The Secretary's Secret (11 page)

He’d wanted to refit the bathroom before he’d moved to the outside of Kit’s house, but the hardware store was still awaiting delivery on the shower unit he’d ordered. The supplier was out of stock. He grimaced. He’d have to hide that particular bill from Kit when it arrived. The unit had cost a bomb and Kit would have a pink fit if she ever found out.

He set his jaw. The unit was top-of-the-line, non-slip, non-breakable glass, and easy-clean. The fibreglass base and interior meant no grouting. Kit had heaved a sigh of gratitude when he’d mentioned that particular fact. He figured she’d be busy enough with the baby when it came without adding a high-maintenance bathroom to her list of chores.

He wondered if she’d let him hire her a housekeeper or a cleaner.

She won’t need a cleaner if you’re around to help her.

If…?

The nails, rusted into the timber frame of the house, screeched as he worked the crowbar. Finally the weatherboard came free and he sidestepped it as it clattered to the ground.

If only he could sidestep other issues as easily.

From behind, he heard Kit’s quick intake of breath. He glanced over his shoulder to find her gaze glued to his butt. She licked her lips, her eyes dark. She leant forward. He went hot, tight and rigid as rock.

He and Kit, they had chemistry. Maybe…

Her gaze lifted with a slowness and thoroughness that had him biting back an oath and fighting the desire to stride over there, drag her mouth up to his and have—

‘Oh!’

He blinked. Kit stared at him, her cheeks a deep, dark pink. She swallowed convulsively and then jammed her canvas hat onto her head.

He swore. He tried to loosen his grip on the crowbar. Hanging out with Kit like this—it was murder! For Pete’s sake, why had she taken to working outside anyway?

She’d said it was to enjoy the sun. He’d told her that she just enjoyed watching him slave away. His teeth ground together. He’d been joking.

It didn’t feel like a joke any more.

He wiped his brow on his sleeve and let loose with another curse—low so she wouldn’t hear it. Who was he kidding? He couldn’t stay here in Tuncurry permanently. Kit deserved something more than he could ever offer. If he stayed here she would never get it.

What about the baby?

Could he…?

Yes!

His lips thinned. Probably not. He knew Kit was getting her hopes up—hopes that he would be some kind of father to her baby, a better father than hers had been. The thought of dashing those hopes made him want to throw up.

He swallowed back the bile. No throwing up.

No hiding from the facts either. Darkness threatened the edges of his consciousness. He let it in to swamp his soul, smother whatever hopes he dared to entertain. The man he’d had to become to survive his grandfather’s rule was not the kind of man who could make marriage and family work. His brief and disastrous marriage had proved that. His grandfather’s tyrannical bitterness had killed something essential in him. Something soft that was necessary to make relationships work. That was all there was to it.

If he made promises to Kit—stayed and tried to build a life with her—eventually she’d come to see him for who he really was.

And then she’d leave him, divorce him…and she’d take his child away.

He had to stay strong. Damage control—that was all he could do now.

‘You must be ready for a break, Alex. You’ve barely stopped working all day.’ Ice chinked invitingly in the jug on the table beside her. ‘At least have a drink.’

‘Just one more board to go,’ he grunted, working the crowbar again. Tomorrow, with Frank’s help, he’d replace these boards.

That would be one more job done. Kit’s house would be one step closer to being ready.

And he’d be one step closer to leaving here.

He didn’t turn as he spoke. He needed a few more minutes to find his composure, to make sure when he joined her he could resist the spell she threatened to weave around him.

No matter how hard she hoped and wished, she couldn’t make him a better man—the man she needed for her child, the kind of man who could share her life. But the thought of the child growing inside her…

Every day the evidence hit him afresh in the shape of her gently rounded abdomen, her heavy breasts.
Every day.
It worried at him until he felt he had a blister on his soul.

Finally, he turned. Kit smiled, but her hand shook as she poured him a glass of fruit juice. He pressed his lips together hard. At certain moments she could make him believe this life could be his. She could make him forget what it had been like living with his grandfather, make him forget Jacqueline’s betrayal.

She could make him forget that his heart had grown as cold and hard as his grandfather’s.

