Their Very Special Marriage (6 page)

Rachel couldn't help closing her eyes, concentrating on the sensations evoked by his clever mouth. All she could feel was Oliver, all she could sense, all she could—

‘Mum-
mee
!'

They both stilled.

‘Maybe she'll go back to sleep,' Oliver mumbled against Rachel's skin.

As if to contradict him, Sophie's wail grew louder. ‘Mum-
mee
!' she sobbed again.

If Rachel could have cloned herself at that moment, she'd have been happy. As it was, whatever she did she lost. Sophie was ill and needed her—Rachel couldn't possibly desert her sick child. But Oliver... This was the first time in weeks they'd been close. Who knew when her husband would let her get this close again?

Damned if I stay, damned if I go, Rachel thought, her heart feeling as if it had been torn in half. She pulled away from Oliver regretfully, and slipped her jeans and T-shirt back on. ‘I'd better go to her. She's not well. If we leave her, she'll get into a state and it'll take us for ever to calm her down again.'

‘Sure.'

‘Can you bring a drink up for her and the infant paracetamol?' And maybe if Oliver stayed with her, maybe if they cared for their daughter together—then maybe when Sophie fell asleep again they could take up where they'd left off.

Though she knew she was kidding herself: he was already reaching for his own clothes. It didn't take a genius to know what he'd be doing while she was settling Sophie again.

Oliver brought up a spill-proof beaker of water, so it wouldn't matter if their daughter went to sleep still holding her cup—she wouldn't get drenched and wake up again. He poured the infant paracetamol into a spoon for Sophie and
encouraged her to take it. And then he uttered the words Rachel had been expecting and dreading in equal measure: ‘I'll just do a bit of admin while you're here with Sophie.'

If only you'd slept just a few minutes longer, Rachel thought, rocking her daughter to sleep in her arms. If your father and I had made love, everything would have been all right. Now, who knows? Work will come between us yet again.

When Sophie had drifted back to sleep, and Rachel padded barefoot into Oliver's office holding a glass of Merlot, her husband didn't even look up. ‘You go ahead and watch the film. I'll be in with you in a minute.'

His definition of ‘in a minute' definitely wasn't the same as his wife's, because he was still working when the film had finished. And Rachel's mood had cooled to the point where she didn't want to make love any more—what was the point, when she clearly came so far down Oliver's list of priorities?

He didn't reach for her in bed that night either. Which in some ways was just as well, because Sophie woke several times, each time feeling itchy and out of sorts and wanting comfort from her mother. Rachel felt like a zombie from lack of sleep the next morning, and her mood hadn't improved by Saturday evening, when Oliver appeared, freshly showered, wearing smart black trousers and a casual silk shirt.

‘Aren't you getting changed?' Oliver asked.

She stared at him. Changed? ‘Why?'

‘My mother's drinks party. We're supposed to be going, remember?'

Rachel shook her head. ‘I told you this morning, I rang her and explained that Sophie was ill and I can't leave her.' Surely he wasn't going to suggest that they should still ask Ginny to babysit, when Sophie was ill and miserable and wanting her parents? She bit back her irritation. ‘You can
still go, if you want.' On his own. Leaving her to do all the nursing.

‘I promised her we'd be there.' Oliver emphasised the ‘we'. ‘She called me to remind me this afternoon.'

Doing his usual power-play thing: making his son choose between his old family and his new one. Even after all these years Isabel hadn't quite forgiven Rachel for Oliver doing something against his family's wishes—as if Oliver wasn't a grown man, perfectly able to make his own decisions. ‘Look, Sophie's ill and she wants me with her. Your mother understands that a babysitter—even someone Sophie knows really well, like Ginny—just isn't an option.' Though Isabel had made it very clear she considered it a feeble excuse on Rachel's part. No doubt that was why she'd phoned Oliver, expecting him to pressure Rachel into going. Stupid, really, when Rachel didn't even fit in with the Bedingfields' social set. She still had the wrong accent, even though her Geordie accent had softened over the years.

Hell. She was sleep-deprived and she really didn't feel like facing the Bedingfields tonight. The barbs she usually managed to ignore would go deep. Why couldn't Isabel just have accepted the situation? Why had she had to put that extra little bit of pressure on Oliver—pressure neither of them needed right now?

