Divided Hearts

by Susan R. Hughes

“I do, but … we’re not all that close.” In fact Faye hadn’t spoken to her mother in several months, not because of any falling out between them, but for lack of anything to say to one another.

  “I had a thought that I’d like to discuss with you,” Simon said.

  “Yes?”

  “I want you to bring Hannah to my place for Easter. You could arrive Saturday and leave Monday morning. There’s plenty of room at my house. My mother will be staying with me for the weekend, and she’s dying to meet Hannah. So are my sister and niece.”

  Faye straightened her back, a nervous flutter invading her belly at the thought of Simon’s home and his relatives entering the equation. A development like this could make it harder to maintain her tight control on the situation. “I don’t know, Simon.”

  “Just think about it, all right?” he urged. “It’s just two nights. Holidays are a big deal in our family. I want Hannah to be a part of it.”

  “I feel a little as though I’m sneaking around behind Jenna’s back as it is,” Faye protested, realizing a moment later that it was an imprudent approach to use with a man still reeling from the same woman’s deception. “You know what I mean. Obviously I can’t get her permission.”

  “I realize I’m putting you in a difficult spot,” Simon conceded. “But you’ll be with Hannah the whole time. You can leave at any time if you feel uncomfortable. But you may actually find you both like it up there.”

  “I’m sure we would.” Faye suspected she’d like it a little too much. “But I’m not sure it’s a good idea, that’s all.”

  He nodded his understanding, to her relief choosing not to press her further. “Give it some thought.”

  “I will.”

  As Simon turned his attention back to Hannah, Faye watched him covertly, studying the shape of his profile. She thought she saw something of Hannah in the contours of his nose and lips. Until now, she’d seen only a resemblance to Jenna’s delicate features. But now that Hannah had her second parent, his qualities would surely begin to show themselves in her as she grew and developed.

  Though Faye understood that Simon and Hannah needed to know each other, her first instinct told her to refuse his request, at least until Jenna was able to approve such an arrangement. But then it occurred to her that the chance to observe Simon in his home, with his family, might give her a better picture of who he was.

  And it might just offer clues to the reason Jenna had chosen to keep him out of their daughter’s life.

  * * *

  Faye had never journeyed this far up the British Columbia coast before, and along the way she soaked in the pristine beauty of her surroundings, her drive from Vancouver to Halfmoon Bay broken mid-way by a picturesque ferry ride across the mountain-framed Howe Sound. Arriving on the other side at the sleepy village of Langdale, she followed the tree-fringed highway that snaked along the Sunshine Coast, finding herself in a paradise of unspoiled nature, far removed from the big city she’d grown up in. Sheltered by Vancouver Island, the ocean water curving through the Strait of Georgia rippled serenely, lapping against densely wooded shores and sun-drenched beaches, as the brisk sea air carried gulls and cormorants high up against a cloudless sheet of blue sky. Driving with her car window down, Faye allowed the cool, salty breeze to lace through her hair.

  Mid-afternoon she eased her car along the roads of tiny Halfmoon Bay, finding Simon’s log-frame house nestled among Douglas fir trees and overlooking the tranquil bay. A spacious, rustic design, the cedar-sided house featuring large front windows and a broad stone chimney rising above the gabled roof. To Faye is looked idyllic, though Jenna had never mentioned her impression of the place.

  Simon appeared on the broad front deck as Faye pulled into the driveway. He smiled with a trace of relief, as though he hadn’t been entirely convinced she’d show up.

  “Did you have any trouble finding the place?” he asked as Faye stepped out of her car.

  She shook her head, pausing a moment to smooth down her wind-blown hair. “But it was the longest trek I’d care to make alone with a toddler.”

  “She looks relaxed enough.” Simon glanced into the back seat to spy Hannah’s dark head lolling against one shoulder, her mouth puckered open.

  “She wore herself out running me ragged on the ferry,” Faye said, recalling with a roll of her eyes the forty minutes she had spent chasing the excited little girl around the deck, and the exertion it had taken forcing her back into the confines of her car seat.

  “She liked it?”

