by Penny Jordan
Sensing the conflict that was raging behind those bright blue eyes, he shook his head and decided to go for broke.
‘It wouldn’t have to be a problem at all if we agreed to make a deal. I’m not asking you to engage your emotions here, Sabrina. It is an emotive issue, I know that, but I am speaking to you as one businessman to another—we have both something to gain; it makes sense, sí?’
‘I’ll think about it.’
Without another word she turned on her heel and hastened back down the path, through the sea of dead leaves, back the way they had come.
Javier stayed where he was for a long time after she had left. He returned to the park bench and stayed there with his head in his hands, his mind working overtime and his gut churning until finally the raw bite of the increasingly cold wind made it impossible for him to stay there any longer. She would think about it. It didn’t mean she would agree. His heart heavy, he headed back to the house, preparing himself to hear the worst and cursing every fate known to man for the predicament he found himself in.
‘I’ve been ringing you for two days now with no answer. Jill told me you were home with a cold. Why haven’t you been answering your phone?’ With baby Tallulah on her hip, her light blue eyes unusually fierce, Ellie McDonald barged her way past Sabrina, only noticing that her sister was still in her dressing gown when she plopped herself down on the couch and settled Tallulah against a pile of velvet cushions with her rattle. Not only was Sabrina in her dressing gown but also the room was almost unbearably hot, with the radiators obviously turned up to maximum heat.
Slowly Sabrina came towards her. Pressing her handkerchief to her reddened nose, she smiled uncharacteristically feebly. ‘I have got a cold,’ she said defensively. ‘I’ve been in bed. That’s why I didn’t answer the phone.’
‘But you never get colds!’ Ellie sounded cross.
‘You’re usually disgustingly healthy. What’s up, Sabrina? Something must be wrong.’
‘Nothing’s wrong, other than I’ve got the mother of all colds.’ Crossing to an armchair littered with books and a half-eaten plate of toast, Sabrina weakly cleared away the mess and flopped down, her blue eyes watery. She’d been suffering for a week now, ever since she’d left Javier in the park, contemplating the fate of his beloved Angelina. Racked with guilt and remorse, she’d had three badly sleepless nights before waking up one morning with a head that seemed as though every bell in Canterbury Cathedral was clanging through it, and a mouth so dry it felt as if it were stuffed with straw. Every muscle ached when she moved, and throbbed when she didn’t move, and it was all she could do to struggle out of bed and get herself something to drink. She was sick and miserable and, if it was true that there was light at the end of the tunnel, right now she couldn’t see anything but a very big black hole.
‘Sounds more like flu to me.’ Ellie’s voice softened. ‘Got any paracetamol?’
‘In the cupboard in the kitchen.’
‘When was the last time you took some?’
‘About seven.’
‘This morning?’ Ellie tucked a couple more cushions around the smiling Tallulah and jumped up, glancing at the clock on the wall as she did so. ‘Did you know it’s nearly five o’clock? If you’re going to get better you need to look after yourself properly.’
‘Stop behaving like my mother.’
‘Well, here’s news for you, darling. In her absence I am your mother. She’d kill me if she knew you were in such a state and I did nothing. Don’t worry, I don’t have to rush back. I’ve left Henry and William with her and promised I wouldn’t come away until I was sure you were all right.’
A hot drink cupped in her hands and the cold medicine duly taken, Sabrina leant back in the armchair and smiled at the gurgling baby nursing in her mother’s arms.
‘Thanks, Ellie. I’m not usually so disorganised. It’s just that this thing has knocked me for six.’
‘I can see that! In a minute I’m going to heat you up some chicken soup. Thank God you had some tins in the cupboard—but not much else, as far as I can see. I’ll have to do you a shop before I leave.’
‘You don’t have to—’
‘I do have to! Stop pretending you don’t need any help, sis; it’s not a sign of weakness, you know. Sometimes we all need a bit of help.’
