Читать книгу The Unexpected Holiday Gift - Sophie Pembroke - Страница 11

CHAPTER THREE

‘WHAT DID HE WANT?’ Merry asked the moment Clara picked up the phone.

Clara sighed. ‘Hang on.’

Peeking around Ivy’s door one last time, she assured herself that her daughter was firmly asleep and pulled the door to. Then, phone in hand, she padded down the stairs to the kitchen, poured herself a glass of wine and headed for the sofa.

‘Right,’ she said, once she was settled. ‘Let’s start with your thing at the art gallery. How was it?’

Merry laughed. ‘Not a chance. Come on, your ex-husband walks into our offices right before Christmas, after five years of nothing except letters from his lawyers finding reasons to put off the divorce, and you think I’m not going to want details? Talk, woman.’

So much for diversion tactics. ‘He wanted to hire Perfect London.’

There was a brief moment of shocked silence on the other end of the phone. Clara took the opportunity to snag a chocolate off the potted Christmas tree in her front window and pop it in her mouth.

‘Seriously?’ Merry said at last. ‘Why?’

‘God only knows,’ Clara replied, then sighed again. ‘No, I know, I suppose. He wants us to arrange a perfect last Christmas for his dad. He’s sick. Very sick.’

‘And he thought his ex-wife would be the best person to organise it because...?’

It wasn’t as if Clara hadn’t had the same thought. ‘I guess because I know him. All of them, really. I know what he means when he says “a perfect Christmas for Dad”. With anyone else he’d have to spell it out.’

‘So nothing to do with wanting to win you back, then,’ Merry said, the scepticism clear in her voice.

‘No. Definitely not.’ That, at least, was one thing Clara was very sure of. ‘He offered me a divorce if I do it.’

‘Finally!’ Merry gave a little whoop of joy, which made Clara smile. Sometimes, having a good friend on side made everything so much easier. Even seeing Jacob Foster again for the first time in five years. ‘Well, in that case, we have to do it.’

‘You haven’t heard the fine print.’ Clara filled her in on the details, including the whole ‘have to travel to Scotland on Christmas Eve’ part. ‘It’s just not doable. Especially not with the Charity Gala at New Year to finalise.’ Which was a shame, in a way. A project like this would be a great selling point for future clients. And a good testimonial from Foster Medical—especially alongside delivering a great event for the Harrisons—could go a long way to convincing people that Perfect London was a big-time player. It could make the next year of their business.

Merry was obviously thinking the same thing. ‘There’s got to be some way we can pull it off.’

‘Not without disrupting Ivy’s Christmas,’ Clara said. ‘And I won’t do that. She’s four, Merry. This might be the first proper Christmas she’s able to remember in years to come. I want it to be perfect for her too.’ Of course, it could also be an ideal opportunity to discover if Jacob was ready to hear about the existence of his daughter. The guilt had been eating her up ever since he’d left her office that evening. Watching Ivy splash about in her bath, tucking her in after her story... She couldn’t help but think how Jacob had already missed four years of those things. And even if he didn’t want to be part of them, she knew she owed him the chance to choose for himself.

Except that he’d already made his decision painfully clear five years ago. She had no reason to imagine that decision had changed—apart from him wanting to organise Christmas for his family. Was that enough proof? How could she be sure? Only by spending time with him. And there was the rub.

‘You always want everything to be perfect,’ Merry moaned. ‘But I take your point. Does...does he know? About Ivy?’

A chill slithered down Clara’s spine. ‘I don’t think so. Not that it would be any of his business, anyway. I didn’t fall pregnant with her until after I left.’ She hated lying. But she’d been telling this one for so long she didn’t know how to stop.

If she told Jacob the truth, she’d have to tell Merry too. And Ivy, of course. And Jacob’s family. She’d be turning everybody’s lives upside down. Did she have the right to do that? But then, how could she not? Didn’t Jacob’s father deserve the chance to know his granddaughter before he died? Or would that only make it worse, having so little time with her?

What on earth was she supposed to do? When she’d left, it had all seemed so clear. But now...

‘I know, I know. Your one and only one-night stand,’ Merry said, still blissfully ignorant of the truth, and Clara’s internal battle. ‘Still, it might make a difference if you explained why you can’t go to Scotland for Christmas. Maybe he’d be satisfied with me going instead, once you’ve done the set-up.’

