Loving

by Penny Jordan

  make sure she got home from school safely, while I...'

  'You didn't know. You couldn't know. In your shoes rd have opted for an older woman.'

  *I should have known there was something wrong. Hell, I did know,' he said savagely. 'She never stopped talking about you, but I wouldn't listen. It's been one hell of a bad year for me,' he added slowly. The divorce became final eighteen months ago. I suppose you've heard the story: the neglected wife leaving; having an affair with her husband's business partner right under his nose. Susie never wanted children. She wanted to abort when she discovered she was pregnant...'

  He was telling her things he'd normally never dream of telling anyone, Claire sensed; his defences were relaxed by shock and fear. He needed the release of talking, even if he barely realised who he was talking to. She wasn't a person to him right now, she was just a presence ... someone to listen.

  'She never cared for Heather, and Heather seemed to sense it. I was glad when she said she didn't want her. She's my child and I love her,' he said fiercely as though she had voiced a doubt. 'But after my experience with Susie I swore I'd never marry again; never allow another woman to entangle me in that sort of emotional mess. It isn't that easy, though. Human beings have certain needs.' He wasn't aware of how Claire froze. 'And I soon discovered there are plenty of women willing to share a man's bed, especially when they think he's vuhierable. I've lost count of the number of women who've told me that Heather needs a mother.'

  He knew who she was now, Claire recognised, catching his oblique glance.

  *I misjudged you and Vm sorry for it, but I'd just spent a fortnight in the States, trying to fend off half a dozen or so attempts at matchmaking from the wives of my business colleagues. Heather might need a mother, but I don't want a second wife.' He pushed one hand through his hair. *What the hell am I going to do?'

  What could she say? *I don't know.'

  'Neither do I,' he said grimly.

  She heard him sigh as he levered his shoulders off the door. Even now, exhausted with anxiety and tension, there was a magnetic attraction about him that she recognised and recoiled from. She saw him frown as she stepped back.

  *Look, I really am sorry about what I said to you. There was no call for it. Put it down to tiredness and the frustration of having to fend off my friends' matchmaking efforts. To have you repeat what they had been saying to me—that Heather needed a mother '

  *Made you leap to the instant conclusion that I had myself in mind,' said Claire wryly. 'Yes, I can understand that, but you were quite wrong. A husband is the last thing I'd want.'

  She saw him frown. *My remark was crass and uncalled for.'

  A silence stretched between them, but it wasn't an uncomfortable silence. In fact, it was oddly companionable.

  'I'll come and see Heather later, if I may. Will it be all right if she stays here with you?'

  She could see how much he hated having to ask.

  and that was something else she could understand from her own experience of single parenthood. It bre^ in one a fierce pride, a determination to manage alone without having to ask for help—but help was sometimes needed, and it wasn't in her nature to be anything less than generous. Pushing the heavy weight of her hair off her face, she said firmly, *Heather can stay here as long as she wants to. I'm genuinely very fond of her, you know,' she paused, searching for the right words, *she's so vulnerable ... and ... and wanting. Nothing like my independent little Lucy.'

  'Perhaps because she hasn't experienced the same security and love.' Jay's voice was clipped, his eyes edged with bitterness. 'I've got to go back now. I want to have a few words with Mrs Roberts. I can't blame it all on her, though; / should have known. But she seemed so responsible. She had such good references!'

  *As a housekeeper, perhaps,' said Claire gently, sensing his frustration and guilt. 'But a woman who's a good housekeeper isn't always a good ...'

  'Mother? No,' he said bitterly. 'I can see that— now. I'll just go up and see Heather before I leave.'

  He sounded uncertain and awkward, and Claire didn't go with him. Some things were too private to be witnessed by anyone else.

  'She's still asleep,' he told her when he came down. 'I'll come back later.' Claire walked with him to the front door. As she opened it he turned to face her.

  'I haven't thanked you,' he said huskily.

  'There's nothing to thank me for.'

