His Very Own Wife and Child Page 2

  They nodded, and he turned to Sally. ‘Are you ready?’

  She shook her head. ‘Give me five minutes. Why don’t you take the boys down and introduce them to the others? I’ll be down soon.’

  ‘OK. Don’t be long.’

  He took the boys out. She could hear them chattering excitedly on the way down the corridor, David’s deeper voice steadying them and warning Ben to mind the step.

  Then a door swung shut and silence descended, broken only by the beat of her heart.

  She closed her eyes and rested her cheek against the cool glass of the mirror. She wasn’t ready for this. She’d had no warning, no time to prepare herself either physically or mentally.

  She’d put on weight, her hair needed a really good cut instead of the quick trim that was all she had time to fit in these days, and…

  ‘What are you think about?’ she asked herself, straightening up and glaring sternly at her reflection in the mirror. ‘You’re married—so’s he. There are more important things to worry about. It doesn’t matter what you look like!’

  But it did, for her pride if nothing else, and she searched her face for the changes he’d find. Tiny lines, of tiredness and worry and the stress of her job, and the other day she’d even found a grey hair. At thirty-two? She’d yanked it out, but she doubted Clare would have a grey hair or a wrinkle.

  Of course she’d only ever met her once before, so it would be interesting—was that the word?—to see her now. She might have run to seed, if there was any justice, but she’d have to be going some to look worse than this.

  She dropped her eyes to her waist, sucked in her stomach and turned sideways, then sighed. The best underwear in the world wouldn’t take away the fact that she’d put on a stone and lost the pert youthfulness she’d had all those years ago, she thought, and then hauled herself up short again.

  So what? She had two beautiful children to show for it, and a husband who loved her, a comfortable home and a job she was proud of. She didn’t need him, in any way, shape or form, and it didn’t matter to her in the slightest what he thought of her or what Clare looked like. He was the one who’d walked away, and there was no way on God’s green earth she wanted him back.

  At all.

  Ever.

  She yanked herself up straight, gave herself a stern nod in the mirror and went out of the door. She could do this. She could…

  She looked wonderful.

  Softer, somehow, as if the years had mellowed her. She’d gained a little weight, and it suited her. She looked tired, though, and there were shadows in her eyes that had nothing to do with working too hard. They always used to sparkle, he mused. Except on that day—the day Clare had erupted into their lives, the day he’d walked away.

  He swallowed and turned back to Patrick, forcing himself to pay attention. His old friend was getting married tomorrow, to a woman who lit up his world, and all Jack had to do was listen to him talk about her and try not to wonder what his own life would have been like if Clare hadn’t come back into it…

  Funny, how that touch of grey didn’t age him, although compared to Patrick’s prematurely grey hair it was unnoticeable, and it had certainly done Patrick’s looks no harm at all. No, the silver threads at Jack’s temples suited him somehow—gave him a little of the gravitas that he sorely needed to counteract those laughing eyes. And it tied in with the crow’s feet round his eyes and the laughter lines that bracketed his mouth. He’d always laughed a lot, she remembered—made her laugh, too, but that had been years ago.

  Nearly ten, to be exact, when she’d been only twenty-three and in her first staff job in the hospital where he’d been working as an SHO. He was four years older than her—he’d taken a gap year before uni and by the sound of it had blagged his way around the world with an ancient backpack and enough charm to sink a battleship. She could easily believe it. There’d been no lack of that charm in the man she’d met and fallen for. He must be thirty-six now, if not thirty-seven, she thought in astonishment. Where on earth had their lives gone?

  He was standing by the bar with Patrick, and as she hesitated in the doorway, he threw back his head and laughed at something Patrick had said, then turned and caught sight of her. She was staring at him, arrested by that wonderful sound that she’d never thought to hear again, and there wasn’t time to look away.

  His laughter ebbed, and with a quick murmured word to Patrick, he excused himself and crossed the room.

  ‘Sal.’

  That was all. One word and her heart turned upside down.

  ‘So where’s Clare?’ she asked, getting it over with as quickly as possible, and for a second he looked startled.

