Читать книгу With Love From Cape Town - Joss Wood - Страница 11

‘NO WAY! It’s out of the question!’ Niall slammed his mug down on the desk, noticing but not giving a damn as the coffee splashed across his desk.

‘Really?’ Robina raised perfectly groomed eyebrows. ‘Why not?’ she asked, her calm, cool tones underpinning the determination in her dark eyes. Niall leaned back in his chair. The woman he had met a year ago was almost unrecognisable behind the practised, almost cold, façade.

‘Why not?’ he echoed incredulously before lowering his voice. ‘Surely you can see why it’s impossible?’

‘Let’s keep this professional,’ she responded calmly, but he flinched inwardly from the reproach in her eyes. How could brown eyes, the colour of acacia honey, which had once sparkled up at him with suppressed laughter, now look so distant? ‘Why don’t you give me your reasons and I’ll respond to each one in turn?’

‘For a start, there’s patient confidentiality. Then there is the fact that these are a particularly vulnerable group of women, and then finally, if all that weren’t enough, how do you expect us to work with cameras in our faces? We’d be tripping over wires, sound recordists and God knows who all else. That’s why it’s impossible.’

‘Quite the opposite.’ Robina crossed one slim leg over the other, only the tightening of her lips giving away her determination to have her own way. ‘But let’s take each of your objections in turn, shall we?’ She tapped her pen against her lips. ‘Patient confidentiality; we will, naturally, check with the patients whether they are prepared to appear on camera. Only those who are one hundred per cent happy and who our company psychologist thinks can handle it will be asked to participate, and they will be allowed to withdraw their permission at any time. Secondly, yes, they are a particularly vulnerable group of women, I agree. Anyone going through or considering IVF has usually been on a very emotional journey before seeking treatment. However, that is the very reason why making a documentary of this kind is important. It will provide an insight into the process that cannot be gleaned from books on the subject, no matter how detailed or how professional.’ She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Even my book on infertility, popular though it is, cannot truly prepare women for what it is really like to undergo treatment. Following the actual experiences of other women, on the other hand, will. That’s why this documentary should be made.’ She tilted her head, and raised a questioning eyebrow at him, daring him to find a fault in her argument.

Niall started to interrupt, but she held up a manicured hand, stopping him. ‘And papers published in medical journals, no matter how worthy or how accurate, simply do not deal properly with the emotional aspect of infertility. And that is the angle we wish to focus on. Women considering IVF will be able to see first hand what a roller-coaster ride it can be, and the effect failed treatment can have on couples, before they decide whether or not to proceed with treatment. Of course we will portray the other side too. The fact that IVF has given so many women—and their partners—the opportunity to have the children they so desperately want.’

He had to admire the way she demolished his arguments. But he had seen her in action before. In front of the camera, faced with an expert from a medical field, she never let them bamboozle her or the audience with science. No, he had to admit, although it pained him, she had a knack of making even the most complicated medical condition understandable to the layperson.

‘And as for staff getting in the way, you’ll hardly know we’re there, I promise you.’

‘The answer is still no,’ he said. ‘This is my unit and as long as I’m in charge, I will decide what is and what isn’t allowed.’

Once again the eyebrow was raised. ‘I have to say that view sounds a little dictatorial. Is that really how you like to run things?’ Her lips twitched. ‘And I thought you took pride in being up to date, cutting edge in fact.’

Niall gritted his teeth. It was a sly dig and they both knew it. Just as he opened his mouth to retaliate there was a brief knock on the door and Lucinda Mayfair walked into the room. The unit’s general manager was in her early fifties with short grey hair and a wide, determined mouth. Niall had worked with her for a number of years and although they had had their differences of opinion, he had enormous respect for her skills. Without her fighting their corner it was unlikely that the unit would have gained the recognition it had as the foremost centre in the UK, even given his international reputation.