  And she didn't feel there was. If she hadn't l)een

  there perhaps Heather might never have thought of running away. She hadn't meant to encourage the little girl to love her, but how much damage had she inadvertently done?

  CHAPTER THREE

  Both girls had had their supper and were bathed and pyjamaed when Jay Eraser came back. They were sharing Lucy's room, but Claire took her own daughter downstairs so that Jay and Heather could be alone.

  She had barely been downstairs with Lucy for more than ten minutes when Jay Eraser's dark head suddenly appeared round her sitting-room door. He looked unexpectedly vulnerable for such a very hard-edged men, his mouth set in a grimly despondent line.

  'Can you come?' he asked quietly. 'Heather seems to have cast me in the role of angry parent; I can't get it through to her that she isn't going to be punished.'

  Claire had always been acutely sensitive to the feelings of others and it was for that reason that she kept her attention fixed on a point to the left of his shoulder rather than on his face. She didn't need a crystal ball to know that he was finding it very hard to ask for her help.

  When she got upstairs Heather was curled up in a small ball, crying. The moment she saw Claire she flung herself into her arms, cuddling up against her. Over her dark head Claire looked at the grimly set face of her father. Strange to think that less than a month ago she had viewed a second meeting with this man with both apprehension and dread. Now

  she was seeing him stripped of his masculine arrogance, a human being with fears and doubts, and ridiculously she wanted to reassure him that everything would be all right, and that Heather would eventually come round.

  Instead, she stroked her soft dark hair, and said quietly, *It's all right. Heather, your daddy isn't cross with you. He was very worried about you, we all were.'

  *Mrs Roberts said he would lock me in my bedroom without anything to eat.'

  The harsh exclamation smothered in his throat drew Claire's eyes back to Jay's face. She wasn't enjoying witnessing his suffering.

  *Mrs Roberts is gone now. Your daddy is going to find someone else to look after you ... when you go home.'

  *I don't want to go home!' Although they were muffled against her breast Heather's words were quite clear, her voice shrill with a mixture of fear and stubbornness. 'I want to stay here with you. I want you to be my mummy.'

  Claire didn't dare look at the tense figure standing by the door. What on earth was he thinking?

  Swallowing the lump in her throat she said huskily, * Heather, you know that I love you very much, but I'm not your mummy...'

  *But I want you to be.' Tears weren't very far away, and Claire gnawed tensely at her bottom lip. What on earth could she say?

  The bedroom door opened and Lucy came in, frowning. *What are you doing up here?' she demanded. Her question was directed at Claire, but

  she was looking at Jay with a mixture of assessment and fascination in her eyes. To Claire's amazement she went up to him, tilting her head back so that she could look at him. For a little girl who had had virtually nothing to do with the male sex, she was amazingly at ease with him.

  *Can Heather stay here with me?' she asked him. 'My mummy could look after her, and we could play together...'

  Across the room green eyes met grey. *Lucy, I think it's time that you and Heather were both in bed.'

  Claire had a suggestion to make, but she wasn't going to say anything in front of the girls, just in case Jay Fraser rejected it. She wasn't going to be accused of putting him in a position where he couldn't do so.


  She tucked Heather up in bed, and bent down to kiss her. Lucy climbed into the other single bed, and after she too had received her goodnight kiss she looked across at Jay and demanded,*Aren't you going to kiss us too?'

  Claire hid a small smile at the expression in his eyes, but he acceded to Lucy's request easily enough, kissing her first and then Heather, who shrank away from him slightly.

  Downstairs in the sitting-room she offered him coffee, but he shook his head.

  'More stimulation is the last thing I need right now. I've got a feeling it's going to be hard enough to get to sleep as it is, and in less than forty-eight hours I've got to fiy back to the States. I'm nK)re in need of a stiff whisky than caffeine.'

  'I'm sorry, I don't have any,' Claire apologised,

  but he shook his head again.

  'I cx)uldn't drink it anyway, I'm driving.'

