Читать книгу Her Pregnancy Bombshell - Liz Fielding - Страница 10

CHAPTER THREE

ANDIE GATHERED HERSELF AND, having braved the door for a second time, discovered that it was the scullery ceiling that had sagged and was blocking the door.

Afraid she’d bring the whole lot down if she tried to force her way in, she trundled her wheelie and shopping around to the main entrance, found the correct heavy iron key and let herself in.

There were no worries about wet sandy feet messing up the gleaming marble tiled floor now. It was thick with dust and there was a drift of feathers where a bird must have got in through the roof and panicked.

She gave a little shiver, hoping that it had got out again.

Everywhere was shuttered. The only light was from the open door and, as the sun slid behind the mountains, that was fading fast. Using her bag to prop the door open, she crossed to a light switch but when she flicked it down nothing happened. She tried another in case it was just a duff bulb but with the same result.

She’d remembered the house as inviting, full of light, air, laughter. She’d never given a thought to how it might be in the winter, to be alone here, but the damp chill, dark shadows were weirdly creepy and suddenly this didn’t seem such a great idea.

She could manage with candles for light—there had always been tall white candles in silver holders throwing their soft light in the evenings—but she was going to need hot water to clean the place up.

If rainwater had got into the wiring she was in trouble.

She hurried through the house opening shutters, letting in what light remained before braving the cupboard under the stairs in search of a fuse box.

There was good news and bad news. The bad news was that this had to be a regular occurrence. The good news meant that there was a torch and fuse wire on top of the old-fashioned fuse box.

More bad news was that the torch battery was on its last legs and she checked the fuses as quickly as she could, found the blown one and had just finished when the torch died. She shoved it back into place and breathed a sigh of relief as a light came on in the hall.

She carried her shopping into the old-fashioned kitchen. Someone had had the sense to leave the door of the huge old fridge open. It would need a good wash down but holding her breath in case it blew another fuse, she switched it on at the mains, still holding her breath as it stuttered before reluctantly humming to life.

Better.

She tried a tap. Nothing. The same someone had sensibly turned off the water and drained the tank.

She left the taps turned fully on and looked under the sink for a stopcock. It wasn’t there and she opened the door to the scullery.

It was a mess. Directly below the damaged part of the roof the rain had seeped down through the upper floor and the ceiling was sagging dangerously and she certainly wasn’t about to risk switching on the light.

Using the little light spilling in through the kitchen door, she picked her way across the debris to the big old sink in the corner and opened the door of the cupboard beneath it.

Something scuttled across her foot and she jumped back, skin goosed, heart pounding.

It was a mouse, she told herself. Not a spider. She’d seen a tail. She was almost sure she’d seen a tail...

Swallowing hard—and desperately trying to think why she’d thought this was a good idea—she bent down and peered into the cupboard. It was too dark to see anything and too deep for her to be able to reach the stopcock without getting down on her hands and knees and sticking her head inside. She swallowed again, knelt gingerly and, with a little squeak as her face brushed against cobwebs, made a grab for the tap handle.

She was about to give it a turn when the bright beam of a torch lit up the inside of the cupboard to reveal the thick festoon of cobwebs and a startled mouse frozen in the spotlight.

Then, out of the darkness, a man’s voice rapped a sharp, ‘Come?’

Already on edge, a notch away from a scream, she leapt back, caught her head on the edge of the cupboard and saw stars.

‘Mi dispiace, signora...’

Too damn late to be sorry...

‘Don’t dispiace me!’ Andie staggered to her feet and, hand on top of her ringing head, turned furiously on the intruder. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

‘Oh, you’re English.’

‘What in the name of glory has that got to do with anything?’

‘Nothing. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.’

‘Epic fail,’ she retaliated gamely, but her shaky voice wouldn’t have scared the mice, let alone the man standing in the doorway, blocking out what little light there was. Half blinding her with his torch. She put up her arm to shield her eyes from the glare. ‘Who are you? What are you doing here?’

‘Matthew Stark.’ He lowered the torch, took a step forward, began to offer her his hand but wisely thought better of it. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on the villa for the owner.’

‘Oh? She didn’t mention you when I picked up the keys. Rosalind Marlowe is my sister.’

‘Rosalind?’

‘She prefers Posy.’ She would have cursed her sister for not warning her that she had appointed a caretaker but she’d carefully timed her arrival at her sister’s digs for the moment when she would be dashing off to warm up for the evening performance. Sisters had a way of looking at you and instantly knowing that something was wrong. ‘I’m Miranda Marlowe.’

