For Our Children's Sake
NATASHA OAKLEY
Lucy Grayford is devastated when she discovers that her daughter is not actually hers–six years ago there was a baby mix-up. Then she meets single dad Dominic Grayling and they discover they now have each other's biological child. She can't bear to lose the child she's grown to know and love…but she yearns to know her biological child, too. It's a heartrending situation where there seems to be only one solution…
“We had a direct swap of embryo. Our case is different.”
“What do you think will happen, Dominic?” Lucy asked, putting down her fork carefully.
“I don’t know—and I don’t like it. I hate having no control over what other people are deciding about my life.”
“What do you hope happens?”
This was it then. An irrevocable decision. Once made there could be no going back. Dominic leant forward. “I want you to marry me.”
The silence echoed around the table. For a moment Lucy wondered whether she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t possible, was it? His eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for an answer. Color flooded into her ashen face. “But I don’t know you!”
Just like having a heart to heart with your best friend, these stories will take you from laughter to tears and back again!
Curl up and have a
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So heartwarming and emotional you’ll want to have some tissues handy!
Harlequin Romance:
In the Shelter of His Arms (#3840) by Jackie Braun
A Family for Keeps (#3843) by Lucy Gordon
For Our Children’s Sake
Natasha Oakley
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To Nigel
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u5b8f1ab1-b80f-5c12-9fb4-0dd35a9502ce)
CHAPTER TWO (#u91d5f725-2513-5fb3-ad33-9f873d80bcfb)
CHAPTER THREE (#ue7bd1a4a-a20a-5a9d-a2ee-e3675409ee45)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
IT WAS all true. All of it. Until this moment Lucy Grayford hadn’t allowed herself to believe it. All the way from Shropshire she’d told herself there’d been some kind of mistake. Some different universe she’d stumbled into and would surely soon stumble out of. But, looking at the deeply troubled man opposite, she knew there’d been no mistake—not this time.
With immense effort she tried to concentrate on what he was trying to tell her. She could see his mouth moving and yet it was so difficult to take the words in. What they really meant. To her. To Chloe.
‘Genetically, Chloe isn’t your child,’ Dr Shorrock said carefully. Very, very carefully, she registered bleakly. Every word predetermined and carefully phrased. ‘The embryos implanted back into your womb belonged to another couple.’
It should hurt more.
Surely this kind of news was something you couldn’t stay sane through.
‘But…but I gave birth to Chloe.’ Her mind struggled to come to terms with what he was saying. She had given birth to Chloe. Eleven long hours and seventeen stitches later she’d had a seven pound, fourteen ounce little girl. She’d held her in her arms immediately after—red, wrinkled and unbelievably perfect. And hers.
From that moment her life had revolved around the miracle of her baby.
‘This is difficult to understand, Mrs Grayford, I know.’ The steady voice of Dr Shorrock faltered and his fingers shuffled nervously at his papers. ‘Whilst you carried Chloe to term, and gave birth naturally to her, both the egg and sperm belonged to another couple and—’
‘She’s mine,’ Lucy cut in. This was a nightmare. A hateful clawing nightmare. Slowly the full truth of what he was saying was beginning to penetrate her numb brain. He was trying to tell her Chloe didn’t belong with her. That she belonged to another couple.
But if they only knew her as an egg and a sperm surely she belonged with her? It had been her body that had carried her. Her body that had given her life. ‘She’s been my baby for six years. You can’t suddenly say you want her back. That—’
‘I’m sorry to say the error was more far-reaching than that.’
There was something about his expression that held Lucy silent. She almost didn’t let herself breathe. He’d already brought her world crashing down around her. What could be worse than what he’d already said?
‘At the time of the…error…you and your late husband had three good embryos stored at the same clinic.’
The pressure on her heart was almost unbearable as she waited for whatever he was going to say next. ‘Yes?’ she managed, forcing out the single word through dry lips.
‘All three were implanted into the womb of another woman and one resulted in the birth of a healthy baby girl.’
‘My baby?’ Her voice faltered.
‘Genetically the baby of yourself and your late husband. Yes.’
Lucy put one shaking hand up to her forehead, trying to rub away the pain that had begun to wrap an iron band around her head. It was impossible to take any of this in. This slightly pompous-looking man with his hair combed over the bald patch on his head was talking about errors and embryos, and yet what he was really talking about was lives. People’s lives. Their lives.
‘Naturally a full investigation will be undertaken. At this time I can only offer you our most profound apologies.’
She let her hand fall back into her lap. ‘I don’t understand. How…How could such a thing happen? It isn’t possible.’
‘Mistakes are extremely rare in embryology, but there’s always the risk of human error. All clinics are required to operate scrupulous labelling systems and to double check embryos before implantation. Although the clinic you attended did have all the correct protocols designed to prevent this from happening, as in all areas of medicine, sometimes things do go wrong.’
‘Do the other couple know? Have you told them?’
Dr Shorrock looked back down at his notes before returning his steady gaze to hers. ‘A blood test on their daughter showed she has a rhesus negative blood type which revealed there must have been an error. Both her birth parents are rhesus positive so it was obvious she couldn’t be their biological child.’
‘I’m rhesus negative.’ Her hands shook in her lap. She folded them tightly into fists and allowed her nails to dig into her palms. It was good to feel something other than the screaming pain ripping through her head. Please God…Oh, please God…No.
She knew what pain felt like. Knew exactly what it felt like to want the world to stop turning and everything disappear into blissful darkness. She’d thought she’d never recover from the agony of losing Michael and yet this was unbelievable. It was as though he’d died all over again and had taken with him the one thing—the one person—who’d been able to console her. The person who’d given her a reason to go on living. Breathing in and out until one day she’d suddenly felt alive again. Happy, even. And yet here she was back in a blackness she hadn’t even imagined existed.
‘This must be a mistake,’ she whispered. ‘This can’t be happening.’
Dr Shorrock lowered his eyes, as though he couldn’t bear to see the pain in hers. ‘I’m confident from the tests we’ve undertaken so far that there was a switch of embryos at the implantation stage. Possibly there was some confusion over the names. And yet—’ He broke off and shook his head in apparent disbelief. ‘I can’t give you accurate answers about how this might have happened. Not before we’ve undertaken a full investigation and I’ve received the report. While that’s still pending I want you to know the head of the unit has been suspended with immediate effect and all the appropriate authorities have been informed.’
As if she cared. The people at the clinic were people she didn’t know, didn’t care about. But still he went on, his face a picture of professional concern.
‘Obviously there’ll be many questions that need answers and I will be assiduous in asking them. The—’
‘What happens now? To Chloe and me?’
His cheeks puffed out. ‘Naturally we must have the well-being of the girls at the very centre of everything we do. There’s no definitive ruling on how a direct switch of embryos should be dealt with, although all rulings do suggest you will continue to have guardianship of Chloe during her minority.’
Guardianship? What did that mean? Chloe was her daughter. Had been from her first breath.
‘While the legalities are being debated in court you, yourself, will need to consider what you want to happen. Do you want access to your biological child or not? Ultimately there will have to be a legal ruling on who these children actually belong to.’
His words continued but Lucy was no longer interested. In her heart the words were pounding over and over again. Chloe’s not my daughter. Not my daughter. And yet she was. In every way that mattered Chloe was her daughter. She’d been the little warm figure who’d cuddled up in that lonely double bed during thunderstorms. She’d been the toddler she’d stayed up all night with when she’d had chicken pox. She was hers. Absolutely. And she would fight for her. With the very last breath she had in her body.
