Читать книгу For Our Children's Sake - NATASHA OAKLEY, Natasha Oakley - Страница 8

LUCY glanced down at her watch and noticed with a jolt that it was already past seven. It was more than a jolt—she actually felt sick when she saw how late it was.

She’d meant to be so calm when she met Dominic again. She’d meant to be well groomed and in complete control but all her good intentions had turned to dust. Time had just flown by—in the way it always seemed to do when you knew there was something difficult ahead, she reflected as she searched out the small figure of her daughter in the middle of the play park. She was going to have to rush to be ready in time.

‘Five minutes, Clo, and then we need to go to Grandma’s,’ she called out as she stood up to pack away their picnic things.

It was doubtful whether Chloe heard. Her feet were taking her in the direction of the giant slide, her blonde hair streaming out behind her. Lucy smiled. Nothing troubled Chloe’s world and she was determined to keep it that way. Whatever Dominic Grayling had to say this evening. Whatever any court of law had to say on the subject, she’d keep her safe and happy.

‘Chloe, it’s time to go. Five more minutes and that’s it,’ she called again.

Turning to reach for the picnic mat she stilled, suddenly aware of a solitary figure watching them. Perhaps her imagination had conjured him up? She was late, but not that late. He shouldn’t be here. Not now. Dominic wouldn’t do this without arranging it with her first. Would he? She had to be hallucinating, and yet…

With a fatalistic shrug the solitary figure started walking towards her until its identity became obvious.

‘Hi,’ Dominic said as he got close enough to speak.

His calm greeting fanned the tiny spark of anger into a fierce spurt. ‘What are you doing here? You’re more than an hour early.’

‘Curiosity.’

‘How dare you do this? You could be anyone, as far as Chloe’s concerned. You could have scared her.’

‘I’m sorry.’

But he didn’t seem sorry. He seemed so relaxed, so completely in control, so…so what she’d wanted to be when they’d met. ‘What if Chloe had noticed you watching her?’

‘She didn’t.’

‘You can’t know that.’

‘I’m sure she didn’t.’ He turned to look at her, his blue eyes narrowed astutely. ‘Have I scared you?’

His question caught her off guard. Was her anger really all about her? How she felt? She made a quick analysis of her feelings before deciding on honesty. ‘Yes.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘For being here or for scaring me?’

But already her anger had dissipated. As a disembodied voice on the telephone Dominic Grayling still had charm, but in person it was more evident. His hair was an indeterminate sandy brown but his bone structure was strong and characterful. A man to trust. A face to paint, she thought inconsequentially. And of course they shared a common bond in their children. It was only natural she should feel a connection to him. As his face relaxed into a lopsided grin she felt the last shreds of her irritation pass—and yet surely that was illogical.

‘I couldn’t sit around at home any longer, and then the traffic from London was so clear I made much better time than I’d anticipated. I should have stopped at a service station and waited the time out, but I couldn’t resist getting here earlier.’

Lucy hated the way she was letting him get away with spying on her. He should have walked down the hill and made sure she knew he was there instead of keeping his distance and watching. Better still, he should have stayed in London until it was really time to leave; he should have been held up on the motorway in a ten-mile traffic jam; he should have got lost at least a dozen times before he arrived at her house…

She turned her back. ‘Do you want a coffee? There’s some left in the flask.’

‘I decided to walk about a bit. I didn’t know you were here, Lucy.’

She turned back to him, hearing the coaxing, warm note to his voice. Sexy. Where had that come from? She didn’t think like that about men any more. It was disloyal to Michael. It was too soon.

And Dominic Grayling wasn’t sexy. He was, no doubt, a perfectly pleasant man, but he wasn’t particularly special and he was a stranger to her. She had to remember that. She might feel she’d known him for months but the reality was different. ‘So, as soon as you knew I was, you walked away?’

‘Would you?’ he asked on a slight smile.

She wouldn’t, of course. The temptation to stand, unseen, to watch Abigail, would have been impossible to resist. To search for physical signs that would really make it possible to believe with her whole heart she belonged to her. Had it been like that for Dominic? Had he found them in Chloe?

‘You’re right; she’s beautiful.’

