One Husband Required!

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘Oh, me?’ She shrugged, and gave Amber her most tender smile. ‘I’m fine. You know me.’

  Amber was still frowning. ‘Yes, I do indeed—and there’s something you aren’t telling me, isn’t there, Ursula?’ She looked in the mirror and tweaked the wide cummerbund which encircled her narrow waist. ‘Is it a man?’ she asked casually.

  Ursula was a hopeless liar; she always had been. ‘Not really,’ she said evasively.

  ‘Oh. So it is.’ Amber’s blue eyes glinted and later, when she was nearly ready, she began firing questions at Ursula. Questions about Ross... ‘And did you invite him to the wedding?’ she wanted to know.

  Ursula swallowed. ‘Yes, I did, and he said thank you very much, and gave me the most gorgeous present to give you both, but he’s not coming.’

  ‘Not even at the last moment?’

  Ursula shook her head. ‘Not even at the last moment,’ she echoed quietly. ‘He doesn’t really like weddings.’

  Amber nodded, and picked her bouquet up.

  The church was absolutely packed with relatives from both sides—O’Neils and Fitzgeralds. At the back of the church sat the heavily pregnant Holly Lovelace, with her husband Luke Goodwin, both looking dreamy-eyed and nostalgic as Amber walked up to the altar. Holly had been the first person to get married in the wedding dress, and now Amber was wearing it.

  And, in a way, Ursula was glad that she didn’t have a man to be serious about, because then she would have been expected to have worn the dress, too—and, quite frankly, it was at least four sizes too small!

  The marriage itself was without doubt the most moving service that Ursula had ever been to. Though of course she was slightly biased! Amber had barely been in her teens when their mother had become so ill, leaving Ursula to watch over her younger sister and care for her. Their relationship had always been an echo of the parent-child bond, Ursula realised.

  Until today.

  Today, Amber was taking a step away from her and into the future, with the man she loved by her side. And, although the love between the two sisters would never be diminished, Ursula was realistic enough to recognise that things would never be quite the same between them now that Amber had found Finn. Which was just how it should be—though no less poignant because of that.

  Ursula dabbed her eyes a lot, took loads of photos outside the church, and flew into Heathrow on the Sunday afternoon following the festivities, feeling distinctly flat.

  She waited to retrieve her suitcase, which was bulging with corny Irish knick-knacks for Katy, then followed the crowds of people into the arrivals lounge. In her other hand she carried the wide-brimmed hat and a now wilting bridal bouquet which Amber had thrown straight at her!

  She was walking along, trying to feel positive about a future whose landscape suddenly seemed very different now that her baby sister was married, when she heard a man’s voice behind her calling, ‘Ursula!’

  It was an uncommon enough name for her to turn around, even if her disbelieving ears hadn’t tentatively put a name to such a deep, confident voice.

  She whirled around and stared straight into a pair of familiar inky-dark eyes which looked unfamiliarly wary, and the hackles on Ursula’s neck rose without her knowing exactly why.

  Taking a deep breath, she moved behind the barrier and walked over to him.

  ‘Hello, Ross. What are you doing here?’ she asked, her voice sounding surprisingly calm considering that her heart was crashing against her ribcage like a big bass drum.

  ‘I’m flying out to Rio for a lazy month of lying on a beach!’ he joked as he met her wide-eyed gaze with a mocking glance and took her suitcase with an air which was almost proprietorial. ‘What do you think I’m doing here? I’m here to meet you, of course! I’ve got the car outside.’

  ‘Where’s Katy?’

  ‘She’s at Sophie-Jo’s.’

  ‘Oh.’ Ursula stared at the shiny floor of the terminal as they walked side by side. ‘So how did you know which flight I’d be on?’

  ‘I consulted my crystal ball—’ But something in her expression made him change his mind. ‘You left a note, silly.’

  ‘Oh.’

  He had parked in the dimly lit cavern of an underground car park, though his shiny emerald car was easier to spot than most. He stopped abruptly by the passenger door and Ursula followed suit, slightly taken aback when he lifted her chin with his thumb and forefinger. He looked down at her upturned face, and frowned. ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘Nothing’s the matter.’