And her other baby? Hers and Michael’s. The baby who’d grown up being cuddled and cared for by other people—strangers. Slowly she felt the pressure on her heart increase in a tight, painful grip.
There were no easy answers to this. She felt the trickle of warm tears as they began to fall down her face. She was crying. She didn’t mean to be crying but the tears came without any help from her. One after another, pouring down her face—and yet soundless.
Dr Shorrock pushed a box of tissues across his desk. ‘I do realise how difficult this is for you, Mrs Grayford. For the time being I think you should give yourself a chance to assimilate everything I’ve told you. Meanwhile I will set in motion some of the things we’ve agreed upon.’
Agreed? Had they agreed on anything? Lucy really didn’t know. She pulled out a tissue and wiped the tears from her face. Pointless, really, as others soon replaced them.
He stopped to write something down in a large manila folder. ‘A nurse will give you a cup of tea and sit with you a while. I can only offer my sincere apologies on behalf of my colleagues and tell you I shall be in contact very shortly.’
Dominic Grayling sat on the graffiti-covered wooden bench outside the hospital, his gaze following the movement of people in and out without any real focus. He shouldn’t have come, and yet the temptation to be here had been irresistible. He’d told himself a million times since last Friday that the date and time he’d seen marked down on his file might pertain to anything, to anyone. And yet he hadn’t believed that, not deep down in his soul. As soon as he’d read what was written it had become inevitable he’d be here. Waiting.
He glanced down at his watch, and then back again at the doors to the hospital. It was late now. Perhaps he’d missed them. He’d been so sure he’d be able to recognise them when he saw them. They’d look like he had when he’d first understood what had happened. They’d be lost. Hurting.
He didn’t mean to talk to them. To make any sign at all. He just wanted to know what they looked like. Whether they were nice, he supposed. If he could imagine his biological child living with them and being happy. That would be enough. Surely that would be enough?
The doors opened with an automatic swish and he heard the soft brogue of an Irish accent asking, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to wait a while longer? I don’t like to see you leave like this.’
‘I just want to go home. I need to go home now.’
The other voice was strained, choking. It was a voice that touched him. Spoke to the hurt deep within himself.
He turned almost automatically and saw her. She was beautiful. Even though she’d been crying. Was crying, he noticed. She was still beautiful, with brown hair alive with auburn highlights. Curls softly framing an oval face. Exactly like his Abigail.
Dominic forced himself to look away and muttered a short expletive under his breath. He was beginning to go out of his mind. Seeing similarities where there weren’t any. London was full of women with dark hair. He might as well stand in Covent Garden and hold up a banner for all the good this was doing. He was looking for a couple.
And yet he was alone.
He turned back to watch the woman. Her olive-tinted colouring was similar to Abby’s and there’d been no one else who’d seemed possible. She’d pulled her black coat closely around her body and was desperately searching in her pocket for something. A tissue? And all the while her tears continued to fall.
It was her pain that made him watch her. It simply radiated from every pore. It felt like a mirror being held up to his own emotion. The devastating pain he had no words to describe accurately.
Her hand came out empty and she put her fingers up to her eyes, wiping away the trails of moisture. He couldn’t bear it—to see her pain and do nothing. He stood up and walked towards her hesitantly, before handing her a starched white handkerchief from his overcoat pocket.
She saw the flash of white before understanding what he was offering. ‘I’m sorry…I…I’ll be fine in a minute. I’m sorry. It’s just I…’
‘Take it. It’s just a handkerchief,’ he said curtly.
‘Thank you.’ Her fingers closed about it and she wiped at her eyes. Then, with a little confusion, she offered it back to him.
‘Keep it.’
She looked back down at the damp fabric in her hand. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, before saying helplessly, ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s nothing. My name is Dominic Grayling.’
She looked at him blindly. His name obviously meant nothing to her. Why should it? He wasn’t arrogant enough to assume she’d recognise it from the television documentary he’d made two years previously, and even if she were one half of the couple he’d hoped to see there was no reason she should know his name. The hospital had been scrupulous in keeping that information secret. He tried another tack. ‘Is there anything I can do to help you?’
She’d begun to shake her head even before he’d finished speaking. ‘Nothing. I’ll be fine. Thanks for this, though,’ she said with a small brave smile, before turning away to walk down the steps.
It was something in the way she smiled, or turned, perhaps, but he couldn’t let her go. Dominic quickly walked down the steps beside her. ‘I know I shouldn’t be doing this, but I have to ask.’
She turned and looked back up at him, her brown eyes troubled and a little scared.
Dominic took a deep breath. He was going to sound stupid but he couldn’t let this chance escape him. Before they knew it they were going to be overtaken by people whose concern was the legalities. There was just a small chance for him to take control—now, before all their lives were blighted more than they already were.
‘Have you by any chance just been told your daughter isn’t yours?’ he asked in a rush, before his courage failed. He saw the way her mouth moved in a soundless exclamation and rushed on. ‘My wife and I received IVF treatment seven years ago and I’ve just discovered the embryo used…’ He couldn’t bring himself to finish the words. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.’
‘Lucy Grayford.’
Dominic turned back and looked at her.
‘My name is Lucy Grayford,’ she said slowly. ‘And, yes. Yes, I have.’
They stood in complete silence, each searching for some kind of truth in the face of the other. Dominic took a shaky breath. ‘I’m glad to meet you.’ He stepped down the final step. ‘My name is Dominic Grayling,’ he repeated, certain this time she’d actually heard him.
Her eyes never left his face. She was like a scared fawn. Her dark eyes were frightened and her whole body was tense.
‘I think perhaps we ought to talk.’
She nodded.
He wanted to put her at ease, and yet what could he say that would make this any easier to bear? It was as though a door had opened to hell itself. And here they were, two strangers brought together by a human tragedy with no easy way to navigate a path through it.
‘There’s a park around the corner. Perhaps that would be best. There’s a place to get coffee nearby. Perhaps that would be better than—’ He broke off again. They were complete strangers. Why should she agree to this? He could be anyone. Some strange crank. ‘Or would you rather leave it for another time?’ He reached into his pocket to pull out a notepad and pen. ‘I could give you my number. We could talk later. When you’ve had time to think about it.’ He started to write.
‘No.’ He looked up as she spoke. She shook her head firmly. ‘I don’t want to go home yet.’
That was a feeling he understood. He knew how hard it was to discover the child you loved, believed was your own, was not. And, knowing that, you then had to go home and pretend nothing had changed. That the centre of your world hadn’t been ripped out and shredded as though it were some discarded document. He’d walked out of this same hospital and wandered in the rain for over two hours before he’d summoned up enough courage to take himself back to Abby.
‘I’d rather talk.’
He nodded. With tacit agreement they turned and walked along the pavement. Despite her words neither spoke but, in the strangest way, the silence was comforting.
Lucy put her hands deep in her coat pockets and let the wind dry the tears on her face. The pain had settled deep within her heart and she felt cold. Frightened. Nothing in her life had ever prepared her for this.
Covertly she looked up at Dominic Grayling. In any other circumstances he might have been an attractive kind of man. Handsome, even. He was tall, loose-limbed and wiry, with an intelligent face and kind eyes. Not particularly like Chloe, though, she thought. She was much fairer; her hair was a shining curtain of ash blonde. Yet maybe there was something indefinably like her in this man. Perhaps in the shape of his face? An expression?