It was dangerous forgetting those things.

It was dangerous believing in fairy tales.

He had to focus on what he had explicitly promised her—to get her house fixed. Nothing more.

Against his will, his eyes travelled to her stomach.

How hard would it be to be a part-time father? To see his child three or four times a year and make sure it had everything it needed?

To make sure Kit had what she needed?

He glanced up to find her watching him again. He swallowed and took the glass she held out, moving back a few steps. He didn’t sit in the other chair arranged so cosily next to hers. He didn’t want her sunshine-fresh scent beating at him. He wanted to keep a grasp on reality. He sure as hell didn’t want the torture of being so near and not being allowed to touch her.

Would Kit mind if he did touch her, though?

He backed up another step. Perhaps not, but if he made love to her she’d think he was ready for all this…this domesticity. He didn’t feel any readier for it than he had on the first day he’d stalked into her back garden.

That thought almost quelled his raging libido.

If he made love to Kit, she’d expect the works—marriage, kids and everything that went along with it. They couldn’t unmake the baby they’d created, but he could prevent himself from compounding the mistake.

He surveyed her over the rim of his glass. When she realized he’d caught her out staring at him again, she sent him an abashed grin. ‘I don’t get it,’ she confessed.

All his muscles were primed for flight. ‘Get what?’

‘For the eleven months that I worked for you, Alex, you’d come into the office every day the epitome of the assured businessman…’

He relaxed a fraction. ‘And?’

‘Look, I understand your roots lie in manual labour, but…’

His gut clenched. ‘But?’ Jacqueline had hated that about him.

‘But I don’t understand how you can still be so comfortable and capable and
easy
with this kind of work.’

Her admiration—admiration she didn’t even try to hide—made him stand a little taller. He drained his juice and then shrugged. ‘It’s like riding a bicycle.’

‘Believe me, I’d wobble. I’d stay upright, but I’d wobble.’

She made it so easy to laugh.

‘Top up?’

She held up the jug and, before he knew what he was about, he found himself ensconced in the other chair, sipping more juice. ‘I have had some recent practice,’ he found himself confessing. ‘In Africa.’

She leaned forward. Her lips twitched. ‘Did your cabin fall down or something?’

He tried to warn himself that this was how her enchantments started—teasing, fun, laughter. He promised to bring a halt to it soon and get back to work. ‘How much would you laugh if I said yes?’

Her eyes danced. ‘I’d bray like a hyena, but…’ She suddenly sobered. ‘I understand you did some aid work?’

It was hardly a question, more a statement, but he nodded anyway. ‘How d’you know?’

‘The rumour mill at Hallam’s was full of it before I left.’

‘I was part of a team that helped to build an orphanage.’ When he’d read the brochure he’d hoped that building an orphanage would help him forget Kit. And that it would help allay some of the guilt raging through his soul.

She waved a finger at him. ‘You might like to act all hard and self-contained, Alex Hallam, but I have your number, buddy.’

He went to correct her, to tell her he was hard and heartless and that she’d be wise not to forget it, but before he could get the words out she said, ‘You’re nothing but a great big mushroom.’

That threw him. ‘Mushroom?’

She stared back at him in incomprehension for three beats, and then she chuckled. ‘Oops, marshmallow. I meant to say marshmallow. Baby brain, I tell you.’

He grinned. ‘Is this where I point out that hyenas don’t bray?’

‘Of course they do.’

She promptly gave her impression of a braying hyena and Alex almost fell out of his chair laughing. ‘That’s not a hyena, it’s a donkey!’

‘No, this is a donkey.’

When she gave her impression of a donkey, he lurched out of his chair to roar at full-stretch on the ground. When he opened his eyes again he found himself staring up at an elderly lady.

Her lips twitched as she stepped over him on still spry feet. ‘So kind of you to vacate your chair for me, young man.’

‘Hi, Grandma.’

Kit’s grandmother! Alex shot to his feet and did his best to dust himself off.

‘Alex, this is my grandmother, Patricia Rawlinson.’

‘Pleased to meet you, Mrs Rawlinson.’

‘It’s Patti, dear.’

‘Grandma, this is Alex Hallam.’

