The Lost Wife

by Maggie Cox

  ‘I’ll make the coffee, shall I?’

  ‘Could you?’ She threw him an absent-minded smile that all but cut him off at the knees. Even though he’d just spent a freezing couple of hours outside, putting up the lights, his body still ached with the kind of heat that could spark a forest fire—to hold her close and make love to her again one last time …

  ‘Jake? Are you okay?’

  ‘Loaded question.’ Grimacing, he moved towards the other end of the counter to switch on the kettle. ‘Where do you keep the coffee?’

  ‘I bought a new Colombian blend. Do you want to give it a try? It’s in the white porcelain jar … the one from Denmark that your mother gave me our first Christmas together.’

  Wincing at the bittersweet memory of his mother’s gift, Jake lifted the lid on the aforementioned jar and appreciatively sniffed the coffee grounds contained inside. ‘Smells good. Are you going to join me in a cup, or would you prefer your usual tea?’

  ‘I’ll have a cup of coffee with you. You can make it in the large cafetière, if you like.’

  ‘Breaking routine, I see?’

  As she paused in her careful spreading of butter on the bread, Ailsa’s glance was prickly. ‘I do occasionally enjoy a cup of coffee, you know. I don’t always have tea. You make me sound very boring and predictable.’

  Amused by her tetchy defence of her choice, Jake stretched his lips into a grin. ‘I wasn’t suggesting you were boring or predictable. That’s not something I would ever accuse you of. In fact, your unpredictability definitely kept me on my toes during our marriage.’

  ‘That sounds very much like I was unreliable. Anyway, how did it keep you on your toes?’ Her amber gaze was both quizzical and slightly irritated.

  ‘I didn’t mean to suggest you were unreliable. I just meant that sometimes you said you were going to do one thing and then at the last minute you preferred to do something else. Do we have to go over the details?’ Carefully he measured out two generous scoops of coffee into the cafetière. ‘Isn’t it enough that I was charmed by your maverick nature? I wasn’t complaining about it.’

  ‘That’s all right, then.’ With a sniff, she turned back to making their sandwiches.

  He didn’t know why, but on some level Jake was encouraged that Ailsa still minded what he thought of her. He might be grasping at straws, but right then he didn’t care.

  ‘Did you warm the pot before you put the grounds in?’ Waving a vague hand, she cut the sandwiches into triangles, then arranged them on two daintily scalloped white plates and carried them across to the table.

  Staring at the grounds he’d already scooped into the cafetière, Jake ruefully dropped his hands to his hips. ‘No, I didn’t.’

  ‘Never mind. I don’t always remember to do it either.’ She flashed him a genuinely warm smile, and suddenly the winter inside him was supplanted by tantalising summer.

  ‘Thank the Lord for that. I thought you were about to throw me out into the snow in disgust!’ he returned jokingly.

  ‘I would never do—Come and eat your sandwiches.’ Colouring a little, and looking discomfited, she sat down at the table.

  ‘I’ll make the coffee first.’

  When he finally sat down opposite Ailsa, Jake rested his elbows on the table and linked his hands, making no move to touch either the food or the coffee—not when he’d much rather contemplate the exquisite features in front of him that made his heart jump every time he gazed at them.

  ‘You’re miles away. What are you thinking about?’

  She’d always used to ask him that, he remembered, and usually he’d have been thinking about her … How lovely she was, how lucky he was to have found her and married her, and how much he adored her. It was a shame he hadn’t spoken those thoughts out loud, he thought now. Especially when he’d since learned that she hadn’t felt good enough.

  ‘I was thinking how much Saskia resembles you,’ he said instead. It wasn’t a lie. Sometimes his daughter’s smile stole his breath because it reminded him of Ailsa so much …

  ‘She has your amazing eyes,’ she replied softly, following the comment up with a self-conscious shrug.

  The warmth in Jake’s belly increased tenfold. ‘Blue eyes are ten a penny where I come from.’

