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CHAPTER THIRTEEN

‘CHARLES THINKS IT will be a good year, a vintage year. He also said he doesn’t need a new assistant because you do more than the one he had. Should I put you on the payroll?’

‘It’s interesting,’ she admitted.

Hot after the walk to the vineyard manager’s office, Lara turned her face into the light breeze, though with Raoul standing there with his shirt open to the waist, a section of brown skin on show and the silver buckle of his jeans shining against the hair-roughened skin of his taut, flat belly, there was not much chance of her cooling down.

‘The clearing-up operation should be done by now. We made a lot of money if that’s any—’

‘Forget about last night.’

There were parts Lara didn’t want to forget. She pulled at the neck of her shirt as he tipped the remnants of the water bottle he’d been drinking from over his head.

Oh, my! She closed her eyes, willed her galloping hormones to get back in their box.

The sound of him crushing the empty water bottle between his fingers brought her eyes open. There were strands of glossy, wet hair plastered across his forehead and his shirt was splodged with moisture.

He raised a hand and pushed the wet hair off his face and, hooking one thumb into the belt of his jeans, nodded. ‘That tree over there—I was six and Jamie was eight when we carved our names into the trunk.’

Her throat filled as she watched him stare into the distance as though he was seeing the day from his past.

‘He cut his hand when he cut his name because I was pushing, trying to see.’ Then, still staring at the tree, he seamlessly changed the subject. ‘I will need to be in New York quite a lot over the next few months.’

‘New York?’

‘Yes, I had thought I could keep up the law side of things but it’s not going to work. I’m selling up. I can delegate the satellite offices but I need to see through the New York handover myself as there are still outstanding commitments that need to be honoured.’

‘I suppose that will mean a lot of travelling?’ And a lot of nights alone.

‘It could,’ he agreed. ‘But there are alternatives.’

She shook her head, suddenly sure what was coming next. He had decided to cut his losses.

‘We could move there. I have a place.’

She opened her eyes. ‘You want me to come with you?’

‘I think a break would do you...us...good right now maybe? Look, I know it’s easy for me to talk about changing the cycle, but maybe a physical move would help? And while we’re there, the best IVF specialist in the world is based there...’

‘What are you saying, Raoul?’ Her heart lurched with wild hope.

‘I’m saying that I’d be willing to hear what he has to say... I’ll go in there with an open mind. I’m not making any promises, but I’m prepared to discuss it. I still think it’s way too soon to go down that road.’

Her throat closed over with emotion. ‘You’d do that for me?’

‘It’s only an appointment, Lara. Don’t get excited...’ he warned.

Eyes shining, she shook her head and flew at him, releasing a whoop as he whirled her around. ‘When do we go?’

* * *

Their appointment with the specialist was arranged for the second month after they arrived in New York. Raoul arrived back early as arranged, only to find Lara sitting in exactly the same place she had been that morning when he’d left. She was still wearing her nightdress.

‘What’s happened?’

He dropped down on his knees beside the chair and took hold of her icy hands.

‘I had a phone call from Lily.’ She took a gulping swallow. ‘It’s Emmy—she’s ill, in hospital.’

‘Is it serious?’

She nodded. ‘Very serious.’ Her face crumpled. ‘She might die...she’s been ill awhile and Lily didn’t even tell me.’ It had brought home to her just how much her relationship with her twin had disintegrated.

‘Oh, cara.’ He pulled her into his arms. Lara pressed her face into his shoulder and sobbed. ‘We’ll fly out tomorrow. What about medical help? Tell her we will pay any—’

Lara lifted her tear-stained face and shook her head. ‘I don’t think she wants me there. If I were her I wouldn’t want me there. And anyway, she doesn’t need our help. Ben is loaded.’

‘Who is Ben?’

‘Ben Warrender. Emily Rose’s father. I still can’t believe it. We’ve known him for ever—his family own the estate...she didn’t tell me. She sounded so...she must be going through hell!’

So, it seemed to him, was Lara.

‘Have you cancelled the appointment?’

Lara looked at him blankly.

‘The appointment with Dr Carlyle?’

‘I forgot...will you ring them?’

‘Of course I will,’ he said, sliding his phone out and moving away to stand before the big glass window with its stunning view of Manhattan and the Hudson.

Lara sat there trying to pull herself together.

‘Sorted, we can reschedule.’

‘Thanks.’ She dragged her hands through her hair before pressing them to her face. ‘My brain isn’t working. I just feel so helpless! I can’t imagine how she is feeling and if she loses Emmy...’

