The Lost Wife
Authors: Maggie Cox
A muscle flexed in the plane of his cheek, just to the side of his scar. ‘I’m only human, and my basic human needs are no different to anyone else’s.’
It took Ailsa a couple of seconds to find her voice after that incendiary comment, because she was busy fielding the giant wave of hurt that washed over her at the idea of Jake having his sexual needs met by another woman … maybe even
more
than one woman. They’d been divorced for four years now, after all, and it was hardly the first time the thought had crossed her mind. Most times she quickly pushed it away. But she intimately knew her husband’s needs in that department.
‘What about
my
needs?’ she asked, struggling to keep her voice level. ‘Do I have the same freedom there as you do, Jake? Or don’t you think I have such needs any more, since the accident rendered me unable to bear children? Perhaps you think it’s made me less of a woman?’
The day
MAGGIE COX
saw the film version of
Wuthering Heights,
with a beautiful Merle Oberon and a very handsome Laurence Olivier, was the day she became hooked on romance. From that day onwards she spent a lot of time dreaming up her own romances, secretly hoping that one day she might become published and get paid for doing what she loved most! Now that her dream is being realised, she wakes up every morning and counts her blessings. She is married to a gorgeous man, and is the mother of two wonderful sons. Her two other great passions in life—besides her family and reading/writing—are music and films.
Recent titles by the same author:
SURRENDER TO HER SPANISH HUSBAND
SECRETARY BY DAY, MISTRESS BY NIGHT
BRAZILIAN BOSS, VIRGIN HOUSEKEEPER
S
HE
ran to the window when she heard the muffled engine sound of the car coming up the drive. When it pulled up in front of the cottage, the smart silver-grey SUV that belonged to her ex-husband looked like a snowmobile, blanketed in several layers of thick white frosting. And still the crystalline flakes fell relentlessly from the sky, as if poured through some divine sieve.
The snowy display hadn’t let up all day. Ailsa would have succumbed to the magic of it if she hadn’t been so concerned about Jake returning their daughter safely home. Living in an English country idyll had lots to commend it, but when severe winter weather kicked in the hilly narrow roads could be utterly treacherous. She stood waiting with the front door open as the driver of the vehicle stepped out and walked across the snow-laden path towards her.
It wasn’t Alain—the slim, smart-suited chauffeur she’d been expecting.
Usually it was Jake’s French driver that brought Saskia home from her fortnightly trips to London to visit her father, or from the airport when Jake was working in Copenhagen and she stayed with him there. When Ailsa saw the once familiar diamond-chipped blue eyes staring back at her through the relentlessly falling snow, her heart stalled.
‘Hi,’ he said.
She hadn’t seen her ex-husband face to face in a long time … not since his chauffeur had become a reliable go-between. The impact of confronting those carved, unforgettable features hadn’t lessened one iota, she discovered. He’d always had the kind of effortlessly handsome looks that guaranteed major female interest wherever he went.
Even with the cruel scar that ran down his cheekbone.
In truth, it made his already compelling visage utterly and disturbingly memorable—and
not
just because his beautiful face carried such a vivid wound. But the sight of that wound now made Ailsa’s heart pound and her stomach clench with remembered sorrow at how it had occurred.
For a long moment she got lost in the dark cavern of memory, then realised that Jake was staring at her, waiting for her greeting. ‘Hello … it’s been a long time, Jake.’
Even as she spoke, she was thinking he should have warned her that there’d been a change of plan.
Her insides jolted. ‘Where’s Saskia?’
‘I’ve been trying to ring you all day but there’s been no damn signal! Why in God’s name you would choose to live out here in the middle of nowhere is beyond me.’
Ignoring the irritation in his voice, which bisected her heart with knives, Ailsa pushed back her hair and crossed her arms over her thick Arran sweater. Just standing on the doorstep inside the peg-tiled porch, she was already freezing from the blast of icy air that had hit her when she’d opened the door.
‘Has something happened? Why isn’t Saskia with you?’ Peering over his shoulder at the snow-covered vehicle, she willed herself to see her daughter’s pretty heart-shaped face staring back at her through a window—
any
window so long as she was there. When she realised the car was empty the bones in her legs morphed into limp spaghetti.
‘That’s what I’ve been trying to call you about. She
wanted to stay with her grandmother in Copenhagen for a while … she pleaded with me to let her stay until Christmas Eve. I agreed. Because she was worried that you might be upset about that I agreed to travel here myself and give you the news. I’d heard the weather was bad but I had no idea it was as grim as this.’
