Unbreak My Heart (Childhood Sweethearts Reunited)

by Helen Scott Taylor

  Unbreak My Heart

  By

  Helen Scott Taylor

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  Copyright © 2011 by Helen Taylor

  Cover design © Helen Taylor

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  The right of Helen Taylor to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the Copyright owner.

  Back Cover Blurb

  Andre Le Court first set eyes on Kate Frost when he was two and she was a babe in her mother's arms. He's twenty-five now, and he still remembers the moment perfectly, the moment Kate Frost slipped inside his heart.

  His family owned a big hotel, her parents worked there. Andre's father spent years trying to separate his son from the daughter of the hired help. Eventually he grew desperate and sent Andre away to boarding school.

  Nine years later, Kate turns up on the doorstep of Andre's prestigious hotel with the paparazzi at her heels and the six-week-old daughter of her celebrity ex in her arms. She has nowhere left to run except back to the place where she left her heart all those years ago.

  Andre lost Kate once, he won't lose her again. But he has an image to maintain, a reputation as a successful businessman. A bohemian young woman with beads in her hair is not a suitable wife for him.

  In Andre, Kate sees tantalizing glimpses of the boy she adored. But most of the time she hardly recognizes the powerful, successful man he's become, his lifestyle so like that of his despised father.

  Can they forgive the pain of the past, accept each other as they are now, and rediscover the childhood love that was snatched away from them?

  Author's Note

  For those who may not know, the Island of Jersey, or Bailiwick of Jersey, is part of the group of islands known as the Channel Isles. It is forty-six square miles in size and lies in the English Channel off the coast of Normandy, France.

  Jersey is a self-governing British dependency, not part of the UK. The currency is GBP (Jersey produces some of its own notes and coins). The island's main language is English although being so close to France, this country's influence is much in evidence.

  In the UK, Jersey is well known as a tax haven for the wealthy.

  Chapter One

  Kate Frost clutched her baby tightly as the taxi took a sharp bend, and her stomach contracted with nerves. She had thought she would feel safe once she set foot on home soil, on the Island of Jersey in the Channel Isles where she grew up. The moment she stepped off the ferry and tasted the salty island air, she knew she was home. But she hadn't counted on the paparazzi pursuing her across from England.

  She rubbed her thumb over the shiny surface of her lucky penny in the pocket of her skirt, the Jersey penny she had kept on her ever since she left the island seven years ago. She could do with all the luck she could get when she faced her old friend Andre Le Court and asked for his help.

  She tried to picture Andre as he was now at twenty-five, but in her mind he would be forever sixteen, sea salt drying on his tanned skin, his thick, dark hair dancing in the breeze. Life had been much happier and more carefree back then, before Andre's father sent him away to boarding school and everything changed.

  The familiar landscape of small, steep fields swept past the windows of the taxi. She looked out the back to see if the photographers were still following. She caught glimpses of the narrow road they'd left behind winding away between the hedges. Hope flared as she thought she'd lost them, then the flash of sun on glass revealed the car following about a hundred yards back.

  Her six-week-old baby girl, Keiko, stirred in her sleep, flexing her tiny fingers against the front of Kate's shirt. "It's all right, sweet pea. Mummy's here." Kate wrapped her arms protectively around the precious tiny body, breathing in the delicate fragrance of her baby's hair.

  Andre wasn't going to be pleased with her for bringing the paparazzi to disturb the peace of his luxury hotel, but he was her last hope. She couldn't think of anyone else to turn to now that her stepfather had sent her packing. If she was lucky, Andre would help her for old times' sake.

  Kate scrubbed her hand across her face. Shielding Keiko from the photographers had left Kate numb with exhaustion. A few rude words came to mind that she'd like to say to her publicity-obsessed ex-boyfriend, Dan. He'd use anyone or anything to keep his name in the media.

  The whine of a car engine cut into her thoughts. The photographers' rental car had caught up with her taxi. The redheaded man, who'd been her worst tormentor, was driving. He gave her a cocky grin and mouthed, "Got you." She turned away and ground her teeth.