Lucy hugged the picnic rug to her. ‘Yes. Yes, she is.’

‘She’s got the same ash-blonde hair as Eloise.’

‘Oh.’

He looked at her quickly. ‘Was that the wrong thing to say?’

‘Of course not. It’s just…well, I’m sure you know,’ she finished weakly, unaware of Chloe’s small figure running up to join them.

‘Are we going now?’ Chloe asked, hesitating slightly as she joined them.

Lucy’s fingers closed on her daughter’s shoulder in a gesture she recognised as ownership. How was Dominic feeling now? Did this hurt? ‘We have to.’

‘Can’t I stay five more minutes?’

‘Not this time. We’ve got to get to Grandma’s.’ She hadn’t dared to look up at Dominic but she sensed his stillness. This was an important moment for him—and for Chloe. Lucy took a deep, shaky breath. He didn’t deserve to be ignored. However frightened she was by his presence in her life, by the whole situation. ‘This is Dr Grayling. Do you remember me telling you about him?’

Chloe turned and looked with interest at the stranger. Whatever she saw she liked, because she suddenly smiled. It wasn’t like her to do that. Chloe was always reserved and would rarely talk to adults she didn’t know well. ‘I’m Chloe.’

‘I know. I’ve heard a lot about you from your mother.’ Above her blonde head Dominic’s eyes sought out Lucy’s. It was part thanks, part reassurance. It was a reward in itself. She’d done the right thing and it felt really good.

‘I’m going to sleep at my grandma’s house tonight.’

Dominic smiled down at Chloe. ‘I know. Your mummy told me.’ It was the kind of half-smile that spoke of deep inner sadness. Lucy felt a sudden rush of compassion—for him, for her, for Chloe and Abby, for all the people who loved them. Her mum adored Chloe. She was her grandchild—and, of course, she was not. Somewhere Dominic would have a mother who’d been denied the right to know her own flesh-and-blood grandchild. The ramifications were endless. The ripples went on and on.

‘Are you Mummy’s new friend?’ Chloe asked curiously.

Dominic didn’t pause. ‘Absolutely.’

‘Come on, Chloe. Grandma will be waiting.’ Lucy gratefully squeezed the hand tucked inside hers. The feel of those small fingers was so comforting.

And Dominic was alone. She could only imagine what he must feel like, watching them walk away from him. It must be the most hideous feeling. And it was going to be one she would experience when she met Abby.

Four weeks since her world had come crashing down for the second time and she’d not allowed herself to dwell on Abby. First there’d been the tests on Chloe’s heart and the agonising wait before the all-clear had been given. Then there’d been contact with lawyers, the people who were going to determine the legal status of their children. And finally there was the desperate sense of being alone. More alone than she’d been when Michael died. Now she had to carry a deep, dark secret. One she could share with no one. Except Dominic. His telephone calls had been a lifeline. Calm, good sense in a crazy, shifting world.

‘Am I staying for breakfast?’ Chloe asked with a slight tug on her hand.

‘Grandma would like you to.’

‘Are you going to be there?’

Lucy smiled at the tone of her daughter’s voice. If she said she was Chloe would be so disappointed. She wanted it to be just her and Grandma. ‘No. I’ll pick you up later.’

Chloe pulled back on her hand, looking behind her. ‘Dr Grayling’s still standing there. He hasn’t moved.’

‘Is he?’

‘It’s a bit rude to stare, isn’t it?’

‘Maybe he’s lonely and wishes he could be coming home with us.’

Chloe thought about that carefully. ‘He looked nice. We could both be friends with him.’

Could it really be as simple as that? Lucy wondered, her grip on Chloe’s hand tightening. She wouldn’t let anything hurt her. She’d take any painful blow if it would shield her from the consequences of this mess.

As they reached the corner Lucy risked a quick glance over her shoulder. Dominic was still standing there, watching, his hands thrust deep into his denim pockets and the lines of his body tense. He looked so alone.

And soon that would be her. Could she do it? It was impossible to imagine how that would actually feel. Would something in her recognise Abby as hers? Would she feel the same as she had when Chloe, newborn and angry at her difficult entry into the world, was placed in her arms? That overwhelming sense of love and responsibility. The total wonder at having created anything so perfect. That last thought twisted painfully inside her. She hadn’t created Chloe. Given her life, yes, but not created. That was something she had to concede to Dominic and the fair-haired Eloise.