  ‘But there are many shades of blue … yours is particularly unusual. The colour is like the blue you get at dusk.’

  Silence fell between them as their glances met and clung—magnetised by a longing that had somehow miraculously escaped untarnished from the ashes of the past. He hardly dared inhale a breath in case he somehow caused it to vanish.

  ‘Shall I pour the coffee?’

  Already lifting the cafetière, Ailsa deposited some into the two slim scarlet mugs Jake had brought to the table. He noticed that her hand shook slightly as it curled round the handle.

  ‘I’m afraid I need some milk and sugar. I can’t drink it without.’ She rose up quickly from her chair, leaving the hauntingly rich and melancholy trail of her own particular fragrance behind.

  His stomach clenched so tight that Jake covered the clutch of iron hard muscles with his hand in a bid to ease the ache.

  ‘Has Saskia told you what she’d like from Father Christmas this year? I suppose we ought to compare notes in case we double up.’ Returning to the table, she stirred milk and sugar into her coffee, then took a tentative sip. ‘Mmm, that’s good.’ She smiled.

  With a guilty pang, Jake remembered the envelope he’d thrown into his overnight bag. His daughter had given it to him just before he’d left. ‘I’ve got a few things I thought she might like, but before I left she scribbled down some of her own recommendations in a letter addressed to both of us. We could look at it together later on, if you like?’

  ‘Good idea … although she never asks for much.’ Ailsa’s amber eyes seemed faintly troubled for a moment. ‘I know children are resilient … God knows they have to be sometimes, with the things they have to endure … bereavement, illness, divorce … But I worry that Saskia doesn’t always tell me if something is bothering her. Do you ever get that impression?’

  Because her observation echoed his own feelings about his daughter sometimes, Jake breathed out a long, considered breath before replying. ‘I do. In fact, that was why I thought it was a good idea for her to spend some extra time with my mother. I think it’s more likely that if she’s troubled about anything she might find it easier confiding in her grandmother than telling us.’

  ‘Sometimes it’s so hard raising a child. I mean it’s wonderful too, but when you’re in bed at night you lie awake wondering if you’ve got it all wrong … You worry that you might have missed something vital that will significantly impinge on their lives later on. Do you know what I mean?’

  It wasn’t the easiest question in the world for him to answer, even though they had joint custody, because the lion’s share of Saskia’s care fell upon Ailsa. With every fibre of his being Jake wished it could be different. If only they had been able to ride out the terrible storm that came in the aftermath of the accident … if only they had—He cut the thought off short, impatient and angry with himself for even going there, because it was a soul-stealing exercise.

  ‘I do … But at the end of the day it seems to me that all any parent can do is the best they can. If they love their child unconditionally, whatever happens, then it will work out.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right.’ Handing him his plate, Ailsa managed the briefest of uncertain smiles. ‘Have your sandwich,’ she urged. ‘It’s only ham and mustard—nothing terribly exciting. You must be famished.’

  ‘You should eat yours too. You barely ate anything this morning.’

  ‘Are you trying to fatten me up?’ she joked.

  He levelled a serious gaze at her. ‘I wouldn’t care what size you were as long as you were well and happy,’ he said, low-voiced.

  Responding with a sigh, Ailsa awkwardly dragged her glance away. ‘I am well and I’m not unhappy … It’s just that—Never min
d.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s nothing … really.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I wish we had talked more when we were together, that’s all. You were always so driven to make the family business even more successful that often it felt as if there wasn’t room for much else in your life. Anyway … I don’t want us to argue again, so I’ll leave the subject alone for now. Let’s just eat our food and drink our coffee, hmm?’ Glancing out of the window, she gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘All we have to do is just sit here in the warmth and look out at that winter wonderland, knowing we don’t have to go anywhere or do anything very much.’

  Uneasy at her disturbing admission of what she’d been musing on, Jake reluctantly agreed. ‘Okay … if that’s what you want.’