‘Maybe,’ Clara allowed, but even as she said it she knew it wasn’t true. Jacob wouldn’t take second best. Not that Merry was, of course—she was every bit as brilliant at her job as Clara was at hers. That was why Perfect London worked so well. But Jacob’s plan involved Clara being there, and she suspected he wouldn’t give that up for anything. Even if it meant letting down a little girl at Christmas. ‘I’d rather not tell him,’ she said finally. ‘The dates are close, I’ll admit, and I don’t want him using Ivy as an excuse to hold up the divorce while we get paternity tests done and so on. Not when I’m finally on the verge of getting my freedom back.’ And not when the results wouldn’t be in her favour.

‘Only if you take on the project,’ Merry pointed out. ‘That was the deal, right? Organise Christmas, get divorce. Turn him down...’

‘And he’ll drag this out with the lawyers for another five years,’ Clara finished. ‘You’re right. Damn him.’

She tried to sound upset at the prospect, for Merry’s sake. But another five years of limbo meant another five years of not having to pluck up the courage to tell Jacob the truth. And part of her, the weakest part, couldn’t deny that the idea had its appeal.

But no. If his arriving unannounced had taught her anything it was that it was time for the truth to come out, or be buried forever. No more maybe one day. She needed to move on properly. If Jacob still felt the same way about kids as he had when they were married, then her decision was easy. Get the divorce, move on with her life and let him live his own without worrying about a daughter that he’d never wanted.

If he’d changed his mind, however...

Clara sighed. If she’d known she was pregnant before she’d left, she would have had to tell him. But finding out afterwards... She hadn’t even known how to try.

Jacob had always made it painfully clear that he didn’t want a family. At least he had once they were married. During their frantic whirlwind courtship and their impulsive elopement, the future had rarely come up in conversation. And, if it had, all Clara could imagine then was them, together, just the two of them.

It wasn’t until the next summer, when she’d realised she was late one month and Jacob had come home to a still-boxed pregnancy test on the kitchen table, that she’d discovered how strongly he felt about not having kids.

What the hell is that? Clara? Tell me this is a joke...

The horror on his face, the panic in his eyes... She could still see it when she closed her eyes. The way he’d suddenly decided that her oral contraceptive wasn’t reliable enough and had started investigating other options. The tension in the house, so taut she’d thought she might snap, and then the pure relief, three days later, when her period finally arrived. The way he’d held her, as if they’d avoided the Apocalypse.

And the growing emptiness she’d felt inside her as it had first dawned on her that she wanted to be a mother.

So she’d known, staring at a positive pregnancy test alone in a hotel bathroom six months later, that it was the end for them, even if he didn’t realise it. She could never go back.

He wouldn’t want her if she did and she wanted the baby growing inside her more than anything. She hadn’t changed her mind about that in the years since. Had he changed his?

‘There’s got to be a way,’ Merry said thoughtfully. ‘A way we can take the job, still give Ivy a wonderful Christmas—and pull off the New Year’s gala.’

Clara sat on the other end of the phone and waited. She knew that tone. It meant Merry was on the verge of something brilliant. Something that would solve all of Clara’s problems.

She’d sounded exactly like that the night they’d dreamt up Perfect London. Clara had been clutching a wine glass, staring helplessly at the baby monitor, wondering what on earth she would do next—and Merry had found the perfect solution.

Clara reached for another chocolate while she waited, and had just shoved it into her mouth whole when Merry cried out, ‘I’ve got it!’

Chewing and swallowing quickly, Clara said, ‘Tell me.’

‘We do Christmas together in Scotland too!’

For a second Clara imagined her, Ivy and Merry all joining the Fosters in their Highland castle and worried that she might be on the verge of a heart attack. That, whatever Merry might think, was possibly the worst idea that anyone had ever had. In the history of the world.

‘Not with them, of course,’ Merry clarified, and Clara let herself breathe again. ‘We find a really luscious hotel, somewhere nearby, and book in for the duration, right? You’ll be on hand to manage Project Perfect Christmas, I’ll be there if you need me and to watch Ivy, and then, once things are set up at the castle, we can have our own Christmas, just the three of us.’