It was the hardest thing he’d ever done, Dominic decided as he watched the pair disappear. Light ash-blonde hair and a heart-shaped face. So like Eloise, and yet not.

Chloe was tanned, energetic and healthy. Her skin glowed with vitality and her eyes sparkled. Dressed in a faded T-shirt and old shorts, with tangled hair and a grubby face, she wasn’t the image he’d held in his mind for the last few weeks. And yet this was better than all his imaginings. The euphoric feeling he’d experienced as he’d watched her balancing on the centre of the seesaw was something he’d never forget. She was happy.

Her little hand tucked safely in Lucy’s was hard to see, but the bond between them was obvious. Chloe was loved and cared for. It was what he’d wanted to know and yet now it didn’t feel like enough. He wanted his little girl to know about him. It was a spear of jealousy digging into his flesh.

He hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. And about Lucy. In his mind the two were intricately entwined. Lucy, so different from Eloise. His wife had been many wonderful things—cultured, intelligent, with the face of an angel—but he knew she’d have crumbled under this pressure. But Lucy would cope. Even in the immediate aftermath of hearing the news, shocked and desperately hurting, she’d still seemed strong. She had an inner core of strength that kept her standing. Whatever life threw at her, she would take it on the chin and move on. And it seemed life had thrown a good deal at her. Yet still she’d managed to raise a child who smiled as though her world was completely sunny.

A picnic in the park. He couldn’t remember ever having taken Abby for a picnic. Since she’d started nursery her evenings had been filled with piano lessons, ballet classes and gymnastics. By the time he emerged from his study Abby was usually too tired to do anything but curl up against him for a story. What would Lucy make of that? She glowed with an active vitality that made him wonder whether she’d approve. Made him wonder whether he approved.

The doorbell rang at exactly eight-thirty. Even though she was expecting it, the sound still shocked her.

Lucy snapped on her wrist-watch and grabbed her handbag before opening the door. ‘Do you always do this? You’re exactly on time. To the minute.’

‘I’ve been sitting outside in the car.’

‘Oh,’ she said, slightly deflated. It didn’t seem right for him to have been doing that. She’d been so busy settling Chloe and hurrying back home to shower and change she hadn’t thought about what Dominic was going to do with the spare hour. ‘I suppose so. I’m sorry. I didn’t think.’

‘Is Chloe happily settled?’

‘She loves staying with my mum. There’s nothing so lovely as being spoiled, is there?’ Lucy tried to say it with a laugh but it sounded more like a hiccup.

This felt so awkward. It had been easier on the telephone. Then she hadn’t been confused by the tense, hurt look in Dominic’s eyes. She’d only listened to his deep voice and the words he’d said. Calm and sensible, that was how she’d come to think of him. This felt different.

‘Chloe said you looked nice,’ she said on a rush, hoping it would make him feel better.

‘She looks incredible. I don’t know what I was expecting, but she looks so…so healthy.’

Lucy heard the wistful tone in his voice. Even that must be difficult for him, she remembered. Eloise had been anything but healthy, apparently. Did Chloe look like she would have done if she’d been well?

‘I’ve booked a table at the White Horse since it’s so near. I’ve no idea whether the food is any good, but I liked the idea of sitting on the terrace and watching the water.’

‘The food’s lovely,’ Lucy volunteered quickly, glad he’d chosen that restaurant. She loved sitting where she could see water, watching the way the colour changed and shifted on the surface, but this time she liked the idea of having a distraction. Something easy to talk about if the conversation became too difficult, too strained.

They walked in silence for a time. Lucy was aware of the way he kept glancing down at her and she could feel the tension in his body. It didn’t surprise her. What they were having to do was impossibly difficult.

‘I used to go to the White Horse with Michael,’ Lucy remarked, breaking the silence.

He seemed grateful. ‘When you were dating?’

‘No. We couldn’t afford it then. Michael and I met at school and were married by the time we were nineteen. This is grown-up stuff, with grown-up prices. We went there for our last anniversary. A couple of months before he died.’