  The taxi rounded the final bend, and the driver glanced over his shoulder. "Nearly there, love. This place will set you back a bob or two. Got a couple of gold bars in the bottom of that backpack of yours, have you?"

  Kate cast a rueful glance at her bag. It was so heavy it felt as though she had. "I'm a friend of Mr. Le Court's. I'm hoping I'll get a freebie."

  He gave a low whistle and stared at her in his mirror. "Good luck with that."

  The taxi slowed as it approached the entrance to the Caspian Manor Hotel. Out of habit, Kate looked for the dragons. They were still there, perched regally on top of the massive granite gateposts. As the taxi turned down the drive, Kate peered up at one of the lichen-encrusted creatures that had kept watch over the manor house gates since the thirteenth century. The dragon was hunched down, tail curled around its body, wings partially open as though it was about to take off. To think that, when they were children, she and Andre had climbed the eight-foot pillars so they could ride the dragons. They must have been a little crazy back then.

  The car wound along the narrow drive bordered by wooded slopes, thick with a lush palette of greens and colored wildflowers.

  Kate released her seatbelt, checked the fastening on Keiko's baby sling and pulled on her backpack in readiness to climb out. She looked up as they emerged from the woods and rounded the final corner of the drive.

  Andre's Norman manor house still had the power to steal her breath. Its turrets and crenellated battlements were clothed in passionflower and wisteria like a fairytale castle. Growing up here had been wonderful. She had only been the gardener's daughter, but in spirit this place belonged to her as well. She hoped its master was in a good mood and ready to grant her sanctuary.

  ***

  Andre Le Court leaned back in his office chair, twisted around to face the window, and watched a herring gull glide across the square of cloudless blue sky. He adjusted the telephone in his grip as he listened to Elizabeth Delacroix, his aspiring graphic designer. "I think it would brighten the whole dining room if you got rid of the oak paneling," she said." I know it's listed, but we could box it in."

  He frowned at her sketches on the desk in front of him. "Liz, the panels in the dining room are thirteenth century. They're an important feature of the house. I want to make the most of the Caspian's assets, not hide them away." Promising Elizabeth's grandfather Edmund Delacroix that she could put in a proposal had been a serious mistake. The woman had no idea what she was doing! She was suggesting he remodel the hotel, when the brief had clearly stated he wante
d a new promotional concept. Unfortunately, he felt obliged to consider her proposal for her grandfather's sake. Edmund had been there for Andre when his grandfather died, offering help and advice on how to run the two hotels he'd inherited. Andre owed him.

  To make matters worse, Andre suspected Edmund was pushing Elizabeth his way in the hope romance might blossom, but he wasn't interested. If he had to spend much time with the woman, she would drive him nuts.

  "Look, Liz," he said, "this isn't what I'm looking for. Have a rethink and come up with a new concept for promoting the Caspian. I'm simply trying to rebrand it. Give my regards to your grandfather." Liz suggested dinner and he grimaced until she said Edmund wanted to talk to him. "Fine, I'll see you both on the terrace here at eight."

  He ended his call and cast a frustrated glance at the other three proposals he'd had for rebranding the hotel, all stylish, glossy covers and no substance. In his gut he knew what he was after but didn't have the creative skill to put the idea on paper. The Caspian was beautiful and quirky, an ancient slumbering monster of a place. He needed someone who understood the building's personality, someone who could come up with a new way to promote it that didn't involve tearing out its heart and turning it into a clone of other top notch hotels.

  His grandfather's dream had been for the Caspian Manor to win the Connoisseur Club poll, to be recognized as the top hotel in Europe. Andre owed it to the old man to make that dream come true. But he needed help.

  The squeal of car tires on gravel cut into his thoughts. At the sound of raised voices, he stood and strode over to the open window, catching the back view of two men as they entered the front of the hotel. Then he heard the sound of a woman's voice raised in protest, a voice that hurled him back through a kaleidoscope of memories. He gripped the window frame to steady himself, a little shocked. After all these years, Kate Frost still had the power to rock his world, and he didn't like it.

