by Nina Milne
‘I understand that you loved Claudia very much and you want to remain faithful to her memory...’
The boat jolted as Zander resumed rowing, his actions jerkier than before, the amused glint vanished.
‘But surely you don’t plan to remain celibate all your life? I mean, why haven’t you had a fun fling? For real? Or a one-night stand?’
For a moment she wasn’t sure he’d answer, wasn’t sure she should have asked. Then he shrugged.
‘I’ve been busy. These past five years I’ve put all my energy into my business. It hasn’t been a deliberate choice as such to avoid women, but I haven’t had the time or the inclination to indulge in any sort of a relationship.’
The word was said as if it were a contagious disease rather than an indulgence.
‘So that’s me. What about you? I gather you aren’t a fan of fun flings. But what about past relationships?’
Damn. Now she really regretted asking him anything, because she could hardly refuse to reciprocate. Though she could at least prevaricate...
‘My turn to row, I think.’
‘Sure.’
It was only then that she realised her mistake, because now they had to swap places, manoeuvre past each other. Rising, she tried to steady herself as the skiff bobbed on the water, and for a moment she wondered if she’d topple over. Then, in one lithe movement, Zander stood up, somehow balanced his weight so that the skiff itself seemed to steady, and his hands were on her waist, steadying her.
Chill, Gabby.
Zander was holding her for practical reasons, to help her get her balance. But, hell, it didn’t feel like that. Her body’s reaction was downright personal, and the cotton of her T-shirt was a flimsy barrier as they carefully edged their way round in a circle, their bodies close. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears. It was a Herculean effort not to close the gap between them.
Finally he released her, and she lowered herself into the vacated seat and picked up the oars. She watched the ripples in the water and glanced at the trees that fringed the lake, their branches swaying in the slight breeze, the different shades of green redolent of new beginnings and growth. She looked anywhere but at Zander until she had her breathing back under control.
‘Right. Past relationships. There are two. Steve and Miles. Neither worked out.’
Sometimes she still wasn’t sure why. It was as though at some point someone had handed out a rule book when she hadn’t been there and no one had bothered to send it to her. No matter how hard she tried she hadn’t been able to figure out how to play her part right, and the harder she’d tried, the more clingy and insecure she’d become.
Both Steve and Miles had been good, solid, ordinary blokes, and both had ended the relationship, citing the whole “it’s not you, it’s me” argument, having met someone else. Steve had explained that when he’d met his new love there had been a spark that had been lacking with Gabby. Miles had used terminology such as ‘fizzled out’. Gabby was no fool and she could spot a pattern—in the context of relationship fireworks, she was a damp squib. So she had decided to leave the display and opt for singledom.
‘So I’ve put relationships on hold.’ Until maybe someday when that rule book arrived.
‘So for you a fun fling would be out of the question on principle?’
Well, didn’t that make her sound boring? And suddenly for a minute, as the sun glinted on the water and the sound of the oars swished in her ears, she wished she could throw caution to the wind and be the sort of person who could kick back and enjoy herself.
‘It’s not a principle. It just doesn’t work for me.’ Her mum had seen parenting as a short-term, temporary thing. Had worshipped at the altar of fun. ‘Short-term makes me feel like I’m not up to scratch. Not good enough to be permanent.’
Even as she said the words she regretted them—better to be judged boring than pathetic.
‘Not me personally,’ she added. ‘I mean in general.’
The slight quirk of his eyebrow indicated doubt. ‘But surely that is only if the fling isn’t on equal terms? If you want it to be more permanent and the other person doesn’t then, yes, I get that. But if you both agree you want something temporary then that isn’t a judgement on either of you.’
‘I guess I just don’t do temporary.’ There had been way too much of that in her life. Temporary stints with her mother, temporary stays with her grandparents. The fear of going into temporary care. As far as she was concerned, temporary sucked, and it smacked of not being good enough. After all, she hadn’t been good enough for her mum to change her lifestyle.