  “Loved it. I’ll get her out.” Reaching into the car, Faye unbuckled the straps on the child seat and lifted Hannah onto her shoulder. Still clutching her stuffed dog, Hannah snuggled against Faye, her eyes fluttering open.

  “Welcome to Daddy’s house, my love.” Simon stroked the little girl’s back lightly, as she lifted her head. Scrubbing a pudgy hand across her eyes, she peered around, wary of the unfamiliar surroundings yet nonetheless intrigued by the enticing sounds and scents.

  Simon grabbed the pair of overnight bags off the back seat, tilting his head toward the house in invitation. “Come on inside.”

  Following him through the door, Faye gazed around in admiration at the spotless living room, a substantial space with a vaulted ceiling, a wide stone fireplace its focal point. French doors opened out to a patio and sumptuous garden at the back of the house. The furniture, though sparse and functional, had been thoughtfully chosen and arranged for aesthetic appeal. She smiled to herself, picturing the destruction of the room’s symmetry once the place was littered with dolls, plastic push toys and random puzzle pieces—if Hannah were to become a frequent visitor.

  “Is there some place I can change her diaper?” Faye asked.

  “Right this way.”

  Simon led her to a bedroom down the hall, a double bed and dresser occupying the wall by the window. Only after they passed through the door did Faye see the crib and change table on the other side of the room, complete with Winnie the Pooh sheets, extra blankets, a box of diapers, and even a stuffed elephant and giraffe placed neatly on the corner of the mattress. Faye felt a jolt of unease as she approached.

  “Don’t look so anxious. I don’t plan on keeping her,” Simon said, as though Faye’s thoughts showed plainly in her face. “But I do plan on having her here from time to time. She’ll have her own room, but for tonight I thought you’d both be most comfortable sleeping in the same room.”

  “It’s fine,” Faye said, her concern somewhat eased as she set Hannah carefully on the padded change table. “In fact, it was thoughtful of you to do this.”

  “I should learn how to change diapers, I suppose,” Simon remarked.

  “She’s not far off from potty training. You’re just in time for the real fun.” Faye felt a twinge of guilt, discussing Simon’s participation in this milestone event while the child’s mother was still oblivious to it. “Better let me take care of the diapering for now. She’s not really used to you yet.”

  “Of course. Well, I’d better fetch my mother. She’s been champing at the bit to meet her granddaughter.”

  Once Hannah was freshly diapered, Faye brought her back to the living room, where Simon waited beside an older woman. Slender and at least two feet shorter than her son, she had neatly bobbed auburn hair and wore silver-rimmed glasses.

  “Hello, Faye,” she said kindly. “I’m Mary Blake.”

  Faye smiled, dipping her chin in greeting. “Very nice to meet you.”

  In a heartbeat Mary’s attention was firmly fastened onto the little girl in Faye’s arms. “Oh, she is precious! Let me see her.” She bent to Hannah’s eye level, offering a wide grin. “Hannah, I’m your grandma. You can call me Nan. Can you say Nan?”

  Bottom lip quivering, Hannah clung more tightly to Faye’s neck, her dog still tucked firmly under her arm.

  “Give her some space, Mum,” Simon reproved. “She’s only just met you.”

  “Yes, yes.” Mary flashed him a stern look in return. �
�I’m just trying to get a look at her. She has your eyes, you know, Simon.”

  Noticing that Mary’s eyes were the same deep shade of azure, Faye couldn’t help but suspect that the woman’s eagerness to examine Hannah had something to do with assuring herself that the child really was her son’s.

  “And she looks very much like Laurel at that age,” Simon added.

  “That she does,” his mother agreed with satisfaction, then smiled softly at Faye. “As you can imagine it’s been quite a shock to find out I have another grandchild. But I’m so pleased that you’ve brought her.”

  “I’m glad we could come.” Having met Simon’s mother, Faye did feel reassured, the mystery of the man beginning to unravel and nothing of concern coming into evidence as yet.

  “Do have a seat,” Mary offered.

