by Kate Hardy
She looked wary. ‘Maybe.’
Was she wary because she was single and thought he might be hitting on her, or because there was someone else in her life? But asking her directly felt too awkward. He needed to regroup. ‘Cake,’ he said, clearing away the remains of their picnic, ‘and then I’d better get out of your hair. Though maybe I could drop in and be nosy again tomorrow?’
‘I’d like that,’ she said.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE NEXT DAY, Harry called in to the estate office to see his brother. ‘I’m babysitting tonight for Nell and Tris,’ he said, ‘so how about tomorrow night I babysit for you and Sal and send you out to dinner? My treat. It means I get time to play with Henry and Celia, and I’ll cook pizza for the three of us so you don’t have to worry about feeding them before you go out.’
‘That would be great,’ Dominic said. ‘How do I talk you into coming to stay more often?’
‘I’ll make more of an effort,’ Harry said, meaning it. ‘I’m just glad that you and Ellen both have your own houses rather than living in a wing at the abbey, so I don’t have to stay there.’
‘Actually, the parents have been a lot better since the dig started,’ Dominic said.
‘You mean they have to play nice in public,’ Harry said with a wry smile, knowing that his parents were good at putting on a united front outside the family. ‘So is it a huge disruption, having the dig here?’
‘No. The archaeologists are a nice lot,’ Dominic said. ‘They work all hours, though.’
‘They probably have to make the most of the good weather,’ Harry suggested, remembering what Holly had said the previous day.
‘They put up a tarpaulin when it rains,’ Dominic said. ‘Holly’s lovely, but she’s as much of a workaholic as you are.’
Something else they had in common. And then he had a brilliant idea: the perfect way to get to know her but make her feel safe with him. ‘Dom, can I ask someone to have supper with me and the kids tomorrow?’ he asked.
Dominic looked surprised. ‘Sure. Do we get to meet her?’
‘It’s not that sort of supper.’ Which was only half the truth. ‘I want to know more about the dig, but it isn’t fair to stop the team working so they can talk to me. I was thinking about asking Dr Weston to have supper with us and tell me all about the dig at the same time.’
‘Good idea,’ Dominic said.
‘Thanks. I’ll go and have a quick word with her now.’ He smiled.
‘And you’ll show your face in the house?’ Dominic asked pointedly.
‘So Pa can tell me yet again that I’m a wastrel and I don’t contribute to the estate in the slightest?’ Harry rolled his eyes. ‘Which means I’ll end up playing angry music all afternoon to get it out of my system.’
‘The one that sounds like a wasp?’
‘Bumblebee,’ Harry corrected with a grin, knowing that his brother meant the Rimsky-Korsakov piece. The one Rochelle had played a lot on the flute as her audition piece, though weirdly playing it on the cello didn’t bring back memories of his ex-wife. The speed of the piece always helped him to work out a bad mood. ‘Yeah, that would do it. Fast and cross. A minute and a half. And then some Radiohead.’
Dominic grinned back. ‘You mean the stuff the rest of the quartet won’t let you play in public but I really like?’
‘Yup. Stella says I’m just showing off, playing the cello like a guitar, but I love the music.’
‘I’m almost tempted to skive off today, just to listen. I don’t get to hear you play anywhere near as often as I’d like,’ Dominic said.
Harry clapped his shoulder. ‘All right. I promise I’ll see the parents before I go. And I’ll bring my cello with me tomorrow night and play whatever you want before you and Sal go out. Catch you later.’
He went out across the lawn to the dig site. Holly was working in a trench; as he drew nearer, he realised that she was humming along to something on the radio. Better still, it was a piece he knew—and it gave him the perfect opening to try jogging her memory. ‘West Side Story fan?’ he asked.
She looked up and smiled. ‘Absolutely. Apart from George Chakiris being impossibly gorgeous, how can anyone resist a song as lovely as “Somewhere”?’
‘It’s beautiful,’ he said. ‘So you’re a fan of musicals?’
‘Absolutely. I go to shows with my best friend as often as I can,’ she said with a smile.
Just what he’d hoped she’d say. ‘How about Chitty Chitty Bang Bang?’
* * *
Something flickered in the back of Holly’s head. Not quite a memory or a feeling, but something. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it. Maybe it was something she’d heard on the radio recently without really being aware of it. ‘I think everyone knows the title song,’ she said, and hummed it.
‘“Hushabye Mountain” is my favourite piece from the film,’ Harry said. ‘Arranged for the cello.’
She frowned. ‘I don’t remember that one.’
‘Maybe I can play it for you sometime,’ he said.
Was he flirting with her? Her breath caught. She was starting to like the man she was getting to know. More than like: he really drew her. In other circumstances, she would’ve been really tempted to flirt back. But she had the baby to think about; besides, she’d already made the mistake of punching above her weight before with Simon. Harry was even more good looking than her ex. What on earth would he see in someone as ordinary as her? If she hadn’t been good enough for Simon, she certainly wouldn’t be good enough for Harry Moran.
Maybe she should tell him that her partner was coming down to see her tomorrow, to make him back off to a safe distance. Then again, if one of her team overheard, they’d be daft enough to start grilling her about her fake boyfriend, and then that would expose the lie to Harry, making her feel even more stupid.