Javier needs help…my help, Sabrina thought bleakly. What could it hurt to agree to his proposition? There was no one on her side to object, after all. No adoring boyfriend waiting in the wings to protest. Her family—Ellie and her parents—might have something to say about it, but at the end of the day it was her decision. She was thirty-seven years old and answerable to no one but herself. Just as soon as she was better she would get in touch and tell him. But how? She had no telephone number for him. But there was always the internet. Maybe if she got in touch with someone at his company, they might have a mobile-phone number for him? She could only pray they had because unless he contacted her there was no other way forward. Her mind made up, she made a cooing noise at the baby, then paused to sneeze several times in quick and noisy succession so that Ellie sighed and told her to go back to bed; she would see to everything while she slept. Too weak to disagree, Sabrina did as she was told.
It had rained at the funeral and not for the first time that day Javier heard someone make a pithy comment about it ‘only raining on the just.’ Whatever that meant. If it meant that Michael Calder had been a good man then they were right. He’d been a doting father and a skilful surgeon and his sister had adored him from the moment she’d set eyes on him. Initially reluctant to let their beloved only daughter settle in a foreign country far away, Javier’s parents had eventually come round to the fact that Dorothea was head over heels in love with her new husband so what could they do? There was still a strong thread of chauvinism in the culture, and they believed emphatically that, when all was said and done, a woman’s place was with her husband.
A week after the funeral, Javier was never far from Angelina’s side, Michael’s mother Angela and the distraught Rosie doing their level best to run the house around them. At night, when Angelina at last fell into an exhausted but troubled sleep, Javier continued to monitor his business from the UK, using Michael’s office and computer. Although exhausted by grief and worry himself, he welcomed the distraction of work to help him get past the ever-present problem of gaining a British passport and starting adoption proceedings. In spite of the fact that she was obviously unwilling, Javier found he couldn’t regret the proposition he’d made to Sabrina. Maybe one day she would understand what had driven him to make such a desperate request. Perhaps he should send her some flowers with a brief note of apology? He truly hoped he hadn’t offended her. She was a nice woman. A good woman. The kind of woman he was sure could help Angelina smile again, given time. Sighing, he switched off the computer and sat drumming his fingers on the desk. Staring down at the cup of coffee that Rosie had made him an hour ago and was now congealed and cold, he picked up the phone without further thought and dug around in his wallet for her telephone number at home.
On the third ring, Sabrina forced herself out of bed on leaden legs, clicked on the light in the darkened living-room and pushed her dishevelled hair out of her eyes. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she blinked in disbelief at the time. Ten to midnight. What the—?
‘Hello?’
‘Sabrina.’
‘Javier?’ She blinked again as her heart started to race.
‘I know it is late.’
‘What’s wrong? What’s happened?’ She knew it had to be his brother-in-law. Something heavy settled in her stomach.
‘I owe you an apology.’
‘No, you don’t.’ She was surprised at the strength in her own voice, taking it as a sure sign that she was well on her way to recovery despite the woolly feeling in her limbs.
‘I would have been in touch sooner but Michael died over a week ago and things have not—well, I’m sure you can imagine they are not good.’
‘I’m so sorry. I really am. How is Angelina?’
‘Devastated. Lost. Frightened. I keep telling myself that there must be a reason for everything that has happened but it is hard to see what it could be. Anyway, I am forgetting my manners. How are you?’
The man could ask after her welfare when he was going through personal hell? Her fingers went white where they were clutching the receiver. ‘I’m fine. Just getting over a cold as a matter of fact, but Javier, I—’
‘You are keeping warm and eating well?’
She frowned. ‘Honestly, I’m fine. I just want to—’
‘I would like to see you again before I go back to Buenos Aires. Perhaps I can take you to lunch?’
‘You’re going back?’ Sabrina caught her breath, glanced round helplessly for a tissue to press against her itching nose and wished her mouth didn’t feel as if something had died inside it.
