Christmas Child

by Diana Hamilton

  And thinking of telephones, why hadn’t he called her? He must have guessed that after hurtling out last night she would have gone to her father’s apartment. He hadn’t bothered to phone and check.

  Even if he’d taken her statement that she’d sleep in one of the spare rooms at face value, and hadn’t bothered to even look in on her, to attempt to talk things over, by this time he would have realised she wasn’t in the house this morning.

  It had been gone ten before her father and stepmother had finally started out, and at least another half an hour had passed while she’d stripped the bed she’d used, tidied up, getting herself calm enough to face him, to say goodbye properly to the only man she had ever loved, to apologise unreservedly for the bad things she’d said about him.

  But that was what she’d come here to put right, wasn’t it? she told herself when she finally stood before his elegant front door.

  She hadn’t kept her door key. Steeling herself, trying to subdue her jangling, dancing nerve-ends, she pressed the polished brass bell, hoping Mrs Briggs was somewhere deep inside the house and James would answer it himself.

  Turning her back on the solid door, she wiped her damp palms down the sides of her jeans and tried to relax her tense shoulder muscles.

  Dammit, even her teeth were chattering! And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop the totally irrational hope that, somehow, a miracle would happen, and everything would be all right.

  The door was opened. Mattie heard it and tried to get the bones in her legs to remember that they weren’t made of jelly. She forced a smile to her lips and felt it wobble alarmingly as she turned, then fall away completely as she confronted Fiona.

  Who said, ‘What do you want?’

  Mattie couldn’t breathe, the pain around her heart was too intense.

  He’d moved Fiona in already!

  She blinked, her throat going dry. Hadn’t the foul woman said that he’d lose no time in installing her, having her in his life, in his bed, because they were still crazy about each other?

  And she was looking eye-poppingly sexy. A tiny scarlet skirt revealed the perfection of her endless legs and the skinny-rib cotton vest she was wearing did nothing to disguise the fact that her magnificent breasts were bra-less.

  Mattie tried to speak, to ask to see her husband, to make some attempt to push past the other woman, to go inside and find him, but couldn’t.

  ‘Look, don’t stand there like a dummy,’ Fiona said with hasty impatience. ‘Didn’t I tell you he’d get rid of you as soon as I said the word? He said you might come crawling back, and if you did I was to tell you his solicitor will contact yours. You’re not wanted around here. So just go, will you?’

  The door was closed decisively in her face.

  Slowly, Mattie turned and stumbled away, her body filled with pain. There was nothing for her here. Nothing left of her brief marriage, not even friendship. Certainly not caring. James didn’t care what became of her and their child.

  She would never have imagined that the man she’d known and loved for so many years could be so callous.

  She had never really known him at all.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Six months later

  MATTIE sat on the side of the hospital bed, a warm coat over the maternity dress she’d arrived in. Any time now her father and Emily would collect her from the private room they’d insisted she have.

  She couldn’t wait to take her baby daughter out of the hospital atmosphere and back to their cosy cottage; she couldn’t wait to show her her home.

  Her smile loving, she gently eased away the soft folds of the woollen shawl that made a small bundle in her arms and ate up the tiny pink face with her eyes.

  ‘You’re a Christmas child,’ she said softly. ‘So how do you like the name Noelle? Oh, I see, not a lot!’ Her smile broadened to an infatuated grin as the blue eyes batted open then screwed shut again, the rosebud mouth blowing a raspberry. ‘You think it’s far too obvious? And it isn’t Christmas Day until tomorrow. Ok, forget Noelle. How about Chloe? That’s pretty, don’t you think? And do you know something? When I was small I always felt sorry for kids who had birthdays and Christmases close together. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have two birthdays—a real one and an official one, like the Queen.’

  The baby slept. Mattie dropped a feather-light kiss on the tiny forehead. Forty-eight hours old and there was already a strong resemblance to her father.