Before she could make up an excuse, he said, ‘Actually, I’m babysitting Henry and Celia for Dom and Sal tomorrow evening, and I promised to play something for Dom before they go out so I’ll have my cello with me. If you’re not busy tomorrow night and you’d like to join the kids and me for pizza, I’ll play something for you after they’ve gone to bed, and in return perhaps you’ll let me grill you a bit more about the dig.’
* * *
Holly was silent for so long that he thought she was going to refuse.
And then she smiled. It lit up her whole face, to the point where he felt his pulse start to leap. Oh, help. This was dangerous. She wasn’t like Rochelle; he knew that. But he’d lost faith in his own judgement where relationships were concerned. Maybe he was being an idiot, seeking Holly out like this. Or maybe this was his chance to see if she could help fill the gap in his life that he’d been ignoring but which was becoming more and more obvious. ‘All right. I’d like that. I’ll bring pudding. What do you suggest?’
‘Strawberries,’ he said promptly. ‘Because there’s nothing better.’ Would she remember that he’d given her strawberries for breakfast?
Apparently not, because there wasn’t the slightest flicker of recognition in her face. ‘Strawberries are fine by me,’ she said.
‘Great. The kids eat early, so shall we say half-past five tomorrow?’ he asked.
‘That’d be great.’ Funny how the light in her eyes made the world feel suddenly bright.
‘Good. I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said.
* * *
Harry thoroughly enjoyed babysitting George and Alice that evening. He read them stories, he listened to them play what they’d been learning at their piano lessons, he played bits for them on the cello, and he taught them to do a round, playing ‘Three Blind Mice’ with them on the piano and himself on the cello. All the kind of things he’d once thought to do with his own child, but which he could still enjoy them with his nieces and nephews.
When they were finally asleep, Harry curled
up in a chair and listened to music, a mug of peppermint tea by his side. Funny how his sister’s house felt so much more of a home than his London flat did. There were photographs everywhere, well-loved books on the shelves, and a huge toy chest.
Despite their own upbringing, his sister was a brilliant mother, always having time for her children. His brother was the same. Harry had hoped to be like them when he’d come to terms with Rochelle’s shock news about her pregnancy. Of course he’d done the right thing and married her. Except it had been the wrong thing.
How much of the break-up had been his fault?
It wasn’t anyone’s fault that she’d lost the baby. But he hadn’t been there enough for her. He’d focused on his career, even though he’d known that cellists had a lot more openings than flautists. He should’ve made more compromises, let someone else take over from him in the quartet, and maybe taught instead of touring. Especially after the miscarriage, when he should have been there. You could replace a colleague a lot more easily than you could replace a partner.
But then, after that last fight, when Rochelle had told him that she’d got pregnant on purpose, and when he’d thought about her trying to persuade him to do less with his music and more with his family... Then he’d realised that she’d never really seen him for himself or loved him for himself. She’d wanted to be part of the aristocratic circles his family moved in, and when her career had stalled she’d been resentful that his was taking off. She’d wanted him to give up his music and work with his brother on the family estate.
Which wasn’t what Harry had wanted at all. She’d given him an ultimatum: his music or her. And Harry, completely disillusioned, had walked away.
Since his divorce, Harry had thrown himself into his music—the real love of his life—and he’d been lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time and able to take those opportunities.
Yet sometimes when he woke in the middle of the night, he felt that there was something missing. He could see how much happiness his siblings had found with their partners and children. Given Rochelle’s revelation, the chances were that even if they hadn’t lost the baby their marriage wouldn’t have lasted. But still he wondered. Would he ever find someone who he could make happy and would make him happy, too?
Given that he hadn’t been able to make a marriage work with someone who’d known him since he was eighteen—even though he realised with hindsight she hadn’t really loved him—it seemed crazy to think that he could base any kind of future on something that had been literally a one-night stand. If Holly hadn’t been in that accident, and they’d met up as planned, they might have had a chance to see where their relationship could go; and that might well have been a dead-end. A musician’s life could be too peripatetic for a relationship to work.
On the other hand, he hadn’t been able to get Holly out of his head, and he’d never felt like that about anyone else he’d ever met. Not even his ex-wife.
And then there was Holly’s amnesia.
She only knew part of the truth. How would she react when he told her that he was part of the memories she’d lost? Would she back away? Would she be prepared to take a risk with him, especially as he didn’t have a great track record with relationships? Would she think he was being creepy, or would she understand why he had held back from telling her the truth before now?
The thoughts went round and round in his head, and he just couldn’t find a solution.
* * *
Harry couldn’t settle to much on Thursday. And then finally it was time for him to go to Dominic and Sally’s to babysit his niece and nephew. He’d bought pizza and salad earlier, as well as flowers for his sister-in-law.
‘You really didn’t need to, but thanks—they’re gorgeous,’ Sally said, kissing his cheek. ‘Now, you know our number if—’
‘—anything goes wrong. Which it won’t,’ he said firmly. ‘Henry, Celia and I have plans. Which involves scoffing lots of pizza, playing lots of games, and a bit of music.’
