by Anne Oliver
Her words were more jumbled than brittle, now.
‘Thank you,’ Angus said, and Ivy couldn’t interpret his tone at all.
He slowed the car to turn into her driveway. The entrance was gated, but Ivy reached into her handbag for the small remote that swung the gates open.
Angus nosed the car up the long curved driveway and came to a stop before the limestone steps that led to the front door of her rambling nineteen-thirties double-storey home.
An automatic porch light flicked on, but otherwise the house was in darkness.
‘No butler to meet you?’ Angus asked, although his tone was not pointed, but curious.
Ivy laughed. ‘Do you think I have someone feed me grapes as I bathe, too?’
He shrugged. ‘You have a driver, so I assumed you had other staff.’
‘No,’ Ivy said. ‘I mean, because of the hours I work I have a weekly cleaner and a regular gardener, but that’s it. My home is my sanctuary, and I value my privacy.’
It already felt a little too private in the car, so Ivy opened her door and slid her feet out onto the driveway. She turned to thank Angus for the lift, but he’d climbed out of his seat too, and in a few strides stood beside her at the bottom of the steps.
Ivy didn’t know what to do now. Why had he done that? Why hadn’t he driven off and escaped while he could?
‘So I’m confused. If you value your privacy, why have your driver ferry you to meet me, twice? Where did you tell him you were going?’
‘Simon would never intrude on my personal life,’ Ivy said.
Although it had taken considerable subterfuge to attend her dating scan today without Simon knowing. In the end, she’d had him drop her off some distance away, and she’d walked to her appointment.
He never would’ve commented if she’d asked him to drop her off right outside the ultrasound clinic. But really? April and Mila didn’t even know yet. She couldn’t have her driver find out first, no matter how discreet he might be.
‘But regardless,’ Angus said, ‘wouldn’t it just be easier to drive five minutes from your house to meet me?’
He appeared genuinely flummoxed, and Ivy couldn’t help but smile. ‘Easier, yes—if I had a licence.’
At this he went from flummoxed to stunned. ‘How is that possible?’
‘I never learnt,’ Ivy said. ‘Long story.’
And it was. Long and best forgotten.
Ivy turned slightly towards her house. ‘So, thanks for the lift, Angus.’
She spoke a little softer than she’d planned, and his name sounded unexpectedly intimate on her lips.
‘My pleasure, Ivy,’ he said, but totally normally, as if he were talking to the waitress back at the café.
Ivy gave her head a little shake. She was being very, very silly with all these thoughts of dates and doorsteps and softly spoken names.
He’d already started to walk back to the driver’s side of the car, so Ivy quickly raced up the steps, the heels of her boots clicking against the stone, and her hand already in her bag, searching for her keys.
But then she heard heavier footsteps on the steps behind her.
‘Ivy, wait.’
So she did, key in hand. ‘Yes?’
Angus took the steps two at a time and soon stood before her. The porch light’s glow was soft, but the angles of his face seemed sharper in the mix of light and shadows.
‘Were you okay today?’ he asked. ‘At the scan?’
Ivy blinked, and her throat felt suddenly tight.
‘Uh, yes,’ she said. ‘Of course. It was fine. I was fine.’
She’d been beyond nervous. Scared and clueless, but still okay. More okay than she’d expected, actually.
‘Good,’ he said, with a sharp nod. And with that, he was off back down the steps.
Ivy put her key in the lock, but then found herself turning back to face him. He wasn’t in his seat yet; instead he stood inside his opened door, as if he’d been watching her.
‘I saw him,’ she said. ‘Or her. Just a spot at the moment. Or a blob. A cute blob, though.’
Angus nodded, and his lips quirked upwards.
‘Goodnight, Ivy.’
‘Goodnight, Angus.’
And then he climbed into his car and drove away.
FIVE
Ivy had just broken into the secret stash of dry crackers in her desk’s bottom drawer, when her phone rang.
Angus.
When he’d driven away from her place last week, they’d had no further plans to meet. So she’d decided she’d just call him occasionally with details of the baby’s progress; after all, it was wise to keep her distance until she’d worked things out.
Yes, she knew at some point she’d need to organise some formal access arrangement or similar. But again, that could take place between their lawyers.
So there was definitely no real need to see him again.
Which was a relief, unquestionably.
Then why was her stomach doing all sorts of odd things?
‘Hello?’ she said, finally picking up the phone.
‘You hungry?’
‘Starving,’ she said, honestly. ‘I’m always starving now.’
Ah. That was what the stomach thing was. She clearly hadn’t eaten enough crackers.
‘Great. Meet me downstairs in five minutes. I know a great burger place we can go to.’
She had a meeting in twenty minutes, so she couldn’t, even if meeting Angus in public again wasn’t a terrible idea, anyway.
‘Sure,’ she said, instead.
Then Angus ended the call, and Ivy called her assistant into her office to rearrange her meeting. Ivy chose to ignore Sarah’s incredulous expression—people shifted meetings for frivolous reasons all the time.
Just not Ivy.
