A Woman to Remember

by Miranda Lee

  It rather blasted away one of his preconceptions about Rachel, as had this house last night. She had not married some old man for money, which meant that she must have married for love.

  Luke tore his tortured gaze away from the wedding pictures, his eyes narrowing and swinging around the room in search of what he knew had to be there somewhere.

  And then he saw it—a baby photograph, sitting on top of a beautifully carved bookcase which was half hidden behind a couple of overstuffed chintzy armchairs.

  He swallowed, and squeezed between the arms to pick up the silver-framed picture. The baby in the ten-by-eight coloured print looked about six months old, and was stark naked, sitting in a bath. He was an extremely beautiful child, with soft blond curls covering his head and the brightest blue eyes Luke had ever seen.

  Luke’s chest tightened. His own eyes were such a dark brown people thought them black. Dark brown eyes were dominant in his family, on both sides. Even though Rachel had green eyes, Luke himself would have had to carry a recessive blue gene to have a blue-eyed child.

  He didn’t think that he carried that gene. His two brothers definitely didn’t, all their five children having brown eyes. It had often been a matter of family discussion, their dark brown eyes.

  A sudden thought struck Luke, and he hurried back to peer at the wedding photos. Damn it all but it looked as if Rachel’s husband had had brown eyes as well. Not as dark brown as his, however.

  One of Luke’s other suspicions about Rachel returned with a vengeance. The baby might not be his, but he might not be her husband’s either. It would explain why she’d been so adamant about not calling the baby Patrick. Doing so would have been a constant reminder of her guilt.

  Luke decided not to waste any further time. He would find out the child’s exact age, then get the hell out of here. Taking the baby’s photograph with him as a talking point, he easily found the kitchen in the small house, where Sarah Cleary was busy making up a teatray.

  She looked up with a ready smile, making Luke feel rotten again. ‘Oh, so you’ve found Derek’s picture. Such a beautiful child, don’t you think? There again, he has an exceptionally beautiful mother.’

  Luke found a dark irony in the woman’s generosity in giving most of the credit for the child’s looks to the mother. Little did she know that it was possible her own son had contributed a big zero to the boy’s beauty. No doubt there was some handsome blue-eyed hunk somewhere around Australia—or maybe the world—who was equally ignorant of the contribution he’d made to the Cleary family.

  ‘Rachel said he turns one next month,’ Luke said innocently, and held his breath for the answer.

  ‘Yes, that’s right,’ Sarah tripped back, and Luke’s heart hit rock bottom. ‘October the fourteenth.’

  Self-disgust was hard on the heels of his disappointment.

  Good God, don’t tell me I was still hoping, despite the blue eyes. What kind of fool am I?

  The kind who just doesn’t know when to quit, came back the rueful answer.

  He was searching his mind for some excuse to go and have a look at the child, whom he assumed must be asleep, when the house was rent by the sound of a child’s cries. They were high-pitched and quite loud, more like a temper tantrum than the sounds of a distressed baby.

  His eyes flew to Sarah, who didn’t look all that concerned. ‘It seems Master Derek has awakened from his morning nap. I know he sounds like he’s distressed, but he’s not. He’s just bored. He can’t bear being in bed once he’s awake. Would you mind pouring yourself some tea while I get him up, Luke?’

  ‘Er... not at all.’ Luke glanced at his watch and saw that only fifteen minutes had gone by since he had entered the house. With a bit of luck he would still be away before Madame Lash returned from the shops.

  ‘I’ll be a minute or two,’ Sarah warned him. ‘I’ll have to change his nappy before he makes an appearance in public.’

  The crocodile tears were becoming louder and more demanding. What a little tyrant, Luke thought, yet found himself smiling when the sounds stopped abruptly the moment Sarah opened his bedroom door.

  Luke poured himself a cup of tea and was sitting, dunking in a biscuit, when Sarah came back, carrying a dry-eyed Derek who looked considerably older and even more good-looking than in his photograph. Never had Luke seen such beautiful big brown...

  ‘Brown,’ he choked out, after almost choking on the biscuit.

