Reunited: Marriage in a Million

by Liz Fielding

  ‘It wasn’t…That wasn’t me.’

  ‘Absolutely right. You’re both fakes.’

  ‘Daisy, please-’

  ‘Please what? Fifteen years and all I get is a three-line letter and a photograph; what was I supposed to do, Bella…sorry, Belle? Fall at your feet in gratitude because you’d finally found time out of your busy life to remember that you had a little sister?’

  ‘I never forgot you.’ Belle stopped. What was the point? How could she expect Daisy to understand when she didn’t understand herself. ‘It wasn’t your mistake, Daisy. It was mine.’ Then, ‘I’ll see what I can find out about your dad, so next time you ring…don’t hang up, hmm?’

  ‘Who says I’ll ring again?’ she demanded, then flung open the door and ran down the stairs.

  Belle fought the impulse to go after her, to go to the window to see which way she went. She didn’t have any right to know where Daisy went, who she was with. What her life was like.

  She’d forfeited that when she’d walked away and now she was going to have to earn Daisy’s trust by being there for her. By never, ever, no matter what, letting her down again.

  Then, seized by a flash of inspiration, she ran to the window, flung it open. ‘Daisy! We can get a licence and I’ll teach you to drive.’

  Her sister didn’t stop or look up, just scrunched down deeper into her thin coat.

  Ivo, seeing Belle’s front door open, folded up his newspaper, stood up and made for the door. Daisy was always going to leave. Assert her independence. Keep her sister guessing. Hurting.

  He stepped back into the doorway when Belle flung open the window, smiled to himself at her smart bid to grab the girl’s attention. Not that Daisy responded. He’d have expected a self-satisfied little grin, but instead she seemed to shrink.

  He waited until Belle closed the window and then, keeping to the far side of the road, set off after Daisy.

  Belle, her own shoulders not exactly bouncing to her ears with excitement, turned to her laptop and logged on to one of the agencies that specialised in tracking down family members. Somehow just filling in a form and pressing buttons seemed depressingly impersonal; she needed to talk to someone…

  Everyone needs someone.

  ‘Call me…’

  No. It was over. Not that he wouldn’t help her on a practical level. He was a man who could cut through red tape, make things happen. But the cost was too high. Being with him was too painful. She’d played the role assigned for three years, hiding her feelings, because the one thing Ivo Grenville had made clear from day one was that he never used four-letter words.

  For a few brief days on that honeymoon idyll, she’d thought it didn’t matter. That even if he never said the word, he lived it. Her mistake had been to let her guard down in the sweet, golden aftermath of love, when he’d been half asleep, when she’d been dreaming of a family of her own.

  If his face hadn’t been enough to bring her back to earth, the next day he’d left her to deal with some business problem that wouldn’t keep-a sharp reminder of the status of honeymoons, of her, in his life.

  She snatched her hand back from the phone.

  She’d lived a half-marriage for three years and, while Ivo’s passion hadn’t dimmed, he had, if anything grown more distant, at least until these last few days. She loved him, had loved him since the day she’d turned to meet his gaze, fallen into those ocean-deep eyes. Would never love anyone else with the same wholehearted, body and soul commitment, but she’d take nothing rather than go back to the way things had been.

  And she had Daisy to think of now.

  She made a note of the agency’s telephone number, then called, talked to an adviser who took all the details she had, somehow managing to tease stuff out of her memory that she didn’t know she remembered. Or had, maybe, striven to forget. Promised to get back to her with something, even if it was to say that she’d found nothing, by the end of the next day.

  That done, she poured out her heart to Simone and Claire in an email.

  As she typed, she could hear their voices in her head asking all the right questions, posing ideas, offering suggestions. It was exactly what she needed to clear her head and she didn’t bother to send the email.

  There was nothing more they could do except offer sympathy-something she neither deserved nor needed. In fact, much as it pained her to admit it, what she could really do with just at that moment was a little of Ivo’s detachment. His ability to distance himself from the emotional response.