‘My mother's relying on us to help,' Oliver said, his mouth thinning.

No. More like Nigel's come up with one of his flimsy excuses for not being there, and she wants to boast about
one
of her sons, Rachel thought grimly. The one who can be relied on. The one she takes for granted. The one who's still good-natured enough to run around after her and not mind when she drops him like a hot potato the second that her precious Nigel makes an appearance. ‘Sorry. Sophie comes first.'

Oliver's eyes narrowed, as if he suspected she was being
critical about him. Oh, for goodness' sake! It wasn't
about
him and his bloody family. It was about the fact that their daughter was ill and wanted at least one parent at home with her. ‘And I could do with an early night, to catch up on the sleep I missed last night.' When she, not Oliver, had comforted their daughter.

‘Of course.' A muscle flickered in his jaw.

‘Go and have a nice time,' Rachel said, giving him a placating smile. Bloody Isabel. She must have some kind of sixth sense, to know just when things weren't going that well between Oliver and Rachel and just where to bring the extra pressure to bear. Sometimes Rachel thought that Isabel would prefer the stigma—in Isabel's eyes, at least—of having a divorced son to having a daughter-in-law with the wrong accent.

‘Right. Well, I'll have to stay until the end—I can't leave my mother to clear up everything on her own.'

Meaning he thought that Rachel would? That was unfair. Anyway, Isabel always employed waitresses to deal with guests at drinks parties. Isabel did all the meeting and greeting, gracefully working the room with a champagne cocktail in one hand and a tinkly little laugh. Refilling glasses and plates and clearing away were left to her minions. And to suckers like Rachel who'd been brought up to muck in and do her share of the dirty work. ‘Then I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

Oliver's goodbye kiss was distinctly cool—more like a peck than a proper kiss. Rachel pulled a face at the door as she heard his car pull away, then made a bowl of popcorn in the microwave and let the children stay up to watch a film. Sophie fell asleep on Rachel's lap, and Rachel had just shepherded Robin to bed and tucked Sophie in when the doorbell rang.

Not Oliver, surely. He had his keys—besides, she didn't think he'd be back early. Once Isabel had her prize, she
wouldn't let him go until the very last second. Unless Nigel turned up, in which case Isabel would barely even glance in Oliver's direction. The sad thing was, Oliver was so used to it that it didn't even bother him. Though it annoyed the hell out of Rachel. Her own parents treated Rachel and her sister equally: why couldn't the Bedingfields do the same?

Frowning, Rachel answered the door.

‘Much-needed supplies,' Ginny said, waving a box of chocolates at her. ‘Now, remembering how I felt when Jack had chickenpox, either you're sleep-deprived or you're stir-crazy.'

‘Probably a bit of both,' Rachel admitted with a wry smile. ‘Thanks, Ginny. Want a glass of wine?'

‘Love one.' Ginny followed her into the kitchen and accepted a glass of chilled pinot grigio. ‘So how's Soph?'

‘Itchy and grumpy,' Rachel said, rolling her eyes. ‘Still, at least Oliver's managed to find me a locum—Caroline Prentiss.'

‘
She's
back, then.'

Something in Ginny's tone sent a shiver through Rachel. ‘What do you mean by that, Ginny?'

‘Um—never mind.' Ginny's smile was clearly fake. ‘Just ignore me.'

Rachel frowned. ‘Ginny, you're my friend, right?'

‘Of course I am.'

‘So tell me what you meant. Please.'

Ginny sighed. ‘Caroline used to go out with Oliver. Way, way before he met you—but I think everyone expected them to get married. Anyway, they broke up and then he met you.'

Ice washed over Rachel. Why had Oliver never mentioned Caroline to her before? Neither had Isabel, which Rachel found strange. Surely Caroline would be the yardstick Rachel was measured against and failed? Or was Caroline the reason why Isabel had disapproved of Rachel
so much in the early days, viewing her as a relationship-breaker? But when he'd asked her out, Oliver had told her he was single. He wouldn't have lied to her. So maybe Caroline was on Isabel's blacklist, too, as the woman who broke Oliver's heart. ‘So he was on the rebound, then?'