His hand impatiently swept the snow from his champagne-blond hair, but the white flakes quickly settled again to render the gesture pointless. For a long moment Ailsa couldn’t summon the words to reply. Shock and disappointment rolled through her in a sickening hurtful wave as she thought of all the plans she’d made for the lead-up to Christmas Day with Saskia.
The plans that now wouldn’t be materialising.
They’d been going to make a special trip to London for shopping, then stay at a nice hotel for the night so they could go to the theatre and out to dinner. Only yesterday the Norwegian pine she’d ordered had arrived, and was standing bare and alone in the living room just waiting for the shiny baubles that would transform it into a magical seasonal emblem. Mother and daughter were going to decorate it together, with carols playing joyfully in the background either on a CD or from the radio. It was inconceivable that her beloved child wouldn’t be home again until Christmas Eve.
In Ailsa’s mind the days leading up to that date would only serve to remind her of how lonely she could feel without the family she had once counted upon …
Jake and Saskia …
She’d barely got through the past week without Saskia as it was.
‘How could you do this to me? How? You and your mother have already had her staying with you for a week! You must know that I was counting on you bringing her back today.’
The broad shoulders beneath the stylish black overcoat now smothered in snow shrugged laconically. ‘Would you deny our daughter the chance to be with her grandmother when she’s so recently lost my father? Saskia lifts her spirits like no other human being can.’
Knowing her daughter’s warm, bubbly nature, Ailsa didn’t doubt her ex-husband’s words. But it didn’t make her absence any easier to bear. And underneath her frustration her heart constricted at the thought that Jake’s father was gone. The senior Jacob Larsen had been imposing, and even a little intimidating, but he had always treated her with the utmost respect. When Saskia had arrived in the world he hadn’t stinted on his praise, proclaiming his new granddaughter to be the most beautiful baby in the world.
How sad for his son that he was gone.
Their relationship had had its challenges, but there was no doubt in her mind that Jake had loved his father.
The swirling snow that was rapidly turning into a blizzard added to her misery and distress. ‘I’m sorry you lost your dad … he was a good man. But I’ve already endured Saskia not being here for too long. Can’t you understand why I’d want her back with me when it’s so close to Christmas? I’d made plans …’
‘I’m sorry about that, but sometimes whether we like it or not plans are hostage to change. The fact is that our daughter is safe with my mother in Copenhagen and you don’t need to worry.’ Sucking in a breath, Jake blew it out again onto the frosted air. He thumbed towards the bank of snow-covered cedars edging the road at the end of the drive behind him. ‘There was a police roadblock on the way here, warning drivers not to go any further unless they absolutely had to. They only let me through because I told them you’d go crazy if I didn’t make it to the house
to let you know about Saskia. I only just made it—even in the SUV. I’d be mad to try and make it back to the airport tonight in these conditions.’
As if waking from a dream, Ailsa realised he looked half frozen standing there. Another few minutes and those sculpted lips would surely turn blue. As difficult as the prospect of spending time with her estranged husband promised to be, what could she do but invite him in, make him a hot drink and agree to give him a bed for the night?
‘Well, you’d better come in, then.’
‘Thanks for making me feel so welcome,’ he answered sardonically as he stepped towards her.
His brittle reply cut her to the bone. Their divorce hadn’t exactly been acrimonious, but coming less than a year after they’d suffered the terrible car accident that had robbed them of their longed-for second child, it hadn’t been amicable either. Words had been flung … corrosive, bitter words that had eaten into their souls. But even now thinking of that horrendous time, of how their marriage had shockingly unraveled, was almost a blur to her because her senses had been so frozen by pain and sadness … like a delicate scallop sealed inside its shell after being relentlessly battered against the rocks.
Four long, hard years she’d lived without Jake.
Saskia had been just five when they’d parted. Her daughter’s poignant question, ‘Why did Daddy leave, Mummy?’ replayed itself over and over again in her mind most nights, disturbing her sleep and haunting her dreams …
‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She grimaced apologetically. ‘I’m just a little upset, that’s all. Come in out of the cold and I’ll get you a drink.’
He passed her into the hallway and the familiar woody scent of his expensive cologne arrowed straight into Ailsa’s womb and made it contract. Inhaling a deep breath
to steady herself, she hurriedly shut the door on the arctic weather outside.
The sixteenth-century beamed cottage that Jake had never been inside before was utterly charming, he mused as his senses soaked up the cosy ambience that greeted him. The lilac-painted walls of the narrow hallway were covered in a colourful array of delicate floral prints, intermingled with delightful framed photographs of Saskia as a baby, then a toddler, and a couple of more recent shots of her as a nine-year-old, already showing signs of the beauty she was becoming. And on the wall by the polished oak staircase the French long-case clock with its floral marquetry, its steady ticking peacefully punctuating the stillness … the stillness and peace that constantly seemed to elude
him.