  James. During the months since that fateful evening back in June she’d been successful in knocking any thoughts of him right out of her mind the very moment they’d intruded. It had been the only way.

  As soon as she’d got settled she’d told her father what had happened. She was pregnant. James didn’t want children. James still wanted Fiona. End of story. She’d made him promise that he wouldn’t, in any circumstances, let James know where she was—not that she thought he would ask—but it was best to make sure.

  Any necessary contact could be made through their solicitors, she had echoed the message he’d had Fiona pass on. And after that she’d refused to have his name mentioned during their regular phone calls and their occasional visits.

  But strangely enough, from the moment when she’d first held her daughter in her arms, thoughts of James had come thick and fast, unhindered by her strict mental censor. Mostly they’d been of pity. He would never know the sheer joy of holding a child of his in his arms, never know the purity of completely selfless love or this fiercely protective pride.

  And just sometimes there was a deep and aching sense of regret…

  Frowning softly, she glanced up at the round face of the wall clock, then relaxed. In her eagerness to get home she’d got dressed and ready far too early. Her father and Emily would be here within the next five minutes.

  ‘Ten o’clock in the morning, on the dot,’ Emily had promised as they’d left after visiting the evening before. ‘The nursery’s warmed and aired—that night storage heater you had installed works a treat—and there’ll be a fire in the sitting room, and Edward went shopping for the turkey and trimmings. So we can all have a lovely relaxed Christmas.’

  They’d been so good to her, Mattie thought, insisting on spending the last month of her pregnancy at the cottage, making sure she didn’t do too much, that she ate properly, that they were on hand to drive her to the hospital in Dorchester when she went into labour.

  She could have managed on her own, of course, but it was nice to feel cosseted and pampered for a change. And Christmas was a time for families. Her father, Emily and baby Chloe, what more could she want?

  James.

  His name came unbidden, unwanted. She clamped her suddenly trembling lips together. It was only to be expected, she excused her wayward thoughts swiftly. Chloe was his baby, too. And a mere forty-eight hours after giving birth it was only natural that she should be feeling vulnerable, her thoughts constantly flying to the man who had created the miracle of this new and precious life with her.

  She would soon get back on track. No problem. Once back in her rented cottage on the outskirts of the Dorset village she had fallen in love with over the last few months, she’d be fine. Absolutely one hundred per cent fine.

  Her soft mouth relaxed a little; already she was feeling far more positive. Giving herself a sensible talking to was all it took. But her heart took a negative nosedive when James walked into the room, closely followed by one of the pretty young nurses.

  For a moment she thought she was seeing things, that her mind was playing tricks on her. Her heart seemed to stop, then thundered on as if it were trying to shake her body to pieces.

  His thick dark hair and his black leather jacket were spangled with moisture and the austerity which had been softened during that brief time when she’d believed they’d been happy together was back with a vengeance.

  The slightly hooded eyes were grim as they fastened on her and the baby. Mattie shuddered. He looked as if he hated the sight of both of them!


  ‘Your husband was able to collect you and baby after all, Mrs Carter. Isn’t that great?’ the young nurse burbled.

  Mattie thought, Not great at all. Shocking, scary, completely bewildering fitted the bill far better.

  But she couldn’t say anything, not in front of an audience. She couldn’t tell him to go away, to leave her and the baby alone, remind him that he didn’t want either of them.

  And the nurse was dimpling under the force of that the-man-can’t-help-it seductive smile of his as he turned to her. ‘We’d better make it snappy. It’s snowing like it means it out there.’

  Mattie stumbled to her feet as the nurse was chattering happily about the prospect of a white Christmas. She felt as if she were floating, her legs turned to rubber, only able to stay upright because of the precious bundle she was holding.

  After passing Mattie’s small suitcase to James the nurse stopped commenting on the weather, smiled down into the sleeping baby’s face, something James had noticeably neglected to do, and asked brightly, ‘Have you decided on a name yet?’