  Not that he was behaving in a wholly predictable way.

  Turning up to decorate her flat had been completely out of character for a start. Calling in a professional-no, asking Miranda to call in a professional to do the job-that was more his style.

  And cancelling business appointments? What was that all about?

  Call me if you need anything…

  She picked up her phone, flipped it open and called her insurance company and had Daisy’s name added to her policy as a named driver.

  Then she set about responding to all the messages.

  Practical, unemotional. Ivo would be proud of her, she thought, except that his kiss had felt totally emotional.

  Not in a big dramatic way. It wasn’t a you’re-hot-I’m-horny-come-to-bed kiss. It was an I’m-here-for-you kiss. A tender I-care-for-you kiss. She could almost have fooled herself that it was an I-love-you kiss.

  If it had been anyone else.

  She really should warn him about Simone’s diary, she rationalised. There wasn’t a thing they could do about it, but he’d at least be prepared for the fallout, the never-ending phone calls. Take action to avoid either him or Miranda being door-stepped by the press. Although, actually, she pitied any journalist who decided to take on Miranda.

  She’d meant to tell him, but then Daisy had turned up and put it right out of her head.

  It was time to bring Jace and her PR people into the loop too. Prepare a statement…

  She flipped open the phone again and called up the address book. Then decided that Ivo had done enough chasing after her. It was time she went to the house, went through her things and sorted out what she was going to keep, what could go to a charity shop.

  It was only when she stopped for petrol, to pick up a pair of L plates, that she discovered that her purse had been filleted like a kipper.

  But for bones, read credit cards and cash.

  Call me…

  It seemed that she didn’t have much choice.

  ‘I’m sorry, Ivo. I’m so sorry.’ Belle had said it a dozen times. ‘I should have cut them up.’

  She’d called him on his mobile and he’d come and bailed her out at the garage, then followed her back to the flat and was now sitting on the end of her bed, waiting for the call centre to answer while she checked to see what else was missing.

  The only jewellery she’d had in the flat had been the choker and earrings she’d worn to the awards ceremony-precious only because Ivo had given them to her.

  She’d abandoned them on the dressing table last night, not bothering to put them away.

  Tempting glitter.

  Her antique wedding ring was safe. Please let it be safe…

  She opened the drawer in the base of her mirror, clutched at her stomach.

  ‘Belle?’

  She shook her head. It was too awful. She couldn’t tell him…

  ‘I meant to cut them up,’ she repeated, just a little desperately. If she concentrated on the credit cards, she could blot out this, more painful, loss. ‘Your cards.’ She rarely used them. ‘I should have left them at the house. If I’d been more organised-’

  ‘I’m grateful that you weren’t,’ he said, hanging on, waiting in an apparently endless queue for his call to be answered so that he could cancel the cards.

  ‘Grateful?’

  ‘You wouldn’t have called me if the only stuff she’d taken was yours.’ She neither confirmed nor denied it. ‘Would you?’ he persisted.

 
‘She’s my sister.’ Confronted with his impassive face, she said, ‘Really.’ It wasn’t just that she’d called her Bella. ‘There are things she said to me that no one else…’ She raised her hand to her mouth, unable to say the words.

  ‘Hush…’ He reached out. Took it, kissed it, then held it, as he’d hold a child’s hand, for comfort. ‘It’s okay. We’ll get your stuff back, but I have to do this first. One call…’

  ‘Get it back?’ She tried to pull away but he closed his hand around hers, holding her a little more firmly, keeping her close. ‘You aren’t going to call the police! Please, Ivo!’

  The call centre finally answered and she was forced to wait while he gave the details of the cards.

  ‘Okay, all done. We’ll get the new ones in a couple of days.’

  ‘I don’t want new cards. Ivo, promise me you won’t go to the police!’

  ‘Not this time.’

  It was all she could ask for.

  ‘Thank you.’ She frowned. ‘Then how…?’

  ‘You’re the sweet one in this partnership, I’m the cynical one. When I left this morning…Well, I didn’t. I just parked around the corner and waited until your sister left, followed her back to the squat she’s living in.’