Dominic stopped and turned to look at her, the angled planes of his face pulled taut. ‘Is this difficult for you? Look, if you’d rather go somewhere else please say so. This is awkward enough as it is.’

‘It’s fine, really. It’s a happy place. I’ve really good memories of coming here.’

‘Really?’

She nodded. ‘Excellent.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Michael?’ She saw the slight inclination of his head, saw his reluctance to ask the question in case it hurt her. Strangely, it didn’t hurt to talk about Michael. What hurt was not being allowed to. Being widowed made other people uncomfortable, and sometimes it felt as if Michael had been erased. ‘He was a lovely man. Very sporty, loved sailing. Always wanting to do the next thing, take on the next challenge. It was an incredible shock when he was diagnosed with the tumour. Of course he’d left it far too late. Wouldn’t go to the doctor. He was the last person you’d ever have thought would…’

‘I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’

‘No, it’s fine. I like to talk about him sometimes,’ she reassured him quickly. ‘We were really happy together. So many of my friends are splitting up now, getting divorced. I know I’ve already had more than some people have their whole lives. If he hadn’t died he wouldn’t have left me, and I know he loved me right up to the end. Me and Chloe.’

‘Do you find that difficult?’ His shoe kicked at a stone. ‘That Michael died believing Chloe was his natural child?’

Lucy watched it skim into the bramble bushes. ‘I’m glad about that. It’s difficult for me to cope with, but Michael would have found it harder still. And if it had come when he was ill…That would have been unbearable. As it is he died happy, knowing I wouldn’t be alone and believing something of him was going on.’ She swallowed painfully. ‘And it still is. Except in your Abby—not in Chloe, as we thought.’

Dominic held open the gate for Lucy to pass through before him, thinking once again how remarkable a woman she was. How did you reach the point where you could be glad for the little time you’d had? Every time he caught sight of an article celebrating someone’s diamond wedding anniversary he felt angry. Every time he saw a mother with her child he remembered Eloise hadn’t had that chance. Was it possible Lucy didn’t share his anger—and guilt?

He waited until they were seated at one of the tables overlooking the canal before he spoke again. ‘Have you ever been on the canal?’

Lucy tucked her handbag beneath her seat and looked up to see a burgundy-and-blue narrow boat passing, small crochet circles hanging in the round windows. ‘Absolutely. I grew up near here. My mum and dad owned a narrow boat for most of my childhood. They had a seventy-two foot boat which they called Little Beauty.’

‘An odd choice for a big boat.’

Lucy smiled and his breath caught in his throat. Her skin seemed to glow with pure life, even her hair crackled with energy. The first time he’d seen her, outside the hospital, he’d recognised she was a beautiful woman but he hadn’t anticipated his reaction to her smile. He’d no business thinking about her that way. Even so, when she smiled she took on a luminosity that was quite staggering. Her expressive eyes sparkled and her soft full mouth…What? He caught himself up on the thought.

‘Little Beauty is such a ridiculous name. I was always embarrassed by it until I read H E Bates.’

He frowned, trying to pick up the threads of her conversation.

‘Darling Buds of May. Little Beauty is the boat owned by Pop Larkin. Once I knew that, I loved it. The biggest mystery is my dad going along with it. He wasn’t that kind of man.’

‘Wasn’t?’ Dominic prompted.

‘He died when I was twenty-three. He was a very careful man. Little Beauty was his only extravagance. He believed life was too difficult to be reckless with it. He was so worried when I went to art college.’

So there was the answer to one of the questions he’d wanted to ask her. She was an artist. That fitted her image perfectly. With her dark hair pulled up on the top of her head in a haphazard manner, long wispy tendrils curling around her face, she looked slightly bohemian. Messy.

‘What about you? What do you do, Dr Grayling? What are you a doctor of?’

He smiled. He’d suspected she’d no idea who he was. It was refreshing. It was difficult to live down the description of being the ‘thinking woman’s crumpet’, and London was full of women who liked the idea of being with a man who made intellectual television programmes. It had led to hours of spurious conversations with people who’d no idea what they were talking about but who hoped to impress him with their knowledge.

‘History.’

