by Lucy Clark
‘You don’t like the fudge mixed in, do you?’ she asked.
Virgil slowly shook his head. ‘I don’t, but I know Rosie would. I’ll have to bring her here to try it out.’
‘At least you’re not letting your own dislikes influence her. Let me know when you’re bringing her here and I’ll join you.’
‘You will?’ He was surprised at her words.
‘Sure. I never pass up the opportunity to eat fudge and ice-cream.’
‘All right, then.’ He held out his hand and Clara shook it. ‘It’s a date.’ He paused, still holding her hand, still needing that contact, still delighting in the softness of her skin. ‘You are still coming to dinner this Saturday?’
‘Yeah.’
She nodded and he released her hand, then watched as Clara eyed his half-finished ice-cream as it melted in the bowl.
‘Are you going to finish that?’
Chuckling, he passed the bowl to her. ‘Here you go, you ice-cream-a-holic.’
Wanting to finish his leftovers? This was good. This was very good.
* * *
Clara shifted her present for Virgil’s daughter to her other hand and smoothed down her top. Ridiculous, she chided herself. Being so preoccupied with her appearance simply for Virgil. She’d told herself over and over that they were simply friends and nothing more, yet this was the fourth outfit she’d changed into before leaving home.
She’d stopped by the toy store yesterday, and after long minutes of deliberation had ended up buying an animated clock, which was guaranteed to lull any child to sleep at night and bring a giggle to their lips during the day. She hoped Rosie liked it.
Resisting the impulse to press the doorbell again, Clara fluffed her ankle-length skirt and smoothed her white top again. Where on earth was he? Didn’t he realise she was nervous about meeting his daughter? If Rosie didn’t like her then—Clara stopped. Then what? Why did it matter whether or not Virgil’s daughter liked her? Sure, they’d managed to make it through a whole week being a bit more than professional acquaintances, and Clara had enjoyed every moment she’d spent with Virgil, but if his three-year-old daughter didn’t take a shine to her, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
After a few more impatient moments, she heard footsteps heading towards the door. Exhaling a deep, calming breath, she pasted a smile in place.
‘Clara Lewis?’ The door was opened by a plump, elderly woman with short grey hair and green eyes.
‘Yes.’ Clara quickly responded.
‘Come on in. Virgil won’t be a moment. He’s just putting away his toys.’
There was a slight smirk on the other woman’s lips and Clara instantly warmed to her.
‘His toys?’ she queried as she came inside.
The woman closed the door behind them. ‘He needs to set a good example for his daughter by removing his computer and paperwork from the dining room table.’ She chuckled.
‘OK...’ Clara remarked, feeling a little unsure of the correct response.
The woman held out her hand. ‘I’m Gwenda, by the way.’ Gwenda glanced at the beautifully wrapped present and smiled. ‘Rosie is going to love that wrapping paper.’
Clara nodded. ‘I specifically chose shiny paper for that very reason. My nieces always love this kind of wrapping.’
‘How old are they?’ Gwenda asked as she led them through the house, Clara’s flat shoes making a faint tapping sound on the polished wooden floor.
‘Eighteen months old—they’re twins.’
‘Double the trouble, double the love!’ Gwenda stated.
‘And double the nappies, as my sister-in-law says.’
Clara followed Gwenda.
‘Come through to the dining room. We’ll be eating straight away, so Rosie can have her bath and go to bed.’
‘Sounds good,’ Clara agreed.
The large dining table was set at one end with four place settings—the fourth having a Mickey Mouse theme. Placemat, fork, spoon and cup were all adorned with Disney characters. A booster seat was on the chair and Virgil, with his back to Clara, was seating his daughter comfortably.
When he stepped back, Clara was captivated by the little girl, with her blonde hair and the same perfect blue eyes as her father. She’d looked adorable in the pictures Virgil had shown her, but in person there was definitely a hint of mischief about her. At the moment, though, she was gazing lovingly up at her father, as though he’d hung the moon just for her.
