Sinful Nights (44 page)

‘While Heather is living with you, you must let me
make some contribution to your household budget,’ he said.

‘No.’ Her refusal was immediate and firm. ‘No, I can’t let you do that.’

He frowned and Claire knew that he was a man who did not like to be beholden to others in any way at all.

‘If you won’t accept money from me, I’ll have to find a way of repaying you in kind,’ he said at last. He glanced at his watch. ‘I’d better go; I’m expecting a call from the States. I’ll come round and see Heather tomorrow, if I may?’

Claire saw him to the door, watching as he slid his lean length behind the wheel of his car—a long, low-slung Jaguar sports car. He gave her a brief nod as he fastened his seat belt, and she went inside and closed the door. She was tired now and very drained, but too on edge to sleep. If anything had happened to Heather … It was almost as though the little girl was her own child. She mustn’t get too attached to her or, more importantly, allow Heather to get too attached to her. No, she must gradually reassure her that her father both loved and wanted her; she must instill in her enough self-confidence for her to go back to her father happily and gladly.

When Jay called the following day, she deliberately left father and daughter alone together, but it was Lucy who chatted away to him, demanding that he play, while Heather clung anxiously to her side.

‘I was going to suggest that if you could let me know when you’re likely to be home I could arrange to bring Heather back to you for those weekends?’

‘You think you can manage that, do you?’ he asked
sardonically, ‘It seems to me that I’m featuring very much as the cruel father at the moment.’

‘Only because of what Mrs Roberts has been feeding her. She’s been using you as a threat to frighten her. She’ll get over it. She does love you, Jay.’

It was the first time she had used his name directly, and she wondered what had caused his eyes to change form light to dark grey like that.

‘I’ll ring you from the States before I come back.’

It was Lucy who ran up to him for a goodbye kiss, and Heather who had to be gently pushed. Claire’s tender heart ached for him, for, despite his controlled smile, she knew that inside he was hurt.

T
WO MONTHS SLIPPED BY
without Jay being able to find a suitable replacement for Mrs Roberts, and during that time Heather blossomed. She was always going to be a more vulnerable child than her own daughter, Claire thought, but now she looked forward to her father’s return, running to him eagerly, and Claire hoped that she had banished the spectre of Mrs Roberts’ threats.

October was a cold, wet month with high winds that disturbed the shaky tiles on her roof. Several came crashing down one night as she lay in bed, and she wondered how on earth she was going to pay for them to be replaced.

Jay was due home on Friday. She must remember to go up to Whitegates and turn on the central heating; he had given her a key to the house several weeks ago, but she was scrupulous about using it only when she had to. She had fallen into the habit of checking on the contents of his fridge when she knew he was due back, but
she had never ventured further than the kitchen when he was not there, nor did she linger when she delivered Heather to him, despite his suggestions that she and Lucy stay and have a meal.

He didn’t make her feel nervous as other men did; she wasn’t frightened of him, and she didn’t know really why she was so anxious to remove herself from his vicinity. Perhaps it had something to do with their very first meeting and her determination that he would never be able to accuse her of running after him. It was, after all, the last thing she was likely to do! Her mind might be able to accept that he was a very attractive and masculine man, a man with an uncommon degree of sex appeal combined with that aura of power that women find so sexually stimulating, but she wasn’t
like
other women; his sexuality made her cringe. She found conversation with him stimulating and interesting, but only if she could manage to blot out his masculinity. She was glad that he wasn’t the sort of man who liked to touch. She didn’t think she could have endured that.

Mrs Vickers was opening her gate just as Claire went past with the girls on the way to school.

‘Gales forecast for tonight’ she warned Claire. ‘Hope our roofs will stand up to it.’

Claire did too. When she got back from school she saw that the row of elms on the opposite side of the road were swaying fiercely in the strong wind. All the leaves were gone now, and the branches looked starkly bleak. Winter would be early this year.

She spent the morning baking, more for the therapeutic properties of the task than for any real need to provide the girls and herself with sustenance. When
she collected them from school, they went first back to the cottage, where Heather sniffed the warm scented kitchen aroma eagerly.