  ‘Clare? She’s at home. In New Zealand.’

  So far away. She felt a stupid pang of loss. She’d often wondered where he was, tried to picture him, wondered if they’d run into each other—hoped…

  ‘And your children?’ she asked, turning the knife another time, but not just in herself, it seemed, because something happened to his eyes.

  ‘There was only Chloe,’ he said. ‘I don’t see as much of her as I’d like.’

  There was a wealth of sadness in those few words, and a story behind them, she’d stake her life on it. But she didn’t want to know. She really didn’t. And it seemed he didn’t want her to, because he said no more, just smiled and shrugged, and she had a crazy urge to take him in her arms and comfort him. No. Madness. He was married, and so was she. If she kept saying it, maybe she’d remember.

  ‘So how long are you here? Just for the wedding, or are you hoping to snatch a little longer?’

  ‘Trying to get rid of me already?’ he murmured with a crooked grin, then shook his head. ‘I’ve taken a six-month sabbatical—that’s why Patrick had trouble getting hold of me. I’ve been travelling. I’m here for a few weeks, dog-sitting for them while they’re away and catching up when they get back, getting a look at the area maybe, and then I’m off travelling again. You know me,’ he said lightly. ‘Always something else to see. So what about you? Have you had to come far today?’

  She shook her head, wondering what Clare thought of his wanderlust. And he’d had the gall to have her feeling sorry for him because he didn’t see enough of his daughter? He should try being at home, then! ‘No. Well, yes, we’ve just been skiing in Canada and we came straight from the airport, but I’m working locally. I work in the same hospital as Annie and Patrick. So what are you doing? You said something about being an ED doctor?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes. Suicidal career move, really, because there’s not much call for private work to boost the coffers,’ he said with a wry grin, ‘but it just appealed. When you see people all mashed up and you can sort them out and give them another chance at life—that’s amazing. And it got addictive, so I ended up working for MSF for a while—Médecins Sans Frontières—getting stuck into all sorts of nasty natural and manmade disasters.’ He laughed and ran a hand through his hair. ‘Still, that’s all history now and I’ve grown up. So what about you? Are you a paper-pushing hot-shot manager yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s not my style. I’m strictly clinical, a proper hands-on nurse,’ she told him. ‘Actually I like it—prefer it to a more administrative role—but even if I hadn’t, maternity leave rather scuppered my career progress.’

  His grin was wry. ‘I can imagine. So what about David? What does he do? He looks like a civil engineer or an accountant or something.’

  Oh, lord, he was so close to the truth it was painful.

  ‘He’s a structural engineer,’ she confessed, and he threw back his head and laughed again.

  ‘I knew it!’ he teased. ‘Middle England. You always were destined for it.’

  And we’re very happy, she reminded herself, and I have no business looking at you like this, as if I’m trying to memorise every line on your face, every shadow, every hair, every tiny subtlety of expression…

  ‘We meet again.’

  He looked past her, still smiling. ‘Dav
id. Hi. Sal was just telling me all about you,’ he said, and then smiled down at Alex in a way that made her heart hitch against her ribs. ‘Hello again, young man. How’s the nose?’

  ‘OK. I’ve got a black eye, though—sort of.’

  ‘I can see. Impressive.’

  Alex wrinkled his nose and then winced. ‘Not very impressive yet,’ he said disgustedly.

  ‘Ah, well, it might be better in the morning. It’s usually more spectacular the second day.’ He turned to Ben and grinned. ‘And how’s the other wounded soldier? Sore head?’

  ‘I’ve got a bump—feel!’ he instructed proudly, taking Jack’s hand and placing it on his hair.

  Sally watched, spellbound, as his gentle fingers searched out the bump and measured it with due solemnity. ‘Excellent. I’m impressed with you both.’

  Ben beamed, and Sally felt her heart hitch again as Jack smiled down at her boys. If only…

  Oh, damn, she was going to cry, and she absolutely never cried. She had to get them away.

  ‘Jack, you’ll have to excuse us, we need to talk to Annie. We’ve only just got back from our holiday and I should have been helping her. And, anyway, we can’t monopolise you—Patrick’s looking lonely and you’ve come a long way to see him.’