  ‘But that’s…’

  ‘Appalling?’ He filled in the word for her. ‘An invasion of privacy?’

  She shook her head once, her thoughts a confused jumble of anger that he’d assumed her sister would steal from her. Gratitude that he’d had the foresight to take action. But then that was what Ivo did. He didn’t wait for things to happen. He made them happen.

  ‘No,’ she managed. ‘You were right.’

  ‘I didn’t do it because I thought she was going to steal from you, Belle. I did it so that you’d know where she was. In case she didn’t come back.’

  ‘Oh…’ She was nearer to crying at that moment than she had been in years. He’d spent his morning hanging around, wasting time-something he never did-and he’d done it for her. ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Unless she’s an experienced thief, she’ll still have the stuff with her.’

  ‘I can’t believe…’

  Won’t was probably a better word, she thought. Didn’t want to believe her sister was a thief. Only, perhaps, desperate…

  ‘To be honest, neither do I,’ Ivo said, taking her by surprise. ‘I suspect it’s a lot more complicated than that.’

  ‘I’m not sure I can handle anything much more complicated.’

  ‘I believe you can handle just about anything you set your mind to.’ He regarded her steadily. ‘I know you, Belle. You’d never give up on anything you really cared about.’

  More question than statement, she thought. What was he asking?

  ‘Can you lend me a little of that confidence?’ she asked shakily.

  ‘You don’t need me, Belle. If I tell you where she is, you could handle it.’

  Under his steady gaze she realised that it was true. That she’d faced the worst that could happen to her-leaving Ivo-and had survived.

  She’d found the courage to walk away from a job that no longer interested her.

  She’d shed a look that she’d outgrown.

  ‘Maybe I could,’ she said. ‘But I’d like you to come with me.’

  The squat was a five-storey Edwardian town house in the poor part of the area, boarded up, like its neighbours, waiting for the tide of gentrification to reach it.

  Ivo had followed the girl on foot. She’d had her head down, barely looking up even when she’d crossed the road, only giving a cursory look around as she’d slipped round the back.

  He’d held back then, giving her time to get under cover, before following her. It had been easy enough to pick out which house she was living in. A path had been worn across the overgrown backyard, half the board missing from an upstairs window.

  He’d been prepared to step back, let Belle do this on her own, but he was relieved she’d asked him along. Was oddly grateful to Daisy for, unwittingly, bringing them together. For that alone, he’d do everything he could for the girl.

  He led the way, testing the boards covering the rear door, the windows, until he found the loose one, slid it aside, climbed in.

  ‘Maybe you should wait here,’ he suggested as Belle made to follow him. Who knew what they’d find?

  ‘I want to go to Daisy,’ she said, climbing in after him. He didn’t bother to argue. Instead he offered her his hand, pulling her up after him, steadying her as she dropped to the floor. ‘Ugh! This is horrible.’

  ‘Watch your step,’ he warned as, hand still firmly grasping hers, he switched on the torch he’d brought from the car and shone it around the floor, checking for gaps. It looked sound enough, but looks could be deceptive. ‘I don’t imagine the boards are in that great a shape.’

  ‘She can’t stay here, Ivo!’ Belle, responding to the dark, whispered. ‘I can’t leave her here. It’s freezing. Damp. What is that smell?’

  ‘Dry rot.’ It was a smell the owner of every listed property dreaded. Then, ‘You know if she wants to stay here there’s nothing you can do about it.’

  ‘You want to bet?’

  ‘If we take this from her, she’ll just move on somewhere else and we won’t know where to find her.’

  ‘According to you she’d come back.’

  ‘Not now,’ he said. Not now she’d stolen from her.

  ‘We’ve got to do something,’ she said. Then, almost reluctantly, ‘She’s pregnant, Ivo.’

  There was something in her voice, something more than the loss of her sister-a transparent yearning that went straight to his gut.

