Byron was eventually satisfied with the purchases they’d made and ushered her back to his car, carrying the numerous bags for her as she fell into step beside him.
‘How many guests are coming this evening?’ she asked conversationally as they headed back towards Hawthorn.
‘About fifty or so,’ he answered. ‘Friends of the family, a few relatives and so on. I’m sure you’ll find someone other than me to talk to.’
She flicked him a quick glance.
‘I don’t mind talking to you,’ she said.
‘Don’t you?’ His tone sounded surprised. ‘Then why seven years without a word?’
She stared at her hands tightening in her lap before answering.
‘I needed some space—’
‘Space?’ He thrust the car into gear as the lights changed ahead. ‘We could have sorted it out. You didn’t give us a chance. You just hightailed it out of my life and left me to face all the questions.’ He gave the gearstick another thrust and added, ‘Do you have any idea what it was like for me? My family were on my back the whole time, prying for information. Had I upset you? Had I neglected you? God, I was nearly mad with my own feelings, let alone theirs.’
Cara listened to his embittered words with shock. She hadn’t until this moment truly thought about what he might have had to go through. She’d simply imagined he’d be relieved she’d left so he could pick up where he’d left off with Megan.
‘Look.’ His voice had softened somewhat. ‘I’m beginning to realise you’ve had it pretty rough as a kid, and knowing that I’m prepared to make allowances. But at some point you have to realise you can’t be a victim all your life. In a way, clinging to the victim role is a little selfish. It doesn’t change the past one iota—all it does is stuff up the future.’
‘So this plan of yours for me is one of reform?’ Her tone was tight with scorn. ‘You think by forcing me to live with you will somehow reset the imbalance?’
His hands tightened on the wheel as the next set of lights turned to red, his jaw clenched, his mouth set in lines of frustration.
‘I want us to put the past aside and concentrate on the future. Is that so much to ask?’
‘I didn’t belong in your life before,’ she said in a cold, detached tone. ‘I sure as hell don’t belong in your future.’
‘Why?’ His dark eyes flashed to hers. ‘You live like a bloody nun, shut up in that ivory tower you’ve so carefully constructed, with “poor me” painted all over the sides. Wake up, Cara. You’re a young woman with your whole life ahead of you. Take it by both hands and live, for God’s sake.’
‘I suppose this morning’s shopping spree was meant to entice me, was it?’
‘No, of course not. I just wanted—’
‘I will not be bought.’ Her tight voice cut him off, conveying the anger brewing in her. ‘It would take more than a few designer dresses and lacy underwear to sway me. Much more.’
‘What would it take?’
Cara’s eyes clouded with confusion.
‘What would it take for you to come to me willingly?’ he asked again, when she didn’t answer. ‘To live with me as my wife once more? To raise a family together, to build a life together?’
‘It would take a miracle.’
He parked the car behind his father’s Mercedes and looked across at her.
‘What sort of miracle?’
She couldn’t quite hold his gaze, and concentrated on the black button of the glove compartment until it started to blur before her.
‘It would take love. Something we both no longer have.’
There was a long silence.
‘We had love once and it didn’t hold us together. Maybe what we need this time is commitment. Lots of marriages are very successful only because the couple are truly committed to the task of bringing up a family,’ he said.
‘Wouldn’t it be better to have both love and commitment?’ she asked.
She heard him sigh.
‘Life doesn’t always go according to plan, Cara. Sometimes one has to work with what one’s got and take it from there.’
She followed him into the house, her heart heavy. He didn’t love her. She’d destroyed that love by leaving seven years ago. Now he was prepared to settle for second best. But could she commit herself to a lifetime of sterile politeness? What about passion and heart-tripping desire? She knew he desired her. He’d proved that unreservedly. But he was a man with needs and those needs were perfectly natural, it really had nothing to do with her personally. He’d already informed her there had been other women. It hurt to think of him with someone else. It was like a pain that wouldn’t go away.