‘I’m sorry I had to leave you to get started without me.’ Lucinda’s smile relaxed the severe contours of her face. Despite her fearsome reputation, and her forbidding exterior, she had a soft heart. More than once he had seen her eyes suspiciously moist when a patient had been given the news they so desperately wanted or sometimes, sadly, dreaded.

Lucinda had shared his dream of making the unit the best in the UK, and so far, working together, with the support of their hand-picked team, they had succeeded. Which, he thought grumpily, they couldn’t have done, if it had been anything except cutting edge.

‘Don’t you think Robina’s idea is great, Niall?’ Lucinda continued.

Niall frowned. It seemed that they were on opposite sides in this argument. Still, they had been before and he had always managed to talk Lucinda round. He didn’t foresee any difficulties this time either.

‘I have just been telling Robina that it’s impossible. We’re a working unit. We certainly don’t have time to appear on a TV show. God, is there no aspect of life that reality TV doesn’t want to ferret around in?’

‘Niall,’ Lucinda said warningly, ‘you and I need to talk about this. And as for people ferreting around, as you so elegantly put it, Robina’s a doctor and completely professional. She’s not going to go about this in an insensitive manner. You know that.’

Robina stood, flicking an imaginary speck of dust from her beautifully cut Chanel suit. Every inch the professional media woman, Niall thought. Looking as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. But there had been times lately when he’d thought he’d seen naked pain in the depths of her deep brown eyes.

‘Why don’t I leave you two to discuss it? I need to get back to the office. We can speak later.’

As she bent to drop a kiss on Lucinda’s cheek, Niall studied Robina surreptitiously. Her closely cropped dark hair, long neck and high cheekbones, along with her chocolate skin, all added to the exotic look known to thousands, if not millions, of viewers. She wasn’t just beautiful, she was stunning. At least five-ten, she was slim, recently almost painfully so. If she had chosen a life as a model, Niall had no doubt she would have been equally successful.

Robina walked around to Niall’s side of the desk and bending, kissed him on the cheek.

‘I’ll see you at home, darling. Try not to be too late. You know Ella won’t go to sleep unless she can kiss you goodnight. Make sure he leaves on time, won’t you, Lucinda?’

And with that, Niall watched his wife sweep out the door.

‘Robina gets more beautiful every day,’ Lucinda said wistfully. ‘How she manages it, looking after a young child with a full-time job and her writing, is beyond me. She must be some kind of superwoman! I hear she has a new book coming out in the spring.’

The last thing Niall wanted to talk about was his wife and her career, particularly since she hadn’t even mentioned until now that her company was thinking of doing a documentary in his unit. There was no doubt in his mind that the two women had been planning the project long before he had been told about it, and he was furious. How had Robina managed to get to Lucinda without him knowing? Robina must have known damn well he would oppose the project, and not just for the reasons he’d outlined earlier. For her even to be thinking about doing the documentary was crazy. It was far too soon and far too close to home. But that was probably why she had gone directly to Lucinda. The unit’s general manager didn’t know about the baby and even if she did, it wouldn’t have crossed her mind that he and Robina hadn’t discussed the documentary beforehand. Neither could Lucinda even guess that he and his wife were barely on speaking terms these days, and that the kiss Robina had deposited on his cheek had all been part of the façade they kept up in front of others.

‘What in God’s name made you think I would agree to this?’ he said, trying to keep the anger from his voice. ‘We should have discussed it before you set up the meeting with Robina.’

Lucinda looked at him warily. ‘Money,’ she said flatly. ‘Real Life Productions will be paying a lot for this. Money that we could use either for research or to help sponsor more women into the programme.’

Niall hated the funding aspect of the unit, hated anything that took him away from his patients or his research, and was only too happy to leave the finances of the unit in her capable hands.

‘I was sure you and Robina had talked about this.’ Lucinda’s grey eyes were puzzled. ‘Otherwise, I wouldn’t have gone ahead with the meeting. I assumed when Robina came to me that you must have agreed in principle.’

Niall returned her gaze steadily. The last thing he was prepared to discuss was his personal life.