‘So Dom and I miss out on the music? That’s so unfair.’
Harry smiled. ‘That’s why I came early. I promised Dom. I’ll play something before you go. Your choice.’
‘The bumblebee!’ Henry shouted gleefully.
‘You can choose something later,’ Harry told his nephew. ‘This one is all for your mum.’
‘You know what I’m going to ask for,’ Sally said.
Of course he did: the song he’d played in the church as she’d walked down the aisle to his brother. ‘It’s better as a duet so I have the lovely piano intro,’ he pointed out.
‘I don’t care. I’ll just pretend I can hear the piano,’ she said with a grin.
He took his cello from its case, checked the tuning, and launched into Bryan Adams’s ‘Everything I Do (I Do it for You)’.
Dominic came downstairs and wrapped his arms around his wife. ‘This brings back memories. The best day of my life.’
‘My joint favourite gig,’ Harry said. ‘Playing at your wedding and Nell and Tris’s—it doesn’t get any better than that.’
‘You’ve played at the Royal Albert Hall. Surely that has to be the best?’ Sally asked.
‘No. Family all the way,’ Harry said. He was beginning to realise how important family was to him, his parents excepted. ‘Now go and have fun. Your children and I have plans.’
‘Play some more, Uncle Harry. Please,’ Celia begged.
‘I will. After supper,’ he said. ‘But first we have games...’
They were halfway through a very rowdy board game when Holly arrived.
‘Can I get you a cup of tea or something cold?’ Harry asked.
‘I’m fine,’ she said, and her smile was so sweet that his heart actually skipped a beat. ‘I brought strawberries and some ice cream. I hope that’s OK?’
‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
‘Holly! Come and play with us,’ Henry said, taking Holly’s hand.
Once the game was finished, Harry said, ‘I’m going to put the pizza on. Supper’s in ten minutes. Celia, Henry, can you put the game away, wash your hands and lay the table for me, please?’
‘Yes, Uncle Harry,’ they chorused.
* * *
Harry Moran was completely different from the man she’d thought he was when they’d first met, Holly thought. Tonight he was smiling and relaxed, very much a hands-on uncle. And he was really good with the children.
It felt like being part of the family, with the children chattering and Harry encouraging them. For a second, Holly could almost imagine that this was how her future would be—a future she’d thought to have with Simon when she’d looked after her nephew and niece as a trial run for parenthood...
She pushed the thought away. Nothing could happen between her and Harry. She was pregnant with another man’s baby; she didn’t even know who the father was and she had no way of finding out. What man would want to take on that kind of complication?
Besides, he’d asked her here so she could tell him more about the dig.
He’d made it very clear that she was safe with him. This wasn’t a date.
Though it was hard not to feel as if it was. His smile had made her heart feel as if it had done an anatomically impossible backflip.
Everything was fine until they sat down to eat. But Harry had made garlic bread, and the scent set off her nausea. She tried really hard to breathe shallowly so she couldn’t smell the garlic, but it didn’t work.
‘I’m so sorry. Can you excuse me for a second, please?’ she asked, and fled to the back door for fresh air.
Harry appeared beside her a few moments later. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, looking concerned.
There was nothing for it. She was going to have to admit it. ‘Just a touch of morning sickness. I thought I’d got away with it, but mine decided to start at ten weeks.’ And she was sure it
was psychosomatic: it had started on the very day she’d done the pregnancy test. ‘I thought morning sickness was meant to stop at twelve weeks, but mine hasn’t. It’s just certain smells.’ She grimaced. ‘Normally I love garlic bread, but right now it doesn’t love me.’
‘Let me get you some water,’ Harry said.
‘But the children—’
‘—are fine,’ he said. ‘Hopefully they’ll have scoffed the garlic bread by the time you feel ready to go back in, but if they haven’t I’ll get rid of it.’
His kindness made her want to cry. It also made her feel sad, because now he knew about the baby the flirting would stop; anything else would be too complicated.
* * *
Holly was pregnant?
Harry’s mind was in a whirl as he filled a glass with water. He’d thought he’d felt shocked enough by seeing her again, but finding out that she was pregnant... That was a huge thing. Really huge. So huge he couldn’t think straight.
Just how pregnant was she? Her top was loose enough to hide any sign of a bump.
He counted backwards in his head. It was three months since they’d spent the night together, and Holly had just said she was still having morning sickness after twelve weeks.
So was the baby his?
The ground felt as if it had shifted under his feet—just as it had six years ago.
‘Harry, I’m pregnant.’ Rochelle’s face, full of worry and panic.
The announcement had happened at the worst possible time for him, when the quartet had just been starting to take off and they’d had a massive tour booked. He couldn’t possibly let his colleagues—his best friends—down by calling it all off.
Wanting to reassure Rochelle that he loved her and he’d do the right thing by her, he’d married her a month later. But he’d still gone on the tour, promising her that they’d have their honeymoon later. Looking back, he knew it really hadn’t been the right way to start a marriage, but he’d been young and a bit clueless and so torn. If he’d let the quartet down, he would never have been able to forgive himself as they’d all worked so hard and they deserved their success.