Who knew why she’d agreed to talk to him? Surely she’d have been more sensible to wait until the professionals were involved. They’d be able to work out a way through this nightmare. And yet…Dominic’s eyes told her he shared her pain, understood what she was feeling. Dr Shorrock, with all his calm, professional detachment, hadn’t even touched on the agony she was feeling.
‘We can get a coffee here.’
His deep voice broke into her thoughts and she looked up to see him pointing across the road at a narrow shop frontage with a chipped sign above reading Sarah’s Teas.
‘Fine.’
They crossed the road and Dominic held open the door to allow her to pass before him. The shop was full, a lunchtime crowd of busy, bustling people. Some were sitting round melamine tables reading newspapers over limp sandwiches. All infuriatingly normal. Yet here she was with her life in tatters.
‘How do you like your coffee?’
‘Coffee?’ she repeated stupidly, until her mind shifted back into gear. Oh, yes, she was going to have coffee. ‘White, one sugar.’
Lucy turned back to look at the room and caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her reflection looked normal. That surprised her. Was that what everyone else saw? How strange. Surely if the world as you knew it had just ended, something of that should show on your face? Was that why everyone had gone on and on saying how well she’d looked after Michael had died? It had puzzled her at the time.
‘Coffee.’ Dominic’s voice interrupted her as he held out a cardboard cup with a plastic lid on top.
Once again his eyes held complete understanding. They were nice eyes. Steely blue with golden flecks like sunshine. You could trust eyes like that. She took the cup. ‘Thank you.’
‘The park is round the corner. It’s not too far.’
Lucy didn’t care. She’d have followed him anywhere at this moment. Just knowing she didn’t have to make a decision was enough. Her brain couldn’t cope with anything. He wanted to walk in a park—she’d walk in a park.
It wasn’t much of a park. It was smaller than the ones near her home, surrounded by high iron railings and hemmed in by densely packed housing. The concrete walls of a nearby high-rise were covered with graffiti. An ugly place, she thought with a curious detachment.
‘We could sit on the bench over there,’ he said, and pointed at a wooden seat underneath some old oak trees. His kind eyes glanced down at her. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this to you. It’s too soon. You’re still in shock.’
‘I’ll always be in shock.’
An almost imperceptible nod of the head before he turned and walked towards the seat.
‘Do you want to tell me what they told you?’ he asked as she sat next to him.
Lucy shook her head. ‘I can’t,’ she whispered. ‘Not yet.’
‘No,’ he agreed, and in that one word she could feel his compassion.
She watched him take the lid off his coffee and sip.
He looked up and caught her watching. ‘Drink your coffee. At least it’s hot.’
‘Everyone seems to want me to drink something. The nurse back at the hospital kept wanting me to have tea.’
His smile was gentle. With fingers that trembled slightly she struggled with the plastic lid. Some of the hot liquid lurched over the side and scalded her fingers.
‘Steady,’ was all he said, reaching out to support her hand.
And then there was silence for a few moments before he began. His voice was quiet, deep and slightly husky.
‘My wife, Eloise, was born with a defective heart. She should never…I should never have—’
Lucy waited. For the first time his pain pierced hers. This man knew exactly how she was feeling. He knew because he was in the same nightmarish place. Here with her. No one else would ever be able to understand how bleak it was possible to feel. But this man—Dominic—knew. He really knew.
He began again. ‘Eloise always wanted children.’ He looked down and traced a pattern with his shoe on the dry mud. ‘But they never came. Month after month. There was nothing.’
Lucy sipped at the bitter coffee and waited as he struggled to get the words out. ‘We didn’t know about her heart then. Not then.’ He looked up at the trees. ‘Later we knew, of course, and we were told she shouldn’t ever have a baby. There was a ‘‘significant risk’’, they told us. But Eloise was desperate. Her life wasn’t ever going to be complete without children. I tried…’
She understood that desperation for a baby. Month after month of nothing. The feeling that somehow each month you’d lost your baby, even though your head told you there’d never been anything to lose. The sensation of life ebbing away, month after month. Lucy tried to think of something to say, some comfort.
‘I let her go for the IVF. When Eloise knew she was pregnant she was so excited. Couldn’t wait to have our baby.’ He pulled himself up straighter on the bench. ‘But there were complications during the Caesarean. She died giving birth to Abigail.’
Lucy hadn’t expected that. Her right hand, holding the coffee, shook. Died. Her first reaction was one of sympathy, immediate and intense. ‘I’m sorry. So sorry.’
‘Abby is everything I have.’
His head was bowed and she could see the weight of everything resting on his shoulders. His wife had died giving birth to a child that wasn’t his own—and yet he still loved his Abby. Her Abby. Just as she loved Chloe.
‘How did you discover Abby—’ her voice hovered over the unfamiliar name ‘—wasn’t your natural child?’
‘She has a rhesus—’
‘Negative blood type. I remember. Dr Shorrock said.’ She smiled sadly as he looked across at her. ‘So do I.’
‘I wish I’d never found out.’ Dominic held her gaze. ‘I love her more than anything in the world. She may not be my natural child but she’s more mine than anyone—’
He broke off as though he’d suddenly remembered whom he was speaking to. Yet Lucy didn’t mind. She looked at the passion in his face and was glad Abigail had found somewhere safe.
Safe. It was so strange. This stranger made her feel safe. Just sitting with him had begun to make the panic recede a little. The pain was still there. A hard knot at the very centre of who she was. And yet, looking at Dominic, she could believe she’d survive. That there might be a way to claw through this nightmare.
‘I understand,’ she said softly. ‘I love Chloe.’
His eyes were moist as he breathed the name. ‘Chloe. It’s a beautiful name.’
‘She’s beautiful. An incredible little girl.’ Lucy stood up and dropped the empty cup into the remains of a burnt-out litter bin. ‘Shall we walk?’
‘Yes.’
They took the path across the grass. ‘Abigail’s a lovely name too.’
‘It means ‘‘father rejoiced’’. I wanted her to know I didn’t blame her. When Eloise died,’ he said awkwardly, and then he shrugged. ‘It seemed important at the time.’
An understanding of just how much this man must have suffered washed over Lucy once again. His wife had died giving birth to Abigail.
Losing Michael had been painful, but she didn’t have any sense of guilt about it. From the little he’d said it was obvious Dominic Grayling blamed himself, in part at least, for agreeing to the IVF treatment. Yet even in the midst of that tumult of emotion he’d still thought about his baby girl, how she would feel every birthday, and he’d given her a name that told her she was loved. He had to be a special kind of man.
‘Is Abigail like me?’ she asked, suddenly feeling the need to know. She turned to look at him, the wind whipping her hair across her face.
‘A little. In the colour of her hair. But more, I think, in the way she moves. She moves like you.’
It was faintly embarrassing to have this stranger look at her in such a way. Focused. As though he could see nothing but her. Lucy looked away.
‘And Chloe?’
‘Yes,’ she said hurriedly. ‘She has your shape face, your hands…’ His hands. She hadn’t even registered she’d noticed his hands—and yet Chloe had the same long fingers. She’d always loved her daughter’s fingers. Right from a baby. ‘Artist’s hands,’ Michael had called them.
‘I’d like to see her.’
He’d spoken quietly and yet the words were like a slap. Her head snapped up.
‘No.’
‘Don’t you want to see Abigail?’
Lucy let his words flow over her.