‘Revolting. A truly horrible subject. There were far too many essays to write in History—and almost all of them were about war, I seem to remember.’

His smile broadened. ‘You obviously had some appalling teachers.’

‘So what does a doctor of History actually do?’

‘I’m more of a writer now, but history is still an overwhelming passion,’ he answered evasively, not really understanding his strange reluctance to tell her what he actually did. ‘I see myself as an educator.’ He broke off as the waitress arrived at their table. ‘Are you ready to order? Have you had time to decide what you’d like?’

‘No debate. Scampi and chips,’ she answered with determined cheerfulness. ‘I’ll worry about the calories tomorrow.’

That made a change, Dominic thought. Both his wife and his mother would never have let a sentiment like that enter their heads, let alone passed their lips. Rigid control at all times. He’d even come to believe they actually preferred lettuce and steamed broccoli.

‘If it comes that highly recommended I’ll have the same. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, please.’

The waitress scribbled frantically. ‘House white?’

‘Will be lovely,’ Lucy replied with a wide smile.

Without it being a conscious decision, Dominic was watching her closely. Searching for a fault, some reason why he shouldn’t go through with the idea that had been sitting in his brain since the first day they’d met.

Lucy seemed to be oblivious.

‘Have you lived in London for long?’

Dominic sat back in his chair. ‘Since I finished my PhD. Yes.’

‘And before then?’

‘Oxford—and before that I was at boarding school.’

Lucy smiled. ‘Oxford! Now I know where Chloe gets her brains from.’

The waitress returned with their drinks. Lucy shifted slightly to make it easier for her to put the glass down.

‘Is she bright?’

‘Very. Top of her class in practically everything. She’s just been selected for a gifted and able programme. She’s going to work with older children on a computer project.’

The feeling of satisfaction spread through him.

‘What’s Abby like?’

Dominic picked up his beer and took a small sip. ‘She’s bright. Top sets. But her passion is for art. She really loves that. 3D art, though, more than drawing.’

As he said it he realised he’d done very little to encourage that in Abby. Her evenings were so full of activities, and yet none of them really addressed what she loved to do. He’d allowed his in-laws to take far too much responsibility in Abby’s upbringing and they were reproducing what they’d done for Eloise. It would have suited her, but Abby was different. She’d love to be given a lump of clay, or just be encouraged to make a mess with papier-mâché.

‘Art? I don’t believe it!’

Lucy’s face shone with a radiance he was coming to expect. She was so easy to read. When she was pleased everything of it showed on her face. She couldn’t hide anything. ‘So much for nature versus nurture, then.’

With no regard for their conversation, the scampi was brought to the table. The plates were steaming hot and generously full.

‘I’m so hungry,’ Lucy remarked, spearing a chip with her fork.

This place suited her, with its casual informality. At home he would have chosen a select little bistro, where everything would have been arranged in delectable morsels. Lucy was like a breath of fresh air. She sat in tight, hip-hugging black trousers and a white broderie anglaise top and looked as if someone had just ruffled her in a haystack. Effortlessly sexy. It made him remember sensations and feelings he’d tried hard to bury for the past few years.

‘Do you paint still?’

‘Occasionally. I found it difficult to do when Michael was ill. I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough. My mum’s a potter, and I’ve spent more time recently working with her. It’s nice to have company and have the feel of the clay between my fingers.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Chloe’s done some lovely things. I ought to show you some time.’

He felt a sudden spear of guilt. Abby had never had the opportunity to do anything like that. He should have been more assertive. Whatever the outcome of this evening, he was going to make some changes.

‘I’d like that.’

Lucy bit into a piece of scampi before looking up at him. Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. It felt really strange, seeing you watching Chloe like that. It was just I wasn’t expecting to see you then. You know—wrong place, wrong time.’

‘Nothing about this situation is easy.’ Dominic played for time by picking up his pint glass. ‘Have you thought about what might happen when our case goes to court?’

Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. ‘I thought everyone was fairly confident. We’ll each have legal guardianship—’

‘Yes. And be recognised as the natural birth parent of each other’s children. But nothing like this has ever gone to court before.’

‘It has. I was told—’

Dominic cut her off again. ‘This case is slightly different. We had a direct swap of embryos.’