  ‘You never were very good at relaxing.’

  He lifted an eyebrow. ‘Oh? And you were?’

  ‘At least I could sit and knit—do something productive and relax at the same time.’

  ‘I suppose you’re going to suggest I take up knitting now?’

  About to sip her coffee, Ailsa quickly put the mug down again, her hand against her chest as she fought to control the laughter that bubbled up inside her. She failed. ‘That would have to be the funniest sight in the world,’ she giggled.

  ‘I’m glad you think so.’ His lips twitching with the urge to give way to laughter himself, Jake just about managed to keep his expression on the stern side—but it wasn’t easy.

  As he stared back into the sparkling golden eyes across the table the sight of this pretty woman’s enjoyment was more effective at demolishing his defences than anything else he could think of. It reminded him how often in the past a dark mood had been rescued by her humour. It was another precious facet of her that he missed … These days—except for when he was with his daughter—the dark moods were sadly more and more prevalent.

  ‘Don’t be so serious,’ she scolded him cheerfully. ‘Apparently men who take up knitting are on the increase.’

  ‘Now you’re going too far.’ This time Jake couldn’t hold back a grin. ‘Besides … I don’t have elegant, nimble fingers like you. My hands are too big to wield knitting needles!’

  ‘Let me see.’

  Before he could stop her, Ailsa reached for both his palms and turned them over to examine them. The sharp intake of breath she exhaled made his heart turn over. She was staring at the vivid patchwork of scars that decorated his skin—some deep and jagged, others pale and thin.

  ‘I’d forgotten about these,’ she murmured softly.

  He wanted to drag his hands back, keep them out of sight so as not to remind her of what had happened to them both, so as not to remind himself that he had failed in not keeping her and their baby safe. But Ailsa wouldn’t let him drag them away. Instead she was lightly smoothing her fingers over the scars, and the touch of her infinitely soft skin was just too soothing and mesmerising for him to want to be free of it just then.

  ‘I’ve always loved your hands, you know?’ She looked straight into his eyes. ‘It doesn’t matter that they’re scarred. They don’t diminish you in any way, Jake. You got these scars because you were protecting me … they’re heroic.’

  His heart thumped hard. For a long moment a sensation of white noise prevented him from thinking straight. When he finally could, he snatched his hands away rubbing them almost with distaste. ‘Heroic is the last thing they are,’ he muttered angrily. ‘Because at the end of the day I didn’t protect you, did I?’

  Ailsa’s expression was stricken. ‘It all happened so fast … It was like some horrific dream … a nightmare. What more could you have done? You did everything you could to protect me and the baby. You risked your life for us and got badly hurt in the process.’

  Reaching for a sandwich, Jake took a bite—but it might as well have been cardboard, because his tastebuds were so deadened by anguish and regret that he couldn’t even taste it.

  Returning it to the plate, he shoved his chair away from the table and got up. At the door, he threw up his hands in a gesture of apology. ‘I can’t do this. I can’t keep revisiting what happened. I only end up feeling like the whole of my life’s been a waste of time.’

  ‘That’s dreadful. How could you even think such a terrible thing for even a moment? What about your daughter? How do you think she’d feel to hear you speak like that? As if you’d given up on everything? To maybe think she could never even have a chance of making you happy?’

  Knowing that he’d hate for Saskia to hear him sounding so low, or to believe that her existence didn’t mean the world to him, Jake forced himself to rally as he regarded the increasingly troubled look in Ailsa’s eyes. ‘Some hero, huh?’ He grimaced. Then, turning away, he made his way back upstairs to his room …

  CHAPTER SIX

  Some hero, huh? Jake’s self-deprecating comment hung in the air long after he’d left the room, making Ailsa feel like weeping.

  He was a hero … he was! Fresh panic gripped her that she had been too hard on him at the time of the accident and during the long recuperation period they’d both endured afterwards. All her grief and anger at the loss of their baby and the realisation that she would never again bear children had been targeted at Jake. No wonder he’d wanted a divorce!