As soon as the words were out, Rachel wished them unsaid. She didn't want anyone thinking that Oliver had kept her in the dark about Caroline—even though he had.

‘I didn't say that. Don't be silly.' Ginny shook her head. ‘Oliver adores you and the kids. Everyone can see that.'

Rachel, thinking of that magazine article again, wasn't so sure.

Ginny sighed again. ‘Look, don't worry about it. I know he works stupid hours, but that's because of his family. If Nigel wasn't such a worthless toad, Oliver wouldn't feel he had to make up for him as well.'

Rachel smiled wryly. ‘How well you know my in-laws.'

‘I grew up around here, remember? Oliver's a couple of years older than me and he went to a different school, but everyone knew the Bedingfields. Anyway, look on the bright side. Soph might be ill and grumpy and you might feel like a zombie, but at least you've escaped Lady Bedingfield's drinks party tonight.'

Oliver's parents weren't titled, but Isabel Bedingfield always acted as if she were lady of the manor, and the village nickname had stuck. Rachel wasn't so sure that it was an affectionate nickname either; her mother-in-law was known for being finicky and expecting people to jump to attention whenever she snapped her fingers.

‘So what's Caroline like?' she asked.

Ginny shrugged. ‘I haven't seen her for years. She was in Oliver's year so she left school before I did, and once she escaped Hollybridge she hardly ever came back. She used to be tall, thin and pretty, with blonde hair down to her waist—the type who'd manage to look glamorous in a
bin bag,' she added with a wry smile. ‘But you couldn't hate her for it because she was nice with it. She was the one everyone wanted to
be
in our school.'

‘And Isabel approved of her, I suppose?' The words were out before Rachel could stop them.

‘Well, yes. She's the vicar's daughter.'

Of
course
. That was why she'd half recognised the name. Now Rachel thought about it, she remembered that the Prentisses were friendly with the Bedingfields. But she couldn't remember anyone called Caroline coming to their wedding. As a friend of the family, why hadn't Caroline been invited to the wedding?

Or hadn't it really been all over between Oliver and Caroline? No way could Rachel have watched the man she loved marrying someone else. Maybe it had been the same for Caroline. Isabel had insisted on handling the invitations, so maybe Caroline had been invited and had declined.

Ginny looked at her, frowning slightly. ‘Rachel, is everything OK?'

‘Yes, of course.' If you discounted the fact that her husband's gorgeous ex-girlfriend—one who was actually accepted by the Bedingfields, by the sound of it—was back on the scene. Would she expect to return to Oliver's private life as well as his working life?

Rachel gave herself a mental kick. Now she was just being paranoid. And there was no point in speculating about the reasons why Oliver and Caroline had split up in the first place. It was in the past, it had been over years and years ago, and he was married with a family. ‘Let's start on the chocolates before Soph wakes up in a grump,' she said.

‘Sounds good to me,' Ginny said with a grin.

* * *

When Ginny had gone, Rachel put a film on, but she couldn't concentrate. Oliver and Caroline. Their names even sounded right together.

Why hadn't Oliver ever said anything to her about Caroline? Especially now she was Rachel's locum. He really should have put her in the picture, told her more than just ‘I've known her for years'. Or was he deliberately keeping her in the dark?

‘Snap out of it,' she told herself loudly. ‘You can ask him when he gets home. Get some sleep first.'

But she couldn't sleep. She wasn't distracted by music, a book, a crossword. Sophie woke twice and needed comforting, but that left way too many minutes for Rachel to fill on her own. Too many minutes for her to wonder about Caroline Prentiss.

It was nearly one in the morning when Oliver came in.

‘I thought you'd be asleep,' he said, when he came into their bedroom and discovered Rachel reading.

She put the book down. ‘It's too hot.' Remember, no accusations, she reminded herself. Don't start a row. Be tactful. ‘Did you have a nice time?'

‘The usual.'

‘Anyone interesting there?'

He frowned. ‘What is this, twenty questions?'

‘Just showing an interest.' She shrugged. ‘If I hadn't asked, you'd think I was being sniffy. I can't win, can I?'

‘Sorry.' He raked one hand through his hair.

Did he look guilty, or was that her imagination? And how could she tactfully raise the subject of Caroline?