‘You can imagine,’ he said softly. ‘You lost a baby, Lara.’

Her fluttering glance flew to his face. ‘It’s not the same.’

Raoul, who did not think this the moment to discuss semantics, shrugged. ‘You look terrible.’ His compassionate gaze moved over her face. He held out his hand. ‘Come on, you need some sleep. You’re exhausted.’

After a moment she took his hand and allowed him to lead her to the bedroom, but each step felt like an effort.

She looked at the bed but didn’t move. ‘Will you make love to me, Raoul?’ She asked it without looking at him. ‘God knows, I could do with a bit of sympathy sex.’ And she wasn’t too proud to beg, but then she never was with Raoul.

Her love for him suddenly welled up inside her like a solid wall of emotion, and the intensity of it brought tears to her eyes. He didn’t want her love, the only thing he wanted from her was a child and she couldn’t even give him that.

She heard the sound of his rasped exclamation and turned her head. As she did so his mouth found hers; the kiss was deep, filled with passion and yet incredibly tender.

He laid her on the bed and without a word peeled away her nightclothes before taking off his own clothes and joining her in the bed.

She felt his whisper-light kiss on her face, against her closed eyelids. She kept her eyes closed as he pulled her to him, giving herself over completely to the pleasure of having his hands on her, his mouth on her. Raoul always knew where to touch her, how to touch her.

And when her body was ready, when the heat inside her built until only one thing could cool it, he slid into her, moving with deep strokes, letting them both enjoy being one. The combination of tenderness and passion brought tears of joy to her eyes as they shared the moment of ultimate bliss, their fevered cries blending into one.

As she felt him curl up against her back she reached behind her and caught his hand, curling it around her breast. She fell asleep with his hand on her heart and felt safe and loved, even though deep down she knew it was an illusion.

* * *

Finally, Lara got a tearful call from her sister. But the tears were good ones—Emmy was going to be all right. She rang Raoul immediately, wanting to share the good news, so it was frustrating when he didn’t pick up.

She decided on impulse to cook him a special meal to celebrate. She had started to get to know some of the local stores and the novelty value of shopping in a new city had not worn off.

She got a bit carried away and bought way too much food. The bags tucked under her arms were bulging and heavy and there were still another few blocks to go before she reached the apartment building. About to admit defeat and hail a cab, she realised she was standing outside a coffee shop and realised why the name looked so familiar. A guide book she had bought had said that a coffee and Danish there while watching the world go by were an essential New York experience.

Seated at a table in the window, Lara savoured her Danish and her coffee. She wasn’t convinced by it—the coffee tasted a bit funny—but she was definitely enjoying watching the world go by.

She was taking another bite of her Danish when she saw them. The pastry fell from her fingers.

Across the road on the steps of a hotel, her husband was kissing a dark-haired woman.

Lara felt as if someone had just thrust an icy hand into her chest. The merciless fingers were squeezing her heart until it felt as though it would burst.

Was this how her mum had felt?

But I’m not my mum!

I won’t be her, I’m not going to run away and pretend I didn’t see. Shoulders squared, she got to her feet, the smooth lines of her face set with resolve. She’d had enough pretending.

‘You forgot your groceries! Your bill!’

‘Keep the groceries...’ She pulled a bundle of notes from her purse and pushed them at the waiter. ‘Keep the change!’

The lights changed and she ran; she was panting by the time she reached the other side of the street. Then, weaving her way through the scrum of people, she almost collided with the woman who was no longer in Raoul’s arms but only a couple of feet away.

Lara registered several facts. The woman was Naomi and Raoul looked furious.

‘Lara!’

She held up her hand. ‘Later.’ Turning her back on him, she faced the other woman. ‘Look, I have no idea what your problem is, and frankly I don’t want to. Just get the hell out of my life and leave my husband alone!’

A strangled squeaking noise left the woman’s throat.

‘Never make a redhead mad.’

Swallowing, Lara turned slowly back to Raoul. ‘Never kiss women who are not your wife in public.’

His smile died. ‘I was not doing the kissing, cara, she’s deranged...’ Eyes hard, he turned to Naomi. ‘I am sorry your husband is divorcing you, but we do not have a relationship, we have never had a relationship, and I am not in love with you.’

‘Believe him, Naomi, I do.’ Whatever came between them, it would not be Naomi!

She barely registered the other woman’s leaving as she took a step towards Raoul. ‘And I was angry and hurt and...pretty much the way any woman who saw the man she loved kissing another woman would feel.’

She saw him stiffen.