‘I have to,’ he replied heavily. ‘I cannot stay indefinitely. Angela—Michael’s mother—is going to look after Angelina until I return again, which I hope will be soon. It will have to be this way until I can think of some better arrangement.’
In her mind, Sabrina saw those riveting dark eyes of his deep with pain and she foolishly wished she were with him so that she could offer him solace. Perhaps put her arms around him and ease some of his hurt in the way that only a woman could. Who was she kidding? He didn’t want that kind of comfort from her. The only kind of comfort he needed was her agreement to marry him so that he could settle in the UK and get a British passport. At least she could offer him that. Her breath tight in her lungs, she swallowed hard before speaking.
‘No, Javier. You don’t have to go back. Not if I agree to marry you.’
The sharp intake of breath at the other end was audible. ‘What exactly are you saying, Sabrina?’
‘I’m saying I agree to your proposition. The one you made the other day in the park. I’ll be your wife, Javier, if that will help.’
‘You do not know what this means to me, Sabrina. From the bottom of my heart I thank you.’
‘You’re welcome.’ With a sad little smile flitting across her face, Sabrina knew with certainty that she was doing the right thing. The decent thing. As her parents had always drummed into her from an early age. If nothing else, she could surely take comfort in that?
‘You do realise I’m almost thirty-eight years old, Javier?’ she blurted out suddenly, for God only knew what reason. Maybe to put him off?
To her consternation he chuckled, the warm sound rippling over the telephone lines like a physical caress and sending her temperature even higher than it already was.
‘And I am thirty; so what of it? Age is—how do you say?—nothing but a number. It makes no consequence.’
Of course not. Why should it? It wasn’t as if they were contemplating a whole future together, was it?
As she gripped the receiver even tighter, Sabrina’s voice dropped to a barely audible whisper. ‘I just thought you ought to know,’ she told him.
The little bunch of freesias looked slightly wilted where she clutched them in her lap in the back of the taxi but their soft, elusive scent was intoxicating and somehow added to the sense of unreality about what she’d done. As Sabrina glanced out of the window past reams of shoppers and office workers on their lunch breaks, she reflected that normally she’d be one of them if she hadn’t taken the day off to get married.
Married. She studied the slim gold band encircling her second finger, left hand, and sighed. It seemed so final. Somehow incontrovertible. Which was ridiculous when it wasn’t really a marriage at all. Not really. Just a paper contract so that Javier could stay in the UK with his beloved Angelina. What her parents and Ellie were going to say about it all when they found out, she hardly dared imagine. Whatever it was, ‘congratulations’ probably wasn’t going to feature.
‘You are cold?’ Sensing her shiver, Javier turned to his new wife with a concerned gaze, searching her vivid blue eyes for confirmation. He owed this woman so much—he didn’t intend to let her down in any way. He started to remove his coat to give it to her but Sabrina shook her head quickly and smiled.
‘I’m fine, really.’
In spite of the unusual circumstances of their marriage Javier had felt a spurt of pride pulse through him as he’d stood by her side in the register office listening to her strong, clear voice repeat her vows. In her cream suit and white silk camisole, her make-up understated but becoming and her honey-brown hair lifted off her nape into a stylish chignon, she looked pretty and sophisticated. His heart beat a little faster when he thought about introducing her to Angelina, knowing he would have to play it very carefully so as not to cause his niece even a moment’s anxiety that this unknown English woman might replace her in her uncle’s affections. Distracted by thoughts of the child, he silently acknowledged that he was getting used to walking very warily around her. Every day since the funeral had been like a time bomb ticking away, potential disaster looming at every corner. Both her doctor and the children’s grief counsellor had told him to give her time, plenty of time to express her emotions or simply keep them to herself. He shouldn’t expect too much. It was early days yet and the loss of her father had hit her hard.