  ‘Something is,’ he contradicted. ‘You look pale. You sound flat. What’s up?’

  Ursula bit her lip. Ross was an intelligent, perceptive man. Couldn’t he at least have a stab at guessing? Wasn’t he aware that weddings were highly emotional occasions—and not just for the couple who were taking the vows? She was conscious that her face was working anxiously as she tried to stop herself from bursting into noisy, self-indulgent sobs. ‘Nothing,’ she said again.

  ‘Something,’ came his soft rebuttal.

  She felt so miserable right then that maintaining an air of bravado suddenly didn’t seem worth it.

  ‘Just the wedding, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I wasn’t expecting to feel so sad afterwards. Or so empty.’

  ‘Because it marked the end of an era?’

  She looked at him directly then, and the understanding she read in his eyes made her want to continue. ‘In a way. Amber’s no longer my baby sister—she’s all grown up now.’

  ‘But she was grown up before,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Yes, I know. But there’s something about getting married that sets you apart from the world. They’re a unit now—her and Finn—and it’s legal. He’s her world and she’s his and...’ Her words tailed off uncomfortably.

  ‘And?’

  ‘I’m redundant, I suppose. I’ve done my job.’

  He pulled the door open with a gesture which seemed to Ursula unnecessarily forceful. ‘Get in the car.’

  She did as he said, realising as she sank back into the leather seat just how tired she was. It had been a packed few days, with far too much singing and dancing and drinking and late nights. She shot Ross a sideways peep as he revved the engine up and reversed out of the space.

  ‘I don’t want you feeling sorry for me,’ she told him rather defensively.

  A faint smile touched the corners of his lips. ‘I don’t,’ he said. ‘You’re feeling quite sorry enough for yourself.’

  ‘If you weren’t driving, I wouldn’t let you get away with a remark like that!’

  ‘So are you going to tell me in detail how awful it was? Or are you just going to sulk?’

  ‘I never sulk!’

  ‘Hmm. Go ahead, then—I’m all ears.’

  ‘And anyway, it wasn’t awful. It was quite the opposite.’ Ursula closed her eyes and let her head relax. ‘There were lots of my relations over there—I never knew I had so many! We all stayed in this fantastic old hotel called the Black Bollier which is run by a mad Englishman. And there was a fiddler playing on the Friday night, and then everyone started singing and so did I. Songs I didn’t even realise I knew—’

  ‘Songs that your mother taught you as a little girl?’ he guessed. ‘Buried deep within your subconscious and just waiting for the right trigger to remind you of the words?’

  ‘Yes.’ How clever of him to know that. She opened her eyes and turned her head to see the pale amber lights of the tunnel flashing by. ‘And the wedding itself was gorgeous—’

  ‘And did you cry?’

  ‘Of course I cried! Everyone cries at weddings! Amber looked beautiful.’ She sighed nostalgically. ‘Absolutely beautiful—but it was the happiness shining from her face which was the most memorable thing. Everyone said so. And Finn looked exactly the same—sort of glowing.’

  ‘Lucky them,’ he said, and Ursula couldn’t decide whether the sharp edge to his voice was envy or cynicism. ‘It sounds like a fairy-tale wedding.’

  She
wondered what his wedding had been like, and jealousy licked at her heart like a dark tongue. ‘It was. I’ve got some photos in my bag—someone had one of those instant cameras.’

  ‘I’d like to see them.’

  ‘Well, you can,’ she answered, wondering why she felt so ridiculously shy—he’d only asked to see a few snapshots of a wedding, for goodness’ sake!

  He pressed a button and a CD started playing an old Lennon and McCartney number. It was a heartbreaking song and, like all the very best songs, it made Ursula feel it had been written especially for her. It was all about the pain of unrequited love, and it stabbed mercilessly at her senses.

  Ursula found that she didn’t dare even glance in Ross’s direction. The physical awareness of him was prickling away at her skin like electricity—the whole atmosphere seemed charged with it. And she found herself wondering whether that simple kiss had changed the nature of their relationship for ever. Maybe for her it had done, but Ross seemed just the same as ever.

  She had half expected him to drive to his house, and felt slightly cheated when he turned off and negotiated the back streets before driving slowly up her road and coming to a halt outside her flat.