‘Whoa! Slow down, Gabby.’
Huh?
‘Oh.’ Belatedly she realised that she was moving them along at breakneck speed. Worse, there was a boat headed towards them and she seemed to have rowed straight on to a collision course. ‘Sorry.’
Zander steered and she rowed and, to her relief, the two crafts squeaked past each other without mishap.
‘You OK?’
‘I’m fine.’ But it was time to get back on track. ‘Anyway, it’s going to be really hard to get anyone to believe either of us is up for a fun fling, let alone your family. So we need to get down to the nitty-gritty detail.’ She glanced round the boat. ‘I need to take notes, so perhaps we should stop at a riverside pub and see if we can find a secluded corner...’
CHAPTER FIVE
TWENTY MINUTES LATER Zander handed Gabby the orange juice she’d requested and seated himself opposite her in the shade of a willow tree in a corner of the pub garden.
‘Right...’
As she pushed a stray tendril of glossy hair away she looked endearingly pretty, and he squashed the urge to lean over and tuck another escaped strand behind her ear.
‘First, tell me about this charity event.’
‘Its aim is to raise funds for a dyslexia awareness charity, and help promote the need for early recognition in schools.’
‘I see.’ But both her frown and her tone indicated surprise. ‘I assumed that it would be connected to Claudia?’
Zander shook his head. ‘I donate privately to a cancer charity and I have set up a medical scholarship in Claudia’s name.’
Of course he had considered hosting fundraisers in Claudia’s memory, but in truth he’d bottled it. Unable to face the sympathy, the need to relive those last months of her life, the complexities of his emotions around his marriage and her death.
‘So why dyslexia?’
‘Because, whilst it isn’t a life-threatening illness, its impact can be devastating.’
Her hazel eyes surveyed him. ‘That sounds like a knowledge born of experience.’
‘It is. I’m dyslexic. I was diagnosed very late, and for a long time I believed I was stupid.’
His stomach hollowed in memory of the awful gnaw in its pit as his childhood self had stared at the jumble of shapes in front of him, desperately trying to rearrange them, to work out what they meant. Of the shameful, humiliating knowledge that around him everyone else could do it. Could see it. Could manage it. Could read and write. But he couldn’t.
‘I’m sorry.’
Sincerity shone from her eyes and he suspected his attempt at a neutral expression and factual tone had backfired.
‘I’m not dyslexic, so I can’t understand how that feels and I won’t pretend to understand. But I do know how it feels to believe you’re stupid, and it sucks. For a variety of reasons I missed a lot of school, and by the time my attendance became regular I was far behind everyone else. I dreaded every lesson, knew my ignorance would be exposed. In the end my grandparents paid for a private tutor and I caught up. I know it’s not the same, but I know it must have been tough for you.’
He sensed she didn’t usually share this information, and without thought he reached out and covered her hand in his. ‘It sounds like it was tough for us both.’<
br />
Her proximity, the softness of her hand under his, the slenderness of her wrist, the warmth in her eyes, the almost impossible length of her eyelashes, the curve of her lips all combined to throw him for a loop.
Focus. Under the pretext of drinking his coffee, he lifted his hand from hers.
As if that had broken the spell, she frowned. ‘How old were you when you were diagnosed? I don’t remember you being dyslexic at school. I do remember you being cool and popular.’
‘I worked at it. And I made sure I excelled at sports.’
He had been on every possible school team. Plus, over the years he’d learnt to mask his dyslexia—persuaded friends to write his essays, made out he didn’t care that he was failing, messed around in class to be cool, figured out ways to slip under the radar.
‘And then I got lucky. When I was seventeen, at college, with hardly any GCSEs to my name, my football coach figured it out—and I got diagnosed with dyslexia. Late, but not too late. Not everyone is so lucky.’
Enough of his life story.