  And she whisked her family away, crushing the longing to stay there and talk to him all evening. Too dangerous, for all sorts of reasons. Nearly ten years clearly hadn’t been long enough to neutralise her feelings, and if she stood there any longer she was just going to disgrace herself. Beg him to run his fingers through her hair, feel her scalp, knead it with those gentle, clever fingers that were so diabolically good at touching her until she begged for more…

  No. Stop it. You’re here for Annie. Everything else can wait.

  CHAPTER TWO

  THE day of the wedding dawned bright and clear.

  David was up and off at seven, playing golf with the other men, and Sally had a lazy morning ahead of her. The children were all sorted, a hands-on falconry experience lined up for them at ten, and all she had to do was get ready for the wedding at three. Annie was with the hairdresser until eleven-thirty, and since her own hair couldn’t hold a kink and simply needed washing and drying, she was free.

  She’d done her nails yesterday, passing the time on the flight, and all she had to do before the wedding was have a quick shower. Their clothes had been left with Annie rather than taken to Canada, and she ought to check just to make sure there weren’t creased, but she’d had a quick look the previous night and they’d seemed fine. And there was nothing else that needed her attention, and nothing that involved seeing Jack, thank goodness, because he would be playing golf with the others. So she had time on her hands.

  She should have felt relaxed, but she didn’t. Instead, she felt tense and wired and restless, and it got worse as the morning went on. She and the boys had a late breakfast and then she took them down to the falconry display and watched for a few minutes, then left them to it. They were enthralled, and didn’t need her hovering over them like a mother hen. They already knew all the other children there, and they were having a fantastic time, so she had the rest of the morning to herself.

  So, what to do with it?

  She paused at the bottom of the stairs. She’d meant to check over their clothes now, but instead she found herself drawn back to the dungeons. It was cosy and peaceful down there, a tranquil little hide-away, and she ordered a pot of coffee and settled down in the little room with the iron grille for a door to flick through a magazine and relax for a few minutes.

  ‘Coffee, madam,’ a low, soft voice murmured, and she looked up, startled, straight into Jack’s smiling eyes.

  Oh, lord, she was going to whimper out loud if he kept on looking at her like that…

  ‘I thought you were playing golf?’ she said accusingly, willing her heart to slow.

  ‘No. Didn’t fancy it. Always thought it was a fairly pointless game really, whacking little balls round in circles, and, besides, I thought it might give us time to catch up.’

  She sucked in a breath. No. He wasn’t going to do this to her again.

  ‘What makes you think we need to catch up?’ she asked stiffly, and he threw her a crooked little smile and handed her a coffee from the tray—set for two, she noticed. Damn. What was he doing? She took it, her hand shaking so much she slopped it in the saucer.

  ‘Maybe what I meant was that I wanted time to talk to you—to explain, to apologise,’ he said quietly.

  She blotted coffee. ‘For walking out on me ten years ago? Hardly necessary. In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve moved on.’

  ‘Oh, I’ve noticed. I’ve also noticed the shadows in your eyes, and the way the light dies in them when you aren’t putting on your face.’

  ‘What face?’ she snapped, gulping down a mouthful of coffee and burning her tongue. She was going to have to give up drinking it. It was nothing but trouble.

  ‘The face that tells the world you’re all right, that you’re happy.’

  ‘I am happy,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Are you? Lucky you.’

  Her heart lurched and she reminded herself about his wanderlust. ‘Maybe you’d be happier if you spent more time with your family,’ she said with a touch of acid, but he just gave a wry, slightly bitter chuckle and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t think so.’ His smile was crooked and tugged at her heartstrings, and that look was back in his eyes. ‘Do I really have to explain to you, of all people, about the intricacies of a loveless marriage?’

  It took her breath away. How had he seen? ‘My marriage isn’t loveless,’ she said defensively, when she could speak again.

  ‘No?’ His mouth kicked up in a gentle smile. ‘Forgive me, I must have been mistaken. But Clare and I should never have married.’

