by Liz Fielding
It would be a hollow promise now, with only their baby binding them together as he or she reached all those precious milestones. First steps, first words, first day at school.
She was nearly twenty-five, too old to fool herself with teenage dreams. She had to live with reality, and the reality was that Cleve was still in love with his dead wife. That her son or daughter would be a substitute for the baby Rachel had been carrying when she died.
That wasn’t a dream, it was a nightmare.
She stirred. ‘You are right about one thing. This—’ she lifted a hand to indicate the house, the garden ‘—this was running away. You know how it is when people work together. You throw up once and you’ve got a tummy bug. Twice and they’re looking at the calendar, trying to remember who they’ve seen you with.’ She drew in a slow steadying breath and turned to look at him. ‘I haven’t told anyone about the baby because I wanted you to hear the news from me rather than overhear some nudge-nudge, wink-wink speculation in the mess about who the lucky man might be.’
‘Because I’d know.’
She tilted her head in acknowledgement. ‘What did Lucy say?’
‘Nothing… You know Lucy, she’s as tight-lipped as a clam. It was just the way she said that it bothered the punters when the pilot threw up in the sick bag. I didn’t pick up on it because I assumed your “bug” was just an excuse to get away for a while. Knew it was once I’d opened your letter. My mistake.’
‘I really wasn’t fit to fly. If I’d told her I was leaving she’d have wanted to know all the whys and wherefores.’ She lifted a hand in a helpless gesture. ‘She’s not someone who takes “no comment” for an answer.’
‘I don’t think she would have asked because she already knew. It seems pretty clear now that she was dropping a heavy hint and she wouldn’t have done that unless she was certain I’m the father.’
‘The fact that you immediately took off will confirm it.’
‘Undoubtedly, but she’ll keep her thoughts to herself.’ He used the thumb of his free hand to wipe away the moisture from beneath her eyes, cradled her cheek, looked into her eyes. ‘We’ve been friends for a long time, Miranda. We’ll be okay.’
He was saying all the right things, everything expected of a decent man, everything she’d known he’d say, and she wanted to believe him with all her heart. But her heart knew that being ‘okay’ with Cleve Finch was never going to be enough. Knowing that she would never light up his life, that when he looked at her he would be thinking of Rachel and the baby that never had a chance…
Resisting the temptation to lean into his hand, the arm waiting to go around her, she retrieved her hand and turned away.
‘A baby is not a good reason to get married, Cleve.’
‘It’s not a bad one. It used to be mandatory.’
‘Thankfully things have moved on. I doubt Dad will stick a shotgun in your back.’
‘I’m sure he won’t.’ He sounded unexpectedly bitter and without thinking she put her hand on his, provoking a shadow of a smile. ‘Is there any chance that he might put one in yours?’
‘What would be the point when we’d both know that he’d never pull the trigger?’ She squeezed his hand briefly. ‘I’ll be okay, Cleve.’
‘Of course you will. You’re an organised and capable woman but, even with all the support in the world, life as a one-parent family is no joke. Your sisters lead busy lives. Your parents are finally letting go of the reins after a tough battle to bring the business back from the brink after your grandfather’s death, turn it into the success it’s become. They deserve time to enjoy their freedom.’
‘You think I’m being selfish?’
‘Not at all. I just think you need a reality check.’ He placed his other hand on top of hers, held it for a moment. ‘Whatever happens I want you to know that I’ll be there with you every step of the way.’
‘Even in the delivery room?’ The words were out before her brain was engaged.
‘I planted the seed, Miranda. I’ll be there for the harvest.’
She swallowed but her throat was aching with the tears she was fighting to suppress and she couldn’t speak.
‘Will you at least think about it while I’m gone?’ he said.
‘Gone?’
The speed of her response betrayed her and his eyes creased in a smile. ‘I won’t be long. I’m going to walk down to the village and pick up some food. I need something a little more substantial than mint tea and cake for breakfast.’ He released her hand, got to his feet. ‘Is there anything that would tempt you?’
Oh, she was tempted.
For a long time she’d only been able to imagine what it would be like to spend the night in Cleve’s arms. Now she knew and she was being offered unlimited access. All she had to do was say yes.
She forced herself to concentrate on the question, letting her mind wander over the major food groups. It came to rest on the image of a banana and her stomach didn’t actually recoil.
‘I might be able to eat a banana. A soft one, squashed on a slice of proper bread.’ Her stomach rumbled appreciatively.
‘That’s a start. Anything else? Pickles? A lump or two of coal?’ he teased.
‘Yes.’ She lifted her hand to shade her eyes from the sun. ‘Take a look in the garage and if there’s a can bring back a few litres of petrol.’
‘Milk will do you more good.’
About to laugh, she realised that he was serious but then he’d been here before. Like any excited father-to-be he would have read all the books, wanting to share every moment of such a life-changing event with Rachel.
‘I’ll need a little time for my stomach to adjust to the possibility of dairy,’ she said. ‘Meanwhile, unless someone has spirited them away, there should be a selection of vintage vehicles including a two-seater sports car and a scooter in one of the sheds.’
