Merry Christmas (Mills & Boon Vintage 90s Modern) (4 page)

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Authors: Emma Darcy

BOOK: Merry Christmas (Mills & Boon Vintage 90s Modern)
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He’d gone that very day, the day after her stepmother had discovered them making love on the back veranda and created such an ugly scene, accusing Nick of taking advantage of a girl who was barely past being a minor. Despite his shock, Nick hadn’t allowed her stepmother to turn what had been beautiful into something low and dirty. And though he had left her, it wasn’t without the promise of a future for them...if their love held true. Giving her his address was proof of his good faith. He wouldn’t have done that if he was
skipping out
on her.
Meredith had known her pregnancy would come as another shock to him. He’d taken precautions every time they’d made love. How they’d failed she didn’t know but she’d had no doubt Nick would stand by her. He was kind and caring and responsible and honourable. She couldn’t imagine him letting her down.
It hurt, even now, thinking back to the Christmas after the birth of their baby. Secretly, she’d been so sure a Christmas card would come from him. Even though he was overseas in America, he would think of her and write and then she’d have a contact address and be able to write back, telling him what had happened. She had dreamed of him flying home and reclaiming their child from his sister. They’d be married and...but no Christmas card had come from him.
The only communication had been the first promised packet of photographs from his sister.
So had begun the painful process of accepting that Denise Graham had told the truth about his losing all memory of the time they’d spent together. Or that Nick had put her out of his life. Either way, it was too late to change her mind about giving up her baby daughter. That decision was irrevocable.
But some dreams refused to die. A year later she’d succumbed to the temptation of going to the address Nick had given her, the Grahams’ address, hoping to see him since his two years in the U.S. were up, wanting the chance to know for certain how matters stood between them. The Grahams had moved. None of their neighbours knew where they’d gone. The one avenue she’d had to him was closed.
She’d told herself to get on with her life, and she had, but for a long, long time the dream had persisted that he would turn up one day and make everything right again. And here he was, but with no memory of her, and trying to make things right for the child he thought of as his niece.
He emerged from the kitchen, carrying a plate of toasted sandwiches, and Meredith steeled herself to keep a calm composure, determined on convincing him she would do what was best for Kimberly, the welfare and happiness of her daughter being her first consideration. But she couldn’t stop her eyes from wandering over him, nor could she quell the wish for some sign of the love they had once shared.
Her pulse quickened with each step he took toward her. As he bent to set the plate on the coffee table in front of her, her eyes feasted on his face, admiring the long thick sweep of his eyelashes—their daughter had inherited them—and retracing the sensual contours of his mouth, remembering the explosive passion of his kisses. Her muscles clenched, wanting the release he had once given them, and Meredith savagely berated herself for being unable to suppress the desires he stirred.
“Are you married?” she asked, driven to know if he was out of bounds to her. If he was, maybe she could put this intense distraction aside and concentrate solely on establishing time with Kimberly.
“No.” He flashed a sharp look at her before moving to settle in the armchair on the other side of the table.
Meredith struggled to maintain a natural air of inquiry. That one brief word eased the terrible tightness in her chest. It was like a song of hope in her ears. For a moment or two her mind danced with wonderful possibilities. Then the realities of today’s world crashed in, reminding her of the commonplace arrangements that didn’t require marriage.
“Do you live with...with a partner?” She couldn’t bring herself to say
lover
.
“No.” He sat facing her, watching her, and Meredith could only hope he couldn’t see she was giddy with relief. His expression was carefully schooled to give nothing of his thoughts away as he slowly added, “I employ a woman to come in weekdays and be there after school hours. She also looks after Kimberly whenever I’m out in the evening. She’s with her now. They get on quite well.”
He was assuring her his guardianship was not at fault. A smile burst across her face. “That’s good,” she said, wildly understating what she really felt.
He stared at her so long the smile stiffened and faded as self-consciousness swept in, along with the worry she had overstepped some line he’d drawn in his mind.