‘Money isn’t the only issue here,’ he said evasively. ‘I see no reason why we should be selling our soul to the devil, and believe me that’s exactly what we’d be doing. We’d be exploiting the very women who come to us for help.’

‘I’m afraid I don’t see it that way. Not at all.’ Lucinda regarded him severely and Niall groaned when he saw the determination in her eyes. ‘We do need the money, Niall. You are always waiving fees.’ She threw up her hands anticipating his protest. ‘And I support you. But we can’t keep doing it. If we don’t generate some extra funding, and soon, we’ll have to start turning away all non-paying patients, and neither you nor I want to do that.’

Niall was stunned. He’d had no idea that the unit was in financial difficulty.

‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ he demanded. ‘You and I are supposed to be partners.’

‘I tried to tell you.’ Lucinda drew a weary hand across her brow. ‘But it is so hard to pin you down these days. You are always so damned preoccupied with one thing or another.’

Niall looked at her sharply. Her eyes looked hollow; her mouth pinched with fatigue. He felt a pang of guilt. Why hadn’t he noticed? But even as he thought the question he knew the answer—because he had been too busy trying to block out everything except his work.

‘The trouble is, Niall, between your patients and your research, it’s almost impossible these days to catch you so we can have a discussion about the business side of things.’

Niall knew she was right. He had little patience for the business side of things, as she put it, at the best of times. And lately, well, he’d had other stuff on his mind. But nevertheless he should have noticed that something was wrong. He shouldn’t have let Lucinda carry the burden on her own. The trouble was that he had become used to her taking care of the financial aspects of running the unit and had been only too happy to let her get on with it. He felt a fresh spasm of guilt.

‘We can find the extra funding from elsewhere, from my own pocket if necessary.’

Lucinda half smiled. ‘I appreciate the sentiment, but your pocket—generous as it’s been—isn’t enough any more. The kind of money we need has to come from ongoing investment. The kind of investment that would come from a documentary such as the one your wife, or at least the company she represents, is proposing. But,’ she continued, ‘that aside, I would never even consider it, not even for millions of pounds, if I didn’t think it was a good idea. But I have to agree with Robina. Infertility is something so many women suffer from, and I think it is in the public interest to inform a wider audience of the reality. As for your concerns, I’m sure Robina has told you that only patients who are willing to share their experiences on TV will appear and we will, of course, ask them to sign the appropriate waivers. It will be an inconvenience to us, I admit that, but there must be ways we can minimise the disruption. At least say you’ll think about it.’

Niall stood and crossed over to the older woman. He placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. ‘I’ve been selfish,’ he said. ‘And I’m sorry. You shouldn’t have to worry about funding on your own. Why don’t you give me a copy of the latest financial forecast and I’ll look at it over the weekend? Then we will talk again,’ he promised. ‘But in the meantime I have a clinic about to start. Could we discuss this again on Monday?’

Lucinda nodded and then smiled up at him. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘don’t beat yourself up. If you weren’t so obsessed with work, the clinic wouldn’t have such a fine reputation.’

‘You’ve made your point,’ Niall said, smiling. ‘The last thing I want to do is turn patients away, knowing that we are their last hope.’

‘Like the Dougans?’ Lucinda said, referring to a couple Niall had talked to her about the day before. Ineligible for treatment on the NHS, they had paid for one cycle of treatment, which hadn’t worked. Mr Dougan had recently lost his job, and there was no way the couple could afford to pay for another cycle of IVF.

‘I did tell them we’d only be able to offer them one cycle free—we still have enough in our endowment pot for that, surely?’

Lucinda smiled ruefully. ‘Yes, but barely. Without raising more funds, the Dougans might be the last couple we’ll be able to subsidise. I know you mean well, Niall, but we have salaries to pay as well as our not inconsiderable overheads. We are a business after all.’ She got to her feet. ‘You’d better get to your clinic. We’ll discuss it again after the weekend. I’m a great believer that, one way or another, things have a habit of working out.’