‘Oh...’ He sighed with relief, clearly not that keen on evicting a squatter. ‘Of course. You were at the funeral. If she’d let me know you were arriving I would have come up earlier and turned on the water. Checked that everything was working.’

‘It was a last-minute decision and, since I’m the practical one in the family, she knew I could handle a stopcock—’ spiders were something else and, stepping back to let him in, she said, ‘—but knock yourself out, Matthew Stark.’

‘Of course.’ He stepped forward.

‘Don’t stand on the mouse,’ she warned.

‘You like mice?’

‘Not in the kitchen, but I don’t want to have to clean up the bloody body of one you’ve squashed with your size tens.’

‘Right,’ he said, his tone clearly that of a man who wished he’d stayed at home. ‘No squashed mice...’

That was one squashed mouse too many and her stomach heaved as he ducked beneath the sink. He immediately backed out again and looked up at her. Breathing through the wave of nausea, she was grateful for the dark.

‘You’d better turn the tap on or the air—’

‘It’s already done,’ she snapped.

‘Of course it is,’ he muttered.

He re-emerged from the cupboard a moment later with a cobweb decorating his hair, which made her feel marginally more generously disposed towards him.

They retreated to the kitchen; he brushed the dust off his hands. ‘Shall we start again? And it’s Matt, by the way. Nobody calls me Matthew.’

‘Andie,’ she replied discouragingly as the pipes began to clang and air spurted noisily from the tap. ‘How did you know I was here? Did I trip an alarm?’

‘Chance would be a fine thing. No mobile signal, no Internet. I saw the light.’

‘Very low tech.’

‘You work with what you have. We were Sofia’s nearest neighbours as we live at the edge of the village. I looked out for her.’ He looked around. ‘Are you staying here on your own?’

She recognised that his question was provoked by concern—obviously if there had been anyone else in the house they would have appeared by now—but, conscious of her isolation, she responded with a question of her own.

‘You knew Sofia? How was she? I hadn’t seen her for several years before she died.’

‘Independent, crotchety, glamorous to the end and impossible to help but she was kind to my mother. She’s crippled with arthritis, which is why we came to the island. For the warmth, the hot springs,’ he added.

‘I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘It is what it is. She was using the spa at Sant’Aria but when Sofia heard she invited her to use the hot spring here on the beach whenever she liked. I laid some decking across the sand which made it easier for both of them to access the pool. I think she enjoyed having someone to talk to.’

‘My grandmother still came when she could.’

‘Yes. I met her once... Posy is happy to continue with the arrangement until the house is sold.’

She sensed a question and nodded. ‘Your mother is welcome any time.’

‘Thanks.’ He looked around. ‘This isn’t exactly home from home. Do you need any help clearing up? That ceiling is a mess.’

‘Are you a builder?’ she asked.

‘No, but I can handle a broom.’

He obviously meant well but she just wanted to lie down.

‘I think it’s going to need a little more than that but if you don’t mind I’ll worry about that in the morning.’

‘Are you sure you’re okay?’ he asked, frowning.

‘Long day, rough crossing,’ she said, letting go of the chair back she was clutching for support. ‘And the taxi ride up here was rather more exciting than I’m used to.’

He didn’t look convinced but he let it go. ‘If you’re sure, I’ll leave you in peace.’ He paused at the door. ‘There’s no phone line but you’ll find a cord by the bed in the master suite and another by the sofa in her little sitting room. If you need anything, a tug will ring a bell I rigged up in the garden. I will usually hear it. Very low tech,’ he added, a touch sarcastically, ‘but—’

‘You work with what you have.’

He’d put himself out, come running when he thought Posy’s house was being robbed and she’d been barely polite.

‘Thank you, Matt. You’ve been a very good neighbour and I promise you, I’m a much nicer person when I’ve had eight hours’ sleep.’

‘I’m sorry I gave you a fright.’

‘You saved me from having to stick my head in a cupboard full of cobwebs,’ she said, with a little shiver. ‘You are totally forgiven.’

He smiled, nodded, headed for the door. She watched him out of sight then shut the door and locked it, returned to the kitchen. The water was now running freely and she turned off the taps.