  ‘Th-thanks very much, Ross,’ she said nervously. ‘I’m really grateful for the lift.’ How docile she sounded! ‘I wasn’t expecting anyone to pick me up. I was dreading that long journey home.’ Now she sounded manic!

  He switched the engine off unhurriedly. ‘Aren’t you going to invite me inside?’

  It was a sentence he had uttered innumerable times in her dreams, but her smooth and well-rehearsed response had somehow deserted her. ‘The place is probably a terrible mess!’ she said in terror.

  He smiled. ‘Ursula, I’m the untidy one in this partnership—remember? And, anyway—I’ve never been inside your home, have I?’

  ‘No. Because you’ve never shown any interest before!’ It did not seem a good time to ask him why the sudden change. Or to question what exactly he meant by ‘partnership’.

  Ursula opened the door to her flat and led him inside. Everything looked exactly as she had left it—the cushions were all plumped up, the plants all green and glossy. Several magazines and library books lay in a neat pile on the coffee-table. Her mother would have approved!

  ‘Yeah, like it’s really untidy, Ursula,’ he drawled, as he looked around the pristine room. ‘You’re such a slut!’

  A smile began to tug at the cornhers of her mouth. She’d spent the past few days telling herself that she could survive perfectly well without Ross Sheridan. She had conveniently forgotten his ability to make her laugh. ‘Very funny!’

  He began to wander round the room, peering at the pictures on the walls, at the titles of the books in the bookcase, and the photographs in their silver frames. He picked up the smallest of these and looked at it closely. It was blurred and of very poor quality—but Ross had an artist’s eye for detail.

  ‘Your parents’ wedding?’ he asked.

  ‘Yep.’

  He screwed his eyes up to look at it. ‘You look like your mother, don’t you? And Amber’s more like your father.’

  ‘Yes, she is.’ Ursula felt dizzy and disconnected. All of a sudden the room felt tiny and overcrowded, but maybe that was because Ross was so tall. Or because she wasn’t used to asking men back here. Or something. She swallowed down her nerves. ‘Did you want to see those photographs? Or would you like a drink first?’

  ‘Mmm. Sounds good. Tea, please,’ he said immediately, and sank down onto a sofa which Ursula had never considered flimsy until Ross Sheridan had sprawled his long-legged frame all over it!

  ‘Why don’t you make yourself at home?’ she suggested sweetly.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he murmured. ‘I intend to!’

  Ursula narrowed her eyes at him. He was definitely acting strange. Even now, the way he was looking at her—with that mocking kind of question in his eyes and a smile on his lips as though he was expecting her to know the answer to it! Was it because of what had happened between them before she had gone to Ireland?

  ‘Right, then. Tea it is,’ she said lamely.

  And she left him sprawled on her sofa while she went to make it. She clattered around in the kitchen, finding an upmarket packet of biscuits and arranging them neatly on a plate. She had given herself a real test of determination and will-power by saving them for a special occasion, rather than a bored night in front of the television—and now she had been properly rewarded!

  When she carried the tea tray back into the sitting room, she found that Ross had opened up the patio doors and strolled out into her tiny courtyard garden. She put the tray down on the small table and went outside to join him.

  He was bending over to smell a rose which was scrambling all over one wall in creamy-white profusion. His eyes were closed as he breathed the scent in, and Ursula’s heart gave a sudden beat of satisfaction as he straightened up with a look of intense pleasure on his face.

  ‘Stunning garden, Ursula,’ he remarked slowly.

  ‘Thanks.’ Ursula stroked some silver foliage and smiled up at him. ‘You should have seen it in May—that’s when it’s at its best, with all the lilac out and scented jasmine still starry at twilight.’

  ‘Are all the flowers white?’

  ‘Oh, yes! And most of them are scented.’ She made a sweeping movement with her hand. ‘When a garden is this small, you need structure. And because it’s small, the perfumed plants really come into their own—you can smell them properly.’ She closed her eyes to breathe in the scent.

  ‘So it’s a garden designed to appeal to the senses,’ he observed softly, his eyes fixed with fascination on her face. ‘Or at least most of them.’