When she’d left the room Niall closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the image of his wife from his mind. If only Lucinda knew the truth she wouldn’t be so quick to tell him things had a habit of working out. It was ironic, really. He and his wife spent so much time trying to help others with their lives, yet they couldn’t seem to do a thing about the almighty mess they had made of their own.

Robina rushed into the house, glancing at her watch. It was almost seven! She had planned to be home earlier so she could sit with Ella while she had her supper and then read her a story before bed. It was the one time in the day that was precious to her. When she was in the middle of filming, she’d often have to spend the night in London, returning late the following evening. So while her show was off the air, and when she was based at home in Edinburgh, she tried to be home at a decent hour whenever she could—especially when it was unlikely that Niall would be home before her. He often worked late particularly when he knew she was around, so that he could have most of the weekends free to spend with his daughter.

But to her surprise, as she flew into the kitchen discarding her bag and coat in the hall, she saw his dark head bent over Ella as he helped her cut up her fish fingers. Robina’s heart squeezed as she paused in the doorway. They were so alike, from the determined mouth to the clear blue eyes. Similar too in temperament. Both equally stubborn. Both so dear to her.

Niall looked up. For a second she thought she saw a flicker of warmth in his blue eyes, but she knew she was mistaken when the familiar coolness cloaked his expression. Despite herself, her spirits drooped with disappointment. When would she ever truly accept that it was over between them? They were married, but for the last few months in name only. God, they could barely be civil to each other these days.

Niall looked at his watch. ‘We expected you home earlier,’ he said.

‘Sorry, I got caught up at the office.’ Robina bent to kiss her stepdaughter, who flung her arms around her neck. She savoured the feel of the little girl’s marshmallow-soft skin under her lips and the dear, familiar smell of her. Whatever differences she and Niall had, she couldn’t love Ella more had she given birth to her, even if she were a constant reminder of Niall’s first wife—and an even more painful reminder of the baby she had lost too early, five short months after their marriage. But all that would have been bearable if only she could be coming home to a husband who loved her. Someone who would want to know about the trivia of her day and would rub the tension from her shoulders, making everything seem all right.

But shoulder rubs and evenings by the fire, sharing the day’s stresses, was never going to happen. Had rarely happened even when they had first married, and certainly not these days. The breakdown of her marriage had happened in such little steps she had hardly noticed until—well, until the miscarriage when it had all fallen completely apart.

‘Would you like me to read to Ella while you have dinner?’ Niall asked formally, as if they were complete strangers, which in a sense she supposed they were. Falling in love, her coming to Scotland for a visit, Niall proposing to her, their marriage, it had all happened so fast they hadn’t really had time to get to know each other. They had both thought—if they had thought about it at all—that there would be plenty of time later to get to know each other properly. But to her delight and amazement, the book for which Niall had written the foreword had been an immediate run-away success and she’d been asked to appear on a show to talk about it. The producer had been so impressed with the way she had been able to translate medical jargon into simple language he’d asked her to stand in for the presenter of the show, Life In Focus, who had to unexpectedly withdraw. The timing hadn’t been great, coming right on the heels of their wedding, but she and Niall had both agreed it was too good an opportunity to miss. And that was when it had all started to go wrong.

‘No, I’d like to read Ella her story, if that’s okay,’ she said, realising Niall was waiting for a response. She hated the way her tone was equally formal.

‘I told Mrs Tobin that it was okay for her to leave. She’s left a casserole in the oven,’ Niall continued, referring to their housekeeper, who had stayed on after they had married and also doubled as a childminder for Ella.

‘Oh, Daddy.’ Ella looked up at him imploringly. ‘Can’t I stay up later tonight, with you and Robina? I never get to be with both of you at once any more.’

A flash of regret darkened Niall’s eyes.

‘Not tonight,’ he said firmly. ‘It’s a school night. But why don’t I get you ready for bed and then Robina will read to you before lights out? How does that sound?’