‘So I thought I’d organise a fundraiser. My family have all pitched in to help. Alessio can’t be there, as he has an event, but he has donated his yacht as the venue. The tickets have all been purchased. There will be an auction and a four-course dinner, music and dancing, and Glossip is writing it up.’
He’d swear she’d turned a greyish shade of pale, but she gave a small determined nod.
‘I’ll do my best to play my part. Could you let me have a copy of the guest list?’
‘No problem.’
‘And could you tell me more about your family? Just some background and a quick character sketch.’
‘My mum was a nurse. She retired a couple of years ago. She always said she would have loved to be a doctor, but her family didn’t support that. She had a difficult start in life, and as a result she wasn’t in a position to get into medical school. My dad is an electrician, also retired, and has discovered a late-life interest and talent for golf. There wasn’t a lot of money when I was growing up, but there was a lot of encouragement and heaps of expectation. My sisters thrived—Julia is a human rights lawyer and Gemma is a surgeon.’
Gabby looked slightly daunted and he couldn’t blame her. As a child that was how he’d felt. Two high-achieving siblings and then there was Zander. The Failure.
‘We grew up in Bath and my parents still live here. Julia, Gemma and I all live and work in London, but we come back to visit often. Julia is divorced with two kids, and somehow manages to juggle everything because she’s scarily efficient. Gemma is the one getting married in a few weeks. She’s very career-oriented and we didn’t think she would ever want to settle down. Then Alessio swept her off her feet.’
‘He’s your best friend, right? Does that bother you? Your best mate and your sister?’
‘Nope.’
In truth, it terrified him, because he no longer believed in happy-ever-after. He knew with bone-deep certainty that people changed, that love could wither away. But it was an opinion he couldn’t share. Not without bursting the illusory bubble of his own happy-ever-after. The only consolation was that at least Claudia had never suspected his doubts, his frustration, the cold, growing realisation that he had made a mistake. He didn’t want that for his friend or his sister; hoped it wouldn’t happen to them.
‘I’m happy for them.’
Expression intent, Gabby scribbled in her notebook, her handwriting a series of loops and generous curves. ‘Tell me a bit about your sister’s children.’
‘Freddy is seven and Heidi is five, and they’re small balls of energy who never stop talking and are interested in everything. I looked after them for a weekend last month and by the end of it I was a wreck. Good for nothing but a cup of cocoa and a nine o’clock bedtime.’
He could hear the affection in his own voice, and clearly so could Gabby.
‘Sounds like you’re a great uncle. You’re lucky. Your family sounds amazing.’ The wistfulness in her voice was unmistakable.
‘They are.’ Zander hesitated and then continued. ‘What about you? Are you an only child? I don’t know the details, but at school Claudia did mention that you lived with your grandparents.’
‘Yes.’ Her voice was flat. ‘My parents died. My grandparents were wonderful and they agreed to take me on. They were brilliant. Truly brilliant. At the time Gran was seventy and Gramps was seventy-two. It would have been completely understandable if they had decided it was too much. Instead they gave me security and love. I owe them a great deal. Gramps died several years ago. I still miss him, but obviously Gran was devastated. They were married for over sixty-five years.’ Her voice was soft now, and a look of admiration touched with sorrow filled her eyes. ‘They married when Gran was nineteen and Gramps was twenty-one. How incredible is that?’
‘That is incredible.’
Sadness touched him now—at the knowledge that it was possible to grow old together, to marry young but make it through. But not for him. He knew that now. Because he was governed by an ambition that took precedence over everything and everyone—even now, when he had achieved so much, he wanted more. To grow the business, make it global, show everyone that he was the best. That was his priority, and he knew any relationship couldn’t compete.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her voice was soft. ‘I didn’t mean to remind you of the chance you lost.’ She hesitated. ‘I asked Gran once whether if Gramps had died younger there could have been anyone else.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said yes. She said that even now, aged ninety, she wouldn’t ever discount the chance to love. She said that it would have been a different love, because it would have been with a different person, but that love is always worth having. That if she had gone first she would have wanted Gramps to be happy and would have hoped he’d find love again.’