‘Thanks for coming, Clara,’ Virgil stated, and it was only then that Clara glanced his way.
He was dressed casually in jeans and a cotton shirt. She looked back at his daughter, who had spied the present in Clara’s hands.
‘It’s a present? A present for Rosie?’
Her blue eyes twinkled with delight, her little hands coming forward with anticipation. Best of all, her little voice held the hint of a French accent, and Clara realised the girl was most likely bilingual. Having been born in Montreal, it was little wonder.
‘Uh—’ Clara seemed to snap out of the fog which had surrounded her at seeing Virgil with his daughter. ‘Yes. This is for you.’
‘You shouldn’t have. She’s spoiled enough.’ He watched as his daughter took the present, prompting, ‘Manners, Rosie?’
‘Merci,’ Rosie replied dutifully, her little hands trying to find the join in the paper where the sticky tape was located.
As the little girl unwrapped the gift, Virgil edged a little closer to Clara.
‘You look lovely,’ he said quietly.
Clara turned her head. ‘Thank you.’ She allowed her gaze to flit fleetingly over his lithe frame. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself.’
‘Why, thank you, Dr Lewis.’
‘You’re welcome, Dr Arterton.’
They stared into each other’s eyes for a long moment, and then the smiles started to slip, their easy, joking manner being replaced by one of tantalising awareness. He looked good. He smelled good. He was looking at her lips—and she was looking at his.
As though both realising the danger they might find themselves in, they looked away, focusing on the little girl, who had managed to get the ribbon off and was scrunching the shiny gold paper.
‘Would you like some help, blossom?’ Virgil carefully removed the sticky tape and helped her to open the box. ‘Hey. What’s in here?’
As Virgil helped Rosie to remove the clock, Clara took the opportunity to put her attraction to Virgil out of her mind. She was here to meet his daughter, not to ogle him in front of the child.
‘Wow!’ Rosie exclaimed. ‘Cow. Dog. Cat. Spoon.’
‘It’s “Hey Diddle Diddle”,’ Virgil told her. Rosie reached for the clock and her father quickly said, ‘Gently, blossom. Touch lightly.’
The clock, shaped like a moon, had three-dimensional characters from the nursery rhyme around it.
‘It plays two different tunes,’ Clara volunteered. ‘One for bedtime and one for daytime.’ She’d put a battery in and set the clock to the correct time before wrapping it.
Virgil sat it on the table, out of reach of little fingers, and flicked the button that controlled the music.
The strains of ‘Hey Diddle Diddle’ filled the room as the cat fiddled, the cow jumped over the moon, the dog laughed and a small dish and spoon moved across the base.
Rosie’s eyes grew wide and she clapped her hands when it had finished. ‘Again, Daddy. Play it again.’
Virgil flicked the switch over to the night-time song and soon the strains of Brahms’ ‘Lullaby’ filled the room. Rosie clapped her hands again. Although the characters continued to move in the same way, the music was softer and more peaceful.
Virgil yawned and stretched and Clara laughed.
‘It definitely works for Daddy
,’ he told Rosie with a grin, then tickled his daughter.
The girl giggled, the sound making Clara fall in love with the child.
‘Thanks, Clara.’
She flicked her attention from Rosie to Virgil, who was smiling at her in the way that had often made her knees weaken. Now was no exception.
‘It’s a wonderful gift.’
‘My pleasure.’ Their gazes held for a moment. Both seemed to be remembering happier times—times they’d shared together.
When the music began for the third time, Virgil groaned and switched it off.
‘More, please. More, Daddy.’
‘Later. It’s time for dinner now. Say thank you to Clara.’
‘Thank you, Clara,’ Rosie repeated.
‘You’re welcome,’ Clara replied.
‘I presume both tunes are on continuous play?’ Virgil asked. When Clara nodded he groaned.
‘And I made sure I put long-life batteries in.’ Her smile was wide.