  ‘What’s that, dear?’ Sarah said as she slid the baby boy into the highchair at the end of the table. The job completed, child and grandmother both turned curious looks on him.

  ‘His eyes,’ Luke repeated dazedly. ‘They’re brown. But they’re blue here in this photograph.’ He picked up the frame to stare at those bright blue eyes once more.

  Sarah’s laugh was soft and gentle. ‘Didn’t you know? All babies are born with blue eyes. Some take several months before they change to their final colour. Derek’s eyes are exactly the same colour as his father’s eyes. Really, it’s the only part of his father that he’s inherited.’

  Luke felt that sick feeling once more. She was right. Derek’s eyes were not nearly as dark as his own—more like the mid-brown of Patrick Cleary’s.

  His sigh carried a resigned finality. He’d come full circle, hadn’t he? With all his preconceptions about Derek’s conception now well and truly routed. Rachel had been guilty of one night of infidelity, that was all. One mad night when, for whatever reasons best known to herself, she’d simply needed a man.

  And she’d chosen him.

  Dear God, why me? he groaned silently.

  He now wished he had not come—wished that he’d listened to that other voice which had told him to leave well enough alone.

  But he had come, and would have to stay and face Rachel, who would no doubt be furious with him. Ahh, well...

  ‘Is he a difficult baby?’ Luke asked, more to make conversation than out of any real interest. The child was not his. His instinct had failed him for the first time in his life.

  Sarah handed the baby a fruit stick to chew on and sat down to pour herself some tea.

  ‘He’s been a right pain,’ Sarah admitted. ‘But he’s getting better. Of course, Rachel fusses over him far too much—but that’s understandable, considering his precarious start to life.’

  ‘Oh? He was a sickly baby, was he?’

  ‘Well, not exactly. Just premature. Two whole months. He spent the first six weeks of his life in a humidicrib.’

  Luke was glad that Sarah chose that moment to stand up and tie a bib around the baby’s neck, for Luke knew that his face must have shown his feelings. There was no rage. Just shock, followed by a wave of intense elation which threatened to undermine every ounce of control he was desperately trying to muster. Dear God, he almost burst into tears!

  Luke’s eyes still watered as they turned to stare at his son. It was totally involuntary, the love that welled up in his heart for the boy, the all-consuming feeling of pride and paternal joy. His eyes locked with the child’s, and maybe he communicated his emotion to his offspring, for the child seemed transfixed with his father, his big brown eyes rounding further.

  ‘Derek,’ he said softly, and a happy gurgle erupted from those baby lips, his arms flapping in a gesture of uninhibited delight.

  Sarah smiled at her guest as she sat back down. ‘He likes you, Luke. Which is a first. He doesn’t usually like men. Of course,’ she added with a sad little sigh, ‘he hasn’t had much contact with them. I suppose Rachel told you Derek’s father died when he was only a couple of weeks old?’

  ‘Er...actually no, she didn’t. But I knew she was a widow when I hired her. What did your son die from, Sarah?’

  ‘Leukaemia. He was diagnosed about a year after he and Rachel were married. After some intensive chemotherapy he went into remission for a year or so, but then it flared up again, worse than ever, and we all knew it was only a matter of time. Patrick only lasted as long as he did because Rachel was expecting
his baby. He’d always wanted a son, you see. Quite obsessively. I can’t tell you how relieved I was when Rachel’s ultrasound showed she was having a boy.’

  ‘It must have been a difficult time for all of you,’ he murmured.

  ‘It was, but Rachel was marvellous. That girl has such strength, you’ve no idea. I would have fallen apart if it hadn’t been for her. She means the world to me—as, of course, does little Derek here. We’ve both got him to thank for pulling us through the bad spots. Being responsible for another human being does make you snap out of self-pity, and it gives you a purpose in life.’

  Luke was trying to find some answer to that when the front door banged, and three seconds later Rachel swept into the kitchen, speaking as she went.