‘Can you really go your whole life without knowing what she’s like?’ He paused. ‘Whether we like it or not, other people are going to start making decisions for us. When I first found out about Abby…Hell, this is hard.’ He rubbed the back of his neck. ‘My instinct was to keep it all quiet. Make sure no one discovered the mistake. Keep her mine. Just mine.’ And his voice rang with possession.
Lucy met his eyes and the intensity in his kept her looking.
‘But we can’t do that. Either of us. Both girls have the right to know their genetic make-up. Chloe could perhaps need that more than Abby.’
A shiver of cold washed through her as she understood the implications of what he was trying to tell her. ‘Is Eloise’s heart condition hereditary?’
‘It’s possible for her to have inherited the same problem,’ he stated baldly. ‘But not likely.’
Lucy turned away as she felt the panic begin to rise up again. ‘I can’t bear this.’
‘We have to.’ Dominic caught her arm. ‘Our girls are only six. Far too little to deal with this. We’re the grownups here and we’re going to have to deal with it.’
His fingers held her arm still, preventing her from walking away. She could almost imagine the warmth from his hand was giving her strength. Passing from him to her. She turned back towards him. ‘I’m scared,’ she whispered.
‘If I could tell you everything’s going to be all right I would. But I don’t know that. I only know I’m going to do anything to protect Chloe and Abby from the consequences of this. I don’t want to sue the hospital. I don’t want any publicity.’
The mention of the word ‘publicity’ took the whole situation into another dimension. Lucy hadn’t had time to think about the full ramifications of what had happened. She’d heard the defensive tone in Dr Shorrock’s voice but it hadn’t registered with her as anything other than awkwardness. But, yes, they could sue the hospital for negligence. But if they did, what then? A tragic mix-up at an IVF clinic would have all the elements needed to shoot the story to front-page prominence.
And then she thought of Chloe. A bright, sunny little girl who was already having to live her life without her daddy. Who had so few memories of the man who’d loved her for the first five years of her life.
‘I don’t want any publicity either.’
The tension in Dominic’s face relaxed and he let go of her arm. ‘I’m sure the courts will do everything they can to protect the girls. They’re so young…I don’t want to make this any more difficult for you and your family than it already is—but we can’t pretend it hasn’t happened either. I imagine we’ll be asked to sign something that gives up all legal right to our biological children.’
Lucy frowned as she struggled to keep up with his conversation. He’d had longer to come to terms with the truth.
‘But I’d like to see her,’ he continued. ‘Maybe have a photograph. A letter at Christmas. I can’t make this situation right but I want my natural daughter to know I would have loved her. That I’ll be there for her if ever she needs me.’ His sincerity was tangible. ‘And you must want that too. For Abby? Don’t you?’
The little girl she didn’t know? Abby? Yes, she wanted Abby to know she’d have loved her. ‘Yes,’ she said quietly. ‘I do want that.’
‘I think they’re too young to be told everything. If you let me see Chloe occasionally you can be certain I’ll never do anything to hurt her. I would just like to meet her. Talk to her for a little while so I can imagine her when I think about her.’
‘And Abby?’
He nodded. ‘I’d like her to know who you are. For you to be someone she likes so that when I have to tell her the truth she won’t feel abandoned. I want her to know I did everything I could to make things right for her.’
Lucy looked back the way they’d walked unseeingly. ‘I’d like to see Abby.’
‘Good.’
‘And you can meet Chloe. But later. I can’t do it now. Not now.’
His eyes softened and she felt the panic recede again. Dominic Grayling was a man to be trusted. The words popped into her head and they were comforting.
‘First you must have Chloe checked out. Let’s know what we are playing with.’
Lucy kept looking at his eyes, as though they were a life raft that was going to stop her being smashed against the jagged rocks. ‘She was a very healthy baby.’
‘That’s good, then, isn’t it? Let’s just make sure.’
‘I want to go home now.’
Dominic pulled a notepad from his pocket and finished filling out his name and address. ‘Here,’ he said, passing it across.
Dr Dominic Grayling. ‘You’re a doctor?’
‘Not of medicine. I did a PhD. May I have your address?’
Lucy kept staring at the paper. ‘Grayling. That’s what Dr Shorrock meant. I hadn’t realised before.’ She looked back up at him. ‘He said ‘‘possibly there was some confusion over the names’’. I’m Grayford.’
‘Yes.’
She sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem possible, does it?’ Taking his pen, she wrote swiftly. ‘We live in Shropshire.’
Dominic accepted the notebook back. ‘Will you be all right getting home? Is your husband in London with you?’
‘Michael? No.’ Lucy pulled her bag up on to her shoulder and pushed her hands down into the depths of her pockets. ‘Oh, no, Michael’s dead.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Michael died just before Chloe’s fifth birthday.’ She was really quite proud of the way she held her voice steady. ‘I understand how you feel about Abby. I really do. Chloe’s all I have too. I’m never going to let her go.’
CHAPTER TWO
LUCY glanced down at her watch and noticed with a jolt that it was already past seven. It was more than a jolt—she actually felt sick when she saw how late it was.
She’d meant to be so calm when she met Dominic again. She’d meant to be well groomed and in complete control but all her good intentions had turned to dust. Time had just flown by—in the way it always seemed to do when you knew there was something difficult ahead, she reflected as she searched out the small figure of her daughter in the middle of the play park. She was going to have to rush to be ready in time.
‘Five minutes, Clo, and then we need to go to Grandma’s,’ she called out as she stood up to pack away their picnic things.
It was doubtful whether Chloe heard. Her feet were taking her in the direction of the giant slide, her blonde hair streaming out behind her. Lucy smiled. Nothing troubled Chloe’s world and she was determined to keep it that way. Whatever Dominic Grayling had to say this evening. Whatever any court of law had to say on the subject, she’d keep her safe and happy.
‘Chloe, it’s time to go. Five more minutes and that’s it,’ she called again.
Turning to reach for the picnic mat she stilled, suddenly aware of a solitary figure watching them. Perhaps her imagination had conjured him up? She was late, but not that late. He shouldn’t be here. Not now. Dominic wouldn’t do this without arranging it with her first. Would he? She had to be hallucinating, and yet…
With a fatalistic shrug the solitary figure started walking towards her until its identity became obvious.
‘Hi,’ Dominic said as he got close enough to speak.
His calm greeting fanned the tiny spark of anger into a fierce spurt. ‘What are you doing here? You’re more than an hour early.’
‘Curiosity.’
‘How dare you do this? You could be anyone, as far as Chloe’s concerned. You could have scared her.’
‘I’m sorry.’
But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed so relaxed, so completely in control, so…so what she’d wanted to be when they’d met. ‘What if Chloe had noticed you watching her?’
‘She didn’t.’
‘You can’t know that.’
‘I’m sure she didn’t.’ He turned to look at her, his blue eyes narrowed astutely. ‘Have I scared you?’
His question caught her off guard. Was her anger really all about her? How she felt? She made a quick analysis of her feelings before deciding on honesty. ‘Yes.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For being here or for scaring me?’
But already her anger had dissipated. As a disembodied voice on the telephone Dominic Grayling still had charm, but in person it was more evident. His hair was an indeterminate sandy brown but his bone structure was strong and characterful. A man to trust. A face to paint, she thought inconsequentially. And of course they shared a common bond in their children. It was only natural she should feel a connection to him. As his face relaxed into a lopsided grin she felt the last shreds of her irritation pass—and yet surely that was illogical.
‘I couldn’t sit around at home any longer, and then the traffic from London was so clear I made much better time than I’d anticipated. I should have stopped at a service station and waited the time out, but I couldn’t resist getting here earlier.’