‘They should help pay for the roof repairs but I imagine they’ll all need a little more than petrol to get them started.’
‘They’ll certainly need an oil top-up but there might be some in the garage. I’ll come with you and check.’ Cleve looked as if he was about to say something irritating about putting her feet up. Before he could she said, ‘I’ll need some form of transport while I’m here.’
‘My vote is for the vintage two-seater,’ he said, holding out a hand. She took it, let him haul her to her feet, because not to would make too much of it. But then he kept her hand in his, holding back the long whippy shoots from overgrown shrubs so they wouldn’t catch her bare arms, not letting go until they reached the garages.
There was a padlock but the hasp was little more than rust and all it needed was a tug. Cleve opened one of the doors and they were all there. The scooter, a little runaround that you could park on a sixpence, still bright red beneath a thick coating of dust and, underneath a dust sheet, the shape of a long¸ elegant convertible.
The two cars had been jacked up so that the tyres were not touching the ground. Alberto had taken good care of them.
While Cleve looked for a petrol can, Andie slid onto the seat of the scooter and grasped the handlebars.
‘We used to take turns riding this around the yard.’ Cleve turned to look at her. ‘Portia snuck out on it one night to ride down to the village to meet a boy.’
‘Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he said, reaching for a petrol container he’d spotted on a shelf.
‘She wheeled it out to the road so no one would hear her start it up and she didn’t dare put the lights on in case someone spotted her. She only made it to the first bend before she landed in the ditch.’
Cleve, an only child, tried to imagine what it must be like to belong to such a close-knit family where no matter how you fought amongst yourselves, you always had one another’s backs.
He turned the container over to check that the bottom was sound. ‘Was she hurt?’
‘A black eye and some colourful bruises. She told Grandma and Sofia that she’d had a bad dream and
fallen out of bed.’
‘Inventive. How did she explain the damage to the scooter?’
‘Immi and I said we’d knocked it over getting it out of the garage. Alberto wasn’t fooled but he cleaned it up and had it looking as good as new before they saw it and guessed what really happened.’
She stepped off the scooter and cautiously opened a dusty metal box sitting at the end of a workbench. Inside, neatly laid out, were folded cloths, chamois leathers, polishes—everything needed to keep the vehicles pristine.
‘Alberto?’
‘He and Elena looked after the house and gardens. I wonder if they still live in the village.’ She opened a box of latex gloves and pulled on a pair, then picked up a cloth and began to carefully wipe away the dust to reveal the scooter’s still-pristine pale blue finish. ‘They seemed incredibly old to us at the time but I don’t suppose they were.’
‘No.’ He raised the can. ‘This looks okay. I won’t be long.’
‘Bring some marmalade.’ She looked up, catching him by surprise with a grin that made her look eighteen again. ‘For the vitamin C.’
It had been a long time since she’d smiled at him like that and he didn’t spoil her joke by suggesting he pick up something a little more effective from the pharmacy. But then, unable to help himself, he said, ‘Have you seen a doctor?’
She straightened and for a moment he could see her struggling for an answer because his question had been intrusive, personal, none of his business. Except that it was.
Everything about Miranda and their baby was going to be very much his business for the rest of his life. Convincing her of that might be a problem, but just when he thought she was going to give him a reality check her face softened and she put her hand against her still-flat waist.
‘Not yet but I’ve been to the NHS website and I’m taking the folic acid and vitamin D as advised.’ She pulled a face. ‘Keeping it down is something else.’
It was all he could do not to reach out and cover her hand with his. To put his arm around her, holding them both, protecting them both, but, aware that she was totally in control of this situation, that she could shut him out at any time, he clutched the can a little tighter and stayed where he was.
‘Can you feel anything?’ The words struggled through the sudden thickness in his throat.
‘Not yet. Not until about sixteen weeks. He, she is due around the second week in November.’
It was the first time she’d volunteered anything. It felt like an important turning point and for a moment neither of them moved, said anything as they absorbed the reality of what was happening to them.
‘I’d better go.’
She nodded. ‘I’ll give the scooter a once-over.’
He wanted to demand that she sit down, put her feet up, do nothing until he returned but had the sense to keep his mouth shut and after a moment he forced his feet to move.
He’d assumed that his phone would come to life in the village but there was only the barest flicker. L’Isola dei Fiori was undeveloped even by tourist standards. For the first time in a very long time business was the furthest thing from his mind—his sole focus was Miranda and the baby—but he needed to check in to the office and he looked around for a post office, knowing that they would have a public call box.
He called Lucy, explained that he would be out of contact for a day or two and got a somewhat sarcastic response that he’d been out of contact for a year.
‘It’s fortunate that you’re really good at your job, Lucy, or I’d have to fire you.’
‘It’s fortunate that I’m really good at my job or you’d have been out of business. Just take care of Andie,’ she said.
She ended the call before he could reply and he was laughing as he replaced the receiver, crossed to the counter and joined the queue so that he could pick up some local currency.
He hadn’t known what to say to Miranda until he’d realised that he was about to lose her. At that moment there was only one thing he wanted to say to her and he’d imagined flying in, finding her at some pretty villa, wooing her with good food, great wine, walks on the beach. Somehow convincing her to stay—not with Goldfinch, but with him.