Ella pouted, but the little girl knew her father well enough to know he wouldn’t budge. She scrambled to her feet. ‘Come on, Daddy. Let’s hurry up, then.’ Taking her father by the hand, she led him upstairs.

Robina sat at the table and picked at the beef casserole. Most evenings, Niall arrived home after she and Ella had had supper, then one or the other of them would organise Ella for bed. When Niall’s daughter was asleep, they would retreat to separate rooms, Niall to his study and Robina to the small sitting room that had, over the last few months, become hers. When the interminable and lonely evening had dragged to an end and they were ready for bed, she would go to the room they had once shared, while Niall slept in the spare room. It was a cold, unhappy home these days and if it hadn’t been for Ella, perhaps she would have found the strength to leave—even if it would have shattered her already fractured heart.

Scooping the remains of her half-eaten meal into the dustpan, Robina took her coffee into her sitting room. Before she had left for the night, Mrs Tobin had lit a fire against the cool of the late February evening and Robina warmed her chilled hands. If only she could so easily chase away the chill in her heart, she thought as she picked up the proofs of her latest book. She sighed when she saw the title. How to keep your relationship happy—in bed and out of it. If her readers knew the truth, they’d be astonished. She flung the book aside, in no mood to concentrate.

She looked around the room with its tasteful carpets and elegant furnishings. It was beautiful, she admitted, but not really her taste. Perhaps if she hadn’t moved into the home Niall had shared with his first wife, things might have been different. But Niall hadn’t wanted to unsettle Ella so soon after their marriage, and Robina had wholeheartedly agreed it was the right thing to do. She had been so in love, she would have lived in a cave if Niall had asked her to. What did it matter as long as she and Niall were together? But it had come to matter—a lot. Everywhere she looked she was reminded of the woman who had been the perfect wife and mother. A woman who was as unlike her as it was possible to be.

She became aware of a presence in the doorway and, looking up, found Niall standing there, watching her intently. He hesitated as if unsure he was welcome in her domain.

‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly, and for a moment Robina could almost make herself believe he still cared. Almost, but not quite.

‘Just tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long and…’ she slid him a look ‘…difficult day. And I still have the proofs of my book to finish. My editor expects them early next week and…’ She bit off the rest of her sentence. Why was she even bothering to tell him? He wasn’t remotely interested in her work.

He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.

‘Ella’s waiting for you,’ was all he said.

Robina’s heart felt as heavy as her legs as she slowly mounted the stairs. This wasn’t the life her parents—particularly her father—had envisaged for her, surely? Away from her country, her people, her family. Unable to carry a child—and perhaps never able to conceive again. Robina sighed. Perhaps she should end her marriage, even though it went against every grain of what she believed. She could return to Africa and give Niall a chance of one day finding happiness with someone else, even if the thought of leaving him almost tore her in two. Robina blinked hot tears away. They couldn’t go on this way, she decided. She had to do the right thing. And ask him for a divorce.

She paused for a moment outside Ella’s bedroom and composed herself, wiping away any evidence of her unshed tears. Pushing the door open, she saw that Ella was snuggled under her duvet, her favourite soft toy cuddled in her arms.

‘Can we have Mr Tickle?’ her stepdaughter asked, holding out the well-thumbed book.

Robina smiled as she inwardly suppressed a groan. They had already read Mr Tickle three times that week. Surely Ella was tired of it? But it seemed not. Robina climbed onto the bed and waited until Ella made herself comfortable in the crook of her arm.

She read the story as Ella’s eyes drooped. When she had finished, she gently eased Ella out of her arms. But as two bright blue eyes fluttered open, it seemed the little girl wasn’t quite ready for sleep.

‘Robina,’ Ella whispered. ‘I’ve been thinking. Would it be okay if I called you Mummy?’

Robina’s breath stopped in her throat. ‘Of course, darling. If you would like to.’ Her heart twisted. Why now? When she had been gathering the strength to leave?