She had light and water, all she needed now was somewhere to sleep. Sofia had a master suite on the ground floor but she couldn’t bring herself to use that. As children they’d slept upstairs and she had fondly imagined curling up in her childhood bed, watching the lights of passing ships. Right now the prospect wasn’t that inviting.

The stairs were cobweb festooned, littered with stuff she didn’t want to examine too closely. No worries about what she was going to be doing tomorrow. Cleaning...

She brushed her teeth in the downstairs cloakroom, washed her face in cold water.

There was a throw on a sofa in the room Sofia had called her ‘snug’. Andie opened the French doors, hung it over the edge of the veranda so that any creepy crawlies would fall down into the garden and gave it a thorough shake.

Out in the distance she could see the lights of a ship and she paused for a moment, leaning on the wall, breathing in the fresh air coming off the sea. Then a yawn caught her and she shut the French doors, climbed into her PJs and wrapped herself in the lightweight silk robe she’d packed, wishing she’d brought her fleecy one.

Having located the bell cord and tied it up safely out of harm’s way—the last thing she needed was to set it off and have Matt racing back convinced that she had a concussion—she stretched out and was asleep almost before she’d closed her eyes.

She was woken, cold, stiff and with a crick in her neck, by the low sun streaming in through the open shutters. She lay very still for a moment hoping that her stomach had given up on the vomito.

No such luck.

Teeth brushed, hair tied back, she made her way to the kitchen in search of something that would stay put.

The rising sun exposed the state of the villa in a way that artificial light had failed to do as she crossed the gritty floor in search of a kettle. She let the water run for a few minutes before she rinsed the kettle, filled it and put it on the old-fashioned stove. While it was boiling she located the switch for the water heater and, holding her breath, turned it on. The fuses held.

She took a mug from the dresser, washed it under the tap and tossed in one of the mint teabags she’d brought with her. That and a plain biscuit usually stayed down.

She carried them out onto the veranda, planning to let the crisp morning air clear her head but the cushions were missing from the chairs. She crossed the garden to a bench, put down the mug and stretched out her neck. Then, enticed by the soft, lulling splash of the waves breaking over the sand in the enclosed little cove below her, took the familiar path down to the beach.

Kicking off her sandals at the edge of the sand, she walked to the edge of the sea and stood for a moment as the water, ebbing and flowing, sucked the sand from beneath her feet.

One bold ripple rushed in, covering her feet up to her ankles, chilly but exhilarating. She longed to plunge into the water but she’d have to go back for her swimsuit...

There were some moments you could never recapture and this was one of them. If she walked back up the steep path she wouldn’t come back to the beach.

She looked around but the cove was private. Unless you knew it was there you wouldn’t notice it from the sea and it was too early for a call from even the most diligent of neighbours.

Rolling her eyes at her totally British reserve, she slipped off her robe, stepped out of her PJs and tossed them on a nearby rock.

The gesture was oddly liberating and it seemed the most natural thing in the world to raise her arms to the heat of the fast-rising sun, welcoming the soft breeze that rippled across her body like a lover’s touch.

As she stepped forward the cold water swirled around her ankles and calves, goosing her skin. Another step and it was up to her knees, thighs, a chill touch against the heat of her body, and she lay her hand against her still-flat belly, reliving the moment when Cleve, insane with grief, scarcely knowing what he was doing, had cried out as he’d thrust inside her and made their baby.

She shivered, but not with the cold.

It had been wrong, selfish, she’d taken advantage of his moment of weakness and now, instead of saving him, she was going to bring him more pain.

She caught her breath as the water lapped at her belly and then she dived in, striking out for the far side of the cove.

There and back was more than enough; splashed through the shallows and ran, shivering, straight to the hot pool. She had just stepped into it, lowered herself up to her chin, when her brain processed what she’d seen.

She turned slowly and peered above the rocks.

Cleve was leaning against the rock where she’d left her clothes, arms crossed, and he was grinning. ‘That was worth flying thirteen hundred miles to see,’ he said.

Blue with cold and covered in goose bumps? She doubted that...

‘How long have you been there?’

‘Long enough.’

Of course he had. He must have been in the garden when she stripped off, witnessed her mad salute to the sun...

‘A gentleman would have looked the other way.’

‘Only an idiot would have looked the other way. A gentleman would have saved your blushes and pretended he hadn’t seen you.’ He kicked off his shoes, peeled off his socks then tugged the polo shirt he was wearing over his head and tossed it next to her robe. ‘But as I’m sure your father has told you, I’ve no pretensions to being a gentleman.’

