Sinful Nights(62)

Pushing her worries to one side, she started preparing the girls' meal.  Her small garden boasted several fruit trees, and she had spent the  weekend preserving as much of it as she could. Now, when she had least  expected it, she was finding a use for the old-fashioned homely skills  her mother had taught her. Her mother. Claire stilled and stared  unseeingly out of the window. What would she think if she could see her  now?

Claire had not arrived until her mother was in her early forties and her  father even older. They had surrounded her in their love, and then with  one blow fate had robbed her of that love. When the police came to tell  her about her parents' accident she had hardly been able to take it in.  They had been going out to dinner with some friends and the car which  ran into them and caused the accident had been driven by a drunken  driver.

She thought that she had endured as much pain as life could sustain, but six months later she had learned better.

Mum, we're hungry  … '

Lucy's imperious little voice was a welcome interruption, and although  she pretended to frown, Claire soon got both girls seated at the kitchen  table and watched in amusement as they demolished the boiled eggs and  thin strips of bread and butter.

Real nursery fare. Her mother had made it for her, too. Just as she had  made the deliciously light scones and the home-made jam that Claire too  had prepared to follow their first course.

Mrs Roberts never makes any cakes,' Heather complained, happily  accepting a second scone. She doesn't even buy them. She says sweet  things are bad for me.'

Mrs Roberts was quite right, Claire thought wryly, but she prided  herself on the methods she used to adapt her mother's recipes to fit in  with her own more up-to-date awareness of what was healthy and what  wasn't.

She considered that children at six years old still needed the calcium  supplied by unskimmed milk, and she poured them both full glasses,  watching the childishly eager way they gulped it down. Heather spilt  some and instantly her small body froze, her eyes widening in fright and  tension, fixed on Claire's face.

Don't worry about it, it'll soon wipe up,' she told her cheerfully,  trying to hide her shock at the little girl's frightened reaction.  Wasn't she ever allowed to spill anything? She was, after all, only a  very little girl, but Mrs Roberts hadn't struck her as the type of woman  who would make allowances for a six-year-old, and by all accounts  Heather's father was too engrossed in his business to notice or care  what was happening to his child.    

 



 

Mentally she contrasted Heather's life with Lucy's. Lucy might lack  things in the way of material possessions, but her daughter had never  doubted that she was deeply loved. Watching Heather, Claire was fiercely  glad that she had never allowed herself to be persuaded to give her  child up. Both she and Lucy had lived in poverty, and it had been very  hard, but Lucy had never looked at her with such fear and dread in her  eyes, and she promised herself that she never would.

Heather was a much less stalwart child-shyer, and more withdrawn; in  Lucy's company she seemed to blossom, but whenever Lucy moved out of  sight she withdrew into herself again, staring wide-eyed at Claire while  she moved about the kitchen.

Lucy, you've got a spare toothbrush,' she instructed her daughter  briskly when they had finished their meal. Take Heather upstairs and  both of you wash your hands and clean your teeth.'

The cottage was only small, with a sitting-room and a dining-kitchen.  Upstairs they had two bedrooms and a tiny bathroom, but after the  grimness of the London flat it was sheer bliss to look out of the  windows and see the mellow lushness of the Cotswold countryside. They  fronted right on to the main road through the village, but even that was  a pleasure to look out on to. The cottages lining the village street  had been built during the eighteenth century, in mellow cream stone; all  of them had small front gardens, filled with cottage garden plants.

As yet the village hadn't been discovered by commuters, but Claire  suspected that that state of affairs wouldn't last long. Most of the  younger generation had moved away looking for work. All of her  neighbours were old-her great-aunt's generation; the village had no  industry, other than the land; there was one general store, the post  office and a pub. There was talk of the authorities closing the school,  but since it took children from two neighbouring villages also, and was  well attended, Claire was hoping that this wouldn't happen. If it did,  no doubt Heather's father would be able to send her to a private  boarding school, but she  …  She was frowning over this when she heard  someone knocking on the front door.