  Ursula opened her eyes to discover that he was staring at her, and hurriedly bent to pluck a lush young weed from where it had set up home between two paving stones. ‘Er, yes, I suppose it is.’ She crushed the weed ruthlessly between her fingers and found he was still watching her, and her fingers began to tremble.

  ‘So you’re pretty passionate about gardening, are you, Ursula?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘Passionate?’ she repeated blankly, because ‘passionate’ was not an adjective she generally associated with herself.

  ‘That’s what I said,’ he agreed, his eyes sparking wickedly at her.

  ‘It’s the first garden I’ve ever had and I love it.’ She lifted her chin rather defiantly to meet his inquisitive stare. ‘Though you probably think that’s a dead boring interest for someone of my age.’

  ‘Stop being so defensive all the time.’

  ‘I don’t mean to be.’

  ‘I know you don’t,’ he said, in a surprisingly gentle voice. ‘It’s a bad habit you’ve picked up along the way.’

  The sunlight highlighted the dark, tangled waves of his hair and filtered through the fine material of his shirt, outlining the sleek, hard body beneath. The small, hot garden seemed curiously intimate, and Ursula’s mouth was as dry as sandpaper. She didn’t know whether it was due to nerves or thirst, but the thought of drinking something became a welcome diversion. ‘Shall we go inside and have our tea?’

  ‘Why don’t we bring it out here instead?’ He pointed to the white wrought-iron table and two chairs which had been last year’s birthday present from Finn and Amber. ‘It’s far too lovely a day to be stuck inside. You stay there, Ursula—and I’ll carry the tea through.’

  It was nice being waited on. Especially by Ross. Ursula sat down on one of the chairs and stretched her feet as she watched him carry the tray out. The afternoon had taken on a still, dream-like quality which wasn’t simply due to the heavy heat of the afternoon sun which shimmered off the blazing tiles of the courtyard. It had much more to do with the fact that this whole scenario was the stuff of her wilder fantasies.

  Ross here. In her home.

  No Katy. No Jane. No one.

  Just her. And him.

  Both behaving in a way which could be described as excessively polite.
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br />   Ursula watched like a spectator as he poured tea and milk into china cups. He offered sugar and biscuits, but she refused both and could have kissed him when he didn’t say, as people always did say, ‘Are you on a diet, then?’ But then Ross, Ursula realised, had never made a single critical comment about her lushly curved body. Not one. Ever.

  She sipped her cooling tea. ‘So how has Katy been while I was in Ireland?’

  There was a pause. ‘She’s been...fine,’ he said carefully.

  ‘But you had to think about it?’

  ‘Yes.’ He put his cup down and made a face. ‘I think she’s starting to feel unsettled because things between her mother and I are still unresolved. I guess I should have seen it coming.’

  ‘Well, you can’t really blame her for feeling that way, Ross.’ Ursula narrowed her eyes, hoping that the long lashes would hide her apprehension. ‘She’s probably wondering whether Jane will ever come back.’

  ‘Back home, you mean?’

  ‘Yes.’ It was something she had wondered herself.

  He stared at her in disbelief. ‘Do you honestly think I’d have her back—just like that—after everything which has happened?’

  Ursula put her empty teacup down. ‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged helplessly. ‘People sometimes see an affair as a symptom of a bad relationship, not the cause of it. And maybe if Jane wanted to come back, and you were prepared to let her, for Katy’s sake, say, well—’

  ‘No!’ His denial cut into her words like a sharp knife, and Ursula was taken aback by the intensity on his face. ‘In the end there’s only so much you can do for the sake of a child before your actions become self-defeating.’

  Ursula swallowed. ‘You mean, you’ve already tried to make a go of it—for Katy’s sake?’

  There was a stark silence before his answer escaped from him in a reluctant sigh. ‘Yes, I’ve tried. Obviously I’ve tried. Or do you think I’m the kind of person who would just fall at the first hurdle and give up?’

  ‘No!’ Her voice softened. ‘Of course I don’t.’

  ‘Good.’ He stared hard at her for a moment and then rose from his chair, like a man breaking free from the chains of confinement, and suddenly the small courtyard garden seemed much too tiny to contain him. He looked as out of place as a caged animal in a suburban garden.