‘Lara—’

She ignored the warning in his voice. ‘You don’t want to hear this, I know, but, you see, I have to say it anyway. I’m sick of pretending, Raoul. I love you, and I can’t help it, and if you can’t love me...’ She bit her lips and shook her head. ‘Well, I’d prefer to know—’

Looking at the appeal in the luminous eyes lifted to his, Raoul wanted to say he loved her, but the years of hardening his heart from the emotion, the knowledge of how it could destroy a man when it went wrong, stopped the words coming.

The seconds ticked by, and the fast thud of her heart slowed as her hope died, as Raoul stood there, silent, the muscles in his jaw flexing. A light drizzle had started, which was plastering his dark hair to his head.

She could wait for ever and he still wasn’t going to say what she wanted to hear. Well, at least now she knew.

‘It’s fine,’ she said, dying a little inside.

He squeezed his eyes closed to shut out the sight of her slender back as she walked away, fighting the irrational urge to follow her. It couldn’t work, he reminded himself. He was the man he was, and incapable of returning what she had offered him.

And unworthy!

Why...why did she have to say it...?

* * *

Lara unlocked the door of the apartment and ran straight into the bathroom where she threw up violently.

After rinsing her mouth, she walked into the bedroom and, with a heart as empty as her stomach, she packed her belongings.

The note was short and to the point.

I’m going home. Please don’t try and contact me. A baby deserves two parents who love one another.

There were no airport delays or incidents and her London-bound flight took off on time.

The hotel she booked into in the city was nondescript but it had everything she needed. Lara likened the instinct to a wounded dog crawling into a corner to lick its wounds—the trouble was a dog had better sense than to open and reopen the wound.

The concept of healing seemed a long way off. The numbness came and went in waves, and the rest of the time she was either murderously furious or depressingly self-pitying.

It wasn’t until the third day that she realised that nausea and vomiting were not just the symptoms of misery and heartache.

She couldn’t be! Life could not be that cruel. She spent the rest of the day in the small box-like room telling herself it couldn’t possibly be true.

* * *

She finally fell asleep around three a.m., wearing the red dress she’d had on when they first met—despair had made her masochistic, like an addiction that slowly killed you from the inside.

She had no idea what had made her pack it, or why she had even brought it to New York in the first place. Probably the same stupid, sentimental reason that had made her try it on the previous night.

She woke late feeling utterly wretched and no longer able to bury her head in the sand. She had to know.

The only thing she paused for on her way to the door was a painkiller, and then realised as she swallowed it that she’d accidentally taken one of the antihistamines that she used for hay fever.

Ah, well, the chemist would have something for her headache—as well as for the other thing.

She was halfway down the high street when she realised she was still wearing the dress she had slept in. Such was the sense of urgency that gripped her she didn’t even consider going back to change.

The chemist had a ladies’ room, and, rather than suffer another moment of the agony of not knowing, she used it. Then she went out, bought another testing kit, and went back in.

The result was the same.

She began to walk back to the hotel in a daze, experiencing a bitter sense of déjà vu when she missed her turning and found herself lost.

Pull yourself together, Lara! She rubbed a hand over her face, and realised the extra antihistamine was kicking in. Then, as if that weren’t enough, her path was blocked by a loud and boisterous wedding party emerging from a register office.

There was the sound of popping corks as the happy couple emerged. At least her dress blended in with the other guests. Head down, she was trying to ease her way through the group when a guest carrying an open bottle of champagne in one hand and two glasses in the other backed into her.

Lara cried out as he trod down on her foot.

He swung around, accidentally depositing half the bottle of fizz down her dress. He stood there, an appalled look on his face. ‘So sorry, I’m so sorry. Here.’ He poured some of the remaining fizz into one of the glasses he held and pushed it at her.

‘Have some, please, no hard feelings.’

It was easier and quicker to take a couple of small sips and ‘accidentally’ spill the rest rather than reject the misplaced token of generosity and apology. Lara had taken a few steps before she realised her mistake. She had barely swallowed a mouthful but with the antihistamines already in her system...she had to get back and sleep this off.

During the next five minutes the sense of urgency lessened. She was actually feeling quite mellow and then she saw—it seemed like fate—the man who had fathered her twin’s child.

He was standing at a hotel entrance but he wasn’t kissing anyone.

He’d been there for Lily, and for Emmy, and she had to thank him.

She had a memory of the look of horror on his face as she staggered over to him, but after that it was pretty much a blank. As Lily said when she sat with her before she cried herself to sleep, it was probably better that way.