by Miranda Lee
Derek’s were on top, and Luke could see what Theo had meant. His eyes were incredibly expressive—big, liquid brown pools. There again, the photographs were excellent too.
‘Must have had a good photographer,’ Luke said to himself, smiling.
Damn, but he was a cute kid!
Luke finally moved on to look at the shots of Rachel, and they quite blew him away. She was beautiful enough in the flesh, but on film she was something else. Again, it was in the eyes, he realised. They seemed to follow you, their expressions vivid, bringing to vibrant life a wide range of emotions, not to mention her sexuality and sensuality. No man could have looked at them and not wanted her. It was as simple as that.
He wanted her. Not for a day, or a night, but for always. He would marry her tomorrow if she would have him.
The horn blowing behind him reminded Luke that the lights had turned green. Throwing down the bundle of photos onto the seat, he accelerated off, the thought coming that maybe if he told Rachel he loved her straight off the bat, if he asked her to marry him, then she would know how serious he was.
OK, so she might not love him back. Yet. But she did desire him, and it wasn’t such a big step, surely, from desire to love. He could also start letting her know how damned well-off he was—anything to sway her opinion of him as a heartless womaniser to a serious suitor of depth and standing.
It wasn’t till he was standing on the front porch and ringing Rachel’s doorbell that Luke remembered the black silk shirt and his mother’s disapproval of it. He was frowning as Rachel opened the door, at which point his own appearance immediately ran a poor second to hers.
Dear Lord, but she was exquisite—breathtakingly so in that classically cut cream suit, her hair up and pearls at her ears and throat. A second, closer inspection revealed that the suit was far from new and the pearls only cheap imitations, but neither observation detracted from her beauty, or his admiration of her. In fact, he admired her all the more—for she had an inner beauty as well, born of an inner pride and strength of character.
‘Hello, Rachel,’ he said simply. ‘You look lovely.’
‘You’re late,’ she reprimanded him tautly.
‘Only fifteen minutes.’
‘I...I thought you weren’t coming.’
Luke saw that her knuckles were white within the clenched fists at her sides. It was as telling as the tension in her voice.
‘And I thought you wanted me to go away and stay away,’ he returned drily.
She gave him a look which had a disturbingly strained edge to it.
Luke decided that some defusing was called for. ‘I had some shopping to do,’ he explained. ‘For Derek.’
‘For Derek?’ Her tension moved up a notch, if anything.
‘Yes. Some mobiles for his room. Would we have time to put one up, do you think?’
‘You...you bought Derek some mobiles?’
‘Yes. There’s this elephant one which I’m dying to put up. I was telling Sarah earlier today how I was a difficult baby too, and how Mum found that mobiles hanging from my ceiling used to amuse me for hours when I wouldn’t sleep. I think they might help with Derek. Can I come in and do the honours? Don’t tell me the little devil is asleep at this early hour.’
Luke was startled when Rachel abruptly burst into tears. ‘Oh, God,’ she sobbed, covering her face with her hands. ‘God...’
Luke didn’t know what to do. ‘Rachel... darling...’ He came inside, closing the door behind him and propped the large parcel from the baby shop against the door before taking her in his arms. ‘What did I say? What’s the matter? It’s not Derek, is it? He’s all right, isn’t he?’
Sarah came hurrying down the hall. ‘What is it?’ she asked anxiously. ‘What’s wrong?’
Luke’s bewilderment must have shown on his face and in his voice. ‘I don’t know. I...I think my buying Derek some mobiles upset her.’
Rachel began crying all the harder, sobbing into his shirtfront. Luke threw Sarah a desperate look.
‘Rachel, dear,’ Sarah soothed, prying her away from Luke’s rapidly soaking shirt and leading her distressed daughter-in-law back down the hall. ‘You’re going to make yourself sick, crying like this. Now, why don’t you have a little lie-down and—?’
‘Make him go away,’ she choked out, throwing a wild-eyed and tortured glance over her shoulder at Luke. ‘I want him to go away. I can’t stand the sight of him any longer. I can’t, I tell you.’