‘What do you think will happen?’ Lucy asked, putting down her fork carefully.

‘I don’t know—and I don’t like it. I hate having no control over what other people are deciding about my life.’

Her face was a picture of worry, her dark eyes clouded with anxiety, and her hand went up to pull nervously at her hair. He didn’t like to do this to her but she needed to know. He had to make sure she understood exactly what they were facing.

‘What do you hope happens?’

Dominic shook his head. ‘It’s an impossible question to answer. At first I just wanted to go on with Abby as before. Then I wanted to keep Abby but maybe hear about my natural daughter. Not too often. Just once in a while. Enough to know she was all right.’

‘And now?’

‘Now I want it all.’

Lucy shifted in her chair, her face uncharacteristically pale. ‘You want both girls?’

‘In a way. I—’

‘You can’t do that—’

‘Hear me out, Lucy. I’m not suggesting I sue for custody.’

She shook her head, obviously bemused. ‘Then what?’

This was it then. An irrevocable decision. Once made there could be no going back. Dominic leant forward. ‘I want you to marry me.’

The silence echoed around the table. For a moment Lucy wondered whether she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t possible, was it? His eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for an answer. Colour flooded into her ashen face.

‘But I don’t know you!’

His voice remained steady. ‘I don’t know you either. Except through Abby. I want Abby to have everything—and that means you.’

For the girls. He wanted to marry her for the girls. Lucy held her bottom lip between her teeth, her stomach twisting and turning. What he was suggesting was outrageous. How could you marry someone you didn’t know and knew nothing about?

His voice continued inexorably. ‘When I think about a future hearing just snippets about Chloe I can’t bear it. I want it all.’ He paused. ‘And the obvious way to achieve that is a marriage of convenience.’

Lucy looked at him in complete horror. She felt as if the floor had just disappeared beneath her and she was falling down into an alternative reality. This couldn’t be happening.

He’d been her rock. Since she’d first discovered the mix-up Dominic had been what had kept her standing. He’d understood how she was feeling, understood the unmitigated agony of living with the secret knowledge that your child wasn’t really yours. She felt slightly betrayed. Angry.

‘Real people don’t do things like that.’

‘Think about it. We could be there for the girls. For as long as they need us. While the courts argue about how much contact the birth parents should have we can solve it all in one clean sweep. They can have us both.’

He made it sound so reasonable—and yet it wasn’t. It wasn’t. She wanted everything to be right for the girls. Wanted to make life perfect for Chloe. To know Abby was happy. But marriage? How could he suggest spending the rest of his life with someone he’d only met for the second time today?

Her fingers played nervously with the edge of the starched white tablecloth. What did he mean by a ‘marriage of convenience’ anyway? Did he imagine he’d share her bed?

‘Marriage?’

‘In name only.’

He could see the questions whizzing across her face. If it hadn’t been so serious he would have found it funny. He watched the moment arrive when she decided there was one question she really had to ask.

‘No sex?’

‘Absolutely. What I want is a mother for Abby, and I want to be a father for Chloe. This is about parenting.’

She went to pick up her wine glass and then stopped. ‘Why marriage?’

‘Because it’s a sign of commitment. Then I can formally adopt Chloe and you can adopt Abby. If the court allows it. Personally, I think they’re going to breathe a sigh of relief that everything’s worked out so smoothly.’

This time she did take a sip of wine. He watched the nervous flutter of her hand as she replaced the glass carefully back on the table. At least she hadn’t said an outright no.

‘You want to be married until the girls are eighteen?’

He shook his head. ‘As long as they need us to be. It has to be as normal as we can make it. At some point in the future we’re going to have to tell them the complete truth, and I want them to be secure in having two parents who love them and are there for them.’

Again the questions flitted across her expressive face. Her hand went to her casually swept-up hair and fiddled with a strand hanging across her cheek. ‘What happens if you meet someone else? Or I do?’

‘It hasn’t happened to me in the last six years. I hardly think it’s likely to happen now. I don’t ever want to love anyone again. I can’t take the risk of anything hurting that much again.’ He had her attention now. It was in the way she leant forward and her hand stilled on her hair. ‘We have a common goal. It will be enough to build a good life for ourselves—and for the girls.’