‘Ahh…’ Those piercing amber eyes—so like Kit’s—turned to him again. ‘So you’re Alex. I’ve heard all about you.’

She said it exactly the same way Caro had on his first morning here. The collar of his polo shirt tightened around his throat. Was she going to threaten him with a meat cleaver too?

‘I hope you mean to do the right thing by my granddaughter and great-grandchild.’

‘I…um…’ All the fun and laughter Kit had created in the garden bare minutes ago fled now. He had a feeling ‘doing right’ meant more than fixing Kit’s house up.

Those amber eyes gleamed and he didn’t trust them. He didn’t trust them any more than Caro’s spitfire green. ‘I’d eventually like to see you make an honest woman of my granddaughter.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Kit snorted. ‘The way you let Granddad finally make an honest woman of you on Mum’s twenty-first birthday.’

‘I did say eventually, dear.’

Kit’s grandmother hadn’t married Kit’s grandfather till…

Both Kit and her grandmother laughed at whatever they saw in his face. ‘Relax, Alex,’ Kit ordered, her smile wide enough to ease some of the tension in his shoulders. The woman was a witch! ‘Grandma’s just teasing.’ She tossed her grandmother an affectionate grin. ‘Behave, Gran.’

‘You young ones always want to spoil my fun. Now, Kit, dear, can you explain those extraordinary noises you were making as I came around the side of the house?’

‘I was trying to show Alex the difference between a hyena’s bray and a donkey’s bray.’

‘Hyenas don’t bray, Kit, dear, they laugh. So, how did you get on?’

‘Only Alex can answer that.’

Two sets of identical eyes turned to him for confirmation. His lips finally twitched too. He found himself inclined to warm to Kit’s grandmother for knowing the difference between a laugh and a bray. And for having eyes identical to Kit’s. ‘She got on perfectly.’

‘Excellent.’

It struck him that when she’d been a younger woman, Patricia Rawlinson must’ve been very beautiful. She was still striking now and she had to be at least seventy. Still, his collar remained tight around his neck. Hypothetical walls threatened to close about him. He wanted out of this garden fast. ‘I’ll…um…go put the jug on.’ No doubt they had loads to talk about. He edged towards the back door.

‘Hold on a moment, young Alex.’

He almost tripped up a back step. He couldn’t remember anyone ever calling him young Alex in his life.

‘I’d like to invite you both to a luncheon next weekend.’

Kit groaned. Alex’s eyebrow lifted. It wasn’t the reaction he’d have expected from her. Images of meat cleavers rose in his mind. Patti might know the difference between brays and laughs, but he’d bet she had a whole lot in common with Caro too.

‘What on earth is this one for?’ Kit asked. ‘And how much will it cost me?’

‘This one is for breast cancer, dear. A gold coin donation is all that’s required. And I’d appreciate it if you could bring a plate.’

Kit’s eyes danced when they glanced at him. ‘Alex has been threatening to give me cooking lessons.’

‘Oh, darling, if he can cook, why bother learning?’

He’d have laughed if his collar hadn’t pulled so tight.

‘I’ll definitely come to your luncheon. Alex will have to be a maybe. It’ll depend on whether any deliveries are scheduled for that day. We’ve had a couple of delays.’

His collar promptly loosened. Kit had given him an out.

A new sick kind of nausea filled him then instead. Maybe she didn’t want him to go to this luncheon. Why on earth would she? He was going to let her down, wasn’t he? Maybe subconsciously she sensed that?

‘Can I ask Frank and Doreen along? And Caro?’

Of course she’d like to have her friends there. He rolled his shoulders. Maybe she’d let him tag along too if he helped her bake a cake?

For Pete’s sake! It was only a stupid luncheon. What did he want with one of those?

‘I saw Frank and Doreen out the front so I’ve invited them already. Caro and co are always welcome.’

Alex thrust himself through the back door, but not before he heard Patti ask, ‘Alex does mean to put your house back together, doesn’t he, dear?’

‘I believe that’s the plan.’

He closed the door and made safe his escape.

That night Alex dreamed he was searching through the endless rooms of that brooding mansion, searching for Chad again, the childish laughter always just out of reach.