Clara had to admit, that did sound pretty good. It would give her the chance to get to know this new Jacob—and see if he was ready to be Ivy’s father. Then, in January, once the crazily busy season was over, she could find the best moment to tell him.

It gave her palpitations just thinking about it, but in lots of ways it was the perfect plan.

‘Do you think Ivy will mind having Christmas at a hotel instead of at home?’

‘I don’t see why,’ Merry said. ‘I mean, we’ll have roaring log fires, mince pies by the dozen and probably even snow, that far up in the country. What more could a little girl want?’

‘She has been asking about building snowmen,’ Clara admitted. And about having a father. Maybe this could just work after all. ‘But what about you? Are you sure you don’t mind spending Christmas with us?’

‘Are you kidding? My parents are heading down to Devon to stay with my sister and her four kids for the holidays. I was looking at either a four-hour trek followed by three days minding the brats or a microwave turkey dinner for one.’

‘Why didn’t you say?’ Clara asked. ‘We could have done something here. You know you’re always welcome.’

‘Ah, that was my secret plan,’ Merry admitted. ‘I was going to let on at the last minute and gatecrash your day. Ivy’s much better company than any of my nephews and nieces anyway.’

‘So Scotland could work, then.’ Just saying it aloud felt weird. ‘I mean, I’ll need to talk to Ivy about it...’ She might only be four, but Ivy had very definite ‘opinions’ on things like Christmas.

‘But if Ivy says yes, I’m in.’ Merry sounded positively cheerful at the idea. In fact, the whole plan was starting to appeal to Clara too.

As long as she could keep Jacob away from Ivy until she was ready. If he didn’t want anything to do with his daughter then it was better if Ivy never knew he existed. She wouldn’t let Jacob Foster abandon them.

Clara reached for one last chocolate. ‘Then all I need to do is call Jacob and tell him yes.’ It was funny how that was the most terrifying part of all.

* * *

Jacob awoke the next morning to his desk phone ringing right next to his head. Rubbing his itching eyes, he sat up in his chair, cursed himself for falling asleep at work again and answered the phone.

‘Mr Foster, there’s a woman here to see you.’ The receptionist paused, sounding uncertain. ‘She says she’s your wife.’

Ah. That would explain the uncertainty. But not why Clara was visiting his offices at—he checked his watch—eight-thirty in the morning.

‘Send her up,’ he said. The time it would take her to reach his office on the top floor, via two elevators and a long corridor, should give him time to make himself presentable.

‘Um...she’s already on her way?’ Jacob wondered why she phrased it as a question as Clara barrelled through his door with a perfunctory knock.

He put down the phone and made a mental note to send all the company’s receptionists for refresher training on how to do their job.

‘Clara. This is a surprise.’ He made an effort to sound professional, and not as if he’d just woken up two minutes earlier.

Except Clara knew exactly what he looked like when he’d just woken up. ‘Your hair’s sticking up at the back,’ she said helpfully.

Smoothing it down, Jacob took in the sight of his ex-wife. Clara stood just inside the doorway, a dark red coat wrapped around her, her gloved hands tucked under her arms for added warmth. She had a grey felt hat perched on top of her glossy brown hair and her make-up was immaculate.

He knew that look. She was wearing her ‘impressing people’ make-up—lots of dark lipstick and she’d managed some trick or another that made her eyes look even larger than normal. He blamed the receptionist a little less for letting her through. This new confident Clara, combined with her old charm, was hard to say no to.

‘You’ve come to a decision?’ he asked, motioning her towards the comfortable sitting area at the side of the office. It was too early for guessing games. And visitors, come to that.

‘Yes.’ She took her hat from her head and placed it on the table by the sofas, then removed her coat to reveal another flattering form-fitting wrap dress, this one in a dark forest green. Settling onto the chocolate-brown leather sofa, she looked utterly at home. As if she belonged not just in his office but in the corporate world. He supposed she did, now.

Jacob turned away, moving towards the high-end coffee machine behind the sitting area. This conversation definitely needed coffee.