The Rockcliffe house was buzzing with activity. The helium balloons had arrived and were being positioned in strategic places. The florist had not long left, after delivering huge arrangements of fragrant blooms which Sally was busily placing about the house. She was bustling past the foyer as Cara and Byron entered the house, and smiled at them over the top of an artistic array of white lilies and gypsophila.
‘Been shopping?’ She eyed the designer bags in her brother’s hands. ‘Gosh, Cara. Don’t tell me you got him to go shopping with you? How did you do it? Patrick positively loathes it.’
‘I—’
‘We packed in a hurry.’ Byron came to her rescue. ‘She didn’t have anything to wear.’
Sally gave them both an engaging grin.
‘It’s a good line, that. I should use it more often.’ She put the floral arrangement down on the hall table before adding, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Megan’s coming after all. She managed to get a standby flight. Can you pick her up from the airport at five?’
Cara felt the slide of Byron’s glance towards her, but she made a show of sniffing at the arrangement Sally had just set down.
‘Sure. Which airline?’
Cara didn’t listen. She turned towards the kitchen, where there was the aroma of savoury food being prepared, and hoped there was a job she could volunteer for that would effectively remove her from her ex-husband’s presence for the rest of the afternoon.
Jan Rockcliffe was agonising over the mini-quiches when Cara walked in.
‘Oh, hello, Cara.’ She looked up from the tray of pastry cups she was pressing into the tin. ‘I think I’ve made too many salmon ones. What do you think?’
Cara was glad of the distraction and happily involved herself in chopping bacon and sprinkling grated cheese into the rest of the pastry cases, ready for the beaten eggs. Jan chatted to her casually as they worked.
Cara could tell she was taking extra care to keep the conversation on neutral topics. They seemed to discuss just about everything, but there was one thing Cara knew Jan wanted to speak of most—the one thing Cara most dreaded. Neither of them mentioned Byron or the divorce. Jan asked her about her work, and about her mother, but Cara neatly deflected the conversation back to the party preparations.
‘I think these ones are just about done.’ She placed a tray of perfectly cooked baby quiche on the cooling rack on the large workbench for Jan’s inspection.
‘Mmm.’ Jan prodded at one with an experienced finger. ‘Good. Now, how about a cup of tea? Rob should be back with the girls shortly. Best we have a cup in peace, before they come in and take over the kitchen.’
‘They’re lovely children,’ Cara found herself saying as she wiped her hands on a teatowel.
Jan gave her an indulgent look.
‘I adore all my grandchildren. You’ll meet the rest of them tonight. I wouldn’t hear of them not being here to celebrate with us, although I know what their parents would’ve preferred. I might be celebrating forty years of marriage, but I’m still young enough to remember what it was like to have four young children running underfoot.’
Cara perched on one of the kitchen stools as Byron’s mother filled the kettle. Jan switched it on and turned back to face her, the soft lines of her face relaxing into friendliness instead of the distant formality that had lingered there ear
lier.
‘I didn’t really want to have children,’ she confessed, and Cara straightened in surprise. ‘But things weren’t as they are now and pregnancy was hard to avoid.’
Cara couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
‘But when I lost our first baby I was so upset I couldn’t wait to fall pregnant again. We women are funny, contrary creatures, don’t you think?’
It was hard for Cara to hold the older woman’s gaze. She took the cup of tea Jan passed her and cupped her fingers around its warmth.
‘Byron didn’t tell me you’d…lost a baby. I’m so sorry.’
Jan’s smile was touched with remembered sadness as she stirred sugar into her own cup of tea.
‘It was a long time ago. A stillborn child wasn’t considered a serious loss. Not like now, when you get to hold the infant and say a proper goodbye.’
Cara abandoned her tea.
‘How…how far along were you?’
Jan’s chocolate-brown eyes, so like her son’s, clouded briefly and Cara wished she hadn’t asked such a personal and painful question.