  Andre crushed his first instinct to dash downstairs to see her. Instead he grabbed his jacket, slipped it on, and carefully straightened the cuffs. Aware of every breath, he counted them, marked the seconds, kept control. He had an image to maintain, a professional persona that required discipline. He could not let her get to him.

  He left his office and paused at the top of the narrow oak stairs that led down to the reception area. The lobby of his normally peaceful manor house hotel was in turmoil.

  She stood on the plush, red carpet, shouting at three men with cameras who were trying to take her photograph. Her slender figure was almost obscured by an enormous pack on her back and what looked like a smaller bag slung across her chest. She wore a long, blue skirt shot through with fine gold threads. Her feet were bare; her small toes almost lost in the thick pile of the carpet. Every time she moved, the multitude of slim, gold bangles on her arm jangled, and the beads in her fine blonde braids rattled.

  Andre's normally efficient duty manager was unsuccessfully trying to restore calm. The reception staff stood motionless as if dumbstruck. A group of Swiss bankers, some minor French politicians, and the CEO of an American Pharmaceutical Company all looked on, some with fascination, some with disapproval.

  Kate Frost was back in his life.

  Andre fastened his jacket, then smoothly took the ten steps down to the lobby and made his way through the crowd.

  Andre arrived in time to grab Kate's wrist as she aimed her sandal at one of the photographers. It was only then he realized what they were trying to photograph. A tiny pink head covered with golden fluff protruded out of the small bag on her front.

  The breath left him as though he'd been punched in the gut. For a moment, he struggled to draw in air. "No, Kat," he whispered. Why would she have a baby with that sleazeball Daniel Crowther?

  One of the photographers called to him, "You're Andre Le Court, the owner of the hotel?" Then without waiting for a reply: "Mr. Le Court, how long have you known Kate Frost? Are you friends with Daniel Crowther?"

  "No," Andre snapped, knowing he shouldn't engage with these men, but unable to hold back the denial. They kept firing questions at him, but he concentrated on Kate. Gently taking her elbow, Andre guided her through the swelling crowd of inquisitive faces toward the stairway. But the pushy photographer wasn't ready to give up. "Andre, are you the baby's father?"

  The question slammed into him like a right hook. He jerked to a halt, his emotions seesawing from heartache to anger. "You didn't tell them—?"

  "They're fishing," she whispered quickly. "Don't say anything."

  Tension tightened the muscles in his neck, clenched his jaw into painful knots. His inclination was to set the record straight immediately, but she looked up at him imploringly. "You have some explaining to do," he said. He lifted the heavy pack off her back, then ushered her up the narrow staircase to the sanctuary of his office.

  Andre pushed the door shut and dropped her bag next to his desk. Kate flopped down in one of the tapestry wing chairs in front of the fireplace and closed her eyes. Colored threads gleamed among the golden strands of her hair while an assortment of different earrings sparkled on her ears. Years may have passed since he last saw her, but Kate appeared the same. Except she has a baby.

  The truth hit him anew with a fresh wave of shock. His little Kate was a mother. He wished she'd come to see him before, or at least told him she was pregnant. Or maybe not. Kate was not part of his life anymore, and the child had nothing to do with him.

  Kate stroked her baby's back. The tense creases across her forehead melted away. She met Andre's gaze, curved her lips into a little catlike smile. "Hi, stranger. Long time no see."

  Andre clamped down on his confused thoughts and tried to get back to practicalities. "Care to tell me what all that downstairs was about?"

  The baby made a small snuffling noise. Kate looked down quickly as if relieved to have an excuse not to answer. She raised her feet, sat cross-legged on the chair, and eased the child out of its carrier. Holding her baby up carefully, she let its little head rest against her cheek.

  "Andre, meet Keiko."