‘It’s not as if I will ever forget I had another mummy. But I can hardly remember her. I used to ask Daddy about her, but it made him sad to talk about her, so I don’t ask any more.’

‘I think,’ Robina said carefully, ‘that you could talk to him now. At first, when somebody dies, it hurts so much that it’s difficult to talk about it. But in time it becomes easier. So maybe you should try talking to him again. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to forget.’ As she said the words her heart ached. She should try taking her own advice! She and Niall had never talked about the loss of their baby either.

‘You won’t leave me too?’ Ella asked. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another mummy.’ She looked at Ella, her eyes—so like her father’s—round with anxiety. Robina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the wave of sadness that washed over her as she pulled the little girl into her arms and kissed the top of her head. She chose her words carefully. ‘I’ll always be here for you, mntwana—little one,’ she promised. ‘For as long as you need me. So whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. Just like a piece of chewing gum on your shoe. Only much nicer, I hope.’

Ella giggled and snuggled down in bed. ‘Okay, Mummy. Night-night.’

Robina stayed on the bed until she was sure Ella had fallen asleep. How could she ask Niall for a divorce now, when she had just promised Ella that she would never leave her? Whatever mess she and Niall had made of things, the little girl had been through enough heartbreak in her short life.

Her head throbbing with unanswered questions, Robina returned downstairs to her sitting room. To her surprise Niall was still there, gazing into the fire, apparently deep in thought.

He flung another couple of logs on the fire. The flames lit the room, chasing the shadows away.

‘I told Lucinda I would think about your proposal,’ he said. ‘We should have an answer for you by Monday.’ He stretched. He had changed out of his suit into more casual gear and his T-shirt lifted slightly with the movement, revealing a glimpse of his muscular six-pack. A memory of the sensation of his muscles tightening under her fingertips as she trailed a hand across the dark hairs of his abdomen flashed across Robina’s mind. Whatever their difficulties, she knew she still wanted him. Up until the miscarriage, sex had been what had kept them together even as emotionally they had drifted apart. Was it possible, she thought, to still fancy someone like mad even when you weren’t sure that you still loved them? Or them you?

Niall crossed the room, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Are you sure that doing this documentary is the right thing for you? Isn’t it too soon? Too close to home?’

Robina flinched and backed away from him. She could just about cope with anything these days—except his kindness.

She turned her back to him and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. ‘Perhaps my…’ she took a breath to steady her voice ‘…experience makes me the best person to be doing this.’

‘Maybe it does,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how you feel. You’ve never told me.’

Robina shied away from his words. She had never talked to him about the loss of their baby, because she had refused to let herself think about it. It was still too raw. Every time she thought about the baby that almost was, the pain threatened to crush her. So it was easier, and better, not to think about it at all. But was he right? Should she be doing the documentary when she still felt so wretched? But all she had left right now was her career and she would do nothing to jeopardise it. And she needed to keep busy. It was the only thing that stopped her from going crazy.

‘I’m a professional,’ she countered. ‘I’m still a doctor. My personal feelings don’t come into it.’

He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.

‘I just wish you had discussed it with me first,’ he said tersely.

Robina swung round to face him.

‘I would have,’ she retorted. ‘If we ever spoke these days. I know you don’t want to hear about my work. You’ve made it clear enough that you don’t approve of what I do,’ she added bitterly.

‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Niall protested. ‘I only ever worried that you were doing too much, especially when…’ He stopped.

‘Especially when I was pregnant and should have known better,’ Robina flashed back at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it right now.’

‘When are we going to talk about it? You’re never here to talk about anything.’ Niall’s voice was cold. ‘Maybe if you were…’

That was rich, coming from him. Why did he think it was okay for him to work most evenings just because he was a man? It was an old argument. She knew he held her responsible for the miscarriage—and she could hardly blame him. God knew, she blamed herself. He had asked her enough times to slow down. But she’d refused to listen. Her fledgling career had just been taking off and she hadn’t wanted to take time off. She had argued that millions of women worked until just before their babies were born. She had thought there would be plenty of time to take it easy after the baby was born. How terribly wrong she had been, and if she could have the time over, she would do it all differently. But thinking like that was pointless. What was done was done.