The snug little house felt so much more like a real home to Jake than the luxurious Westminster penthouse he rattled around in alone when he was in London, and even the smart townhouse he lived in when he was in Copenhagen. Only his mother’s white-painted turn-of-the-century house just outside the city, which backed onto magical woodland, could match Ailsa’s home for cosiness and charm.
When she had bought the cottage not long after they’d separated Jake had been seriously disgruntled by her refusal to let him purchase something far more spacious and grand for her and Saskia.
I don’t want something grand,’
she’d replied, her amber-coloured eyes making her look as though she despaired of him ever understanding.
‘I want something that feels like home …’
The house in Primrose Hill that they’d bought when they’d married had no longer felt like home for either of them, Jake remembered, his heart heavy.
Not when the love they’d once so passionately shared had been ripped away by a cruel and senseless accident …
‘Give me your coat.’
His icy fingers thawing in the warmth that enveloped him, Jake did as she asked. As he handed over the damp wool coat he couldn’t help letting his gaze linger on the golden light of her extraordinary eyes. He’d always been mesmerised by them, and it was no different now. She glanced away quickly, he noticed.
‘I’ll take off my shoes.’ He did just that, and left them by the door. He’d already noticed that Ailsa’s tiny feet were encased in black velvet slippers with a black and gold bow.
‘Let’s go into the front room. There’s a wood-burner in there. You’ll soon get warm.’
Fielding his turbulent emotions, Jake said nothing and followed her. His fingers itched to reach out and touch the long chestnut tresses that flowed down her slim back, he shoved his hand into his trouser pocket to stem the renegade urge.
The compact front room was a haven of warmth and comfort, with a substantial iron wood-burner at the centre throwing out its embracing heat, its funnel reaching high into the oak-beamed rafters of the roof. There were two red velvet couches laden with bright woollen throws and cushions, and the wooden pine floor was generously covered with a rich red and gold rug. Just one Victorian armchair was positioned by the fire. Two sets of pine shelves either side of the burner were packed with books, and in one corner—its roots embedded in a silver bucket—sat an abundant widespread Christmas tree waiting to be decorated. Jake’s insides lurched guiltily.
‘Sit down. I’ll make us a hot drink … that is unless you’d prefer a brandy?’
‘I don’t touch alcohol any more. Coffee will be fine … thanks.’ Now it was
his
turn to glance quickly away. But not before he’d glimpsed the slightly bewildered furrowing of Ailsa’s flawless brow.
‘Coffee it is, then.’ She left the room.
Lowering his tall, fit frame onto a couch, Jake breathed out at last. For a while he watched the increasingly heavy snow tumbling from the skies outside the window, then fell into a daydream about his daughter playing on that sumptuous red and gold rug with her dolls. She’d be chatting away non-stop to them, he mused, her vivid imagination taking her far away from this world—a world that until she was five had promised a safe and secure day-to-day existence as she grew up, a comforting life that had abruptly changed beyond all recognition when her mother and father had separated.
He didn’t realise Ailsa had returned until she stood in front of him, holding out a steaming mug of aromatic black coffee. Gratefully Jake took it. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’ He tried for a smile but knew it was a poor effort.
‘How is your mother coping since she lost your dad?’
He watched his pretty ex-wife walk across the room in that graceful, mesmerising way she had that made her look as if she glided. She’d always had that balletic quality about her, and the blue denim jeans she was wearing highlighted her slender thighs and tiny waist—especially with the broad leather belt she wore around her sweater. As she sat down on the other couch he tried to curtail his irrational disappointment that she’d chosen not to sit beside him. Her slender ringless fingers wrapped themselves around a mug of tea. From memory, Jake knew it was rare that Ailsa drank coffee. But he didn’t dwell long on that. Inside he was reeling at the unexpected sight of the missing wedding band on her finger—another painful demonstration that their marriage had well and truly ended.
Clearing his throat, he garnered the defences that he’d fine-honed during the past four years without her. ‘Outwardly she seems to be coping well,’ he replied. ‘Inwardly
is another matter.’
He could have been talking about himself …
‘Well, then, perhaps it’s a good thing that Saskia stays with her for a bit longer. It’s been, what …? Six months since your dad died?’
‘About that.’ Sipping the too-hot coffee, he grimaced as the beverage scalded his tongue. If it was Ailsa’s aim to hold out an olive branch by not making a fuss about their daughter staying with her grandmother and spoiling her plans for the lead-up to Christmas, then he didn’t intend to take it. He couldn’t seem to help resenting the fact that she was clearly getting on with her life quite well without him.