Even so, just over five minutes later her heels were clicking across the terrazzo floor of the Molyneux Tower’s foyer. Angus stood against one of the mammoth round pillars that dotted the vast space, and also stopped the thirty-three-floor building from collapsing into St Georges Terrace.
Around him men and women in suits and smart coats flowed past, hurrying to lunch, or coffee or meetings. In contrast, nothing about Angus was hurried.
He’d propped his shoulder against the pillar, his arms crossed loosely before him. He wore jeans that might have once been black, but now were faded to a steel grey. His navy T-shirt fitted snugly, highlighting his width and the muscular strength of his arms, while one booted foot was crossed casually over the other. Every line of his body looked one hundred per cent comfortable. As if, despite the marked difference in his attire from every other person in the building, he fitted here perfectly.
But he didn’t.
Here, in contrast to the gloss and shine that was Molyneux Mining, Angus looked raw. Strong, and hard and...virile.
Here, he was juxtaposed against Ivy’s real life—her reality. It should have been a shock, and it certainly should’ve bothered her.
It definitely would’ve if she’d allowed herself to think about it. Or if, in fact, she’d been able to think at all.
But she couldn’t. As soon as she’d heard his voice she’d apparently lost all common sense. And the instant she’d stepped out of the lift she’d known he was watching her.
Just like in Bali the weight of his attention was remarkable. Remarkable enough that she wobbled a little on her heels when her gaze met his.
He studied her as she walked towards him. She sensed, rather than saw, his gaze travel along her body, taking in her heels, her charcoal pencil skirt, and the pale pink of her silk blouse. She wore a short, three-quarter-sleeved cream wool coat, but it wasn’t because of the cold that she shivered when she came to a stop.
That
would be because he’d smiled.
‘I have a meeting in forty-five minutes,’ she said, instead of smiling back.
Her voice was more prickly than the professional she’d hoped for. An attempt to regain control, maybe.
When had she ever been in control around Angus?
He shook his head, his smile now even broader. ‘Ivy, Ivy, Ivy...’
She didn’t know what that meant, and her eyes narrowed.
But he didn’t give her a chance to speak, instead reaching out to wrap his large hand around hers.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘We’d better hurry up, then.’
* * *
Angus considered letting go of Ivy’s hand once they’d stepped outside onto the gusty, skyscraper-lined street.
But then he just didn’t. What was the harm, really, of holding a gorgeous woman’s hand for a minute?
None he could think of. At least none that bested the satisfaction he was getting from Ivy’s rather stupefied, and also rather un-Ivy-like acquiescence.
As much as he liked driven, determined, controlled Ivy, there was something to be said about how she reacted to him. He hadn’t forgotten a moment about what had happened between them in Bali, and certainly not the way she had responded to him. It was as if all her nerve endings had become focused on where he’d touched her. As if how she felt, and how he made her feel, were all that had mattered.
It had given him a sense of control—but not. Because there was no doubt that everything Ivy had done was what she’d wanted to do—it was just that instead of focusing on work or responsibilities, she’d been focusing on what felt good. What felt really good.
So it had felt natural to grab her hand today. To stop her beginning another unnecessarily professional and awkward conversation between them. Because he’d known his touch would shut her up.
What he’d forgotten was the impact of her touch on him.
Which was why he’d considered dropping her hand as they’d stepped outside.
Considered, then dismissed.
Because touching Ivy felt pretty damn good.
And triggered some pretty damn amazing memories. Of naked skin that glowed in the moonlight. Of the glide of her body against his. The sound she’d made when he’d finally slid inside her...
They were at the burger bar.
Angus dropped her hand, and Ivy put space between them, not meeting his gaze.
‘There’s a table free at the back,’ he said, spotting it amongst the lunch-time rush.
With barely a nod, Ivy walked over while Angus grabbed a couple of menus.
Soon after they’d ordered, and Ivy sat with her water glass cupped in both hands, waiting.
She might just as well have spoken: Get to the point, Angus.
It was tempting to do the opposite, as he had in that café. To force her to slow down. To just talk without purpose for a minute or as long as they liked.
But his body was still heated from the simple touch of her hand and those not so simple memories.
And seeing Ivy today was about the future, not the past.
‘Have you told anyone?’ he asked.
‘No,’ she said, studying him almost cautiously. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’d like to tell someone.’
Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’ And then, ‘Who?’
She looked so shocked he had to smile. ‘My mother, and for the usual reason I tell her things—I’d like her to know.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘I suppose I hadn’t thought you’d want to tell anyone now. It’s still so early.’
Yes. His late-night Googling had taught him a lot more than he’d ever thought he’d need to know about pregnancy.
Ivy’s gaze had dropped to the table. She’d abandoned her water to fiddle with a napkin, weaving the paper between her fingers. ‘Can you wait?’ she said. ‘I...’ a long, long pause ‘...I need more time.’
Angus almost told her why it didn’t really matter when he told his mother. He could’ve told her yesterday and it was almost impossible she’d remember today. Most weeks, he was lucky if she remembered his name, let alone that he was her son.