Lucy hated the way she was letting him get away with spying on her. He should have walked down the hill and made sure she knew he was there instead of keeping his distance and watching. Better still, he should have stayed in London until it was really time to leave; he should have been held up on the motorway in a ten-mile traffic jam; he should have got lost at least a dozen times before he arrived at her house…
She turned her back. ‘Do you want a coffee? There’s some left in the flask.’
‘I decided to walk about a bit. I didn’t know you were here, Lucy.’
She turned back to him, hearing the coaxing, warm note to his voice. Sexy. Where had that come from? She didn’t think like that about men any more. It was disloyal to Michael. It was too soon.
And Dominic Grayling wasn’t sexy. He was, no doubt, a perfectly pleasant man, but he wasn’t particularly special and he was a stranger to her. She had to remember that. She might feel she’d known him for months but the reality was different. ‘So, as soon as you knew I was, you walked away?’
‘Would you?’ he asked on a slight smile.
She wouldn’t, of course. The temptation to stand, unseen, to watch Abigail, would have been impossible to resist. To search for physical signs that would really make it possible to believe with her whole heart she belonged to her. Had it been like that for Dominic? Had he found them in Chloe?
‘You’re right; she’s beautiful.’
Lucy hugged the picnic rug to her. ‘Yes. Yes, she is.’
‘She’s got the same ash-blonde hair as Eloise.’
‘Oh.’
He looked at her quickly. ‘Was that the wrong thing to say?’
‘Of course not. It’s just…well, I’m sure you know,’ she finished weakly, unaware of Chloe’s small figure running up to join them.
‘Are we going now?’ Chloe asked, hesitating slightly as she joined them.
Lucy’s fingers closed on her daughter’s shoulder in a gesture she recognised as ownership. How was Dominic feeling now? Did this hurt? ‘We have to.’
‘Can’t I stay five more minutes?’
‘Not this time. We’ve got to get to Grandma’s.’ She hadn’t dared to look up at Dominic but she sensed his stillness. This was an important moment for him—and for Chloe. Lucy took a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t deserve to be ignored. However frightened she was by his presence in her life, by the whole situation. ‘This is Dr Grayling. Do you remember me telling you about him?’
Chloe turned and looked with interest at the stranger. Whatever she saw she liked, because she suddenly smiled. It wasn’t like her to do that. Chloe was always reserved and would rarely talk to adults she didn’t know well. ‘I’m Chloe.’
‘I know. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother.’ Above her blonde head Dominic’s eyes sought out Lucy’s. It was part thanks, part reassurance. It was a reward in itself. She’d done the right thing and it felt really good.
‘I’m going to sleep at my grandma’s house tonight.’
Dominic smiled down at Chloe. ‘I know. Your mummy told me.’ It was the kind of half-smile that spoke of deep inner sadness. Lucy felt a sudden rush of compassion—for him, for her, for Chloe and Abby, for all the people who loved them. Her mum adored Chloe. She was her grandchild—and, of course, she was not. Somewhere Dominic would have a mother who’d been denied the right to know her own flesh-and-blood grandchild. The ramifications were endless. The ripples went on and on.
‘Are you Mummy’s new friend?’ Chloe asked curiously.
Dominic didn’t pause. ‘Absolutely.’
‘Come on, Chloe. Grandma will be waiting.’ Lucy gratefully squeezed the hand tucked inside hers. The feel of those small fingers was so comforting.
And Dominic was alone. She could only imagine what he must feel like, watching them walk away from him. It must be the most hideous feeling. And it was going to be one she would experience when she met Abby.
Four weeks since her world had come crashing down for the second time and she’d not allowed herself to dwell on Abby. First there’d been the tests on Chloe’s heart and the agonising wait before the all-clear had been given. Then there’d been contact with lawyers, the people who were going to determine the legal status of their children. And finally there was the desperate sense of being alone. More alone than she’d been when Michael died. Now she had to carry a deep, dark secret. One she could share with no one. Except Dominic. His telephone calls had been a lifeline. Calm, good sense in a crazy, shifting world.
‘Am I staying for breakfast?’ Chloe asked with a slight tug on her hand.
‘Grandma would like you to.’
‘Are you going to be there?’
Lucy smiled at the tone of her daughter’s voice. If she said she was Chloe would be so disappointed. She wanted it to be just her and Grandma. ‘No. I’ll pick you up later.’
Chloe pulled back on her hand, looking behind her. ‘Dr Grayling’s still standing there. He hasn’t moved.’
‘Is he?’
‘It’s a bit rude to stare, isn’t it?’
‘Maybe he’s lonely and wishes he could be coming home with us.’
Chloe thought about that carefully. ‘He looked nice. We could both be friends with him.’
Could it really be as simple as that? Lucy wondered, her grip on Chloe’s hand tightening. She wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She’d take any painful blow if it would shield her from the consequences of this mess.
As they reached the corner Lucy risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Dominic was still standing there, watching, his hands thrust deep into his denim pockets and the lines of his body tense. He looked so alone.
And soon that would be her. Could she do it? It was impossible to imagine how that would actually feel. Would something in her recognise Abby as hers? Would she feel the same as she had when Chloe, newborn and angry at her difficult entry into the world, was placed in her arms? That overwhelming sense of love and responsibility. The total wonder at having created anything so perfect. That last thought twisted painfully inside her. She hadn’t created Chloe. Given her life, yes, but not created. That was something she had to concede to Dominic and the fair-haired Eloise.
It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Dominic decided as he watched the pair disappear. Light ash-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. So like Eloise, and yet not.
Chloe was tanned, energetic and healthy. Her skin glowed with vitality and her eyes sparkled. Dressed in a faded T-shirt and old shorts, with tangled hair and a grubby face, she wasn’t the image he’d held in his mind for the last few weeks. And yet this was better than all his imaginings. The euphoric feeling he’d experienced as he’d watched her balancing on the centre of the seesaw was something he’d never forget. She was happy.
Her little hand tucked safely in Lucy’s was hard to see, but the bond between them was obvious. Chloe was loved and cared for. It was what he’d wanted to know and yet now it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted his little girl to know about him. It was a spear of jealousy digging into his flesh.
He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. And about Lucy. In his mind the two were intricately entwined. Lucy, so different from Eloise. His wife had been many wonderful things—cultured, intelligent, with the face of an angel—but he knew she’d have crumbled under this pressure. But Lucy would cope. Even in the immediate aftermath of hearing the news, shocked and desperately hurting, she’d still seemed strong. She had an inner core of strength that kept her standing. Whatever life threw at her, she would take it on the chin and move on. And it seemed life had thrown a good deal at her. Yet still she’d managed to raise a child who smiled as though her world was completely sunny.
A picnic in the park. He couldn’t remember ever having taken Abby for a picnic. Since she’d started nursery her evenings had been filled with piano lessons, ballet classes and gymnastics. By the time he emerged from his study Abby was usually too tired to do anything but curl up against him for a story. What would Lucy make of that? She glowed with an active vitality that made him wonder whether she’d approve. Made him wonder whether he approved.
The doorbell rang at exactly eight-thirty. Even though she was expecting it, the sound still shocked her.
Lucy snapped on her wrist-watch and grabbed her handbag before opening the door. ‘Do you always do this? You’re exactly on time. To the minute.’
‘I’ve been sitting outside in the car.’
