Читать книгу Mills and Boon Christmas Joy Collection - Liz Fielding - Страница 41

CHAPTER NINE

FOR TWO DAYS he avoided Ruby.

There was too much to think about—too much to absorb.

Any time he was around Ruby he was drawn to her and wanted to touch her.

But horrible little parts of what she’d said were keeping him awake at night.

The photograph part was easy. He knew exactly which picture to frame for Annabelle. It was embarrassing to think he hadn’t even considered it before.

He—and the advisors around him—had just assumed that Annabelle wouldn’t remember anything about her mother.

He hadn’t deliberately kept her pictures away from Annabelle—he just hadn’t thought to talk to Annabelle about her mother.

She was playing in her room now. One blonde doll seemed to be driving a racing car around the furniture and over most of the other toys. She was making noises again—a brrrrmm for the racing car and a gasp as the doll plummeted over the bedcovers.

His heart twisted in his chest. If Sophia had lived would their little girl have been like this? It was a horrible thing to consider. It meant facing up to facts—facing up to a responsibility that he’d thought he had fulfilled.

Ruby thought differently.

He couldn’t hesitate any longer. He walked into the room, keeping his voice bright. ‘Hi, Annabelle. I’ve brought a picture for you.’

He put the silver frame on Annabelle’s bedside table.

There was an audible gasp. It almost ripped him in two.

The picture was almost exactly at Annabelle’s head height. She tilted her head to one side, her eyes wide.

He could have picked from a million pictures of Sophia. Once Annabelle was old enough to use the internet she would find another million pictures of her mother online.

But this was his favourite. This had always been his favourite. It was the picture he still had of Sophia in his mind—not the frail, emaciated pale woman she’d become.

This picture had Sophia on a swing, her blonde hair streaming behind her, her face wide with laughter and her pink dress billowing around her. She was around eighteen in this picture and it captured her perfectly. It captured the fun-loving human being she’d been before illness had struck her down.

He had other pictures. Pictures of her holding Annabelle not long after the birth and in the following months. There were lots of those.

But all of those pictures were touched with inherent sadness. The inevitability of a life lost. He’d put some into a little album for Annabelle. Those were for another day.

She reached out and touched the photo, obviously captivated by the joy in the picture. That was the word it conjured in his brain. Joy.

He knelt beside her. ‘That’s your mama, Annabelle. She was a very beautiful woman and you look just like her. I thought it was time for you to have a photograph of your own.’

Her little brow furrowed for a moment. He could almost see her brain trying to assimilate the information. Her lips moved, making the M movement—but no sound came out.

He rested her hand at her back. ‘Look—your dress is the same colour as hers.’

He could see the recognition on his little girl’s face. His whole body ached. Why hadn’t he done this sooner?

A wave of shame washed over him. He should have known to do this. He should have known that his daughter needed this. But Alex had no experience around children. He had no relatives with youngsters, and as an only child he didn’t have much experience to draw on.

He’d had friends—peers—during his life. Sophia had been among them, as had his schoolmates and university friends. But he hadn’t been exposed to a life of looking after other people’s children.

His sole experience of children before the birth of Annabelle had been on royal tours, where he was expected to talk to kids and hold babies. That was all fine, but it only lasted minutes. It didn’t give him a taste of real life.

He looked down at the little girl in front of him. She’d gone back to her dolls and was racing them around the room again. Just like any three-year-old should.

His eyes glanced between his daughter and the photo. The wave of grief was overwhelming. Ruby was right. Sophia hadn’t just been his friend.

Would he have married her if she hadn’t been sick? Probably not. Their relationship hadn’t been destined to go that way. Sophia had had wanderlust. She would likely have travelled and married someone from a distant country.

But the genetics of life had changed all that.

He took a deep breath. He hadn’t felt the surge of emotion around Sophia that he felt around Ruby. There hadn’t been that instant connection. More like a slow-growing respect. But other than Ruby she was the only woman on this planet he’d actually felt anything for.

In his head it had all been about duty and loyalty. He hadn’t wanted to let his heart get involved. But if he wanted to move on with Ruby he had to acknowledge that she’d been more than just a friend.

He held his hand out to Annabelle. ‘Annabelle, honey. Come with Daddy. We’re going to go and put some flowers on your mama’s grave.’

Another tiny step. Another massive milestone.

When was the last time he’d visited Sophia’s grave?

He knew for sure he’d never taken his daughter there.

That was all about to change.

* * *

The changes were subtle at first.

The first thing she noticed was the picture in the silver frame next to Annabelle’s bed. It made her heart squeeze in her chest. One, because he’d done it himself, and two, because Annabelle’s mother had indeed been beautiful.