  Her heart thumped hard. But then the difficult memory returned of how even before the accident their marriage had been in trouble. It had been just as she had described it to Jake earlier. They hadn’t talked nearly enough because he was always working so hard. They’d never discussed what was most important to each other—never found out who they really were, what had shaped them into the people they were. They had simply left it to chance that somehow any difficulties would work themselves out and things would be good again.

  The only place that Jake had truly revealed his feelings had been in bed. As wonderful as that had been, it hadn’t been enough to help their relationship endure. They’d needed to build a foundation of honesty, respect and truth that would carry them through the hard times. They hadn’t. One look into the desolate valley of his glance was enough for Ailsa to realise that he had suffered greatly—perhaps beyond endurance. She had no doubt that his father’s death had added to that suffering.

  She lightly thumped her breastbone to help release the distress that threatened to gather force. If she did nothing else, she decided, Jake would walk away from here knowing that she wasn’t going to add to his suffering any more—if Ailsa could just convince him that in future she only wanted the best for him, that she forgave him for the way things had worked out between them and genuinely regretted everything she’d ever said or done that had wounded him, then maybe … maybe this time they could at least part as friends?

  Restless now, she wrapped the uneaten sandwiches and stored them away in the refrigerator. Tonight she was determined to cook them a delicious meal that they would both eat and enjoy. Maybe she could suggest it was a peace offering—a new start for them both as friends? But even as Ailsa turned the idea over in her head her stomach roiled in protest. She didn’t just want to be Jake’s friend … She wanted … She wanted …

  With a heartfelt sigh she remembered the delicious warmth of his seductive lips, how his hard body fitted hers so perfectly—as if they’d been created just for each other and nobody else. Then, like a blow she hadn’t been quick enough to duck, the memory of their baby growing inside her—of Jake pressing his lips to her belly each night before they slept—cruelly returned and devastated her all over again.

  Choking back a sob, she found her anguished gaze captured by the fresh shower of delicately drifting snow outside the window. Hugging her arms over her chest, she let her thoughts immediately turn to her living child … darling Saskia. Her racing heartbeat steadied. In a few more days she would be home again. And, however her daughter was spending the time with her grandmother, she hoped she was enjoying herself.

  Adding a quick heartfelt prayer that she and Jake could somehow find a way of making the
remaining time they had together before he left for Copenhagen less traumatic and much less wounding for them both, she reached for her favourite recipe book on the shelf above the fridge, already decided on the appetising dish she would make for dinner …

  Opening his eyes to the darkened room, Jake realised he must have fallen asleep again. One minute he’d been lying on the bed, staring up at the beamed ceiling with his stomach churning and his thoughts racing, then the next … bam! He’d been out like a light. The emotional exhaustion that had regularly visited him since the accident had caught up with him again with a vengeance. It had laid him out with a punch worthy of a prize-fighter.

  Sitting up, he scraped his fingers through his hair, then rubbed his chest because his heart ached. The dark and heavy sense of loss that sometimes imprisoned him when he awoke returned. ‘Dear God …’ The harsh-voiced utterance sounded desolate even to his own ears. Accompanying his return to consciousness was another disturbing element. He might have been comatose but his heavy sleep hadn’t been dreamless … not by a long chalk. His mind had been full of arresting images of Ailsa … of her incandescent amber gaze, her lustrous long hair, her ‘pocket Venus’ figure and flawless velvet skin. The most disturbing thing of all was that the images had been so erotically charged.

  Right then Jake knew that if the roads weren’t cleared soon then he was going to be in trouble. Lusting after his beautiful ex-wife had not been one of the problems he’d envisaged when he’d decided to make this trip. Why had she said those things to him, as if she still held some residue of feeling for him? ‘I’ve always loved your hands …’ she’d admitted, then gently touched his scars as though she was far from repelled by them … as if they signified something almost precious …