  She wished that he would sit down; he made her feel nervous standing over her like that. It gave her an unpleasant sensation in the pit of her stomach to be alone with him. She always felt like that with men, no matter how harmless they might be. As he moved restlessly she stepped back from him, biting her lip as she saw his frown.

  'I didn't want to say anything when the girls could overhear us, but ... if it would help I could have Heather until you find someone to take charge of her.'

  Complete silence followed her offer, and Claire felt the colour crawling over her skin. Surely he didn't still think she had an ulterior motive for making the offer? She risked a look at him, but could read nothing in the slate-grey eyes and hard mouth.

  *Look, I assure you that I don't want ... a husband ... if that's what you're thinking...' She could have cried at her own gaucheness. What on earth must he be thinking? She told herself it didn't matter and that Heather was the prime concern here.

  If Jay Fraser had been a woman there wouldn't have been the slightest degree of awkwardness in her making the suggestion, but with his remarks about a second marriage and involvement very much to the forefront of her mind, Lucy hoped that he wouldn't misconstrue her offer.

  The silence stretched from seconds into minutes, while her heartbeat picked up to an almost unbearable speed. What on earth was he thinking?

  Why didn't he say something, even if it was only a refusal?

  When he did speak he sounded very abrupt. 'You make me feel very ashamed of myself,' he told her. *You're being far more generous than I deserve. Almost every other woman I know would have enjoyed making me eat humble pie and beg for the help you've just offered. It's an art at which my ex-wife was an expert.'

  'Do you ... do you still love her?'

  Claire felt her face flame with embarrassment. What on earth had got into her? She looked away from him, and said indistinctly, 'I'm sorry, that was unforgivable.'

  'It's all right. You aren't the first to ask. No, I don't still love her. I don't think any man can love a woman who rejects his child. To be honest with you, I no longer believe that passionate love exists. Sexual desire, yes, and non-sexual love of the kind I feel for Heather. And you ... do you still love Lucy's father ...?'

  She went white and stepped back from him, her eyes huge with pain. It was a natural enough question and he couldn't know how she felt about the man who had fathered Lucy, nor could she tell him. She couldn't tell anyone.

  'I

  'Forget it, I shouldn't have asked. I take it there's no chance of the two of you getting back together.'

  He had obviously completely misread her reaction, and like someone in a dream Claire said thickly, 'I .. . he's dead ...'

  'Oh, I see. I'm sorry.'

  'It... it was a long time ago. Before ... before

  Lucy was bom.' She was lying. She had no idea whether Lucy's father was alive or dead, or where he was. Or even who he was, a small voice reminded her, but she shuddered with the onset of familiar pain and loathing, forcing her mind to shift from the past to the present, before her memories could overwhelm her. *About Heather?' she added.

  *If she can stay with you for the time being I'd be more than grateful. I'm going to have to get someone to replace Mrs Roberts, of course.'

  'There's no need to rush. I'm very fond of Heather.'

  'Yes, I can see that.'

  'There's something about her that reaches out to me. A need that Lucy doesn't have, a loneliness.' Claire broke oif, suddenly conscious of what she was saying.

  'Yes, she is lonely,' he agreed bitterly. 'Susie was never much of a mother to her. She never wanted her at all...' He too broke off, and Claire sensed that his marriage and his daughter were normally two subjects that he did not discuss with anyone.

  It seemed that a strange bond had been formed between them, a bond that at the moment was very tenuous and fragile, and which instinctively Claire feared. She knew that sexually she had nothing to fear from him. A man like Jay Fraser did not need to force himself on a woman.

  She watched him as he got up, aware of the way his shirt clung to his shoulders and tapered down to his waist. He was a very masculine man, and the knowledge made her shiver with distaste as she instinctively averted her eyes from his equally masculine stance.

  'While Heather is Uving with you, you must let me make some contribution to your household budget/ he said.

  *No.' Her refusal was immediate and firm. *No, I can't let you do that.'

  He frowned and Claire knew that he was a man who did not like to be beholden to others in any way at all.