She wasn’t jealous. She couldn’t bring herself to be jealous of a dead woman. Those initial little pangs of frustration had disappeared. On dark nights—for some horrible moments—she’d wanted this woman never to have existed. Irrational and unreasonable thoughts had filled her head momentarily: Sophia had stolen those ten years she could have had with Alex.

All nonsense.

Life was life.

There was a gorgeous little girl running about around her legs and that was what she should focus on.

Her brain could be logical. It could tell her that she was there to do a job. It could tell her that she was the best person possible for Annabelle.

And there were discernible changes in Annabelle. Small ones—as if the little girl’s walls were being finally worn down.

She wasn’t quite so reserved. Her play and interaction at the nursery had changed. Humming was rapidly becoming normal now. Little noises, little sounds would be made with excitement—or sometimes fright if they were watching Finding Nemo again.

A small flick-through book of photographs of Annabelle and her mother had appeared. The picture on the front was amazing. One half in black and white, one half in colour. Annabelle and her mother, both sitting on the fountain, at around the same age. Two captured moments in time.

Anyone who didn’t know Annabelle would think it was the same little girl.

Ruby could already predict that in her teenage years Annabelle would blow up that picture for her bedroom wall.

The first time she’d flicked through the book with Annabelle talking her through the pictures had been hard. A weight had pressed down on her chest and it had been all she could do to stop the tears rolling down her cheeks. But it became easier, and soon part of their routine every day involved five minutes of flicking through the photos.

It had also become part of Alex’s bedtime routine with Annabelle. The staff had finally got the message and stopped queuing outside the door at night. Alex was adamant that this time was Annabelle’s.

And it had done them both good. Alex was more relaxed around his child. He knew what her favourite foods were. He knew who her best friends were at nursery. He could sing along to all the songs in Finding Nemo. And gradually the sad tone in his voice was replaced as he told stories of happy memories while they flicked through the photo album.

Ruby stayed in the background although she was working tirelessly with Annabelle. There were no more romantic interludes with Alex, no matter how much she hoped for them. No other heated moments when the air was so thick a wrecking ball couldn’t pound its way through.

He still watched her. Sometimes when she lifted her head she would meet his bright blue gaze. The sparks were still there. They were both just treading more warily.

If they brushed hands as they played with Annabelle, or if he moved closer for any reason, the buzz thrummed through her body. Every part of her still wanted to be with him. But she was more confident around him.

She didn’t feel the need to look like a supermodel. She didn’t feel outclassed by visiting royalty. Alex wanted her. She knew it. He knew it.

Getting there was a slow process. But she could live with that.

Every day she learned something new about Euronia. About its history—the subterfuge, the pirates and the Kings. The history was chequered with colourful characters. Alex’s father was probably the quietest ruler of them all.

He was still in Switzerland. Once Alex had flown there, when his father had suffered another bout of pneumonia and had to be ventilated. She’d offered to go but he’d asked her to stay with Annabelle. They both knew the little girl needed stability and she’d been happy to oblige.

The long summer came to a close around the end of September, when Ruby finally had to pull her cardigans out of her cupboard to cover her arms.

And before the leaves on the trees started to change colour Alex started to appear around her again.

At first it was simple. Coffee. Cake. Days sitting in the late summer sunshine in the café in the square. Their visits became so frequent that the café owner stopped asking her what she wanted. After she fawned over a new apricot sponge the café owner started to bake it for her every other day.

Then there was the lunches, and their time spent together that included Annabelle. Sometimes it was in the palace grounds. Sometimes it was in and around Euronia. Once he even took them to Monaco for the day.

This time it felt as if she was the one with the barriers in place and it was Alex who was chipping away at her walls. But it felt right. The momentum was building at a pace that felt comfortable for both of them, for Annabelle, and for the people around them.

Clothes kept mysteriously appearing in her wardrobe—all of them beautiful, all of them fitting perfectly. The palace staff had stopped being prickly around her. Her devotion to Annabelle was clear, but Alex’s respect for her was even clearer. Even Rufus had started to come round, and had given her a key to the palace library so she could work undisturbed.

‘Ruby?’

Her head shot up. It was late at night and she was sitting on one of the ancient chaise longues, with her feet tucked up underneath her, reading on her electronic tablet.

There were no fancy clothes tonight. Tonight she was wearing a sloppy white top, grey jogging trousers, and her hair was tied in a knot on top of her head.

‘Is something wrong with Annabelle?’

It was the first thought that came into her head.

Alex crossed into the room, holding up his hand as he walked. ‘No. She’s fine. I was looking for you. I should have known I’d find you in here.’

There was a warmth in his eyes as he said the words, a flicker of a memory, and she remembered he’d told her this had been his mother’s favourite room.

He pointed at the tablet. ‘Isn’t it sacrilege to read that in here?’