‘And where will we live?’

Was that a yes? He’d shocked her, unquestionably, but she could obviously see the advantages of a marriage of convenience. ‘If we decide to go ahead with it, that’s all open for discussion. It’s handy for me to be based in London, and I’ve a big house there, so that’s an option, but it’s not a necessity. Are you fixed here?’

‘My family’s here. Friends.’

Memories, he realised, watching the way she bit on her bottom lip. ‘The details can be worked out later. In principle, what do you think? Will you marry me?’

Lucy didn’t know what to say. What to think, even. Could she do it? Marry a perfect stranger? To give Chloe security and get to know Abby? And then she gave a half smile. Perfect? Had she really thought that? He was perfect—almost. Tall, handsome—in a clever kind of way, rather than a chocolate box model kind of thing. Gorgeous hands, eyes you could trust, and a committed father as well. It was an impressive list. But he didn’t love her and she didn’t love him.

It was a big but. If she’d been young and impressionable he’d have been someone she might have dated—if it hadn’t been for Michael. There never had been anyone for her but Michael and never would be. People only had one great love in a lifetime and she’d already had hers. It had been fantastic—and now it was over.

All she had in her life were memories—and Chloe. Lucy looked out at a small family cruiser passing outside on the canal. A mum, a dad and two little girls. She bit her lip. She could do that for Chloe. For Abby. If there was no possibility of her falling in love again she could commit herself to this new family unit. The girls could have everything. She looked back at Dominic.

‘I’ll do it. Theoretically, if we can work it all out, I’ll do it. For the girls, I’ll marry you.’

She couldn’t believe she’d said the words that would commit her to a lifetime without love. It seemed a travesty of everything she’d shared with Michael. He wouldn’t have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone in every way that mattered. Yet Michael couldn’t have known what would face her.

Dominic leant forward. ‘We can make this work, Lucy. I know we can.’

She could feel her eyes begin to fill up with tears and she blinked furiously. When she’d agreed to have dinner with Dominic to discuss the future she hadn’t dreamed the conversation would take this turn. It certainly wasn’t something that usually happened to a widowed mother of one who only wanted a peaceful life. ‘What do we do now?’

Watching Dominic, she noticed a change. The tension had left him and in its place was a sense of purpose. She had the strangest sensation of being in a bubble. Everything was muffled, it was slower, it was…inevitable.

‘Are you working at the moment? Apart from on a casual basis with your mother?’ She knew she’d shaken her head when she heard him say, ‘That simplifies things.’

Did it? Nothing seemed very simple to her. She could see every obstacle. She knew nothing about him. Not even what he did for a job, she recognised bleakly. Some kind of lecturer, perhaps? It hardly mattered.

‘We could start off in London and review it later. My house has room for some kind of a studio for you. I don’t know what you need for potting, but there’s an annexe on the ground floor that was intended for live-in help. It could be made into something quite useful. We could put in a wheel. A kiln? Is that what you need?’

Everything was moving too fast. He was answering questions she hadn’t even got around to thinking yet. Was he really asking whether she wanted her own studio? It was unbelievable. She couldn’t get her head round it at all. This just couldn’t be happening to her.

‘Mum mainly produces named mugs for the tourist market. I’d rather try and paint again.’ This was just surreal. ‘And I like to teach. I’ve been doing a bit at the local secondary school while their art teacher has been off on maternity leave. I could do more of that.’

‘There’s a desperate shortage of teachers in London, so I can’t see that as a problem.’ He filled up his fork and ate another mouthful. ‘What we ought to do now is get on with organising our wedding. There’s no point in hanging about now we’ve made the decision. I’m assuming we’ll go for a civil ceremony.’ He frowned. ‘I think the rules have changed since the last time I got married. I think there’s a month’s delay from visiting the register office to the wedding itself.’

‘Is there?’ Lucy heard herself ask.

‘Minimum. I suggest you move in with Abby and I as soon as possible and we’ll set everything in motion. If the wedding is, let’s say, eight weeks from now, it gives us some time to review it.’

‘Review it?’ she repeated weakly.

‘Once we’re married there can be no turning back. We’ll be in it for the long run. For better, for worse and all that.’