She opened it and looked at the man standing on her front doorstep. He  was very tall, so tall that she had to tilt her head back to look at  him. The immaculate tailoring of his pale grey suit made her lift  nervous fingers to her tangled chestnut hair. She hadn't so much as  brushed it since coming in with the girls. His own hair was black, and  very thick. His eyes were grey and totally expressionless. They were  studying her assessingly, and she felt herself blushing hotly as she  realised how closely her old tee-shirt and jeans clung to her body.

It had been such a long time since a man looked at her like that she had  lost all awareness of her own sexuality. Now, recognising the way his  hard glance rested on her breasts, she felt her whole body tense with  immediate rejection. He felt her tension too, she could see it in the  way his eyes narrowed thoughtfully on hers.

I believe you have my daughter here.'

His voice was cool, as though warning her off, but warning her off what?  For a moment she was so bemused that she couldn't think.

Your daughter  … '

Yes.' He sounded impatient now, his eyes sharp and cold, as though he  had judged her and found her guilty of some unknown crime. Mrs Roberts,  my housekeeper, informed me that you  … '

Oh yes, yes  …  of course. You're Heather's father.' Why on earth was he making her feel so flustered?

Jay Fraser,' he agreed smoothly, watching her. And you are  … '

Claire Richards.'

Mummy, we've cleaned our teeth and  … '

Lucy galloped down the stairs, coming to an abrupt halt at Claire's  side, and staring at the man standing in the doorway. Now it was her  daughter's turn to be tongue-tied and wide-eyed, Claire saw, while  Heather, who had been behind her, raced up to her father, her face  alight with pleasure.

Daddy, this is Lucy, my best friend,' Heather explained to her father  importantly, dragging Lucy forwards for his inspection. We had boiled  eggs for tea and soldiers, and Lucy's mummy made scones  … ' The babble of  chatter suddenly dried up and Claire saw Heather's eyes suddenly go  wide and tearful as she added huskily, Mrs Roberts told Lucy's mummy  that you don't love me, but that's not true, is it?'

It most indisputably was not, Claire recognised, watching the mixture of  rage and anguish that darkened the grey eyes as Jay Fraser bent down to  pick up his daughter.

Over Heather's head, Claire said impulsively, I know it's none of my  business, but why don't you get someone else to look after her? She  needs-' She broke off when she saw the expression on his face.    

 



 

The grey eyes had frozen. He stepped inside the small hall and put Heather down.

Why don't you and  …  and Lucy, go outside and play for a little while while I talk to Lucy's mummy.'

Obediently both little girls did as he instructed leaving Claire with no  alternative but to invite him into her small sitting-room.

Once inside the room, he dwarfed it. He must be well over six feet,  Claire thought absently, watching as he took the chair she indicated,  sinking down into it in a way that suggested an exhaustion his face did  not betray. How old was he? Somewhere in his early thirties, probably.  What did he do for a living? He certainly wasn't her idea of a  businessman. He looked too fit, too physically hard for that  …

I'm sorry you've been landed with Heather,' he said distantly at last,  reaching inside his jacket and extracting his wallet. If you will  … '

He was intending to give her money? Claire could hardly believe it.  Instantly she was furiously outraged. Why, the man was positively  feudal!

It was no trouble,' she told him tightly. Lucy wanted to invite  Heather back for tea. I thought it best to check with your housekeeper  before I agreed.'

He put his wallet away, but his hard expression didn't relax. You're a  single parent, I believe,' he said tautly, the sharp question making her  frown.

Yes, but  … '

Let's get one thing straight then, Mrs Richards. I don't care what Mrs  Roberts may have told you; I'm not in the market either for a mother for  Heather, or a second wife for myself.'

It took her several shattered seconds to assimilate the meaning of what  he was telling her, but once she had, Claire felt her face flame with  furious resentment. What on earth was he trying to imply? Surely he  didn't think that she had invited Heather to come and have tea with Lucy  as a  …  As a what? As a step towards getting to know him better, and  through that  …