And, just like the other times, he jerked awake, drenched in sweat and with Chad’s name on his lips.

A
LEX
dunked his paintbrush into the can of paint and set about slapping it on the neatly sanded, newly primed weatherboards of Kit’s cottage. White paint.

One corner of his mouth kicked up. She had chosen white for the main body of the house and blue for the window and door trims. She’d snorted when he’d presented her with an array of colour cards with exotic names like fresh linen, grey gum, desert sand and sage. ‘I don’t want any of that modern nonsense, Alex. I’ve always wanted a white house with a blue trim. Ever since I was a little girl. I’m not going to change my mind now.’

And she hadn’t.

So he was painting her house white with a blue trim, and found he was enjoying himself.

Next week he’d paint the interior—white ceilings, cream walls. She wanted her house light and bright and airy. It was her house. He’d paint it any colour she wanted.

The new shower unit was due to arrive at the end of the week and then he could get to work on the bathroom. Once that was done, all that would be left was the nursery.

His gut clenched and his hand slowed. That would mean looking at baby stuff with Kit, wouldn’t it? He could imagine her face going all soft and misty as she looked at cribs and little blankets and changing tables with colourful mobiles. He dunked his paintbrush in the can of paint again and concentrated on transferring it to the weatherboards. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Kit had a way of making just about anything fun.

Besides, all that baby stuff could be ridiculously expensive. He slapped paint on with renewed vigour. He had no intention of letting Kit pick up the tab for that.

Kit. The thought of her had images rising through him. His hand slowed, the paintbrush almost coming to a halt. Last night while he’d cooked dinner—a chore they’d taken in turns since the night of their fish barbecue—she’d laid stretched out full-length on one of the sofas watching TV. She’d reached for the remote on the table behind and the action had stretched her T-shirt tight, giving him an eyeful of her baby bulge—small, but unmistakable. And perfect.

He hadn’t been able to look away, even when she’d returned to her former position.

Beneath her shirt she carried his baby.

He’d stumbled back into the kitchen, trying to decipher the emotions tumbling through him.

His first instinct had been denial. He couldn’t get emotionally involved with this baby. He’d lost it all once before. He couldn’t go through that again. His second thought had been…

Hope?

Alex swiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and gave up all pretence of painting for the moment. The longer he stayed here with Kit the more it seemed possible that he could do what she wanted of him, be what she wanted—an involved father. The thought made his heart thud against his ribs again, just like it had last night.

He’d started telling himself that this time it would be different. As the child’s biological father, he’d have rights. Besides, Kit had more generosity in her little finger than Jacqueline had in her entire being.

Plans started racing through his mind. He could work in Sydney through the week and then shoot up here to Tuncurry for the weekends.

Better yet, he could relocate here. He set the paintbrush down and rested his hands on his knees, his mind racing even faster. Kit had said the tourism industry was booming. There’d be property development opportunities galore. He could set up an office in Forster that specialised in developing eco-tourist resorts.

And he could be a part of his child’s life.

What about Kit?

All his plans slammed to a halt. He swallowed. He couldn’t give Kit what she wanted, what she needed.

What happens when she meets someone who can?

Sweat beaded his top lip, gathered at his nape and trickled a path of ice down his back. Eventually Kit would meet someone and fall in love with them. She’d marry. And his child would have a stepfather. He tried to push back the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. He rubbed a fist across his brow. Kit deserved to find someone, to be happy, but…

What then? What if she relocated to Perth or…or to America?

Why would this time be any different? Why should it all work out for him now?

Because he wanted it to?

A harsh laugh broke from a throat that ached. Grabbing the paintbrush, he forced himself back to work. He’d be a fool to get his hopes up.

The back door slammed, jerking him out from beneath the darkness stealing over him.

‘Good to see Kit has you working so hard.’

He glanced down from his position on the scaffolding. Caro. Not holding a meat cleaver. ‘Nice to see you too,’ he drawled.

Kit emerged from the house with a tea tray. At her side trotted a dark-haired child of about four. A boy.

Alex froze.

He didn’t know why the sight of the child rocked him, but it did. To his core. He’d seen other children, of course, since he’d lost Chad, but…

He hadn’t talked to one, touched one.