  “Thanks.” As Faye sat down on the leather sofa, Hannah slid off her lap and wandered across the carpet, unable to resist exploring her new surroundings.

  Seated in a chair by the fireplace, Mary stared at Faye for a moment, her lips pressed together reflectively, her brow slightly creased. “Your friend Jenna,” she said at last. “I’m sorry she’s been hurt, but I just don’t understand what she was thinking. Once she recovers I should like to have a word with her.”

  “You’ll do no such thing,” Simon told her firmly. “This is between Jenna and me.”

  “I am sorry, Simon, but if it hadn’t been for this horrible accident, and you running into Faye, we might never have known about the sweet little girl’s existence. Can you imagine?”

  “Mum, you’re making Faye uncomfortable.”

  “I don’t mean to.”

  “It’s all right,” Faye assured her, though the she would have been quite happy to steer the conversation in another direction. “I don’t blame you for being upset.”

  “No, sweetheart, not a good idea,” she heard Simon say, and glanced toward the fireplace to observe him prying an iron poker from Hannah’s grasp.

  “Simon, you’ll have to baby-proof this place again,” his mother admonished. “He’s only just put everything back where he likes it, since Laurel’s little girl is now old enough to resist grabbing whatever object strikes her fancy.”

  “Right,” he said. “Don’t know why I didn’t think of it.” He scooped up a Haida thunderbird carving that stood by the fireplace and set it on the mantel.

  “I almost forgot, I brought her a little present. This should keep her occupied for a bit.” Mary retrieved a children’s touch-and-feel book from the other end of the mantel and offered it to Hannah. Hesitating only a moment, Hannah snatched it from her and then settled onto the raised hearth. Opening the book on her lap, she rubbed her hand over the various textures, enraptured.

  “Would you like a drink?” Simon offered. “I’ve got a sippy cup for Hannah, and homogenized milk.”

  “Nothing for me, but I’m sure Hannah would love some milk,” Faye said, touched that he’d put so much thought into Hannah’s needs. No doubt he’d learned a thing or two from his sister.

  “She is beautiful,” Mary remarked, gazing down at Hannah as Simon disappeared into the kitchen. “To tell you the truth, I’d given up on the idea of Simon becoming a father.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “He seems to have an aversion to serious relationships. Not that he dates a lot of different women,” she added, mindful of the impression she was giving of her son. “He’s had a few long-term lady friends but he just won’t commit to them, and eventually they get tired of waiting for a proposal.”

  “Understandable,” Faye said.

  “Not Jenna, though,” Mary added. “She seemed in no hurry to settle down. She and Simon weren’t the right fit to begin with, anyhow, if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I rather liked her—before all this came about. But I’m speaking out of turn now.”

  Faye, who had unconsciously sat forward while Mary was speaking, interested in her impressions of Simon’s relationship with Jenna, now sagged back in disappointment—though she didn’t feel bold enough to ask for more details.

  When Simon returned with Hannah’s milk, the little girl was still absorbed in her new book and took no notice of him.

  “Would you come upstairs with me, Faye?” he said. “I have something to show you. Mum can watch Hannah.”

  “No problem at all,” Mary said, taking the cup from her son. “I’ll give her this when she’s ready.”

  Faye hesitated, for a moment imagining a nefarious kidnapping plot in which Mary was to abscond with Hannah to parts unknown the moment Simon lured Faye out of sight. While she realized it was a far-fetched notion, it was with reluctance that she left the little girl to follow Simon up the winding staircase to the second floor.

  The landing opened onto a cozy alcove occupied by a desk and computer by the window, and opposite that two chairs by a bookcase stuffed with books and stacks of papers. A single shelf above the desk held a neat row of paperback books, the spine of each emblazoned with the name Simon Blake below the title. Faye quickly counted them—fourteen in all.

  “I had no idea you’d written that many books,” she said, impressed.

  “Have you read any of them?” Simon inquired.

  “I’m afraid not,” she admitted.

  He glanced at her with a slow smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t take it personally.”

  “It’s just not the sort of thing I read, that’s all,” Faye explained. “What inspired you to write spy novels, anyhow?”