‘Six months.’
Cara could feel tears prickling at the back of her own eyes as she faced the pain in those of her ex-mother-in-law.
‘It was a little girl,’ Jan said, even as the question was forming on Cara’s tongue. ‘She would be thirty-eight by now.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
Jan picked up her tea once more. Cara watched as she stirred it unnecessarily for a long moment before speaking.
‘Grief is a strange thing, Cara,’ she said at last. ‘It’s like a cardigan in your wardrobe you really should give away but you just can’t. You need it to be there, somewhere at the back, just to remind you. You take it out occasionally to look at it, and you always put it back just out of sight, but you know it’s still there. Do you know what I mean?’
Cara swallowed deeply and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
‘Thirty-eight years is a very long time, I know, but we each have to deal with things in our own way,’ Jan said reflectively.
They sipped their tea in silence. Cara could hear the sound of voices in the background—excited voices getting ready for a party. She lifted her gaze back to Byron’s mother and before she could stop herself asked, ‘Did you name her?’
Jan put her cup down right in the middle of her saucer with a precision Cara secretly envied. Her own hands were shaking as she placed them in her lap.
‘Not for a long time,’ Jan answered quietly. ‘It wasn’t encouraged. But one day some weeks later I decided she deserved a name, and so I called her Anne. Anne Elizabeth Sarah Rockcliffe.’
Cara wanted to tell Byron’s mother of her own loss, but just then there was the sound of childish excitement and the twins burst into the kitchen, waving plastic carrier bags in front of them.
‘Look what Pop bought me!’ Katie crowed excitedly.
‘I want to show Granny first.’ Kirstie pushed past her sister. ‘You always get to show her first.’
‘Show me,’ Cara said, quickly defusing the situation.
Both the girls came to her, and she made all the right noises over the trinkets Byron’s father had purchased. She escorted the twins out of the kitchen with a promise to do their hair for the party, adorning it with the colourful slides their grandfather had bought at the market for them. Sally gave her a grateful glance as she passed them in the doorway, a tray of champagne glasses in her hands.
‘You’re an angel, Cara,’ she said. ‘Byron’s just left for the airport, and Fliss and Jason just called to say they’re on their way. The girls know which dresses they’re wearing, but if you could help them that would be great.’
‘No trouble,’ Cara said, shepherding the twins in front of her up the stairs. ‘Come on, girls.’ She addressed the children on either side of her. ‘Let’s get ready to party.’
The guests started arriving at six, and Cara hardly had time to do her own make-up, so busy was she with the twins. She was conscious that somewhere amongst the gathering downstairs Megan Fry would be ingratiating herself into the family fold as if she’d never been out of it. The thought of the other woman telling everyone what a mess Cara’s business was in made anger coil in her belly like a snake.
‘Can I have some lipstick, too?’ Katie asked as she watched Cara apply a subtle rose to her lips.
Cara forced her fingers to relax enough to paint the tiny upturned mouth with delicate precision.
‘What about this?’ Kirstie held up a palette of eyeshadow in browns and pinks. ‘Can I wear some?’
Cara bent down and gently brushed some shadow on each tiny eyelid, hoping Sally wouldn’t mind her little girls playing at grown-ups. She was just putting the finishing touches to Kirstie’s shuttered eyes when she heard Katie swing around to greet her uncle.
‘Uncle Byron! Do you think I look beautiful?’
Cara straightened in time to catch the heart-stopping smile on his face.
‘You both look scrumptious,’ he said, winking at them.
‘What about Aunty Cara?’ Kirstie asked. ‘Does she look scrumptious too?’
Cara could feel the warmth of his gaze as it ran over her assessingly. In the soft light of the bedroom her silvery green dress shimmered, its silky folds clinging to her lovingly, highlighting the slimness of her body yet enhancing the thrust of her breasts where the fabric dipped to reveal the shadowed cleft between them. Her hair was curling around her face, two or three blonde highlights falling across one cheek, giving her a sultry, seductive look.