She shrugged. ‘I couldn’t work the ancient light switches. Every time I pressed one it seemed to light up the wrong part of the library. Plus, I like being in the dark.’

She pointed to the gardens outside, where some light from the fountain and its walls was spilling up to meet them.

‘There’s something nice about looking out over the world.’

She turned to face him.

‘What have you got?’

He was holding something wrapped in brown paper in his hand, along with two large cups. The smell of something wonderful was winding its way through the air towards her.

‘Midnight snacks.’ He grinned as he sat down next to her. ‘I was starving and went for a rummage around the kitchen to see what I could find.’

She lifted her eyebrows. ‘I’m surprised Rufus’s inbuilt internal alarm didn’t go off at you stepping into the palace kitchens unattended.’

He shrugged. ‘I was too. Here,’ he handed one of the cups to her and she lifted it to her nose, inhaling.

‘Soup?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘At one in the morning?’

He smiled. That goofy smile he sometimes gave when it was just the two of them. ‘I’m hungry. Leena’s soup is the best there is.’ He held up the brown paper package. ‘I even managed to find some freshly baked rolls.’

She opened it up and looked in. Fresh crusty bread in the middle of the night did have a certain appeal.

‘Come on,’ he said. ‘It’s no fun eating on your own.’

There was a twinkle in his eye. It was the most relaxed she’d seen him for a while. Spending time with his daughter was doing him the world of good. This wasn’t the uptight guy who’d visited her months ago in her hospital department. This wasn’t the guy who’d looked as if a permanent grey cloud was resting on his shoulders.

She moved over to the table and he joined her, breaking open his bread roll and dipping it into the soup.

‘I’ve got something else to show you.’

He pushed a file across the table towards her. It was pale beige and looked official.

She flipped it open and gasped. A picture of her and Alex from ten years ago in Paris.

He shrugged. ‘It always bothered me that you never got my message. I trust my Head of Security. If he said he sent it I know he did. I had to work out what went wrong.’

‘After all this time?’

It had always bothered her too. She’d assumed an absent-minded clerk just hadn’t bothered passing the message on.

She looked at the file again. Read the notes. All of them were about her. It was more than a little unnerving. Then she let out a gasp. ‘Oh, no!’

His hands closed over hers. ‘What is it?’

She smiled at him. ‘Hotel du Chat. That’s not where I was staying. It says in the notes that your Head of Security left a message at Reception there.’

Alex’s brow furrowed. ‘He did. But that’s what you told me.’

She squeezed his hand. ‘Hotel du Champ, Alex. Not Hotel du Chat.’ She shook her head. ‘After all these years I don’t know if that makes me feel better or worse.’

Alex put his head in his hands. ‘I was so sure. So sure you said Hotel du Chat.’

‘It was noisy, Alex. It was New Year’s. You’d just had an urgent message about your father.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Mistakes happen.’

His finger reached up and touched her cheek. ‘I hate mistakes,’ he whispered.

‘So do I.’

They sat in silence for a few seconds. Both of them letting the revelation wash over them. For Ruby, it felt like a relief. It didn’t matter that Alex had assured her he’d tried to contact her. There had always been a tiny sliver of doubt.

But he had. And, strangely, it made her feel good. Maybe life would have been different. Who could possibly know? What she did know was that they couldn’t change the past.

‘What did the message say?’ She couldn’t help but ask. It had always played on her mind.

He gave a little nod and held her gaze. ‘It was simple.’ He shrugged. ‘We’d just met and barely had a chance to get to know each other. It said that I was sorry I couldn’t meet you, that I really wanted to see you again but had been called away to a family emergency—something I really wanted to explain to you. I left my number and asked you to call as soon as you got my note.’

She gave a sad kind of smile. ‘And that—as they say—was that.’

They sat in silence again for a few seconds, thinking of what-might-have-been.

There was no point second-guessing now. Time had passed. They’d found each other again. What happened next was up to them.

Alex pointed back to her soup. ‘Better eat that before it gets cold.’

She nodded and picked up her spoon. ‘This makes me feel as if I’m in one of those boarding schools that Enid Blyton wrote about and we’re having a midnight feast.’

His brow wrinkled. ‘She was a kids’ author, wasn’t she? I must have missed those books.’ He gave her a wink. ‘Boarding school wasn’t so bad.’

‘You went to boarding school?’ She was fascinated.

‘Not until I was twelve. I went to primary school here in Euronia. The same one that I’m planning on sending Annabelle to.’

Her bread was poised over the cup. ‘Do you plan on sending her to boarding school when she’s older?’

It was almost as if a little breeze had chilled her skin. It was all right joking about these things, but the thought of Annabelle going to boarding school in a few years made her blood run cold.