‘I’ve spoken with my partner,’ Clara said. ‘We think we’ve found a way to work around our other commitments so we can take on your project.’ She didn’t sound entirely happy about the conclusion, but that wasn’t his problem. Neither was this partner, whoever the unlucky man was. Jacob felt something loosen inside him, something he hadn’t even realised was wound up too tight.

She was going to help him. That was all that mattered.

‘That’s good news,’ he said, trying not to let his relief show too much. Instead, he busied himself making them both a cup of strong black coffee. ‘I assume you have a standard contract with payment schedules and so on?’

‘Of course,’ Clara replied. ‘Although, given the timescales, I rather think we’re going to require full payment up front, don’t you?’

‘Understandable.’ Paying wasn’t a problem. And once she had his money, she’d have to follow through. It was far harder to pay back money than walk out on the potential of it. And heaven knew Jacob would do everything in his power to stop Clara walking out on him again.

He placed the coffee on the table in front of her, and her nose wrinkled up. ‘Actually, I don’t drink coffee any more.’

‘Really?’ She used to drink it by the bucketload, he remembered. Her favourite wedding present, in amongst far more expensive and luxury items, had been a simple filter coffee maker from Heather. ‘I can offer you tea. Probably.’ He frowned at the machine. Did it even make tea? ‘Or ask someone else to bring some up.’ Maybe he’d ask the receptionist—a small, perhaps petty act of revenge. Especially if he insisted that she bring it via the stairs instead of the lift...

‘It’s fine. I don’t need anything.’ Jacob bit back a sharp smile at her words. Clara had made that clear five years ago when she’d refused any support after she’d left.

‘So, just business then.’ Jacob lifted his own coffee cup to his lips and breathed in the dark scent of it. This was what he needed. Not his ex-wife in his office at eight-thirty in the morning.

‘Yes. Except...the usual contracts don’t cover the more...personal side of this arrangement,’ Clara went on delicately.

Jacob would have laughed if it weren’t so miserable a topic. ‘You mean the divorce.’ The idea that she wanted one still rankled. What was it about him that made him want to just keep flogging this dead horse? Why couldn’t he just cut her loose and get on with his life? Even his lawyer had started rolling his eyes whenever the subject came up. Jacob knew it was time to move on—past time, really. But, until the paperwork was signed, he hadn’t failed at marriage. Not completely.

He rather imagined that Clara would say differently, though.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The divorce. I think...I’d like to get that sorted in the New Year, if we could. I think it would be good for us both. We could move on properly.’

‘Are you planning to get married again?’ He regretted asking the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.

‘No! I mean maybe, one day, I suppose. But not right now. Why do you ask?’

Yes, Jacob, why did you ask that? He didn’t care what she did now. So why let her think he did?

He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. ‘You mentioned a partner.’

‘Business partner. Merry. You met her yesterday, actually.’

The redhead at the office. Well, in that case, unless Clara had changed far more than he’d realised, there wasn’t a marriage in the making. ‘You’re not seeing anyone then?’ He wished it didn’t sound as if he cared, but he couldn’t not ask. He needed all the facts. He always had done.

‘No. Not right now. It’s hard when...’ She cut herself off. ‘Well, you know.’

‘When your husband won’t give you a divorce,’ he guessed. Although why that should make a difference he wasn’t sure. They’d been apart five years as it was; if she’d really wanted to move on with another guy, he couldn’t imagine a lousy piece of paper would stop her. Her wedding vows hadn’t kept her married to him, after all.

If she’d really, truly wanted the divorce, he doubted he could have stopped her. His lawyers were good, but some things were inevitable. He’d known all along he was only stalling, and somewhere on the way he’d even forgotten why. But Clara hadn’t wanted to take anything from him, hadn’t wanted to make anything difficult. Really, it should have been straightforward.

But she’d never pushed, never insisted, never kicked up a real fuss. Surely, if she’d really wanted this divorce she’d have done all that and more.

Unless she didn’t really want it. Unless she’d been waiting for him to come after her.

Which he was doing, right now, in a way.

It didn’t feel like Clara, that kind of complicated long game. And to drag it out over five years seemed a little excessive. But still, logic dictated that something had to be stopping her from forcing through the divorce. And he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything else it might be.

But working with her on his Perfect Christmas project would give him the ideal opportunity to find out.