With everything he had in him, Javier prayed that one day he might bring a smile to her face again. Maybe Sabrina could help? Glancing back at his new wife, he allowed himself a brief moment of ease. He didn’t know her well—how could he on such short acquaintance? But already he had the feeling that those slender shoulders of hers would prove a more than worthy ally if the situation called for it. In return, he would make certain that she got everything she wanted.
‘Is this the house?’ Sabrina was craning to see out of the window as the taxi pulled up in front of an impressive Edwardian terrace in a very exclusive part of Kensington. Her teeth worried her slightly fuller lower lip as she absorbed what it meant. This was to be her new home for the time being—until Javier found them another, more neutral residence, where he, Angelina and Sabrina might make a fresh start away from the ghosts of yesterday and the tragedy of all that had happened. At least until he and Sabrina got divorced. Her stomach lurched a little at the thought. Already she was becoming dangerously attached to the idea of becoming more than just a ‘temporary’ wife—a thought she’d better quickly divest herself of if she knew what was good for her.
‘Come and meet Angelina,’ Javier instructed quietly, sliding his hand over hers.
Electricity shooting through her at his touch, Sabrina managed a husky ‘OK’ before preceding him nervously out onto the pavement.
CHAPTER FOUR
ANGELA CALDER had offered her a cup of tea and been cautiously welcome. Now Sabrina sat with Javier in the bright modern kitchen—some original features from such a dignified old house not with-standing—and sipped at the brew in the delicate porcelain cup feeling as if her equilibrium might be as easily shattered any moment now. The tension between them all was tangible, enforced politeness making Sabrina emit a silent scream of protest somewhere inside her head. She knew they’d suffered the worst tragedy but shouting and crying was surely better than this frozen veneer of coping?
Beside her, Javier had loosened his blue silk tie, removed his coat and jacket and commandeered the sturdy ladder-back chair with his tall, hard-muscled frame as if silently taking stock of all that had happened. Just what was going on behind those brooding, faintly weary dark eyes of his? Once again Sabrina had an almost uncontrollable urge to reach out and offer him comfort—but here, in front of his niece’s grandmother? It was easy to sense such a display would go down like a lead balloon. They were family and she the interloper, in Angela Calder’s eyes an unknown quantity—a loose cannon that could potentially blow them all apart.
‘This is a wonderful cup of tea,’ she said out loud, breaking the silence that had fallen round the table. ‘Just what I needed.’
‘Thank you, dear.’ Angela’s eyes flicked across to Javier. ‘When
you’re both finished, perhaps you might like to show Sabrina her room, Javier? She might like to put her feet up for five minutes.’
‘I’d like her to meet Angelina first. I let her take the day off school so that she would be here when we came back. Why didn’t you tell me that Rosie was taking her out to the park?’
It was the first time she’d heard his disapproval and Sabrina studied the handsome, almost sculpted profile of her husband and felt a small shiver run down her spine.
‘The child hadn’t said two words all morning, just sat in front of the TV watching one of those daft pop-music programmes. Both Rosie and I thought that some fresh air might do her good.’
‘No doubt you are right.’ Dragging his fingers through his sleek black hair, Javier pushed away from the table and stood up to his full height. He looked deliberately at Sabrina. ‘Let me show you your room. Angela is right; you must be tired. You have only just got over a cold.’
I’m not an invalid! Sabrina wanted to reply but bit back her unexpectedly angry retort out of deference to the situation. If anyone was showing the strain of the morning it was Javier—not her. Those broad shoulders of his were presently carrying the weight of the whole planet if his expression was anything to go by.
In the large, bright, decidedly feminine bedroom with its huge canopied bed, flowing voile curtains and walnut furniture, Sabrina perched on the edge of an antique Edwardian chair and glanced up at the man currently pacing the floor. Restless energy was pouring off him in waves, like a trapped tiger prowling its cage.
‘Javier?’ she ventured quietly. ‘Are you having second thoughts about all this?’
Immediately he stopped pacing. A muscle flinched in the side of his smooth, recently shaven cheek.