His hand tightened around the paintbrush. Maybe it was the combination of a pregnant Kit and child.

Kit and child.

Kit and—

Chad would be about this child’s age now.

The thought slammed into him from nowhere and the strength drained from his legs. He braced a hand against a weatherboard. In the back of his mind he was dimly aware that the board was wet.
Ignore the paint. Keep breathing.

Paint from his brush dripped onto his trainer. He clenched the paintbrush as if it were his last grip on reality as he tried to push the memories of Chad away, deep down into the unexplored parts of himself where they couldn’t torment him.

It didn’t work. Questions pounded at him.

Would Chad be the same size and shape as the child at Kit’s side? How tall would he be now? Had his hair darkened or grown lighter? The need to see Chad, to hold him, burst the straitjacket he normally kept it bound to, and for a moment darkness swirled all around him.

‘Look, Mum, I’m helping Auntie Kit and I got the most important job—carrying the biscuits!’

‘Not just any biscuits, but chocolate biscuits,’ Caro said with what he guessed must be the appropriate amount of admiration. Thankfully she turned the child towards the outdoor chairs and table. ‘And you’re allowed to have one just as soon as you set them down.’

‘Alex, that looks great.’

Kit’s voice, her appreciation, pushed some of the darkness away and helped him breathe again. He did his best to ignore the childish patter behind him.

‘Would you like some tea?’

He nodded and finally found his voice. ‘I’ll be down in a minute.’

She turned to carry the tea tray to the table, and Alex clenched his eyes shut and tried to control his breathing, tried to block the images that rose up to torment him, taunt him, remind him of all he’d lost.

Tonight he’d have that nightmare—the endless rooms in that mansion, the childish laughter always out of reach. Despair threatened his control. Some days he thought it would take his sanity. With every ounce of strength he possessed, he pushed it back, tamped it down. He couldn’t lose his mind. He had Kit’s house to finish.

He gritted his teeth. The mundane
would
allay the nightmare. He opened his eyes, unclasped the paintbrush from fingers that had started to cramp and did his best to wipe the wet paint from his hand with a rag.

‘What are you doing?’

That childish voice came from almost directly beneath him. He stared at the weatherboards.
He could do this.
He’d wrapped his heart in ice once before. He could halt the thaw that Kit had somehow started and put it in deep freeze once again. He would not think about Chad.

He dragged in a breath. He didn’t turn around. ‘I’m painting your Auntie Kit’s house.’

‘My name is Davey.’

Another deep breath. ‘Mine’s Alex.’

‘Are you Auntie Kit’s boyfriend?’

The voice was even closer now, and the question made Alex blink. In another time, another place, he suspected it would’ve made him laugh. ‘I’m her friend.’

‘I’m going to marry her when I grow up.’

He had to hand it to the kid. He had great taste.

‘Can I help?’

And then Davey’s head appeared and Alex’s heart lurched. Davey had climbed up the side of the scaffolding. What if he fell? ‘Hold on a minute, Tiger.’

His heart cramped. He’d always called Chad Tiger.
Don’t think about Chad!

Alex forced himself to move. He vaulted to the ground and then seized Davey beneath the armpits to swing him down too. ‘Your mum will come after me with a meat cleaver if you—’

He couldn’t go on. He froze. Davey’s solid weight, his warmth, the trusting way he stared at Alex with dark-fringed eyes that were the same brown as Chad’s. All of it was imprinted on his memory. A low moan threatened to burst from his chest. Chad would weigh this much now too. He’d still be chubby-cheeked and chubby-legged like the last time Alex had seen him, held him, but he’d be taller. He’d probably be asking awkward question and—

Who was letting Chad help paint a house or sand a chair or let him hand them tools while they tuned a car?

Pictures of Chad flashed through his mind. Chad running towards him to welcome him home from work, arms outstretched. Chad with his head thrown back, gurgling with laughter as Alex swung him around and around. Chad nestled against Alex’s chest, his breathing deep and even as he slept.

Alex started to shake.

‘Alex?’

Kit came into view. He barely heard her over the rush in his ears. The cramp in his chest grew until he thought he might crack in two. He wanted to haul this child into his arms and hold him close. He wanted…

He thrust Davey into Kit’s arms. ‘I…I have to go.’