‘How considerate,’ he teased, and winked at her.
The action caused her heart to skip a beat, and she knew that as she was already instantly enthralled with his daughter, she’d do well to keep guarding her heart against becoming enthralled with Rosie’s father.
CHAPTER SIX
‘SORRY FOR THE slight delay,’ Gwenda announced as she came through the swinging door from the kitchen. She carried a large tray with steaming plates. Placing them on the table she said, ‘Sit down, before it gets cold. Virgil, can you pour the wine, please?’
Virgil instantly reached for the bottle of white wine that stood chilling in a silver bucket. He wiped the base and offered it to Clara. ‘Wine?’
‘Yes, please.’
He poured one for himself and one for Gwenda, before passing Rosie a sippy cup of water. Clara watched as the three-year-old fed herself quite well, sometimes using the fork and spoon as well as her fingers. If the food was too hot she would blow on it, or ask her daddy to blow on it for her. The child was incredibly adorable.
The conversation over dinner was kept rolling by Gwenda, who explained that she’d known Virgil all his life and that she’d been more than happy to come and help him out after his wife had passed away.
Rosie also offered several topics of conversation such as not wanting to eat her carrots, demanding sauce on everything, and wanting Clara to help her finish the final three mouthfuls.
‘You don’t have to. I can do it,’ Virgil told her.
‘It’s fine. I’m more than happy to help. I often help Arthur and Maybelle with their twins.’
‘Aunty Clara to the rescue, eh?’
Her answer was a tinkling laugh and Virgil had to stop himself from staring at her. When she laughed, it illuminated her entire face and made her look radiant. He liked making her laugh. He liked being near her, watching her graceful movements, and he was pleased at the way both Rosie and Gwenda seemed to like this very special woman.
Rosie dropped her spoon on the floor and he quickly bent to retrieve it. ‘There you are, funny face.’
Rosie giggled and blew a kiss to her beloved daddy.
As he continued to watch the way Clara interacted with Rosie, he couldn’t help but wonder what might have happened if he hadn’t taken that position in Montreal. Would they have stayed together as they’d planned? Would both of them have found fulfilment in their careers? Would they now be married with a gaggle of children? Would Clara still have had her accident and had to endure so much pain?
It was stupid to play the ‘what if’ game because there was no way he could go back and change the past, but he could most definitely change the future.
Once Rosie had finished eating it was time for her bath. Clara thanked Gwenda for the delicious meal, and when Gwenda headed to the kitchen with the first load of dishes Clara instantly stood and began helping to clear.
‘You don’t have to do that,’ Virgil stated. ‘You’re a guest.’
‘Oh, piffle. With our history, I’m hardly a real guest,’ Clara stated as she took the next load of dishes through to the kitchen.
Virgil conceded she had a point. The fact that they’d known each other for almost two decades meant that she didn’t expect to be treated like a true first-time guest. He was glad, in a way, because it meant she felt comfortable—not only around Gwenda and Rosie, but around him.
While Clara and Gwenda cleared he helped Rosie from her booster seat and went to start her bath. He could hear Gwenda and Clara chatting in the kitchen before Gwenda gave Clara directions to Rosie’s bedroom. Then he heard his daughter showing Clara around her bedroom, introducing her soft toys.
With the bath running, Virgil walked to Rosie’s room, leaning on the doorframe and watching the two of them together.
‘This is my tea set. I play with my toys and have tea parties, but Gwenda says that I have to have ’maginary food and drink only—no real food and drink.’
‘That’s a good idea,’ Clara agreed as another teddy bear and a doll were shoved into her hands for inspection. ‘Imaginary food and drink means you don’t get any ants in your bedroom.’
‘’Sactly! And Daddy sits down on the blanket and he drinks his tea with his little finger in the air.’ Rosie burst into a fit of giggles at this, and held the cup in her hand and tried desperately to hold it with her little finger in the air. ‘And he makes slurpy noises.’