Luke felt himself go cold all over.
‘Rachel!’ Sarah exclaimed, utterly shocked.
‘I’ve told him and told him, but he just won’t listen!’ Rachel ranted hysterically. ‘I don’t want him in my life any more, but I don’t have the strength to send him away! You have to do it for me, Sarah, before I do something dreadful. It’s all become too much. The guilt and the pain. I can’t bear any more guilt...or any more pain. Please, Sarah,’ she cried. ‘Make him go away.’ And she collapsed against the older woman, sobbing piteously.
‘Rachel... dear...I... I don’t know what you’re talking about. Do...do you know what she’s talking about, Luke?’
‘Yes,’ he said bitterly.
‘Perhaps if you told me I could—’
‘No, don’t!’ Rachel wailed, her ravaged face jerking up to plead with him far more eloquently than any words. ‘Please, Luke,’ she begged hoarsely. ‘Just go...’
Luke stared at her, and he saw the truth clearly for the first time.
She would never get over what she had done eighteen months ago. Never!
Technically she was an adulteress who had enjoyed her adultery, and she despised herself for it. Sarah had told him how much Rachel had loved Patrick, so the guilt had to have been enormous at the time—and long afterwards. As much as Rachel might still desire him, Luke, he would always be the symbol of her guilt and her shame. She had momentarily given in to the temptation of having what she’d thought was another one-night stand with him the other night, and then, when he’d followed her, she’d toyed with the idea of having a temporary affair with him.
But a lasting relationship had never been on the cards.
By buying her son such a personal present he’d crossed the line she’d made for him in her mind, and now there was nowhere for Luke to go except out of her life forever. He took one hard look at her dangerously distraught self, saw what his presence was doing to the woman he loved, and made the most difficult decision he had ever made in his life.
‘It’s all right, Rachel,’ he said quietly, unaware that the pain in his face was more than a match for hers. ‘I’ll do what you want. I’ll go. And you don’t have to worry. I won’t be back. Goodbye, Sarah. It’s been a pleasure knowing you.’
He bent and picked up the package of mobiles, then handed it towards a white-faced Rachel. ‘There’s no reason why Derek can’t enjoy these, is there? I mean...he doesn’t ever have to know who they’re from?’
When Rachel choked out another strangled sob, Luke shoved the mobiles into her arms, then spun away so that he didn’t have to look upon her any more. He bit out a curt goodbye as he strode stiffly down the hall to let himself out, not looking back once.
Seeing the packet of photos on the passenger seat almost broke his iron composure, and only by sheer will power did Luke start that damned car and drive off. He kept a tight rein on his feelings all the way home, putting himself into a traffic-induced trance, thinking of nothing but getting from point A to point B.
Impossible, though, to maintain his stoic façade once he came face to face with his mother, with her puzzled questions and gently concerned face. He could feel himself dissolving inside as he explained rather curtly that it was over between himself and Rachel.
‘But... But...’
‘No buts, Mum. Just over. She doesn’t want to see me any more. To use her exact words—she can’t stand the sight of me!’
Luke knew he had to get out of his mother’s presence before he embarrassed himself totally. Hell, any
moment now he’d be blubbering like an idiot!
Steeling his ominously quivering chin, he tossed the envelope full of photographs on the kitchen table and stalked off towards his bedroom. ‘Burn them once you’ve satisfied your curiosity,’ he snarled over his shoulder. ‘I couldn’t bear to set eyes on her again either.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GRACE shuddered at the slamming of Luke’s bedroom door. She wasn’t fooled by his display of temper, knowing full well that it was just a cover for a deep, deep hurt. If he’d been twelve, instead of thirty-two, she might have gone after him, taken him in her arms and tried to comfort him. Instead, all she could realistically do was give him some space.
Her eyes went to the envelope lying on the table, her curiosity very definitely piqued now. Grace sat down and poured the photos out of the open flap onto the table. She picked up the first two, her eyes going from one to the other.