“Eat,” he commanded.
She quickly pounced on a toasted triangle, glad to have something to do until. he showed more of his hand. Never had she enjoyed the taste of melted cheese on tomato so much. It was as though her whole body zinged with a new appreciation of life and a greed for all it could offer.
Nick Hamilton was with her again.
He had their daughter in his safekeeping.
And he wasn’t tied to any other woman.
CHAPTER FIVE
N
ICK couldn’t get her smile out of his head, her face lighting up like a Christmas tree, jolting him anew with the sense of recognition. He didn’t believe in all that New Age stuff about having known each other in previous lives. He had no answer for what he was feeling and it was bugging the hell out of him. Even the touch of her made him jangle with the tension of hormones running riot, body chemistry leaping out of control.
He watched her eat the toasted sandwiches he’d made, brooding over why this woman—this stranger—should affect him so strongly. On the surface she was no more attractive than Rachel. In strictly physical terms, she was slimmer, not as curvy, not as pretty. Yet more striking, more...electric somehow.
He was finding this encounter so damned disturbing he wished it was at an end. In fact, there was no reason to prolong it since there seemed to be no serious impediment to the meeting with Kimberly.
Only God knew where that would end. It was impossible for him to judge.
All he knew was Kimberly was not about to let it rest until it happened and he didn’t feel right about keeping them apart. Let the pieces fall however they would, he thought, glumly acknowledging that the outcome would most probably be out of his control, as well.
“Would lunch this Saturday suit you?” he asked.
Another smile. It had the kick of a mule.
“Any day at all. Any time,” she answered eagerly.
He frowned. It sounded too carefree. “Don’t you work?”
“I run my own business. I can arrange my time as I like,” came the ready reply. A touch of pride, as well.
“What do you do?” Kimberly would want to know and his own curiosity was piqued.
“I have contracts with hotels and restaurants to supply their floral arrangements. My company name is
Flower Power
.”
Impressive. He glanced at the clever piece of floral art on the coffee table. He’d admired it earlier... just three perfect blooms at different heights set in an interesting variety of leaves...very simple yet very pleasing to the eye. “Your work?”
“Yes. Do you like it?”
He nodded. “A fine dramatic touch. Did you study art?”
She looked pleased. “No. All hands-on experience.”
“Probably the best teacher anyway,” he conceded, warming to her warmth. “Though you must have an innate talent for it.”
“I enjoy the work.” Her mesmerisingly familiar green eyes sparkled with delight. “Flowers give so much pleasure and they can light up a room.”
You can, too, he thought, wondering if there was a man in her life. She didn’t have a husband or a live-in lover but that didn’t mean she wasn’t attached to someone. As he was, to Rachel. To Nick’s further confusion, something in him strongly wanted to reject both their involvements with other people, no matter how well-founded they were. Again, the irrational nature of the feeling prompted him to finish up here as fast as he could.
She’d eaten the sandwiches and appeared to have fully recovered from the faint. He could leave with an easy conscience. “Do you know the Harbour Restaurant underneath the opera house?”
“Yes.”
They could sit out on the open deck under an umbrella, he decided. The pleasant venue with the wide view of the harbour and the passing parade of people should provide a relaxed atmosphere, if anything about this first mother-daughter meeting could be relaxed.
“I’ll book a table for twelve o’clock.” He stood up, softening his leave-taking with a rueful smile. “I doubt Kimberly will be able to wait to a later time. And I mustn’t keep her waiting any longer now. She won’t go to bed until I return with news of you.”
“Of course. I hope...” She flushed as she rose quickly from the sofa to see him out. Her eyes filled with an eloquent appeal that tunneled straight into his gut. “Please tell her I’m looking forward enormously to our meeting.”