  ‘Chloe,’ Mattie answered decisively, shooting a defiant look at James as she felt the strength flow back through her body. The baby was his, but that didn’t give him any right at all to interfere in any aspect of their lives, and she would tell him as much as soon as they got rid of their audience of one.

  Who was saying, ‘Now remember to get as much rest as you can for the next few weeks, Mrs Carter. And if you’re at all worried about little Chloe don’t hesitate to phone your midwife. She’ll be calling on you soon, in any case.’

  Her words buzzed into Mattie’s brain and straight out again and, thankfully, she and James were at last alone in the reception area. Mattie said firmly, ‘I don’t know what you’re doing here.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ The glance he gave her was without expression, his mouth tight.

  ‘No.’ She looked around for a seat but they all seemed to be occupied. ‘You’ve wasted your time. Dad and Emily are collecting us.’

  ‘They should be well on their way back to London by now,’ he replied tersely. ‘I’m here to take you home.’

  Mattie’s eyes glittered with stinging tears and her stomach tightened painfully. They’d abandoned her! Oh, how could they? And why on earth did he want to take her home? That Fiona wouldn’t want to be landed with her lover’s wife and newborn baby would be the understatement of the century!

  ‘I am not going back to London with you!’ she choked, feeling little Chloe begin to stir in her arms. Soon she would need feeding again, and changing, and she herself was on the verge of having hysterics. The thought of going to the room she’d just vacated and staying there indefinitely was very tempting.

  ‘I’ve no intention of dragging you back to London.’ He sounded weary. ‘We’re going to your cottage where, apparently, you are settled and happy. And the sooner you stop arguing, the sooner we’ll get there.’

  A hand beneath her elbow steered her towards the automatic doors. A frizzle of unwanted sensation ripped through her and she did her best to ignore it, telling herself that if he was wearied by the situation he only had himself to blame.

  She hadn’t asked him to come. She hadn’t wanted him to come. He’d chosen Fiona over her and no longer had any part in her life. Or her baby’s.

  Yet if things had been different—

  No, she would not let her thoughts travel that dangerous road!

  The cold air came as a shock after the warmth of the hospital. Chloe stirred again and made a tiny mewing sound, bringing Mattie’s protective instincts out, fierce and bristling. He didn’t care if his baby was freezing! Apart from that initial encompassing glare he hadn’t even bothered to look at his daughter, let alone ask to hold her!

  He was callous! Hateful!

  ‘Where’s your car?’ she snapped out as temper coloured her cheeks. ‘My daughter needs to be out of the cold.’

  ‘Calm down,’ he advised stonily. ‘The Jag’s right here.’

  It was, too. Half a dozen yards away. It had stopped snowing now but the sky looked full of it and the ground was white. The pressure of his fingers increased as he guided her to the passenger door, opened it and waited until she had wriggled in before closing it and tossing her suitcase in the boot.

  When he joined her she had taken the soft travelling rug she had never known him to carry in his car before and wrapped it around her baby, and as he turned the key in the ignition she commented frostily, ‘I suppose my father told you where I was, that my baby had been born.’

  Even though she hadn’t expected James to bother to ask, she’d made her father promise not to tell him where she was living now. That he had done, probably with the best of intentions, felt like a betrayal.

  ‘Your father kept his word,’ he said dryly. ‘Emily told me, most likely with Edward’s tacit approval. After all, you didn’t actually make her promise anything. I knew where you were living almost as soon as you knew yourself.’

  She flicked a look at the austere perfection of his profile, her voice thready as she stated, ‘You knew where I was. But you didn’t visit.’ That said it all about his total lack of feelings where she was concerned. ‘But you came when our baby was born.’ That didn’t make any kind of sense. A baby was the last thing he wanted.

  ‘I didn’t visit because when you didn’t reply to either of my letters asking if we could meet on neutral territory to sort things out, you made it plain you didn’t want any contact. I presume Edward did pass them on?’ He spared her a bitter glance. ‘I didn’t write directly to your address—you might have taken it into your head to move on, and I knew from Emily that you were happy where you were.’