What she saw was an extraordinarily beautiful girl, whose sex appeal rivalled Luke’s. It fairly leapt out at one. But she had more than that, Grace appreciated. There was a strength of character in that lovely face which bespoke that she’d been through a lot, this Rachel. She was no little blonde dollybird. She was a woman in every sense of the word.
Grace studied each photograph in turn, noting with maternal pride that it wasn’t just the model who was spectacular. The photographs themselves were breathtaking—especially the panoramic shots of the beaches and coastline. It would be a wicked shame to burn such art!
She began dividing the photographs into the ones which included Rachel and the ones which didn’t. The former she would gladly burn. She was down to the last half-dozen prints before she came across the first one of the boy.
Grace blinked her shock, then quickly glanced at the others. Slowly, and with shaking hands, she spread the portraits of the laughing child out in front of her and just stared at them. Stared and stared and stared.
After a good ten minutes of staring, she rose and went in search of the family albums she kept in the bottom of the hall cupboard. And it was while she was kneeling there, extracting the oldest and largest of the albums, that she heard sounds coming from Luke’s nearby bedroom which tore great holes in her mother’s heart.
Her son was crying. Her thirty-two-year-old adult son was weeping as she was sure he hadn’t wept in twenty years. Grace could remember well the last time he’d broken down this way. His pet dog—a big old Labrador that his father had bought when he was born and which had been Luke’s constant companion since—had just been run over and killed.
Tears welled up in her own eyes as she recalled her son’s heartbreak that day, as well as the hardness which had gradually replaced the tears. He’d vowed two things that day: never to have another dog, and never to waste his time crying over something, because it never did any good. His dog was dead and was going to stay dead—tears or no tears.
Grace knew that only total despair would have made Luke weep as he was weeping at this very moment. His hoarsely muffled sobs were just breaking her heart. Anger consumed her at this Rachel. Who did she think she was to play with her Luke’s life like that? To ruthlessly use him as she had—not once, but twice—then toss him away?
The urge to burst into her son’s room and tell him what she suspected about the boy’s parentage was acute, but then she began to wonder if Luke already knew the awful truth—if that was the reason he was so distraught. She didn’t know what to do then.
Grace decided to do what she usually did when faced with a stiff decision. She would put on the television and have a glass of sherry. Maybe even two glasses of sherry. Then, when she’d calmed down and Luke had calmed down, she might know what to do for the best.
Nearly forty minutes later, Grace was sitting in her favourite chair in the front room, mindlessly watching a movie on television and sipping the dregs of her second sherry, when the front doorbell rang. A frowning glance at the clock on the wall showed a quarter past nine. A little late for callers.
Shrugging, she levered herself out of the deep armchair, placed her glass down on a side-table and padded out to answer the front door.
Seeing Rachel in the photograph hadn’t quite prepared Grace for seeing her in the flesh. The girl was so fair and so tall! And so incredibly lovely. Even red-rimmed eyes and a general air of distress didn’t destroy her quite extraordinary beauty.
‘Mrs St Clair?’ she asked straight away, her voice soft and shaky.
‘That’s correct,’ Grace returned stiffly, not feeling too kindly disposed towards her visitor.
‘Is... is Luke here?’
Grace’s chin lifted. ‘He is,’ she returned coldly. ‘You’re Rachel, aren’t you?’
‘Yes. Yes, I’m Rachel,’ she admitted rather bleakly, as though she wasn’t too proud of herself.
And rightly so too, Grace thought sourly. Beautiful is as beautiful does!
‘I must see him, Mrs St Clair,’ Rachel pleaded. ‘Please... It...it’s very important.’
It was difficult not to be touched by the girl’s distress. But Grace wasn’t prepared to make it easy on her. ‘Well, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure Luke will want to see you. He’s very upset.’
‘Oh, but I must see him! You don’t understand. I have something very, very important to tell him.’
‘I think I understand only too well, Rachel. I’ve seen the photographs Luke took of your boy. He bears an amazing resemblance to his father at the same age.’
Shocked green eyes confirmed what Grace had been thinking for the past hour. ‘Oh, God,’ Rachel groaned. ‘He...he hasn’t guessed too, has he? You didn’t tell him what you...you...?’