‘Oh,’ she said, slightly deflated. It didn’t seem right for him to have been doing that. She’d been so busy settling Chloe and hurrying back home to shower and change she hadn’t thought about what Dominic was going to do with the spare hour. ‘I suppose so. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’
‘Is Chloe happily settled?’
‘She loves staying with my mum. There’s nothing so lovely as being spoiled, is there?’ Lucy tried to say it with a laugh but it sounded more like a hiccup.
This felt so awkward. It had been easier on the telephone. Then she hadn’t been confused by the tense, hurt look in Dominic’s eyes. She’d only listened to his deep voice and the words he’d said. Calm and sensible, that was how she’d come to think of him. This felt different.
‘Chloe said you looked nice,’ she said on a rush, hoping it would make him feel better.
‘She looks incredible. I don’t know what I was expecting, but she looks so…so healthy.’
Lucy heard the wistful tone in his voice. Even that must be difficult for him, she remembered. Eloise had been anything but healthy, apparently. Did Chloe look like she would have done if she’d been well?
‘I’ve booked a table at the White Horse since it’s so near. I’ve no idea whether the food is any good, but I liked the idea of sitting on the terrace and watching the water.’
‘The food’s lovely,’ Lucy volunteered quickly, glad he’d chosen that restaurant. She loved sitting where she could see water, watching the way the colour changed and shifted on the surface, but this time she liked the idea of having a distraction. Something easy to talk about if the conversation became too difficult, too strained.
They walked in silence for a time. Lucy was aware of the way he kept glancing down at her and she could feel the tension in his body. It didn’t surprise her. What they were having to do was impossibly difficult.
‘I used to go to the White Horse with Michael,’ Lucy remarked, breaking the silence.
He seemed grateful. ‘When you were dating?’
‘No. We couldn’t afford it then. Michael and I met at school and were married by the time we were nineteen. This is grown-up stuff, with grown-up prices. We went there for our last anniversary. A couple of months before he died.’
Dominic stopped and turned to look at her, the angled planes of his face pulled taut. ‘Is this difficult for you? Look, if you’d rather go somewhere else please say so. This is awkward enough as it is.’
‘It’s fine, really. It’s a happy place. I’ve really good memories of coming here.’
‘Really?’
She nodded. ‘Excellent.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Michael?’ She saw the slight inclination of his head, saw his reluctance to ask the question in case it hurt her. Strangely, it didn’t hurt to talk about Michael. What hurt was not being allowed to. Being widowed made other people uncomfortable, and sometimes it felt as if Michael had been erased. ‘He was a lovely man. Very sporty, loved sailing. Always wanting to do the next thing, take on the next challenge. It was an incredible shock when he was diagnosed with the tumour. Of course he’d left it far too late. Wouldn’t go to the doctor. He was the last person you’d ever have thought would…’
‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘No, it’s fine. I like to talk about him sometimes,’ she reassured him quickly. ‘We were really happy together. So many of my friends are splitting up now, getting divorced. I know I’ve already had more than some people have their whole lives. If he hadn’t died he wouldn’t have left me, and I know he loved me right up to the end. Me and Chloe.’
‘Do you find that difficult?’ His shoe kicked at a stone. ‘That Michael died believing Chloe was his natural child?’
Lucy watched it skim into the bramble bushes. ‘I’m glad about that. It’s difficult for me to cope with, but Michael would have found it harder still. And if it had come when he was ill…That would have been unbearable. As it is he died happy, knowing I wouldn’t be alone and believing something of him was going on.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘And it still is. Except in your Abby—not in Chloe, as we thought.’
Dominic held open the gate for Lucy to pass through before him, thinking once again how remarkable a woman she was. How did you reach the point where you could be glad for the little time you’d had? Every time he caught sight of an article celebrating someone’s diamond wedding anniversary he felt angry. Every time he saw a mother with her child he remembered Eloise hadn’t had that chance. Was it possible Lucy didn’t share his anger—and guilt?
He waited until they were seated at one of the tables overlooking the canal before he spoke again. ‘Have you ever been on the canal?’
Lucy tucked her handbag beneath her seat and looked up to see a burgundy-and-blue narrow boat passing, small crochet circles hanging in the round windows. ‘Absolutely. I grew up near here. My mum and dad owned a narrow boat for most of my childhood. They had a seventy-two foot boat which they called Little Beauty.’
‘An odd choice for a big boat.’
Lucy smiled and his breath caught in his throat. Her skin seemed to glow with pure life, even her hair crackled with energy. The first time he’d seen her, outside the hospital, he’d recognised she was a beautiful woman but he hadn’t anticipated his reaction to her smile. He’d no business thinking about her that way. Even so, when she smiled she took on a luminosity that was quite staggering. Her expressive eyes sparkled and her soft full mouth…What? He caught himself up on the thought.
‘Little Beauty is such a ridiculous name. I was always embarrassed by it until I read H E Bates.’
He frowned, trying to pick up the threads of her conversation.
‘Darling Buds of May. Little Beauty is the boat owned by Pop Larkin. Once I knew that, I loved it. The biggest mystery is my dad going along with it. He wasn’t that kind of man.’
‘Wasn’t?’ Dominic prompted.
‘He died when I was twenty-three. He was a very careful man. Little Beauty was his only extravagance. He believed life was too difficult to be reckless with it. He was so worried when I went to art college.’
So there was the answer to one of the questions he’d wanted to ask her. She was an artist. That fitted her image perfectly. With her dark hair pulled up on the top of her head in a haphazard manner, long wispy tendrils curling around her face, she looked slightly bohemian. Messy.
‘What about you? What do you do, Dr Grayling? What are you a doctor of?’
He smiled. He’d suspected she’d no idea who he was. It was refreshing. It was difficult to live down the description of being the ‘thinking woman’s crumpet’, and London was full of women who liked the idea of being with a man who made intellectual television programmes. It had led to hours of spurious conversations with people who’d no idea what they were talking about but who hoped to impress him with their knowledge.
‘History.’
‘Revolting. A truly horrible subject. There were far too many essays to write in History—and almost all of them were about war, I seem to remember.’
His smile broadened. ‘You obviously had some appalling teachers.’
‘So what does a doctor of History actually do?’
‘I’m more of a writer now, but history is still an overwhelming passion,’ he answered evasively, not really understanding his strange reluctance to tell her what he actually did. ‘I see myself as an educator.’ He broke off as the waitress arrived at their table. ‘Are you ready to order? Have you had time to decide what you’d like?’
‘No debate. Scampi and chips,’ she answered with determined cheerfulness. ‘I’ll worry about the calories tomorrow.’
That made a change, Dominic thought. Both his wife and his mother would never have let a sentiment like that enter their heads, let alone passed their lips. Rigid control at all times. He’d even come to believe they actually preferred lettuce and steamed broccoli.
‘If it comes that highly recommended I’ll have the same. What would you like to drink?’
‘I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, please.’
The waitress scribbled frantically. ‘House white?’
‘Will be lovely,’ Lucy replied with a wide smile.
Without it being a conscious decision, Dominic was watching her closely. Searching for a fault, some reason why he shouldn’t go through with the idea that had been sitting in his brain since the first day they’d met.
Lucy seemed to be oblivious.
‘Have you lived in London for long?’
Dominic sat back in his chair. ‘Since I finished my PhD. Yes.’
‘And before then?’
‘Oxford—and before that I was at boarding school.’
Lucy smiled. ‘Oxford! Now I know where Chloe gets her brains from.’
The waitress returned with their drinks. Lucy shifted slightly to make it easier for her to put the glass down.