  *If you won't accept money from me, I'll have to find a way of repaying you in kind,' he said at last. He glanced at his watch. 'I'd better go; I'm expecting a call from the States. I'll come round and see Heather tomorrow, if I may?'

  Claire saw him to the door, watching as he slid his lean length behind the wheel of his car—a long, low-slung Jaguar sports car. He gave her a brief nod as he fastened his seat belt, and she went inside and closed the door. She was tired now and very drained, but too on edge to sleep. If anything had happened to Heather ... It was almost as though the little girl was her own child. She mustn't get too attached to her or, more importantly, allow Heather to get too attached to her. No, she must gradually reassure her that her father both loved and wanted her; she must instil in her enough self-confidence for her to go back to her father happily and gladly.

  When Jay called the following day, she deliberately left father and daughter alone together, but it was Lucy who chatted away to him, demanding that he play, while Heather clung anxiously to her side.

  'I was going to suggest that if you could let me know when you're likely to be home I could arrange to bring Heather back to you for those weekends?'

  *You think you can manage that, do you?' he

  asked sardonically. *It seems to me that I'm featuring very much as the cruel father at the moment.'

  *Only because of what Mrs Roberts has been feeding her. She's been using you as a threat to frighten her. She'll get over it. She does love you, Jay.'

  It was the first time she had used his name directly, and she wondered what had caused his eyes to change from light to dark grey like that.

  *I'll ring you from the States before I come back.'

  It was Lucy who ran up to him for a goodbye kiss, and Heather who had to be gently pushed. Claire's tender heart ached for him, for, despite his controlled smile, she knew that inside he was hurt.

  Two months slipped by without Jay being able to find a suitable replacement for Mrs Roberts, and during that time Heather blossomed. She was always going to be a more vulnerable child than her own daughter, Claire thought, but now she looked forward to her father's return, running to him eagerly, and Claire hoped that she had banished the spectre of Mrs Roberts' threats.

  October was a cold, wet month with high winds that disturbed the shaky tiles on her roof. Several came crashing down one night as she lay in bed, and she wondered how on earth she was going to pay for them to be replaced.

  Jay was due home on Friday. She must remember to go up to Whitegates and turn on the cent
ral heating; he had given her a key to the house several weeks ago, but she was scrupulous about using it only when she had to. She had fallen into the habit

  of checking on the contents of his fridge when she knew he was due back, but she had never ventured further than the kitchen when he was not there, nor did she hnger when she delivered Heather to him, despite his suggestions that she and Lucy stay and have a meal.

  He didn't make her feel nervous as other men did; she wasn't frightened of him, and she didn't know really why she was so anxious to remove herself from his vicinity. Perhaps it had something to do with their very first meeting and her determination that he would never be able to accuse her of running after him. It was, after all, the last thing she was likely to do! Her mind might be able to accept that he was a very attractive and masculine man, a man with an uncommon degree of sex appeal combined with that aura of power that women find so sexually stimulating, but she wasn't like other women; his sexuality made her cringe. She found conversation with him stimulating and interesting, but only if she could manage to blot out his masculinity. She was glad that he wasn't the sort of man who liked to touch. She didn't think she could have endured that.

  Mrs Vickers was opening her gate just as Claire went past with the girls on the way to school.

  * Gales forecast for tonight' she warned Claire. *Hope our roofs will stand up to it.'

  Claire did too. When she got back from school she saw that the row of elms on the opposite side of the road were swaying fiercely in the strong wind. All the leaves were gone now, and the branches looked starkly bleak. Winter would be early this year.

  She spent the morning baking, more for the therapeutic properties of the task than for any real need to provide the girls and herself with sustenance. When she collected them from school, they went first back to the cottage, where Heather sniffed the warm scented kitchen aroma eagerly.

  'Have you made an apple pie?' she asked Claire, surveying the fruits of the afternoon's labours enthusiastically.

  She had, using the apples from their own tree.