‘Have you made an apple pie?’ she asked Claire, surveying the fruits of the afternoon’s labours enthusiastically.

She had, using the apples from their own tree.

‘It’s Daddy’s favourite. Perhaps we could take him some.?’

On the face of it there was no real reason why they should not; Claire always made something extra when she baked which she normally took round to Mrs Vickers; the three of them on their own would certainly not get through everything she had made—but even so, she hesitated, knowing all too well the construction that Jay could place on her gift of food. However, she knew equally that it was not something she could explain to his six-year-old daughter.

Hating to wipe the happy look of pleasure from Heather’s face, she suggested instead,

‘Perhaps next time. I made this one for Mrs Vickers. It’s
her
favourite too,’ childishly she crossed her fingers behind her back as she mouthed the small fib, ‘and you can help me make it,’ she told Heather. ‘I’m sure your daddy would like that.’

‘I’ll help too,’ Lucy chimed in. ‘I could make him some of my gingerbread men.’

Claire stifled a grin at the thought of Jay’s expression should he be presented with these tokens of her daughter’s regard. She knew enough about him to know that he would eat the proffered gift whether he wanted it or
not, but as yet Lucy’s enthusiasm for the task of baking far outweighed her skill.

An hour later, both girls raincoated and wellingtoned against the heavy rain that had started to fall, they set out for Whitegates.

As Claire opened the front door, the wind shipped it from her fingers, shrieking malevolently and making her gasp for breath. Both little girls clung firmly to her hands as they hurried down the deserted village street. Luckily the wind was behind them, otherwise Claire wasn’t sure how they would have managed to walk. It had increased tremendously in velocity since she had fetched them home from school, and the heavy, rain-sodden clouds darkening the sky promised a very unpleasant night. Already there was evidence of the storm’s hovoc in the branches that had fallen from some of the trees, reminding Claire that she would have to find someone to prune her own fruit trees.

Icy flurries of rain stung their faces; the girls’ hooded coats kept them fairly dry, but Claire’s raincoat had no hood, and one look at the weather had convinced her of the folly of trying to use her umbrella. She could feel the rain soaking into her hair, releasing its errant curl, and the walk down the country lane to Whitegates, which was normally such a pleasure, had become more of an ordeal.

The house was warm, thanks to Claire’s foresight in turning on the central heating when she had called earlier with the shopping. She made both girls strip off their wellingtons and coats in the kitchen, hanging them up to dry.

Jay’s flight should have landed by now, but the bad
weather might have delayed it. She glanced at her watch and frowned. It was barely five o’clock, but already it was very dark outside.

Having checked that both girls had put on their slippers, she agreed that they could go into the sitting-room to watch television.

Despite the expensive furnishings, the house always struck Claire as being very unwelcoming. She had always been very sensitive to atmosphere, and it sometimes seemed to her that the house was rejecting its inhabitants in the same way that a child will reject those it senses do not give it love.

The kitchen was fitted with every electrical device known to man, or so it seemed; the units were undoubtedly very expensive and stylish, but Claire found the white and grey décor of the room distinctly chilling. It was not a kitchen she could ever imagine herself enjoying working in. It was too glossy and sterile, looking more like something out of a magazine advertisement than part of a home. She always felt faintly uncomfortable in it, afraid almost of leaving so much as a finger-mark on the brilliant work-tops.

What she had seen of the rest of the house was the same: sterile and cold. She often wondered who had chosen the décor, Jay or his wife. It seemed inconceivable that any woman with a small child would opt for off-white carpet and white leather furniture, but then neither could she see Jay choosing the thick white goatskin rugs in the drawing room.

White was the colour of purity; it was also the colour of snow, and that was how Claire perceived the house’s décor, cold and frigid, unwelcoming, and unliveable-in.

She turned on the oven and took out of the fridge the casserole she had brought with her earlier in the day. She didn’t normally prepare a meal for Jay, but tonight was an exception; no doubt he would be feeling both cold and tired when he did arrive.