He lurched around the side of the house. He didn’t stop at his car. He kept walking. Chad’s name echoed in his heart with every step. At some point Kit’s started up in there too.

Kit’s heart burned when Alex disappeared around the side of the house. His white-lipped stare, his wild dark eyes, the way his hands had clenched, it had almost made her cry out.

Davey had reminded him of Chad! Oh, why hadn’t she thought? She should have realized.

Her mouth went dry. But…Davey wasn’t Chad. If Alex reacted this way to a child he wasn’t related to, how would he react to his own child?

She swallowed back a sob, not wanting to frighten Davey.

Davey’s bottom lip wobbled. ‘I only wanted to help. Alex doesn’t like me.’

‘Of course he does, honey.’ She pulled him in close for a hug before moving back towards Caro, unable to meet her friend’s eye. ‘Alex hasn’t been feeling very well lately. I think he might be coming down with something.’

Caro raised an eyebrow, but Kit was grateful she didn’t snort.

‘Hey there, soldier!’ Frank popped his head up over the fence. ‘Want to come see the baby birds in the nest on my shed?’

Davey’s face lit up. ‘Can I, Mum? Can I go over to Uncle Frank’s?’

‘Okay.’ Caro laughed and pointed a mock-threatening finger at Frank. ‘But mind you don’t feed him more than two biscuits. He’s had two already.’

‘Aye, aye, Captain!’

Caro contemplated Kit as Davey raced across next door. ‘Why are you wasting your time on this man, Kit?’

Was she wasting her time? She folded herself into her chair, hunched down to rest her head against its wooden slats. Nausea and exhaustion pummelled her.

‘I mean, you had to see the look on his face when he held Davey. Not even Blind Freddy could’ve missed that!’

She had. Shock, wonder and then pain—a dark, searing, tear-the-heart-out-of-your-chest pain.

And she’d wanted to help him. In that moment it hadn’t mattered if he was going to stay or not. Nobody should be asked to endure that kind of pain on their own.

‘Kit, do you really believe Alex can change? Come to terms with fatherhood? Be there for you and the baby?’

Kit moistened her lips and swallowed. ‘I know if our positions were reversed, I’d be asking you these self-same questions. Caro, my head knows what you’re saying. It’s saying the same things.’

‘But?’

But her heart was another matter entirely. It hit her then that she’d been so busy trying to reconcile Alex to the idea of fatherhood that she’d forgotten to protect herself. She’d left herself wide open. She’d fallen in love with him again.

If she’d ever fallen out of love with him in the first place.

What a mess!

She forced herself to state facts. ‘You know he threw up when I told him I was pregnant. Right there in the azalea bushes.’

‘Oh, honey.’ Caro leaned across, clasped her hand. ‘I’m sorry.’

Kit squeezed it back. ‘But he took me to the medical clinic all the same and he looked after me until I was over the kidney infection. He knew he didn’t have to stay, but he did and he never made me feel bad about it. Not once.’

‘Just as well!’

‘His parents died when he was twelve and he went to live with his mean old grandfather. You and me, we both missed our dads, but our childhoods were great.’

Caro shook her head, but she was smiling. ‘You are such a soft touch.’

‘Every time I’ve just about given up on him, I find out something that gives me hope again. You know, he hasn’t had a proper holiday in nearly five years. He took leave the month before last and spent it doing aid work in Africa, helping to build an orphanage.’

She’d grilled him until he’d told her every single detail about it. She could still remember the way his eyes had shone.

‘Not the actions of a man entirely beyond hope,’ Caro finally agreed. ‘But, honey, I’m so scared you’re going to get hurt.’

Kit pulled in a breath. It was too late to go back now. ‘I know having him here is a risk, but…’ She leant towards her friend. ‘There’s too much at stake to just give up on him. He’ll do what he considers his duty—pay child support and whatnot.’ She flattened her hands over her burgeoning stomach and stared at it in wonder and gratitude. ‘I want more than that for my baby, Caro. I love it so much already. If anything I do now can help Alex with his issues and embrace fatherhood, then…’