‘I understand that. For me, though, I am truly happier on my own. Not because I disagree with your gran, but because I am a different person now and a relationship is no longer what I want.’
‘For ever? What about children? The way you spoke about Freddy and Heidi... You clearly love them.’
‘I do. But that doesn’t make me good father material.’
That was an absolute. Claudia had wanted children but Zander had prevaricated. Had put his business ambitions first. With the result that Claudia had missed out on motherhood.
‘I am a self-confessed workaholic. There’s no point having a family you never see.’
Time to shift focus away from him; this wasn’t a discussion he wanted to get into.
‘What about you? Do you want the whole package? Mr Right and 2.4 kids? With a white picket fence thrown in?’
‘Yes. I do want children. But only with Mr Right. I know there is no guarantee of either, but that’s my aim. If I have children I want to believe I can give them everything. Security, love, a brilliant dad and a stable family life.’
Further evidence, if any were needed, that he and Gabby were poles apart in their life goals.
Gabby blinked, picked up her pen and clicked the end. ‘We seem to have got distracted.’
Zander shook his head. ‘Not really. If we were really having a fun fling, we would have discussed all this. To make sure neither of us had false expectations of the other. I’d need you to know I’m not your Mr Right.’
‘I think I’d have figured that out by now. So, now we need to convince everyone that we are Mr and Ms Right for Now but Not Right for Ever.’ A smile curved her lips. ‘It’s not very catchy, is it?’
His gaze snagged on her mouth and he forced himself to focus on his coffee. He sipped it and almost welcomed the bitter coldness of the dregs. ‘So what next?’
‘I need to look the part. I have no idea what fun flings wear.’
‘I don’t think there is a dress code.’ Seeing her hazel eyes cloud in g
enuine worry, he was aware that he wanted that smile back and clicked his fingers. ‘I’ve got it! Get that bunny suit back and we’re set. I’ll even wear a matching pink bow tie and socks.’
Her eyes widened and he gave a sudden crack of laughter. ‘If you could see your face! I’m not serious.’
‘Thank goodness. But could you imagine it?’ There was a moment of contemplation and then she gave a small, delicious gurgle of laughter. ‘You could go for matching bunny ears. That would convince your family you’d gone bonkers.’
He had a sudden vision of his family’s bemused expressions and joined in her laughter. When was the last time he’d laughed like this? Dammit—he couldn’t remember.
Eventually she subsided, and worry shadowed those hazel eyes again. ‘Seriously, though, I don’t want to look wrong.’
‘You won’t.’ And he meant it. Sitting opposite him, her make-up-free face touched by sunshine and laughter, her glossy chestnut hair gleaming and dappled, she looked beautiful. ‘Whatever you wear you’ll be...’ Beautiful. ‘Fine.’
‘It’s not that simple. I don’t want to stand out... I—’ Breaking off, she shook her head. ‘Don’t worry. This isn’t your problem. I’ll do some research and figure out how to fit in.’ Deep breath. ‘But it’s not just about clothes. It’s about how we act around each other. Should we be lovey-dovey? Hold hands and gaze at each other in adoration? Or opt for smouldering?’
Momentary panic touched him—a sudden realisation of what he had got himself into—and he could see the echo of anxiety cloud her eyes. The thought of love and adoration, even of the counterfeit variety, made him cringe. But it was too late for reservations now—the whole point of this charade was that it had to carry conviction.
‘Option three is our best bet, I think. This is all about attraction.’
Now the clouds in her eyes stormed. ‘You make it sound so easy. It isn’t. When we walk on to this yacht peopled by celebrities and your family, no one will believe this. I could smoulder all I want—all that will happen is my dress will scorch. No one is going to buy this.’