Compassion forced him to a kindly warning. “Don’t bank too much on it, Miss Palmer. Kimberly’s a good kid at heart but she’s a bit mixed up about future direction at the moment. She’ll be starting high school next year and choosing what school has become an issue. You seem to have become part of that issue. She
is
only twelve. I don’t think she comprehends...the larger picture.”
Meredith Palmer drew a deep breath and sighed in wry resignation. “Whatever happens, at least I’ll have a little while with her. Thank you for allowing it, Mr. Hamilton. I’m very grateful to you.”
Any crumb from the table was better than nothing.
That depressing thought stayed with him as he drove away. It was wrong for so little to mean so much. The walls of photographs in her bedroom kept flashing through his mind. He’d never given any consideration to the effect on a woman who gave up her baby for adoption. It had to be traumatic... a wound that never healed.
He wondered what forces had played a part in Meredith Palmer’s decision, whether she’d been in her right mind at the time or pressured beyond bearing into a sacrifice she had regretted ever since. Had her family been straitlaced, shamed by their daughter falling pregnant, denying her the chance of keeping her baby by withholding support?
She must have been very young. It was difficult to tell a woman’s age but Meredith Palmer looked to be only in her twenties now. At fourteen or fifteen, possibly suffering post-natal depression, a baby must have seemed an overwhelming responsibility, the problem of coping properly with it insurmountable if her family wasn’t prepared to help.
I gave her up because I thought it best for her.
Such sad, hopeless words.
He should have asked what connection there’d been to his sister for the private adoption to be arranged. He must remember to do that. He wanted to know.
Until Kimberly had told him about the photographs and he’d subsequently tackled Denise’s old solicitor about them, he had assumed the adoption had taken place through normal channels. Denise and Colin had talked often of having applied to the government agency. Their names had been on a waiting list. When they’d written to him in the States to tell him of their new baby he had simply thought the wait had ended. They had not enlightened him otherwise.
Why the secret?
Why the photographs?
Some kind of guilt on his sister’s part?
In the face of Meredith Palmer’s yearning for her child, he felt guilty himself for having her in his keeping. Yet Kimberly was his family and had been all her life. He’d always had a soft spot for her. He strongly recoiled from the idea of giving her up...even to go to her real mother.
Perhaps a sharing arrangement could be made.
That, of course, would depend on how the meeting turned out. At this point he couldn’t predict how Kimberly would react to it. He didn’t know what she was secretly expecting or wanting, beyond satisfying the need to see.
She fell upon him the moment he entered his apartment. “What’s she like? Is she pretty? Does she want to see me? Did you set up a meeting?”
“Yes to the last three questions. Now please hold on a moment!” he commanded, pulling her hyperactive body back off him and setting her a pace away.
She radiated excitement, hands waving like a baby, ponytail swinging, her face aglow with wildly impatient anticipation, her glittering green eyes—Meredith, Palmer’s eyes—stabbing into him, desperately eager for information. “Don’t be a stodge, Uncle Nick! I’m dying to know all about her.”
“Let me pay Mrs. Armstrong first, Kimberly.” He turned to the woman who was packing up her knitting, ready to leave. “Any calls, Fran?”
“Only the one, from Rachel Pearce. She asked if you’d return it tonight at your convenience.” Having gathered up her belongings, she headed toward them and the front door, a smile of caring concern sweeping them both. “I do hope this business with Kimberly’s mother turns out well. It doesn’t always, you know. I’ve read so many stories in magazines...”
“I guess life is about taking chances, Fran,” Nick cut in, his smile appealing for no negative comment. It served no good purpose at this point.
She nodded, an obliging soul, always prepared to ride along with what he wanted. A widow in her fifties, her children had grown up and flown the home nest, leaving her with no role to play until they gave her grandchildren. Her hair was unashamedly grey, permed tightly for tidiness, her face and figure pleasantly plump, her clothes matronly, and she knitted soft toys interminably. She dearly wanted to be a doting grandmother. Looking after Kimberly helped to fill that hole in her life and Nick was grateful she was so good at it.