‘Is she bright?’
‘Very. Top of her class in practically everything. She’s just been selected for a gifted and able programme. She’s going to work with older children on a computer project.’
The feeling of satisfaction spread through him.
‘What’s Abby like?’
Dominic picked up his beer and took a small sip. ‘She’s bright. Top sets. But her passion is for art. She really loves that. 3D art, though, more than drawing.’
As he said it he realised he’d done very little to encourage that in Abby. Her evenings were so full of activities, and yet none of them really addressed what she loved to do. He’d allowed his in-laws to take far too much responsibility in Abby’s upbringing and they were reproducing what they’d done for Eloise. It would have suited her, but Abby was different. She’d love to be given a lump of clay, or just be encouraged to make a mess with papier-mâché.
‘Art? I don’t believe it!’
Lucy’s face shone with a radiance he was coming to expect. She was so easy to read. When she was pleased everything of it showed on her face. She couldn’t hide anything. ‘So much for nature versus nurture, then.’
With no regard for their conversation, the scampi was brought to the table. The plates were steaming hot and generously full.
‘I’m so hungry,’ Lucy remarked, spearing a chip with her fork.
This place suited her, with its casual informality. At home he would have chosen a select little bistro, where everything would have been arranged in delectable morsels. Lucy was like a breath of fresh air. She sat in tight, hip-hugging black trousers and a white broderie anglaise top and looked as if someone had just ruffled her in a haystack. Effortlessly sexy. It made him remember sensations and feelings he’d tried hard to bury for the past few years.
‘Do you paint still?’
‘Occasionally. I found it difficult to do when Michael was ill. I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough. My mum’s a potter, and I’ve spent more time recently working with her. It’s nice to have company and have the feel of the clay between my fingers.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Chloe’s done some lovely things. I ought to show you some time.’
He felt a sudden spear of guilt. Abby had never had the opportunity to do anything like that. He should have been more assertive. Whatever the outcome of this evening, he was going to make some changes.
‘I’d like that.’
Lucy bit into a piece of scampi before looking up at him. Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. It felt really strange, seeing you watching Chloe like that. It was just I wasn’t expecting to see you then. You know—wrong place, wrong time.’
‘Nothing about this situation is easy.’ Dominic played for time by picking up his pint glass. ‘Have you thought about what might happen when our case goes to court?’
Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. ‘I thought everyone was fairly confident. We’ll each have legal guardianship—’
‘Yes. And be recognised as the natural birth parent of each other’s children. But nothing like this has ever gone to court before.’
‘It has. I was told—’
Dominic cut her off again. ‘This case is slightly different. We had a direct swap of embryos.’
‘What do you think will happen?’ Lucy asked, putting down her fork carefully.
‘I don’t know—and I don’t like it. I hate having no control over what other people are deciding about my life.’
Her face was a picture of worry, her dark eyes clouded with anxiety, and her hand went up to pull nervously at her hair. He didn’t like to do this to her but she needed to know. He had to make sure she understood exactly what they were facing.
‘What do you hope happens?’
Dominic shook his head. ‘It’s an impossible question to answer. At first I just wanted to go on with Abby as before. Then I wanted to keep Abby but maybe hear about my natural daughter. Not too often. Just once in a while. Enough to know she was all right.’
‘And now?’
‘Now I want it all.’
Lucy shifted in her chair, her face uncharacteristically pale. ‘You want both girls?’
‘In a way. I—’
‘You can’t do that—’
‘Hear me out, Lucy. I’m not suggesting I sue for custody.’
She shook her head, obviously bemused. ‘Then what?’
This was it then. An irrevocable decision. Once made there could be no going back. Dominic leant forward. ‘I want you to marry me.’
The silence echoed around the table. For a moment Lucy wondered whether she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t possible, was it? His eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for an answer. Colour flooded into her ashen face.
‘But I don’t know you!’
His voice remained steady. ‘I don’t know you either. Except through Abby. I want Abby to have everything—and that means you.’
For the girls. He wanted to marry her for the girls. Lucy held her bottom lip between her teeth, her stomach twisting and turning. What he was suggesting was outrageous. How could you marry someone you didn’t know and knew nothing about?
His voice continued inexorably. ‘When I think about a future hearing just snippets about Chloe I can’t bear it. I want it all.’ He paused. ‘And the obvious way to achieve that is a marriage of convenience.’
Lucy looked at him in complete horror. She felt as if the floor had just disappeared beneath her and she was falling down into an alternative reality. This couldn’t be happening.
He’d been her rock. Since she’d first discovered the mix-up Dominic had been what had kept her standing. He’d understood how she was feeling, understood the unmitigated agony of living with the secret knowledge that your child wasn’t really yours. She felt slightly betrayed. Angry.
‘Real people don’t do things like that.’
‘Think about it. We could be there for the girls. For as long as they need us. While the courts argue about how much contact the birth parents should have we can solve it all in one clean sweep. They can have us both.’
He made it sound so reasonable—and yet it wasn’t. It wasn’t. She wanted everything to be right for the girls. Wanted to make life perfect for Chloe. To know Abby was happy. But marriage? How could he suggest spending the rest of his life with someone he’d only met for the second time today?
Her fingers played nervously with the edge of the starched white tablecloth. What did he mean by a ‘marriage of convenience’ anyway? Did he imagine he’d share her bed?
‘Marriage?’
‘In name only.’
He could see the questions whizzing across her face. If it hadn’t been so serious he would have found it funny. He watched the moment arrive when she decided there was one question she really had to ask.
‘No sex?’
‘Absolutely. What I want is a mother for Abby, and I want to be a father for Chloe. This is about parenting.’
She went to pick up her wine glass and then stopped. ‘Why marriage?’
‘Because it’s a sign of commitment. Then I can formally adopt Chloe and you can adopt Abby. If the court allows it. Personally, I think they’re going to breathe a sigh of relief that everything’s worked out so smoothly.’
This time she did take a sip of wine. He watched the nervous flutter of her hand as she replaced the glass carefully back on the table. At least she hadn’t said an outright no.
‘You want to be married until the girls are eighteen?’
He shook his head. ‘As long as they need us to be. It has to be as normal as we can make it. At some point in the future we’re going to have to tell them the complete truth, and I want them to be secure in having two parents who love them and are there for them.’
Again the questions flitted across her expressive face. Her hand went to her casually swept-up hair and fiddled with a strand hanging across her cheek. ‘What happens if you meet someone else? Or I do?’
‘It hasn’t happened to me in the last six years. I hardly think it’s likely to happen now. I don’t ever want to love anyone again. I can’t take the risk of anything hurting that much again.’ He had her attention now. It was in the way she leant forward and her hand stilled on her hair. ‘We have a common goal. It will be enough to build a good life for ourselves—and for the girls.’
‘And where will we live?’
Was that a yes? He’d shocked her, unquestionably, but she could obviously see the advantages of a marriage of convenience. ‘If we decide to go ahead with it, that’s all open for discussion. It’s handy for me to be based in London, and I’ve a big house there, so that’s an option, but it’s not a necessity. Are you fixed here?’
‘My family’s here. Friends.’
Memories, he realised, watching the way she bit on her bottom lip. ‘The details can be worked out later. In principle, what do you think? Will you marry me?’