Rosie slurped, clearly to ensure Clara understood what she meant. Clara laughed and lifted a small cup to her lips, putting her little finger in the air and making slurping noises, causing Rosie to laugh even more.
It warmed his heart to see them interact like his. She was so natural with Rosie—so open and accepting. His hope began to increase once more that Clara might one day change the nature of their relationship and allow him to court her properly. That was a mistake he’d made the first time. They’d gone from being friends to being a couple without all the lovely in-between moments of really finding the romance within their relationship.
When he’d decided upon this course of action—to see whether he could find a future with Clara—he’d been surprised to discover she hadn’t married. Of course, back then, he hadn’t known about her accident and months of rehab, but even still, she might have met someone when she’d been overseas.
Now, getting to know this new Clara, he had to admit that she was far more content and confident within her own life than she’d ever been in the past. She’d always had that inner strength, but now she had the confidence to use it. It was great to see and very alluring.
As Rosie started to show Clara her favourite story books Virgil cleared his throat. ‘Bathtime, Rosie.’
‘Non, non, non!’
Rosie quickly tried to climb onto the bed behind Clara, but Virgil was too fast for her and came into the room, scooping her up in his arms. Then he started to blow raspberries onto her tummy, making Rosie squeal loudly with delight. The child’s infectious laughter filled the room with vibrancy and colour, making Virgil and Clara laugh as well.
‘Arrêtes, Papa!’ she ordered between giggles, not meaning a word she said.
Virgil repeated the action, the sound of his lips on her stomach echoing around the room as Rosie’s laughter bubbled over.
‘Ready to get drenched?’ Virgil asked Clara as he led the procession to the bathroom.
The tub had been half filled with water and was covered with foaming masses of white bubbles. Virgil tested the water and, after ensuring it wouldn’t burn Rosie’s delicate skin, shut the taps off and went to undress his daughter. Surprisingly, he found Clara helping Rosie to get her T-shirt over her head.
‘Thanks.’
Clara grinned at him. ‘I’m an experienced aunty, remember?’
‘I can see that.’ He grinned as he helped the little girl into the
bath.
Rosie searched for her toys amongst the bubbles, enjoying a game that was obviously a nightly ritual. She pulled out cups and boats and animals, delighting in each find. The two adults stood side by side, watching the child play.
‘She’s gorgeous, Virgil. I didn’t expect her to be bilingual.’
‘That’s because most three-year-olds aren’t. But I want her to continue to be raised speaking both languages.’
‘You talk to her in both French and English?’
‘Yes, but since we returned to Australia last year, she’s really started to pick up the Aussie twang.’
Clara was surprised. ‘You left Montreal last year?’
He nodded and beckoned her out into the hallway. That way they could talk without disturbing Rosie.
‘Rosie was only six months old when Diana passed away, and for a while I wasn’t sure what to do. Diana had no family in Canada, and as a qualified surgeon, I knew I could get work anywhere. Gwenda came over and lived with us, taking care of Rosie so I could work, but Gwenda doesn’t speak much French so it was difficult for her. I took a locum position at Sydney General for six months, so we could acclimatise ourselves to the Australian climate, and after that Victoria seemed like the logical choice. My parents are here, when they’re not travelling, so after giving it much thought, I decided to move back to the last place I could remember being really happy.’
He looked into her upturned face and couldn’t resist brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear.
They stood like that for a long moment, staring into each other’s eyes, unsure what to say or do next. What he wanted to do was to gather her into his arms, hold her as close as possible and press his lips to hers—but he’d promised her they would remain friends. Friends. He knew that if all Clara could ever give him was friendship, then he would take it. Of course he wanted more—he was a red-blooded male in love with this incredible woman—but it was because he loved her and respected her that he knew he would accept whatever verdict she gave on the status of their relationship.
‘Sounds as though you’ve had a few difficult years.’ Clara was the first to speak, the first to break eye contact and glance over at Rosie, playing happily in the bath.