‘It’s no use, Niall. Perhaps it’s time we both accepted our marriage is over.’

The shock on Niall’s face was unmistakeable.

‘Divorce—is that what you want? Is life with me so unbearable?’

Yes, she wanted to shout. Living with you, living like this, knowing you don’t love me any more—if you ever did—is tearing me apart. But she just looked at him in silence. Perhaps if they had shouted, argued when things had started to go wrong, they might have been able to fashion some sort of life together. As it was, they had barely been speaking when she had miscarried.

‘No, I don’t want a divorce. Upstairs, just now, I promised Ella I’d never leave her. But we have to find a way of living together—for Ella’s sake. You can’t be happy either.’

‘Why did you marry me, Robina?’ Niall ground out. ‘I thought you wanted the same things I did. A home and a family.’

‘Instead you got landed with a woman who can’t have children and whose career is important.’ Despite her best intentions, Robina felt her voice rise. They stood glaring at each other.

‘Daddy, Robina.’ A small voice broke into the room. ‘Why are you shouting? Why are you angry? Did I do something wrong?’

‘No, oh no, Ella,’ Robina said, turning to the forlorn figure in the doorway. Niall held out his arms and Ella flew into them, burying her head in his shoulder.

‘You could never make me angry, pumpkin,’ he said. ‘Never, ever. Not in a hundred years. Not unless you don’t go to bed when I say so, or hide my newspaper or…’ He pretended to look cross.

Unconvinced, Ella lifted her head from his shoulder and looked him straight in the eyes. ‘Then you must be angry with Robina. What has she done?’ Her face crumpled. ‘You’re not going to divorce, are you? My friend Tommy’s parents are getting a divorce and he has to stay with his mummy during the week and go and live with his daddy at the weekends and he doesn’t have any friends where his daddy lives and his mummy is always crying and his daddy is always angry. That’s not going to happen to us, is it?’ She placed her small hands on either side of her father’s face. ‘Robina isn’t going to go away and leave us, is she, Daddy? Not like Mummy did. Robina promised me she would always be here for me.’

Niall looked at Robina across the top of his daughter’s head, the anguish in his eyes like a kick to her solar plexus. He was a proud man, and Robina knew he would never beg, but he was pleading with his eyes. Not because he wanted her to stay for himself but because he knew it would break his daughter’s heart if she left, and one thing Niall loved more than anything else in the world was Ella. She had thought that she had managed to reassure Ella, but she obviously hadn’t. Ella had taken her words literally. She’d always be here for her. And she wouldn’t break that promise, no matter how much living with a man who no longer loved her was eating her up inside.

‘We are not going to divorce, silly,’ Robina said firmly, aware of the relief in Niall’s eyes as she said the words. ‘Grown-ups argue sometimes, but then they make up and everything’s all right again.’ She flicked a glance in Niall’s direction, knowing he wouldn’t fail to notice the irony of her words. ‘We are a family and families stay together, just like I told you. Your mummy wouldn’t have left you if she’d had any choice and now I am here to look after you and love you for ever. Or at least until you are a big girl and have a family of your own.’

‘I’m glad,’ Ella said with a tentative smile. ‘Cos I’m never going to get married. I’m going to stay with you and Daddy for ever. Because I love Robina very much, Daddy. Not as much as my real mummy, but almost.’

The flash of anguish in Niall’s eyes made Robina’s heart twist.

‘And you love Robina too, don’t you, Daddy?’ Ella persisted. Robina realised she wasn’t going to give up until she had the reassurance she craved.

‘I married her, didn’t I?’ Niall said evasively. He tossed his daughter into the air. ‘Remember? You were there.’