Lucy didn’t know what to say. What to think, even. Could she do it? Marry a perfect stranger? To give Chloe security and get to know Abby? And then she gave a half smile. Perfect? Had she really thought that? He was perfect—almost. Tall, handsome—in a clever kind of way, rather than a chocolate box model kind of thing. Gorgeous hands, eyes you could trust, and a committed father as well. It was an impressive list. But he didn’t love her and she didn’t love him.
It was a big but. If she’d been young and impressionable he’d have been someone she might have dated—if it hadn’t been for Michael. There never had been anyone for her but Michael and never would be. People only had one great love in a lifetime and she’d already had hers. It had been fantastic—and now it was over.
All she had in her life were memories—and Chloe. Lucy looked out at a small family cruiser passing outside on the canal. A mum, a dad and two little girls. She bit her lip. She could do that for Chloe. For Abby. If there was no possibility of her falling in love again she could commit herself to this new family unit. The girls could have everything. She looked back at Dominic.
‘I’ll do it. Theoretically, if we can work it all out, I’ll do it. For the girls, I’ll marry you.’
She couldn’t believe she’d said the words that would commit her to a lifetime without love. It seemed a travesty of everything she’d shared with Michael. He wouldn’t have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone in every way that mattered. Yet Michael couldn’t have known what would face her.
Dominic leant forward. ‘We can make this work, Lucy. I know we can.’
She could feel her eyes begin to fill up with tears and she blinked furiously. When she’d agreed to have dinner with Dominic to discuss the future she hadn’t dreamed the conversation would take this turn. It certainly wasn’t something that usually happened to a widowed mother of one who only wanted a peaceful life. ‘What do we do now?’
Watching Dominic, she noticed a change. The tension had left him and in its place was a sense of purpose. She had the strangest sensation of being in a bubble. Everything was muffled, it was slower, it was…inevitable.
‘Are you working at the moment? Apart from on a casual basis with your mother?’ She knew she’d shaken her head when she heard him say, ‘That simplifies things.’
Did it? Nothing seemed very simple to her. She could see every obstacle. She knew nothing about him. Not even what he did for a job, she recognised bleakly. Some kind of lecturer, perhaps? It hardly mattered.
‘We could start off in London and review it later. My house has room for some kind of a studio for you. I don’t know what you need for potting, but there’s an annexe on the ground floor that was intended for live-in help. It could be made into something quite useful. We could put in a wheel. A kiln? Is that what you need?’
Everything was moving too fast. He was answering questions she hadn’t even got around to thinking yet. Was he really asking whether she wanted her own studio? It was unbelievable. She couldn’t get her head round it at all. This just couldn’t be happening to her.
‘Mum mainly produces named mugs for the tourist market. I’d rather try and paint again.’ This was just surreal. ‘And I like to teach. I’ve been doing a bit at the local secondary school while their art teacher has been off on maternity leave. I could do more of that.’
‘There’s a desperate shortage of teachers in London, so I can’t see that as a problem.’ He filled up his fork and ate another mouthful. ‘What we ought to do now is get on with organising our wedding. There’s no point in hanging about now we’ve made the decision. I’m assuming we’ll go for a civil ceremony.’ He frowned. ‘I think the rules have changed since the last time I got married. I think there’s a month’s delay from visiting the register office to the wedding itself.’
‘Is there?’ Lucy heard herself ask.
‘Minimum. I suggest you move in with Abby and I as soon as possible and we’ll set everything in motion. If the wedding is, let’s say, eight weeks from now, it gives us some time to review it.’
‘Review it?’ she repeated weakly.
‘Once we’re married there can be no turning back. We’ll be in it for the long run. For better, for worse and all that.’
CHAPTER THREE
TAKING off the wedding ring Michael had given her was the difficult bit, Lucy thought. It really felt like the end of one life and the beginning of another. She looked down at her left hand as it rested on the steering wheel, at the white band indelibly printed on her skin, marking where her ring used to be. Practically all her adult life she’d worn Michael’s ring and now it really was over.
She was driving towards a new life. A new daughter.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Chloe asked, lifting her head from the awkward angle it had fallen to while she had slept.
‘Very close now, sweetheart.’
They had left the motorway and were weaving through closely populated suburban housing. It was dirtier and greyer. And this was her new life? There were no fields dotted with cows, no picture-book cottages, no meandering little streams cutting between the hills. In their place were manmade recreational spaces and row upon row of postwar housing.
‘How much longer?’
A bus moved up on the lane beside her. ‘It’s not far. Let me concentrate for a minute. There’s a turning off to the left somewhere near here.’
She’d always hated the idea of city life. The city had always seemed to her to be a grubby place to live. Some people saw opportunity, but all she saw was the claustrophobia of it all. Yet this was what she’d chosen. For the good of Chloe—and Abby, whom she’d never met—she was going to make her life here.
The road whipped round and the houses became more spaced out, some even attractive.
It was a strange feeling. Almost like the first day in a new job. A mixture of excitement, anticipation and pure fear. Since the moment she’d opened her eyes that morning a feeling of nausea had settled deep in her stomach.
Within the next few minutes she was going to meet the little girl she and Michael had created together. But for an administrative error it would have been this little girl she’d spent the last six years loving. Would she feel anything for her? Would it be enough to sustain her, spending her future with a man who didn’t love her and who openly admitted he didn’t want to?
She rounded another bend and turned into a wide, tree-lined avenue. ‘This is it,’ Lucy announced in complete disbelief.
‘We’re going to stay here?’
Lucy looked down at the awe in Chloe’s face. It was an emotion she shared. She reached into the side pocket of her car door and pulled out the sheet of paper she’d written his directions on before turning to look back at the huge picture windows and curved brickwork of Dominic’s home. In her wildest imaginings she’d not conjured up anything like this.
She took a deep, shaking breath. ‘For a while. Come on, let’s go and meet Abby.’
She turned the car up the wide drive and brought it to a halt outside the imposing front entrance. She’d never fit in here. Never. She hadn’t given Dominic’s financial status much thought. Her mind had been too preoccupied with everything else. But, faced with this huge chasm between them, she wished she had. What did the blasted man do anyway, to make this kind of money? She should have noticed the T-shirt he’d worn was expensive, that the fabric was thick and didn’t look as if it had been through the washing machine a couple of hundred times.
For the first time she felt conscious of her own clothes. There were no designer labels in her wardrobe, just simple cottons and natural wool jumpers she put together in a style she hoped was entirely her own. She probably didn’t present the understated elegance he was used to. If it had been possible to turn round and run she would have done so. Instead, she helped Chloe from the car and firmly shut the door.
A small face was watching from the window, and it made her heart pound as she caught a glimpse of dark hair before it darted away. With Chloe’s hand held tightly in hers, she walked unsteadily up the three wide steps. Please, oh, God, please let Abby like me, she prayed under her breath.
‘They’re here. They’re here!’ she heard as the door swung open and a small dark-haired figure darted out underneath Dominic’s arm. ‘You’re late!’ Abby stopped before Chloe. ‘You’ve been ages getting here. We’ve had your bedroom ready for hours. You’re in the blue room, next to mine. It’s a nice blue and it’s got yellow flowers on the bed. Do you like dolls? I don’t.’
Abby didn’t seem to need to draw breath. It was like being greeted by a whoosh of water, even though all her remarks were directed at Chloe. With the complete ease of childhood the two girls decided they were friends and, with tacit agreement, Abby rushed Chloe into the house and up the stairs, their voices becoming muffled.
‘I’m sorry,’ Dominic said, walking towards Lucy and guiding her more gently through the front door. ‘Abby’s been up for hours and is very excited.’
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