‘No,’ Grace denied. ‘He hasn’t guessed as far as I know.’
‘Then, please, Mrs St Clair, let me be the one to tell him. It has to come from me—don’t you see?’
Grace could see the sense of that. ‘I suppose so. But let me warn you, I won’t have my son being used by you again. He’s a good man, and he deserves better than the way you’ve treated him.’
‘Yes, I know,’ the girl said wretchedly. ‘My behaviour has been inexcusable. All I can do is try to make things right now. Please... let me go to him...’
‘You haven’t changed your mind about this because you’ve found out Luke’s a very rich, very successful man, have you?’
Again, her shocked green eyes told their own story. Lord, but the girl did have expressive eyes. ‘No, no, I can see you haven’t,’ Grace muttered. ‘Come along, then. I’ll take you to him.’
Luke was sprawled across his bed, face-down, feeling nothing but a deep emotional exhaustion. Women claimed to feel better after they’d wept. From Luke’s experience, men only felt more wretched. Weeping weakened a man’s resolves and undermined his inner strength. He hadn’t succumbed to it in twenty years, and it would be another damned twenty years before he succumbed again.
He was lying there thinking black thoughts when the front doorbell rang and his mother went to answer it. One of her cronies, he supposed, then turned his mind to other things. He would go back to America. Put some distance between himself and Rachel. It was the only way he could guarantee that he wouldn’t give in to the temptation to see her again. It would be hell, but he would endure.
His mother’s timid tapping on his bedroom door irritated him. Why couldn’t she just leave him alone? Surely she could see that he wanted to be alone?
Well, not really. He wanted to be with Rachel. What he wouldn’t give for her to walk into this room right this minute, throw her arms around him and tell him that she loved him...
Geez, what was he—a masochist? That wasn’t going to happen. Not ever!
‘What?’ he snapped, when the tap-tap came again.
‘You have a visitor, Luke,’ his mother said.
Luke’s heart jumped into his mouth. He sat bolt-upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed, staring wildly as the door opened. No, it couldn’t be. It simply couldn’t be.
Ye
t there she was, standing alone in the open doorway, staring back at him, his mother nowhere in sight.
Once he accepted that Rachel was real, and not some cruel figment of his imagination, a torrent of emotions raged through him—not the least of which was fury.
‘What in hell are you doing here?’ he snarled. ‘Haven’t you turned the screw enough yet? Or have you decided you want some more screwing for yourself? Is that it, Rachel? Is sex worth a little more guilt and shame? Hell, woman, don’t just stand there, if that’s the case. Get in here and get your gear off!’
She stunned him by walking in and actually shutting the door, though her expression was full of pain, not passion. ‘You have every right to be angry with me, Luke. So I’ll try not to be hurt by what you’re saying. In a way, it’s very telling of you to be so mad at me. I’ll take some comfort from that.’
‘Then don’t! I think you’re a right royal bitch, and if I ever see you again after tonight, it’ll be too soon!’
‘You don’t mean that, Luke. I know you don’t mean it.’
‘And how in hell do you know that, pray tell?’ he scorned, even while he recognised the truth of it. Man, he had to be the biggest fool of all time! She’d already shot him right between the eyes—metaphorically speaking—and he was lining up to be shot again.
‘Sarah told me so. She also told me that you loved me, that you genuinely cared for Derek too, and that you probably wanted to marry me and make a family.’
‘No kidding? And you couldn’t see any of that for yourself? You needed an independent party to tell you what had to be bloody obvious to anyone with half a brain?’
Her face twisted into an anguished expression. ‘Yes. Yes, I needed an independent party to tell me, because I’ve long ceased to be able to think straight where you’re concerned, Luke. I stopped thinking straight about you the moment I saw you...eighteen months ago... at that exhibition.’
Luke felt his mouth go instantly dry. He stared at her, not daring to hope, but hoping all the same. He swallowed convulsively, and, when that didn’t work, noisily cleared his throat. ‘Don’t go saying anything that isn’t true, Rachel,’ he choked out. ‘If you do, I won’t be responsible for what I might do.’