He added a tip to the usual fee.
“You are a good man,” she said warmly. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Kimberly. Don’t be dancing around all night, there’s a dear girl. You need your sleep.”
“Good night, Mrs. Armstrong. Thanks for being here. I’ll settle down after I dig everything out of Uncle Nick,” Kimberly promised breezily.
Dig was the operative word. She attacked again the moment the door closed behind her minder, bubbling around him with avid curiosity. Feeling in need of a stiff drink, Nick moved across the dining area to the liquor cabinet as he answered the first burst of questions, trying to give the detail Kimberly demanded. He opened a bottle of port and poured a generous measure into a glass. The fortified liquor seemed highly appropriate for these circumstances.
He carried it over to the lounge, finding himself sweeping a critical gaze over the furnishings he’d lived with for years; black leather upholstery on both dining and lounge suites, glass tables, blue-grey carpet, black fixtures for the television and hi-fi system, a few sculptured pieces he’d fancied, some provocative modern paintings he didn’t really look at anymore.
He’d liked her living room. More warmth. More individual, personal touches like the colourful, hand-stitched cushions and the flowers and the books...the sense of it all being an integral part of her. Then the intensely private, secret life in the bedroom revealing the deeper side of her, not shown to anyone. He shouldn’t have seen it, but he had, and now he couldn’t forget it.
He sank onto one of the sofas and made himself comfortable for the important task of instructing his niece on what would be acceptable behaviour with her real mother. Kimberly sprawled on the sofa opposite his and kept prodding and prying, extracting all the information he was prepared to give on Meredith Palmer, then fell into musing on what she should wear on Saturday, keen to make a positive impression on the woman who had given her birth. Nick mentally girded his loins and plunged in to the more sensitive aspect of the meeting.
“I appreciate you find this very exciting, Kimberly,” he said quietly, “but you must understand it is strictly a getting-to-know-you meeting on Saturday. Don’t turn it into a battleground, playing Miss Palmer against me...”
“I wouldn’t do that, Uncle Nick,” she cried earnestly.
“...Or against Rachel.”
She flushed, her eyes wavering from his.
“You’ll be meeting a person with highly sensitive feelings about having given up her child,” he went on gravely. “It would be wrong to embroil her in an argument about a school. Don’t make her feel you’re using her, Kimberly.”
Discomfort on that point clearly showed as she plucked at one of the blue decorator cushions on the sofa. Then her gaze flashed up in belligerent challenge. “Wouldn’t she care how I feel about it?”
“Yes. She’d care. And you would make her feel unhappy and helpless because she has no say in it. She lost her right to have any say in your life when she agreed to your adoption.”
“But that’s not fair!” she burst out. “She’s my real mother.”
“Do you want to know her...or do you want to use her, Kimberly?” he bored in.
She gestured an agitated protest. “Of course I want to
know
her...”
But she had been nursing other items on her agenda.
Nick followed up relentlessly. “I would hope you wouldn’t be so petty or so mean and selfish as to complain about your personal problems when meeting you is the fulfilment of a dream to her.”
“A dream?”
“She had the photographs to build a dream of you, Kimberly. I’d like her to feel proud of the person you are now. If nothing else, you owe it to the mother who loved and cared for you since you were a baby to show she did a good job of bringing you up.”
Her face puckered. “Mum wouldn’t mind me meeting her, would she, Uncle Nick? I mean, she did send the photographs so she must have wanted her to see how I was growing up.”
“I think this meeting would have her blessing, Kimberly, but I also think she’d like it best if Miss Palmer met you and thought she couldn’t have done a better job of teaching you good manners and being nice to people. You know your Mum set a lot of store by that.”
Tears glittered in her eyes. “I’ll be good, Uncle Nick.” She came off her sofa in a rush and landed on his lap, her arms flung around his neck and her head nestling on his shoulder. “I’ll make Mum real proud of me. I promise,” she whispered huskily.

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