‘So if you’re not an idiot and not a gentleman, what are you?’

‘Honest?’

He reached for his belt.

‘Stop! What do you think you’re doing?’

‘Joining you in that oversized hot tub while we discuss why your resignation is not going to happen,’ he said, then paused as he was about to slip the buckle. ‘Unless you’d rather get out and join me over here.’

They had been naked together for an entire night, no holds barred. He’d already watched her take a skinny dip, seen her run across the beach. Modesty was ridiculous but nothing would induce her to climb out and walk over there with him watching her every step of the way.

‘I didn’t think so,’ he said when she didn’t move, and the buckle was history. He flipped the button at his waist and dropped his trousers to reveal a pair of soft white boxers that clung to his hips and buttocks like cream to a peach...

‘That’s far enough!’

She’d had her hands inside that underwear, her hands on that tight backside as she’d undressed him. In her head he was already naked. In her head she wanted him naked, beside her, inside her...

‘Pass me my robe.’

He hooked it off the rock and held it out. She snatched it from him, wrapped it around herself, careless of the hem falling into the water.

She’d intended to climb out and go back up to the villa so that she could face Cleve wearing proper clothes, but he was already walking across rocks worn smooth by centuries of water running from the spring and foaming into the sea.

‘I was going to get out,’ she said.

‘Why?’ He found himself a comfortable spot to sit opposite her, stretched his arms out along the rocks and closed his eyes. ‘Your sister’s villa is a wreck but I’ll put up with it for this.’

‘Not necessary. You’ll be on the next ferry out of here.’

‘I don’t think so.’ His smile had a touch of the old Cleve Finch—like the devil in a good mood. ‘Jerry Parker’s been trying to sell me his Lear for months. We closed the deal yesterday afternoon and I thought I’d celebrate by taking a few days off and seeing what it could do.’

She frowned. ‘There isn’t a commercial airport on the island.’

‘No, but there’s a flying club. They gave me permission to land and one of the members gave me a lift here.’

The international camaraderie of flyers...

‘Who’s looking after Goldfinch?’

‘I promoted Lucy to Operations Manager.’

‘Oh... Well, not before time,’ she said. ‘She’s been doing the job for the last year.’

‘You might not be so keen when I tell you that she’s brought in Gavin Jones to cover your absence.’

‘Tell her to give him a contract because I’m not coming back.’

Cleve had always run an early morning circuit of the old wartime airfield that was Goldfinch’s base but since Rachel’s death he’d run longer and harder. His shoulders were wide, his body lean, the muscles in his limbs strongly defined and his long, elegant feet were just a toe length from her own.

Worse, while she was no longer naked, the thin silk of her robe was clinging to every inch of her body. Even in the warmth of the pool her nipples were like pebbles and she lowered herself deeper into the water.

He smiled. ‘Was the sea very cold?’

‘Why are you here, Cleve?’ she demanded.

‘Did you think I’d let you run away?’

‘I’m not—’

‘You pull a sickie, tell Lucy you’re going on holiday and leave your resignation on my desk. In my book that’s running away.’

Okay, he had a point but she’d needed time to work this out. To try and find a way to tell him about the baby without destroying him.

‘I was sick.’ Seriously. ‘And I didn’t want to tell Lucy before I told you that I’d got another job.’

‘First you run away and then you lie. There is no job.’

‘I’ve had plenty of offers.’

‘That I don’t doubt. I know of at least three companies who’ve attempted to lure you away from me in the last year. More money, the chance to get rated on larger aircraft, but you turned them all down.’

‘You knew?’

‘There are no secrets in this business. If you’d accepted a job offer I’d have heard about it ten minutes after you’d shaken hands.’ He looked across the pool at her, his face giving her no clue as to what he was really thinking. ‘If you’d got a great new job,’ he continued, ‘you’d have told the people you’ve worked with for years, colleagues who care about you, who would want to throw the kind of party that you’d never forget.’

‘I don’t need a hangover to remember you.’ He’d already given her the most precious gift... ‘I’ll never forget you. Any of you,’ she added quickly. ‘And the reason you haven’t heard about my new job is because I’m going to work for my father. In the design office.’ Because of course that was what she’d have to do. She was effectively grounded, not by regulations, but by the memory of what had happened to Rachel, and she’d have to live close to home so that she’d have baby support, at least until the baby was old enough for day care. ‘Jack was right,’ she added.