  Oh, hell. He was going to do the ‘poor misunderstood me’ line and she’d fall for it, she knew she would. Well, she wouldn’t. She just wouldn’t. She was married, and so was he, and if she had to say it on the hour every hour for the next two days, so be it. But to know he’d been unhappy all this time…

  ‘You know I wouldn’t have had an affair with you if I hadn’t believed that my relationship with her was over,’ he said softly. ‘But the baby changed everything.’

  She swallowed. Oh, yes. ‘They have a habit of doing that,’ she said, and put her cup down before she could do any more damage. ‘I have to go. I’m Annie’s matron of honour, and I’ve only seen her for a few minutes this morning. I need to help her.’

  ‘We’ll meet again later, then—for the wedding. I’m Patrick’s best man.’

  Of course. And she was matron of honour. And as such, they’d be thrown together. She closed her eyes briefly, then stood up. ‘Then you’ll have things to do—speeches to write and so on. I’ll see you later.’

  And if she was really lucky, she’d get through it without making a fool of herself every time he looked at her…

  ‘Are you OK? You looked as if you’d seen a ghost last night.’

  Again? She found a smile for Annie, who even on her wedding day was worrying about other people. ‘Just jet-lag,’ she lied, and checked the bride’s dress again. ‘Turn round, the back isn’t lying quite right,’ she said, avoiding Annie’s all-too-seeing eyes. She tweaked the lacing on the basque unnecessarily, then stepped back. ‘Let me see you now.’

  Annie did a little twirl, the soft old gold of the silk echoing the highlights in her hair. Not white or ivory, she’d insisted, because she didn’t want to bring back echoes of Patrick’s first tragic wedding, but gold, mellow and understated and utterly perfect with her colouring.

  Sally sighed. ‘That colour’s fabulous on you. You’re so lucky to be able to wear it. I’d look as if I’d crawled through mud.’

  ‘No, you wouldn’t, but that lovely soft wine red would drown me completely. It needs your dark hair to set it off—and the cut’s fabulous with your curvy figure.’

  Sally glanced in the mirror an
d tugged at the bodice. It was revealing altogether too much of her pale, milky skin for her liking. It had been years since her cleavage had had an airing, and she hadn’t worried about it until Jack had shown up. And now…She tugged again fruitlessly and gave up. ‘Curvy? Try fat.’

  ‘You’re not fat, you’re beautiful. Womanly. I’ve always envied you your curves.’

  ‘Eat more chocolate,’ she advised, and gave Annie’s dress another little tweak. ‘Oh, you look absolutely stunning—radiant—and so do you, Katie,’ she said, studying Annie’s little princess in softest pink. ‘Gorgeous. Wait till Patrick sees you both. He’ll be so proud.’

  Annie smiled a little nervously. ‘Good. I’d hate to let him down.’

  Sally hugged her carefully, and blinked away the tears. ‘Not a chance. Come on, it’s time to go down and start the rest of your life.’

  And all she had to do was point Katie in the right direction and ignore Jack for the rest of the day.

  How hard could it possibly be?

  The wedding was beautiful.

  It was a very simple ceremony, in the company of their dearest and closest friends and family, but hugely significant to both of them. In very different ways they’d both had tragic marriages, and to take this step must have taken unbelievable courage, but there they were, standing side by side in front of all their friends, about to take this huge leap of faith again.

  If they’d been apprehensive, Sally wouldn’t have been at all surprised, but there was no uncertainty, no hesitation in the way Patrick held out his hand and Annie placed hers in it and went up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, the joy shining from her eyes. From her vantage point behind Annie and Patrick, Sally could feel the love radiating off them both, see the joy and pride in their eyes, the total absence of any doubt.

  The registrar asked, ‘Who gives this woman to be married to this man?’

  And when eight-year-old Katie replied, ‘I do,’ there wasn’t a dry eye in the house.

  They were seated together, of course.

  It could have been a great deal worse. As matron of honour and best man, they could have been on a formal top table, but because it was Patrick and Annie, because they wanted the whole thing to be a great big party and because, with the people they’d invited, there was little chance of it being anything else, formality didn’t get a look-in.