  “My father worked for the British government in foreign intelligence.”

  “You mean like James Bond?” she asked, half-facetious, while at the same time fascinated.

  “Hardly. His was mainly an administrative position. But he traveled a great deal, and he couldn’t talk about his work, even with his family. I was always intrigued by the enigmatic world of counterespionage and secret agents. When I started writing it seemed only natural to put my childhood fantasies to paper.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “And they do pay the bills.”

  “I can imagine.” Faye scanned the titles on the spines, recognizing a few. “I’ve seen them all over the bestseller lists.”

  Simon tilted his head toward a corridor leading out of the alcove. “Follow me.”

  Around the corner they came to a spacious loft with a picture window overlooking the bay. As they approached the centerpiece of the room, a black grand piano, Faye drew a sharp breath.

  “This was my big indulgence when my second book went into its third printing.” Simon smiled with pleasure as Faye strolled around the piano, admiring its flawless glossy surface from all sides.

  “It’s stunning,” she said. “I assume you play?”

  “Now and then. I might have gone farther with it, had I practiced enough as a child. You?”

  “I took lessons when I was a kid. But I didn’t practice much at all, so that was that. Now I kind of regret not taking it more seriously.” Faye reached out to touch the keys, then drew her hand back, afraid to leave finger marks on the pristine surface. Hannah would make short work of this, she thought with amusement. “Is this what you wanted to show me?” she asked Simon, pleased to have seen the exquisite piano but a little puzzled.

  “Not exactly. It’s this.” Turning, he gestured toward the empty space behind them, bright with sunlight that slanted through the window.

  “It’s a gorgeous view.” Faye stepped closer, taking in the panorama of pebbled beach and calm ocean water that glimmered in the late-afternoon light. Across the strait, Thormanby Island jutted up against the horizon, overlaid in soft shades of indigo.

  “It is, but what I wanted to show you was this space,” Simon told her. “I’d like to offer it to you as a workspace, if you’d like to use it while you’re here. Not necessarily this weekend, but anytime you need a place to draw or paint. I can bring in a table or an easel, or whatever you need. I mean, if you’re going to bring Hannah again, and I hope it will be often, you can bring your work with you if you n
eed to.”

  She turned to him, observing his expectant expression. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” She hadn’t thought that far ahead, but of course he had, and the fact that he’d taken her needs into consideration stirred her heart.

  Favouring her with an easy smile, Simon held her gaze, the intensity in his steady blue eyes sending a warm shiver through her. Sucking her lower lip between her teeth, she held onto her breath, savouring the thrum of awareness that shimmied down her backbone.

  “We should relieve my mother of babysitting duty,” he said, breaking the spell. “Or we may have to pry her away. She’s offered to make a traditional English roast-beef dinner.”

  Faye nodded, offering a tremulous smile. “I can’t wait.”

  * * *

  The slow, deep rhythm of Hannah’s breathing told Faye the little girl was sleeping. Finally. Rising from the bed, Faye yawned and stretched her arms. Her normal routine was to read Hannah a story, tuck her in bed with a song and then leave her to fall asleep on her own, but in this unfamiliar house the toddler had had no intention of falling asleep without company.

  Knowing that Hannah missed her mother, Faye had to admit that being here provided a welcome diversion from the void of Jenna’s absence at home. Approaching the crib with careful steps, she gazed down at the tiny form lying motionless there, curled up on her stomach with her limbs tucked under her, the blanket askew. Faye gently slid the blanket over Hannah’s back, and then lightly stroked her mass of dark hair, her heart swelling with affection for the tiny, vulnerable person left in her care. Faye loved Hannah as she would a child of her own, and she fervently hoped that bringing her here had been the right thing to do; it certainly felt right every time she saw Simon and Hannah together, getting to know each other and growing comfortable as father and daughter.

  The trouble was, Faye was beginning to have difficulty distinguishing what felt right for Hannah from what was pleasing for herself.

  She’d simply have to keep her focus on Hannah’s needs and block out those unbidden emotions and sweet desires that seemed to tumble through her whenever Simon Blake came near.