Their eyes met and held across the top of the twins, who were looking up at each of them like spectators at a tennis match.
‘She looks gorgeous,’ he said simply, his eyes burning into hers.
Cara felt her breath catch somewhere between her chest and throat at the intensity in his look. She felt certain that if there weren’t two very interested little faces watching them he might have acted right then and there on the message being reflected in the dark depths of his heated gaze.
‘What about perfume?’ Katie broke the silence that had fallen between them. She began rummaging in Cara’s toiletries bag before Cara could tear her eyes away from Byron’s. Cara vaguely registered the sound of her cosmetics being sorted, but still Byron’s gaze held hers.
‘What are these tablets for?’
Cara stiffened in cold fear. She turned to see Katie holding up her packet of contraceptive pills, a questioning look on her young face.
‘I…’
Cara felt the weight of Byron’s look and her mouth dried up completely. The silence was brief, but it spoke volumes. Byron reached out a hand for the packet.
‘Give them to me, sweetheart.’ He straightened and, tapping both girls on the tip of their noses, sent them on their way. ‘You two run along and show Mummy how nice you look. Uncle Leon and Aunty Olivia will be here soon, and I think Aunty Fliss and Uncle Jason have just arrived.’
The girls scampered off excitedly. Cara stood frozen to the spot, her palms damp with fear as she watched Byron silently examine the packet in his hands.
It seemed a long time before he handed them back to her. Her hand trembled slightly as she took the packet and placed it back in her toiletries bag. A thousand words came and went in her head, but not one came out of her mouth.
Her eyes came back to his hesitantly.
‘You need more time, don’t you?’ he said.
She blinked up at him in disorientation. It wasn’t what she’d expected him to say. She’d expected him to lambast her with accusations of cheating on the deal, of tricking him into rescuing her business for nothing.
She tried to hide her inner confusion from his probing eyes. There was no way she could tell him the truth—the painful, irreversible truth.
He sighed and with one hand disturbed the neat arrangement of his dark hair as he moved away from her. She watched him as he picked up the hairbrush she’d been using earlier, turning it over in his hands
with his back towards her. She felt as if a chasm separated them—an aching, yawning chasm that stood no chance of ever being bridged.
‘It’s a big step,’ she said at last, her hands twisting in front of her in agitation. ‘I…I’m not…not able to make it.’
His back remained turned towards her. She could see the outline of his muscles through his silk shirt, tense, as if poised in anger, and yet when he spoke his voice, surprisingly, held no trace of it.
‘It’s almost time for the party to begin.’
‘Yes.’
Her teeth snagged her bottom lip as she waited for his next move. She wanted to explain, but couldn’t think of the words to describe her innermost doubts and fears. There was so much he didn’t know about her, and yet he knew her body so intimately, almost better than she knew it herself. But while her body responded to his so vulnerably her mind could not. She’d closed that part off to protect herself, and even though she wanted to free herself from the past it clung to her like an anklet of heavy steel. She just couldn’t shake it off.
He put her hairbrush down and turned to face her. His expression gave nothing away; it was mask-like, shuttered. She wondered for a sickening moment if he’d tell her to get out of his life now that she’d reneged on the deal. She braced herself for the words, her back tight with tension, her legs unsteady, finding it impossible to hold his eyes with hers in case he saw the desperation reflected there.
‘I’ll see you downstairs,’ he said, totally rocking her out of her silent reverie of panic. ‘We’ll talk about this later.’
She opened and closed her mouth, but he’d already left the room. She caught sight of her expression in the dressing table mirror and marvelled at how impassive she looked when inside she was crumbling. She picked up the tube of lipstick and reapplied it where her teeth had worried it off, the slight tremor of her hand as she did so the only outward clue to her disquietude.
The Blackmail Pregnancy Page 10