The baby changed everything; he’d realised that she was never going to buy a desperate over-the-top declaration five minutes after he’d discovered she was pregnant. Five minutes after he’d practically accused her…
Just thinking about what he’d said made his blood run cold.
Hard as it had been to stop everything he felt from spilling out, he had managed to play it low-key, accepting that she wouldn’t leap at his offer of marriage. Even without the baby, she’d have been convinced that his proposal was guilt-driven and rejected it out of hand.
There had been the possibility of something between them years ago. He’d been captivated by her smile, her love of flying, the way she’d looked at him. It would have been so easy to take everything she was offering, but Miranda Marlowe was the kind of girl you took home to meet your mother, a for-ever girl. She had been about to leave for university, a different life, while he’d had the kind of reputation that raised a father’s hackles, a business that required every moment of his time just to keep it afloat and a bank calling in loans.
Back then their lives had been out of sync but now, magically, they had the chance to mesh if he didn’t mess up.
For the moment he had to be content to sow the seed, put the thought of a future together in her head, nurture it with a show-not-tell campaign. He had to prove that he was serious, that he was with her for the long haul. That their baby was going to have two parents.
As he’d strolled down to the village, the sea shimmering on his left, the scent of wild rosemary clearing his head as he brushed against it, he’d had plenty of time to imagine how it would be.
He was going to be there for the scans, the prenatal classes, the birth. Be there for everything that came after.
He wasn’t giving up on marriage, but he knew that was something he would have to earn and he was prepared to wait.
He paused outside a shop filled with exquisite baby clothes and soft toys. A small white teddy with a blue bow was practically begging him to come and buy it. He stepped away.
This had to be about Miranda, not the baby, and she wanted marmalade and benzina.
He bought groceries, stocked up on cleaning materials, filled the fuel can at the petrol station and was on his way back when he saw the name ‘Stark’ on a name plate by the gate of a large cottage. On an impulse he stopped, walked up the garden path and knocked.
Matt opened the door, raised an eyebrow ‘Has Andie thrown you out?’
‘Not yet.’ He was planning to stay as long as she’d put up with him. ‘She mentioned a couple who used to work at the villa. I wondered if they were still in the village.’
‘Elena and Alberto? They’re still here but they’re retired. I’m not sure they’re up to helping clean up the villa. One of their sons keeps the grass cut in the spring. Unless it’s watered it doesn’t grow much in the summer.’
‘It’s not that. I think Miranda would like to visit them. Although if you know of anyone interested in a cleaning job we could certainly do with some help.’
‘I’m sure they’d appreciate a visit. I’ll point you in the right direction.’ He stepped out of the cottage and walked towards the gate. ‘If you go up that lane over there,’ he said, indicating a turning a little way up the hill, ‘they live in the third house on the right.’
‘Thanks.’
‘No problem and I’ll ask around about help.’ Matt hesitated. ‘I usually bring my mother up to the villa in the afternoon to use the hot spring. I mentioned it to Andie and she was fine with it, but I don’t want to be…’ He stopped, frowned. ‘Is that smoke?’
Cleve turned, looked up the hill where a thin plume of black smoke was rising into a clear blue sky.
‘Miranda… She was in the garage…’
He dropped the bags and the can and began t
o run. He heard Matt shout something and then come after him on his scooter, pausing so that Cleve could scramble on the back before racing up the hill as the smoke began to billow out from somewhere behind the villa.
Cleve was off and through the gate before the bike was brought to a halt, then he was standing for a moment in confusion as he realised that the garage was not on fire. He spun around and saw Miranda, a dark smudge on her cheek and a small fire extinguisher in her hand, emerging from the villa.
‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’ he demanded, fear driving his anger.
‘I, um…’ She blinked, coughed. ‘I saw the smoke, grabbed the fire extinguisher and rushed in.’
‘Idiot,’ he said, grabbing her, holding onto her, only too aware of what might have happened. ‘The last thing you ever do is rush into a burning building.’
‘I know,’ she mumbled into his shoulder. ‘But it’s Posy’s house.’
‘It’ll be insured. You’d have done her a favour if you’d let it burn down.’
‘No!’ She shook her head. ‘This place is special. Magic…’
Matt came skidding into the courtyard. ‘We saw the smoke. Are you okay, Andie?’
Miranda pulled away from Cleve, gave Matt a smile. ‘I’m fine… I can’t say the same for the kitchen and the house will probably stink of smoke for days.’
‘What happened?’
‘Someone, not mentioning any names, put the kettle on the hotplate and forgot to turn it off.’
The kettle? He’d done this?
Bile rose in his throat and unable to look her in the face he turned away and crossed the courtyard to stare, unseeing, at the sun sparkling on sea as the familiar veil of guilt descended, turning everything dark.
Less than an hour ago he’d been full of how he’d protect her, protect their child, imagining himself at her side through pregnancy, sharing the parenting, hoping that one day she’d look up and realise that they were a family. Instead he’d nearly killed her and their baby.