  ‘I bought some gel for Derek’s gums and some infant dose Pana—’ Her voice broke off when she spotted Luke sitting there, all the blood draining from her face.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ODDLY enough, Luke’s reaction to her distress was not anger or resentment, but pity. No sensible-thinking man could have looked upon that lovely pale face with its haunted green eyes and imagined for one moment that she was wicked or, God forbid, some kind of conscienceless whore. Whatever had driven her to do what she had done eighteen months ago, it had not been selfish desire or nymphomaniacal need.

  It had been desperation.

  Of that he was certain. Desperation to give her dying husband the son he’d always wanted.

  ‘Luke,’ was all she could manage to say, the word as strained as her expression.

  ‘Hello, Rachel,’ he returned, trying to put her at ease. ‘I dropped by to see when you might be free to finish the shoot. Sarah here said you wouldn’t be long, then kindly invited me in for tea.’

  ‘Yes, and you should see how Derek has taken to him, Rachel,’ Sarah chimed on, oblivious to the underlying tension in the room. ‘Why, he was laughing and smiling a moment ago. I was telling Luke, that’s not like him at all. Most men make him go all quiet and shy. See—he’s smiling at Luke right now.’

  ‘Yes, yes, I see,’ Rachel said stiffly, although some colour had come back into her face. Obviously she’d begun clinging to the hope that nothing had been said or done to give the game away.

  Luke decided that he wasn’t going to allow her to play that game any more. But he was not so cruel or insensitive as to say anything in front of Sarah.

  ‘Rachel, I really do need to have a private word with you,’ Luke said firmly, which brought another panic-stricken glance from those dark-ringed green eyes. She really did look awfully tired this morning, but still incredibly beautiful.

  ‘Why don’t you take Luke into the lounge-room, Rachel?’ Sarah offered. ‘I’ll take Derek out into the yard for a play in his sandpit. And don’t worry. I’ll put some sunscreen and a hat on him.’ This with a rueful smile at Luke, as if to say, See what I mean? Such a fusspot of a mother!

  ‘All right,’ Rachel said, lifting her son out of the highchair, her face going all soft and glowing as she gave him a peck on the cheek. ‘You be a good boy for your nan—and no tantrums, mind. When she says it’s time to come inside then it’s time to come in. Only fifteen minutes at this time of day, Sarah. Luke and I should be finished by then.’

  Luke returned her challenging glance with a bland face, not wanting to tip his hand in advance.

  ‘This way,’ she said coolly once Sarah and Derek had departed for the great outdoors. ‘First door on the left.’

  Luke felt his chest tightening as she waved him ahead of her out of the kitchen. He walked rather stiffly down the narrow hallway and into the cluttered lounge once more, wishing at that moment that he was anywhere else but where he was. Even a visit to the dentist would have been preferable to what he was about to say.

  He sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs and watched while she closed the door behind her, then crossed her arms as she whirled to face him across the room.

  ‘Don’t think I’m impressed with the way you’ve wormed yourself into Sarah’s affections just to get to me,’ she snapped. ‘You’re a sneaky, conscienceless, manipulative devil, Luke St Clair, and I want nothing more to do with you.’

  Luke scooped in a deep, steadying breath and let it out slowly as he reclined fully in the chair. There was no point in losing his temper—nothing to be gained by trading insults. But, damn it all, his heart was pounding away inside his chest and he was having a hard battle controlling his blood pressure. He planted both his hands firmly over the ends of the armrests, tipped his head back and locked eyes with her.

  ‘I wish it were as simple as that, Rachel,’ he began. ‘I wish all that had brought me here was a desire to sample your delectable wares one more time. But that is not the case...’

  ‘Really!’ she snorted. ‘Pardon me if I find that hard to believe. I’ve met your type before.’

  ‘I doubt that, Rachel,’ he replied coldly. ‘I’m not a type. I’m an individual, with a mind of my own, a passion for the truth, and a stubbornness of spirit which only a mother can admire.’

  ‘Charming. Now get to the point!’

  ‘Very well.’ The cords in Luke’s neck stood out as he struggled for composure. ‘I know Derek was born two months premature. I know your husband was ill with leukaemia for some time before he actually died. I suspect Derek is my child. What have you to say to that?’

  Nothing.