But then Ivy would wonder why he’d asked her permission at all.
Angus wasn’t entirely sure himself, beyond a sense that it was the right thing to do.
Ivy had raised her gaze again, and she met his, waiting impatiently for his response.
‘Okay,’ he said, with some reluctance.
When he visited his mother—at least a couple of times a week whenever he was home—he talked. Talked more than he’d talked all week, about anything and everything.
Because that was how he remembered his mother: talking. Once she could’ve talked the ear off anything and anyone, revelling in her ability to draw remarkable stories out of the most random of people: the girl at the checkout, the elderly man at the park, the parking officer issuing her a ticket...
So silence in her presence made Angus excruciatingly uncomfortable. And while, like his father, he was not one to ever talk for the sake of it, when he visited his mother, he did.
And he told her everything. Partly because he did actually want to tell her, but mainly because he desperately needed to fill the space around them both with words.
He’d visited her yesterday, and omitting Ivy and the baby from his monologue had felt like a lie of omission.
Stupid, really, given she’d never know. Really stupid.
Lunch arrived, and for a few minutes they both ate in as much silence as was possible when eating burgers stacked high with gourmet ingredients.
Ivy had been visibly relieved when he’d agreed with her, but the atmosphere between them had changed.
‘I thought that after the twelve-week scan would be a good time for us to formalise arrangements,’ she said suddenly, a tomato-sauce-tipped chip in her hand. ‘Then we can both be free to share the news appropriately.’
Formalise? Appropriately?
Angus gritted his teeth. Really? This again?
‘Haven’t we got beyond this, Ivy? This isn’t a business deal. This is our child.’
Ivy put the chip back down on her plate, untouched.
‘Of course,’ she said. ‘But I find it’s easier if everything’s in writing. Then we won’t have any more misunderstandings like today.’
‘I wouldn’t call today a misunderstanding,’ Angus said. ‘I’d call it a conversation.’
Ivy raised an eyebrow. ‘Hmm.’
She pushed her plate away, although it still held half her lunch.
‘I thought you were starving?’ he asked.
‘I was wrong,’ she said. ‘I need to get back to that meeting.’
Angus checked his watch. ‘You still have fifteen minutes.’
She hooked her handbag over her shoulder, the motions rushed and tense.
‘I have to make a phone call I forgot about.’ A pause while her gaze flicked out towards the busy street. ‘Sorry.’
She was clearly running away, and Angus was not about to chase after her. She reached into her handbag, but Angus stopped the movement with a pointed look.
‘I’ll cover it,’ he said.
Ivy nodded, another agitated movement.
Then she was gone, walking as fast as she could in those towering heels.
And Angus sank back in his chair, leisurely enjoyed the rest of his lunch and wondered what on earth to do with Ivy.
* * *
It’s better this way.
Ivy nodded sharply to herself as she sat alone in the VIP Lounge at the Perth Airport charter terminal.
It is.
Simple. Uncomplicated. Straightforward.
Sensible.
Why she hadn’t thought of it in the first
place was beyond her.
Her lawyer had couriered the contract to Angus this morning. Its intent was simple: from now on, all communications between them would be via their lawyers, and they both agreed to keep the pregnancy secret until mutually agreed to in writing. Plus, of course, Angus would receive a generous lump sum on signing.
Now she really didn’t need to see Angus again.
Which was such a relief.
And necessary.
Because what had she been thinking when he’d called a few days ago? In the same breath that she’d acknowledged to herself that meeting with him so publicly was a terrible idea, she’d cancelled a meeting to do just that.
And of course Angus had been noticed in the Molyneux Tower foyer, but she’d been too swept up in...in whatever stupid hormonal thing that Angus did to her that she hadn’t cared.
By the time she’d returned from lunch the office had been full of gossipy murmurs. No one was silly enough to ask her about Angus directly, of course—not that that made any difference.
Why had she let him hold her hand?
And how did she fail to consider that Angus may want to tell people?
Her behaviour when it came to Angus Barlow made no sense, and more importantly—it was dangerous. She needed to protect herself, and her child. Hadn’t she learnt all those years ago how foolish it was to allow how she felt to guide her decisions?
Back then, she’d lost herself amongst her silly, fanciful ideas about love, and she’d vowed never to let that happen again.
Now she dated appropriate men. Men who were a good match for her life and her career.
Certainly not men who made her skin tingle and her heart race.
If, after the tragic events of all those years ago, she needed a reminder that her decision was for the best—well, this was it.
From the moment Angus had watched her walk down that aisle, she’d got just about everything wrong.
Today, that fat contract with Angus had put things right.
Angus might not like it, but it was for the best.
Ivy stood up, walking over to the small coffee station in the corner of the room. Two walls of the lounge were almost entirely windows, offering her a floor-to-ceiling view of the runways. She was at the northern end of the airport, but the main public domestic and international terminals were close by, so large passenger jets dotted the landscape—both on the tarmac and in the cerulean sky.