  Mattie bit her tongue, staring straight ahead. Now wasn’t the time to tell him she’d burned those two letters unread. It had been very early days, quite soon after she’d settled in. She’d been trying so hard to forget him and his perfidious behaviour, she hadn’t been able to handle any type of reminder of him.

  Explaining that she’d thrown his letters on the fire would bring forth some scathing, bitter comment from him. She didn’t want her baby to pick up any more of these bad vibrations.

  They had left the town well behind and were heading into deep country, the lanes narrow and winding. Determined to relax, to stop tension transmitting itself from her to her tiny daughter, she tried to ignore him, imagine he was a complete stranger, a taxi driver maybe, and doggedly concentrated on thinking thoughts of the peaceful and happy variety.

  She and Chloe would soon be home. Just the two of them. The doors firmly closed against the elements, the fire burning in the hearth, warm and comfortable.

  It wouldn’t matter a toss if it was just the two of them; caring for her baby would keep her happy and occupied. And there was lots she could tell her, about the pale lemon and cream nursery that she’d papered and painted herself and decorated with a frieze of teddy bears, about the garden where, next summer, she could sit in her buggy and watch her mother weeding the vegetable patch, tend the hodgepodge of perennials that would transform what had been a jungle of weeds into a perfumed mass of colour, and—

  ‘We’re here,’ he said.

  Mattie blinked, aware she’d been lost in her daydreams and that reality was now staring her in the face. The Jaguar was drawn up behind her second-hand very ordinary Ford, parked on the clinker driveway at the side of the thatched cottage.

  She moistened her lips. This painful episode would soon be over. ‘If you’ll pass me my handbag.’ It was at her feet. She couldn’t reach it without running the risk of squashing her darling baby. ‘I’ll get my door-key. And thank you,’ she said as politely as she could, ‘for giving me a lift.’ And then more acidly, because she really couldn’t help it, ‘I won’t offer you a cup of tea. I’m sure you want to get back to Fiona as soon as possible.’

  He gave her an unreadable look from those black-fringed silver eyes. ‘I have the key your father gave me. I stayed here with them last night. I slept in you
r bed. But I’ll use the spare room tonight since they’re not here to need it. We have things to sort out, you and I. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you chicken out of any one of them.’

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MATTIE followed James into the cottage that she’d so painstakingly turned into a home for her and her child. The living room was small, heavily beamed, cosy; the fire Emily had promised and James must have banked up before he’d left to drive to the hospital was burning brightly in the deep stone hearth.

  She watched as he removed the fire-guard, stowing it at the side of the inglenook, just as she always did, remove his leather jacket and hang it on the hook on the door that opened onto the twisty wooden staircase.

  His presence, as ever, dominated the space and she knew she should feel resentful over the way he appeared to be taking over, regard him as an intruder.

  But she couldn’t, she thought miserably. His being here felt so right, as if the three of them were a real family. She couldn’t handle the feeling because it simply wasn’t true.

  And she, poor sucker that she was, wanted it to be.

  ‘There really isn’t any need for you to stay,’ she said croakily. The sooner he was back in London, the sooner she could get back to normal, halt the dangerous regression to the time when they’d been happy, or had seemed to her to be—the time when she’d felt a part of him, had been a part of his life.

  ‘You need looking after.’ His reply was terse. ‘Sit down, you look like death.’

  Did she? And was it any wonder? He had turned up when she’d least expected it, when she’d believed she was well on the way to getting over him. It was like sharing her home with an unexploded bomb.

  ‘You said there were things you wanted to sort out.’ She stood her ground. He wanted to talk about the divorce, presumably—she couldn’t think of any other reason for the way he’d sought her out. Though why he hadn’t gone through their solicitors, as he’d formerly advised, she was too dizzy-brained to fathom.