Robina’s heart cracked a little more as she remembered their wedding day, only three months after they had met. The spring day brilliantly bright, not a cloud in the sky. The pipers, wearing full highland dress, playing them in and out of the small seventeenth-century church; dancing with Niall, who had held her close in his arms as if he couldn’t bear to let her go; everyone so happy for them, her silent toast to her absent family, and her dead father the only shadow on an otherwise perfect day. With her new family around her, and her new, exciting career ahead of her, she hadn’t thought it was possible to be so happy.

Oh, yes, he had married her. But how quickly it had all gone wrong. Niall had spent so much time at work and her career had taken up so much time that they had barely seen each other after the wedding. Slowly the doubts had started to creep in. Then in one awful series of events, it had all come crashing down. She closed her eyes against the familiar sweep of pain. Would she ever get used to the gut-wrenching sense of loss?

‘So why don’t we do anything together any more?’ It seemed Ella still wasn’t convinced. They had completely underestimated how much the sensitive child was picking up of the strain between them.

‘Robina and Daddy are busy,’ Niall replied. ‘But we still have the weekends. Last weekend we went to the zoo. Or have you forgotten?’ He wriggled his eyebrows at her in an attempt to make her laugh. But Ella was having none of it.

‘No, we don’t. Sometimes I have you, like at the zoo, and sometimes I have Robina—I mean Mummy—but I don’t have you together. And you just said we were a family.’

Niall’s eyes darkened when he heard Ella call Robina Mummy for the first time in his hearing. How did he feel about his daughter’s explicit acceptance of Robina? Did it make it that much harder for him to acknowledge their marriage had broken down? Possibly irretrievably? There was no way of knowing. The little girl had picked up on the tension between her parents and it had obviously been worrying her for a while. It shamed Robina that they had been too busy, too wrapped up in their own problems, to notice.

‘Then we will have to do something about that,’ Niall said firmly. ‘But right now it’s bedtime, pumpkin. Come on, let’s get you tucked in.’ And before Ella could protest further, he carried her out of the room and up the stairs.

Robina sank into her favourite chair and stared into the fire. Whatever she and Niall felt about each other, however angry they were, they needed to make sure Ella was happy. It wasn’t fair to let the child sense that they were having problems. And for the little girl to worry it was her fault! That was unforgivable.

In keeping with her mood, the wind hurled rain against the window and Robina wrapped her arms around her body in a bid to draw some warmth into her chilled soul.

‘She wants you to go up and say goodnight again.’ Niall’s voice came from the doorway. Despite his size he moved quietly.

Robina eased herself out of her chair. ‘Of course,’ she said.

But as she passed him he grabbed her wrist, forcing her to stop. The touch of his hand sent shock waves through her body. How long had it been since he had touched her?

‘If you want a divorce, I won’t stand in your way.’

‘Is that what you want?’ Robina said tiredly, not knowing if she had the strength to fight him any longer.

‘No, you know it isn’t.’ It sounded as if the words were being dragged from his lips. Her heart lifted. Did he still care? Enough not to want to let her go?

‘I don’t want my daughter to lose another mother—and you are her mother now. God knows, she’s known enough sadness in her short life already. I’d do anything to protect her.’

Robina’s heart plummeted. Was that the only reason he wanted her to stay? For his daughter’s sake? Not for the first time, she wondered sadly if that was the real reason he had married her. Wasn’t that what he had just said? He wanted a home, and by that she assumed he meant someone to run it, and a family. Things hadn’t exactly turned out the way he had expected.

‘Neither do I want to cause Ella any more pain,’ she said sadly. ‘As she said, I promised her I would never leave her. You know I love her. So no, we’re married and we’ll stay married. I made my vows and I’ll stick by them. For better or for worse. We’ve had the better, let’s deal with the worse.’ She pulled her hand away. ‘Goodnight, Niall, I’ll see you at breakfast.’ Knowing that she was moments away from breaking down and that all she had left was her pride, she hurried away to the sanctuary of her room.