  The baby screwed up her face, gave a huge yawn and opened bright green eyes. She was the image of her mother.

  The years fell away. Andre was a small boy again, standing in the doorway of the hotel kitchen, watching Kate's mother hold her up to show the kitchen staff. It must have been the first time he'd ever set eyes on Kate. How strange that he remembered the incident so clearly.

  "Don't you think Keiko is beautiful? Her name means 'adored one.' It's Japanese."

  Andre nodded, his emotions in a state of flux, not quite sure what he felt right now. Kate looked disappointed. She'd obviously hoped for a more enthusiastic response. "Why did that photographer ask if I'm her father?" he said.

  "I didn't put a father's name on her birth certificate. I didn't want the press to know she's Daniel's. But, of course, they suspect he's the dad." Kate sighed, turned the baby around in her arms and cuddled her. "That red haired guy who asked you the questions is a crafty bloke. I guess he thought he might shock you into telling him she's Daniel's."

  That made sense in a twisted way. Andre sat on the edge of his desk and crossed his arms. "It's nice to see you, Kat, but why turn up on my doorstep now?"

  "I was desperate, Andre. I need somewhere safe to stay until Dan's reality TV show ends and the press lose interest in him. I went to Mum's, but my stepfather wouldn't let me stay with the photographers camped out on the doorstep."

  "What sort of show is Dan involved in?"

  "It's lots of fashion photographer hopefuls. There were twenty to start with and he's made it into the last six. The trouble is he's really caught the attention of the press because of his wild antics. And it doesn't hurt that he's so good-looking."

  Andre ground his teeth. Daniel Crowther was the male equivalent of a blonde bimbo. He could understand what ordinary women saw in Dan. But he'd have sworn Kate had enough sense to see past the fair hair and blue eyes to the shallow hedonist beneath.

  "Da
n wasn't always like this," Kate said defensively, obviously reading Andre's disapproval on his face. "At Art College he was a great boyfriend. And he wanted a baby when I got pregnant. Everything started to go wrong after he was accepted on the TV show. He cheated on me with one of the models they photographed, so I walked out. Now he's not even interested in seeing Keiko. I think fame's gone to his head. "

  Andre resisted the temptation to make a derogatory comment. Daniel Crowther hadn't changed; he'd simply shown his true colors. Dan might have been able to fool Kate, but Andre had needed to meet him only once to work out what sort of man he was.

  "Since Keiko was born, the damn paparazzi have followed us night and day," Kate said softly. "I can't cope with it anymore. I want a quiet place to hole up where they can't get to us. It won't be for long. Dan's television series ends in a couple of weeks."

  Andre jammed his hands in his pants pockets and went to the window. He stared blindly at the sunny garden, disturbed by the tight knot of anger in his gut. He didn't usually lose his temper, but when he thought of how Daniel Crowther had treated Kate it infuriated him.

  Despite his instinct not to get involved, Andre wanted desperately to help her. But what could he do? Offer her a room for a few weeks? She would still be easy prey for the paparazzi. He could hardly set up a road block and exclude them from the premises. And he would be crazy to alienate the media when he was courting them for publicity for the hotel.

  Andre passed a weary hand over his face. It wasn't Kate's fault, but during his childhood and youth she had caused him endless problems and heartaches. He'd laid that part of his life to rest and moved on. Tried to forget her. Done what he had to do to survive. He couldn't afford to get tangled up with her again.

  Andre swung around to tell Kate that he couldn't help her, but at the sight of her, all rational thought fled. She'd lifted her shirt and cradled the baby in her left arm. Gently she stroked the child's cheek as it fed from her breast.

  Mesmerized, Andre stared for a few seconds before he came to his senses and turned away. He released the buttons on his jacket and adjusted the knot in his tie. His office was suddenly hot and airless. He fixed his gaze out the window, but all he could see was the pale curve of Kate's breast above the baby's head. He felt dishonorable even noticing her breast when she was feeding her baby. This just reinforced the fact she was trouble he could do without.