‘I don’t know that much about girls’ boarding schools. Maybe... I’d need to see how she was doing first.’

It was a touch of relief, but not enough. She had no business saying anything. But she didn’t care.

‘I don’t think you should.’ The words were out before she’d thought about them.

‘You don’t?’

He seemed surprised. But the atmosphere between them was still relaxed. She felt able to continue.

‘I just wonder if that will be the right environment for Annabelle.’ She leaned across the table and touched his arm. ‘I’ve something to tell you about today.’

‘What is it?’

She gave him a smile. ‘Today, when I was at the nursery watching Annabelle, I’m almost sure she spoke to another child.’

‘What?’

She nodded. ‘She was with a little boy. They were playing together. I was at the other side of the nursery but I saw her look up and her lips moved. The little boy’s head snapped up, so she must have said something. But at that point she resorted to signing again. It was almost as if his reaction reminded her that she didn’t talk.’

Alex looked as if he could hardly believe her. His face was a mixture of surprise and relief. ‘But you didn’t actually hear her?’

‘No. I was too far away—and, believe me, it’s bedlam in the nursery. The noise levels are incredible.’

‘So, this is good. Isn’t it?’

‘I hope so. It’s one of the concepts of selective mutism that in some situations children will talk and in others they won’t.’

‘What do you think?’

‘I think that I can see changes all the time, Alex. They’re slow, but steady. In my head, Annabelle is a little flower with all its petals tightly closed. It’s only now that she’s starting to bloom. We need to nurture her. We need to keep letting her develop at her own pace, her own speed.’

He nodded. ‘I think so too. I didn’t want to say anything, but when we were flicking through the pictures the other day it was almost as if the “mmm” sound was hovering around her lips. It wasn’t quite there, it wasn’t quite formed, but I could almost hear it in the air around us.’

‘You think she was going to say Mum?’

He gave a rueful smile. His fingers moved. She was still touching his hand and this time he interlinked his fingers with hers.

‘You think I’m just being silly? Is it just a father’s wishful thinking?’

She shook her head. He was so sincere.

‘I think you’re being the same as any parent, Alex. You’re putting the welfare of your child first.’

‘And so are you.’

He said the words so quietly they took a few seconds to sink into her brain.

His bright blue eyes were fixed on her. The implication was clear. Alex was acknowledging something that she hadn’t yet acknowledged herself.

Her other hand was still poised over the soup, with the already sodden piece of bread threatening to fall into the cup. Her hand was trembling. She couldn’t pull her eyes away from his.

She dropped the bread in the soup and pushed it away. The library was mainly dark, the gardens outside giving only a glimmer of deep gold light. But it didn’t matter how dim the light was—the only thing she could fixate on right now was him.

His other hand stretched over and tangled in her hair. She sucked in a breath as he stroked the back of her neck. Every part of her skin was tingling.

He moved. It was only one step but he was kissing her, pulling her up into his arms. She wrapped her hands around his neck. Last time he’d kissed her they’d been on the yacht. Tension had been in the air all around them. This time it was different.

This felt like the most natural thing in the world. Every touch of his fingers sent shivers down her spine, building expectation.

This didn’t feel as if a man with a kingdom was kissing her. This felt as though Alex was kissing her. Alex whom she’d met in Paris all those years ago.

The man she’d watched change over the last few weeks and months. The man who’d taken on board what she’d told him about his child and tried to make changes. He respected her opinion. He’d taken her seriously.

She didn’t feel as if she were there as a paid employee any more. It felt like so much more. This felt natural. This felt right. This felt as if it were the place she was supposed to be.

He pulled away and looked down at her. He was smiling. The twinkle in his eyes was back.

‘Ruby Wetherspoon...?’

She blinked, not quite sure where this was going. His voice was serious, but the smile hadn’t moved from his face. It was almost as if he knew the answer before he asked the question.

‘Yes?’

All she could concentrate on right now was the heat of his body against hers. She didn’t care that she was wearing ratty clothes. She didn’t care that her hair was a mess. All she cared about was the fact she was in Alex’s arms.

‘Would you do me the honour of coming to Euronia’s Annual Charity Ball with me?’

Her throat instantly dried and she wanted to lick her lips. But she couldn’t because Alex was kissing her again.

It was almost as if he knew that for a fraction of a second she’d be filled with doubts and he was determined to kiss them away.

This was the first official function he’d invited her to. They’d spent lots of time together—lots of time alone and with Annabelle—but this would be the first time Alex sent a message to the world.

He’d told her he would give her time. And she’d known that he needed time too.

But that time had passed. It felt as if they were both on an even footing. Both in a place where things could develop in the way they wanted.

So she said the thing that felt the most natural to her in the world.

‘Yes, Alex. I’d love to.’