  ‘She told you that?’ he asked, hoping that it was just another tug on vulnerable heartstrings. ‘She looks anorexic to me.’ She turned to stare at him and he realised he’d said too much. Well, she wasn’t the only one with her emotions being ripped raw, exposed…‘Miranda,’ he said, by way of explanation.

  ‘Oh.’ Then, as if everything had fallen into place, ‘Oh.’

  He’d never told her, had never shared that nightmare with her. It was his sister’s secret, not his. Belle nodded as if it was all the explanation she needed. It wasn’t. They’d started their marriage with a blank sheet. No baggage. That was the way he’d wanted it. But life wasn’t like that. You were made by your family, your experiences.

  You couldn’t escape who you were.

  ‘The nurse in the hospital told me that Daisy’s pregnant,’ Belle said, after a moment. ‘That’s why she passed out. She needs to be somewhere safe. She needs to be with me.’

  ‘You asked her to stay?’

  ‘Of course I did.’ She shivered again. ‘I’ve got to persuade her to come home with me, Ivo. Anything could happen to her here.’

  ‘Don’t worry. I’ll issue an invitation that she won’t be able to refuse.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’ Then, ‘Not money!’

  ‘Trust me, Belle. I won’t repeat last night’s mistake.’ He tightened his grip on her hand. ‘Come on.’

  They picked their way across the rubbish-strewn floor, a safe path clearly marked by a passage in the dust made by wet footprints, leading upstairs.

  Daisy had made one of the rooms at the back into a comfortable nest, using old furniture and bits of carpet scavenged from heaven alone knew where.

  There was no electricity, but a little light filtered in through the filth on the window. Enough to see her sitting on the floor surrounded by credit cards, cash, the jewellery Belle had been wearing last night.

  The wedding ring he’d placed on her finger.

  She hadn’t told him that Daisy had taken her ring, but he knew exactly when she’d discovered it was missing. That moment when she’d checked a drawer, clutched at her stomach as if in pain.

  Pulling away from him, she reached for Daisy. ‘Come home,’ she said. ‘Come home with me.’

  ‘Go away.’ Daisy pushed her away. ‘I don’t need you!’

  ‘Please, Daisy. Let me ta
ke care of you. For your baby’s sake.’

  ‘I don’t need you,’ she repeated stubbornly. ‘I don’t want you.’

  The words were vehement enough, but Ivo recognized the desperate need underlying Daisy’s rejection. The girl had stolen from Belle, putting herself beyond her sister’s love. If she was the one instigating rejection, then she remained in control.

  He’d been through this when Miranda had been bent on the same course of self-destruction and knew how desperately hard it must be for Belle. It was hard for him to see her in so much pain.

  ‘It’s your choice,’ he said, bending down to pick up one of the cards. ‘You go with Belle, or you go with the police.’

  He heard Belle’s sharp intake of breath, but she caught his warning look, instantly understood what he was doing and said, ‘I’m sorry, Daisy. You didn’t just take my things. Some of the cards were issued on Ivo’s accounts so I had to call him.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything with them,’ she said sullenly, to him rather than Belle.

  ‘Go home with Belle, now, and I’ll forget it ever happened.’

  She got to her feet, stuffed her hands in her pockets and headed for the door. Then, when they didn’t follow, she stopped, looked back. ‘What?’

  He indicated the loot, scattered over the floor. ‘Haven’t you forgotten something?’

  She stomped back, picked up the cards, the necklace, the earrings. Then began to search frantically. ‘There was a ring. It was here. I know it was here.’

  He felt almost proud of her. He’d expected her to brush over the fact that it wasn’t there, deny she’d ever taken it. Maybe even believe she could come back and look for it later, if she needed a way out.

  ‘I have it,’ he said, opening his hand. And, taking Belle’s left hand, he slipped it back on to her finger, holding it there for a moment. ‘Maybe it’s safer there.’

  Belle felt the weight of the ring. Remembered the moment Ivo had placed it on her finger. How right it had felt, how happy she’d been. She tightened her hand as if she could recapture that precious memory.