  That was what she had to say to that. She merely stared at him with pained eyes, then started shaking her head as though she could not believe that this was happening. Her arms unfolded and fell limply to her sides, her shoulders sagging in defeat.

  ‘No,’ she finally whispered. ‘No...’

  Turning, she clenched her hands into fists against the door, and was about to bang them on the wood when she stopped herself, spinning back to face him with a determined and tortured face. ‘No,’ she denied in a low, shaking voice, but with a firmness that had Luke leaping to his feet.

  ‘What do you mean...no?’ he demanded. ‘You had unprotected sex with me seven months before Derek was born. Since he was born two months premature, even I can add seven and two and make nine. Even if you slept with dozens of other men around the same time, how can you be sure he’s not mine?’

  ‘There weren’t dozens of other men,’ she admitted at last in a strangled voice. ‘The only person who could have been the father of my baby other than my husband was you. And you’re quite right. I couldn’t be sure, so I had DNA tests done after Derek was born. I know whose baby my son is, Luke, and you don’t have to worry any more. He’s not yours. He’s a Cleary.’

  Luke sank slowly down into the armchair, his eyes dropping blankly to the floor. He felt as if someone had just punched him in the stomach. Derek wasn’t his. Rachel wasn’t the mother of his baby. Everything he’d been secretly hoping and planning...poof! Out of the window.

  ‘I can appreciate how relieved you must be,’ Rachel said, the caustic note in her voice sending his eyes flashing up to find hers.

  But she wasn’t looking at him any more. She’d turned to stare at her wedding pictures on the wall, the action hurting Luke so much that it propelled him from self-pity into a simmering fury.

  ‘So why did you do it?’ he snarled. ‘Just tell me that. Hell, I think I at least deserve an explanation.’

  She turned slowly to set bitter eyes upon him. ‘Do you, just? And why is that? You came with me that night without a second thought, Luke. And I’ll bet you didn’t give me a second thought the next morning either.’

  ‘Then you’d be wrong, lover,’ he snapped, jumping to his feet. ‘I gave you plenty of thought while I worried my guts out for the next three months that I might have caught bloody AIDS!’

  ‘Oh!’ she cried, her remorseful expression seemingly real. ‘So you did worry about that. I... I wondered afterwards. I am sorry for putting you through that, Luke. Truly.’

  ‘Then why did you do it?’ he demanded to know, his heart still aching from her disclosure. ‘Tell
me. I want... no, need to know. Hell, Rachel, would it hurt to tell me the whole truth? I can see now you’re not some kind of slut, who’d make a habit of doing that sort of thing. But you were deliberately trying to get pregnant with me that night, weren’t you? It wasn’t some kind of crazy fling you were having, was it?’

  ‘No,’ came the husky admission. ‘No, you’re quite right. I was trying to get pregnant.’ Tears filled her eyes and began falling silently down her cheeks. ‘You’d never understand how it was, Luke. No man could ever understand...’

  Her tears moved him deeply, but he wasn’t about to back away. Only by knowing the whole truth could he begin to come to terms with the disappointment of Derek not being his.

  ‘Try me, Rachel,’ he choked out. ‘I’m a good listener.’

  Which was a lie, Luke realised, the moment the claim came out of his mouth. He’d never been a good listener. All his life he’d trodden a selfish path, where only his wishes mattered, only his desires and dreams. When had he ever stopped to really listen to anyone else’s dreams or problems?

  Bloody never.

  Even now he wasn’t wanting to listen for her sake, but to salve his own male ego.

  This brutally honest self-realisation had him taking a good look at himself from Rachel’s point of view. Hell, if she had a bad opinion of him then he only had himself to blame.

  But all that was going to change, he vowed. As of right now.

  ‘Even if I tell you everything,’ she said, blinking away her tears, ‘you’ll never appreciate the situation at the time. No man could.’

  ‘Rachel,’ he said firmly. ‘In another ten minutes Sarah will come back inside with Derek. Just give me the facts. I won’t think the worst of you. Just tell me how it was, and what led you to taking such desperate measures.’

  ‘And then you’ll go?’ she cried, her voice pleading.