Both she and the girls had eaten at the cottage. She didn’t like the thought of them spilling anything on that sterile white marble kitchen table, or those immaculate grey tiles that covered the floor.

Jay had managed to find an agency who had agreed to take over the cleaning of the house, but as yet he had found no one who could care for his daughter. Secretly Claire was glad, and she knew that when the time eventually came she would miss Heather very much indeed. Lucy, with her sunny practical nature, was not the slightest bit jealous or resentful about sharing her mother with her friend.

As she moved automatically about the kitchen she frowned, wondering what the future held for Heather: a succession of nannies, perhaps, followed by boarding school? There were doubtless many children for whom such a regime would lead to a perfectly happy and well adjusted adult life, but Heather was so sensitive and withdrawn already. It was none of her business what arrangements Jay might choose to make for his daughter, Claire reminded herself firmly, but no amount of logic or reason could cancel out the bond of love that had built up between Heather and herself. When she lost her, it would in some ways be like losing her own child. Ridiculously, especially in the circumstances, she was already worrying about whether someone else would know how much care and cherishing the little
girl needed. And that wasn’t her only concern. She was also worried that Heather would see her withdrawal from her life in the manner of a betrayal, or worse, and although she had scrupulously tried to prepare her for their eventual parting, she sensed that Heather was too young to genuinely comprehend what lay ahead.

It was gone seven o’clock when Claire eventually heard Jay’s car draw up outside.

Lucy came dashing into the kitchen almost before the engine had died.

‘Jay’s back!’ she called out excitedly, pouting a little when Claire grasped her firmly by one arm and reminded her,

‘Jay is
Heather’s
daddy, Lucy.’

But for all her encouragement, Heather made no attempt to rush to the door and give Jay the exuberant welcome Lucy always favoured him with.

Claire saw the moment that the kitchen door opened that he was tired. He dumped his overnight case by the door and grimaced faintly across the kitchen.

‘Sorry I’m late, but the plane was delayed.’

‘Yes, we thought it might be.’ She gave Heather a little push towards her father, releasing a faintly tense breath as the little girl gave him a slightly shy hug.

Lucy had no such inhibitions, flinging herself against his knees and lifting up a shining little face for his kiss.

With one little girl in his arms and the other clinging to his side, he still managed to retain the aura of the male predator rather than that of domesticity.

His hair had grown, Claire noticed idly, and he seemed to have lost a little more weight. It was stupid and totally unnecessary for her to worry about him; if
he knew, he was more likely to be irritated by her concern than anything else.

‘Something smells good.’

‘It’s a casserole. I thought you might be hungry.’

‘I am. Have I got time to shower and change?’

Claire nodded her head.

‘Good. How about someone bringing me a drink?’ he suggested, putting Heather down and smiling at her.

‘I’ll do it,’ Lucy piped up instantly, and Claire suppressed a faint sigh.

‘Why don’t both of you do it?’ suggested Jay diplomatically. ‘I shan’t be long,’ he promised Claire. ‘About ten minutes.’

Of course she was the one who poured out the whisky and soda she knew he liked, warning Heather to be careful as she carried it upstairs. She knew which was Jay’s room, but she had never been inside it; there was no need. And yet as she stood at the bottom of the stairs watching her charges’ careful progress she had an instant’s appalling awareness of Jay’s lean body as he divested it of the civilisation of clothes.

She shuddered tensely, closing her eyes to blot out the image, and when she opened them again she was trembling violently. She had never seen a naked man, not really, and she had never wanted to, so why that brief, illuminating image?

Jay was as good as his word, returning downstairs within ten minutes, dressed in jeans and a checked wool shirt. His hair was still damp, and the clean male scent of his soap mingled with the aroma of the casserole, cutting sharply through the domestic atmosphere of
the kitchen, bringing in an alien and predatory note that made Claire’s body tense as she moved automatically away from him.

She saw him frown, his mouth tightening as though in some way her reaction displeased him.