minutes.’
Of course she was the one who poured out the whisky and soda she knew he liked, warning Heather to be careful as she carried it upstairs. She knew which was Jay’s room, but she had never been inside it; there was no need. And yet as she stood at the bottom of the stairs watching her charges’ careful progress she had an instant’s appalling awareness of Jay’s lean body as he divested it of the civilisation of clothes.
She shuddered tensely, closing her eyes to blot out the image, and when she opened them again she was trembling violently. She had never seen a naked man, not really, and she had never wanted to, so why that brief, illuminating image?
Jay was as good as his word, returning downstairs within ten minutes, dressed in jeans and a checked wool shirt. His hair was still damp, and the clean male scent of his soap mingled with the aroma of the casserole, cutting sharply through the domestic atmosphere of the kitchen, bringing in an alien and predatory note that made Claire’s body tense as she moved automatically away from him.
She saw him frown, his mouth tightening as though in some way her reaction displeased him.
‘You should know by now that I’m not going to pounce on you, Claire.’
Her face flushed. ‘I know that.’
‘Then why the so-obvious retreat?’
‘Perhaps I’m just one of those people who likes a lot of personal space.’
‘Maybe, but you must have allowed it to be invaded at one time,’ he retorted, glancing meaningfully at Lucy, just in case she should be unaware of what he was saying.
Claire gnawed nervously at her bottom lip, wondering what on earth she could say, but to her surprise, Jay made a sound of wry self-disgust and apologised quietly,
‘I’m sorry. It’s been a hell of a fortnight, and the delay in landing didn’t help matters. That doesn’t excuse me taking my frustrations out on you, I know. It’s good to come home and find you here, Claire,’ he added slowly, totally confounding her.
‘I…we really ought to be leaving.’ She placed his meal in front of him, avoiding his eyes. ‘It’s getting late…’
‘You’re not walking back on a night like this. I’ll run you there after I’ve eaten.’
To drag him out again on a night like tonight, when he was plainly so tired, was the last thing Claire wanted, but she sensed that to argue would only harden his determination.
‘I’ll make you some coffee,’ she suggested instead.
‘You know, delicious though this is, it’s a little bit off-putting to eat it all alone. Next time, why don’t we all eat together?’
Taken thoroughly off guard by his statement, Claire stared at him. She had scrupulously avoided doing anything that might even hint at any degree of intimacy between them, and for him to suggest that they all ate together, almost as though they were a family unit…
To save herself from pursuing her thoughts any further she said quickly, ‘I don’t like letting the girls eat in here. Everything’s so spotless,’ she told him, seeing his uncomprehending frown. ‘I’m always afraid they’ll make a mess.’
She saw his attention focus on the kitchen and sweep round it, as though he were seeing it properly for the first time.
‘Susie was responsible for all the decorating and the furniture.’
‘It’s very sophisticated and luxurious,’ Claire hurried to say, hating the thought of him thinking she was criticising his ex-wife, ‘but…’
‘But it’s also sterile and clinical,’ he supplied for her in a clipped voice, surprising her with his perception. ‘Unlike your cottage, it isn’t a home, is it?’
She bit her lip, unable to look at him.
‘It’s the woman who makes a place a home, not the furnishings…’
He pushed his plate away suddenly, and Claire wondered if he was thinking of his ex-wife. Despite his claim that he no longer loved her, did he perhaps miss her more than he allowed anyone to know?
It was just gone eight o’clock when Jay drove away from Whitegates. The two girls were in the back of the car, Claire sitting in the front next to him.
She thought as they drove down the village street that there seemed to be a good deal more activity than was usual, but it was only when they turned the corner that Claire saw why, and then all she could do was to sit motionless in shock and stare out of the car window.
One of the huge elms had lost a heavy main branch during the storm. It had crashed across the road and smashed down on the house opposite—her house, Claire acknowledged in shocked comprehension. She couldn’t speak; she couldn’t do anything but lift appalled eyes to Jay’s grim face. Why was he looking like that? An expression of shocked disbelief in his eyes that was surely far too intense, bearing in mind the very casual nature of their acquaintanceship. And then it hit her—Heather could have been in there with Lucy and herself; Heather could have been asleep in that front bedroom where she could now see a gaping hole in the wall.
‘I…’Hardly aware of what she was doing, Claire struggled to open the car door. A crowd of people were standing outside the house staring up at it.
‘You stay here.’ Jay’s hand on her arm held her rigid in her seat, his voice unusually harsh. ‘I’ll deal with it. You look after the girls.’
She wanted to protest that it wasn’t his problem, that somehow she would cope alone as she had coped with so many other things, but she wasn’t given the opportunity to say anything. He was out of the car and shouldering his way through the massed crowd before she could open her mouth.
He was only gone for ten minutes. Claire could see him in conversation with another man. Both of them glanced up at the house from time to time as they spoke.
Slowly the reality of what had happened was seeping into her. That was her home with the gaping holes in the roof and front wall where the heavy branch had crashed through. Her house… her home… She started to shake with shock; silly, really unimportant things, such as the fact that she h
ad only just done the ironing and everything would now need washing again, preventing her from taking in the full enormity of what had happened.
It took Lucy’s anxious, ‘Mummy…where are we going to live?’ to alert her to it and then she could think of no answer to give her daughter. Her thoughts ran round a round in frantic circles as she tried to grapple with the shock of what had happened. Perhaps Mrs Vickers would put them up. Thank God they hadn’t been inside when the branch had fallen…
Jay came back and slid into the car beside her.
Claire struggled with her seat belt.
‘I must go and ask Mrs Vickers if we can stay the night with her. I…I must go inside and find our clothes, I…’
‘For God’s sake, you’re not going anywhere. The house is unsafe!’ Jay told her grimly, his voice so angry that she actually focused her eyes on him, unaware of how vulnerable and young she looked in her jeans and sweater, her hair curling wildly round her small face.
‘I’ve just been talking to someone from the council. He says the house is unsafe. You can’t go back inside.’
‘But our clothes. My…’
‘Damn your clothes!’
She hadn’t heard him swear before, and the violence in this voice shocked her. In the darkness of the car her eyes widened, her body shaking suddenly with the drenching onset of reality.
‘You’re coming back with me,’ Jay told her flatly. ‘There’s plenty of room at Whitegates.’
‘Mrs Vickers…’
‘For God’s sake, Claire!’ he exploded tensely. ‘Why are you always so damned independent? You hate me doing the slightest thing for you. You didn’t even want me to run you home tonight, did you? Did you?’
How could she explain to him that she hated being reliant on anyone? Suddenly it all seemed too much; she could feel the tremors of reaction building up inside her. She wanted to cry, but she couldn’t let herself, not in front of Jay and the girls.