Christmas Child

But her father said, making her flinch, ‘If James knew he would be spending this amount of time in Spain—and I honestly don’t see why he should because there’s no problem as far as I know—then he should have taken you with him. It would have gone some way to making up for not giving you a honeymoon.’

‘I didn’t want to go,’ Mattie answered quickly. It wasn’t a lie. If he’d offered—and they didn’t need to know he hadn’t—she would have declined. She needed time to accept the fact that she would never take Fiona’s place in his heart and decide whether she had the necessary strength of mind to go on with this charade of a marriage.

They were sitting in the kitchen, surrounded by packing cases because they’d be moving out tomorrow. And Emily Flax, taking a casserole out of the oven, said comfortably, ‘I agree with you. Home’s the best place to be at this time of

the year unless you’re heading for the opposite side of the globe and the sun.’ She put the heavy dish on the centre of the table and suggested firmly, ‘Edward, I think it’s time, don’t you?’

‘What? Oh, yes, yes—of course.’ He looked flustered, fiddled with his cutlery. His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat. ‘Mattie, Emily and I have something to tell you—’ He dropped his fork.

‘You’re getting married. Congratulations!’ she smiled, happy for them, staunchly refusing to be miserable for herself. ‘When?’

‘How did you know?’ He retrieved his fork from the floor and straightened, his face red, and Emily said lightly, ‘Women have a nose for these things, isn’t that right, Mattie? And we decided on an April wedding. Paris in spring for a honeymoon. It’s not too far to travel, and there’s so much we both want to see. Could you open the wine, Edward, while I dish up?’ The look they exchanged was nothing short of doting, the sudden shrilling of the wall-mounted phone an unwelcome intrusion.

‘I’ll get it,’ Mattie said. ‘It’s probably the removal people confirming their time of arrival in the morning.’

But it wasn’t. It was James. He’d phoned punctiliously, once a week, and as his last call had been two days ago she hadn’t been expecting to hear from him. And she returned to the table a few minutes later, her heart thumping.

‘It was James,’ she said. Then took a deep breath to steady herself. ‘He’ll be home in six days’ time, and the day after that we’re flying out to Barbados and staying there for a month. He’s rented a house on one of the small islands, apparently.’

He hadn’t said why, or told her what was in his mind. Just asked her if her passport was in order, told her to shop for suitable clothes. He’d sounded so matter of fact.

Mattie resumed her place at the table and let the enthusiastic comments over the belated but romantic honeymoon destination go over her head.

Why, after keeping well away from her for weeks, had he decided he could spare a whole month out of his busy working life to be with her?

Unless he wanted her well away from everyone who knew them before he told her that he now realised their paper marriage had been a mistake, that he wanted to end it. It was the only thing she could think of that made any kind of sense. It most certainly wasn’t because they were a normal, recently married couple and he wanted weeks of her undiluted company!

The breakdown of their marriage, coming so soon after the public and humiliating rejection Fiona had subjected him to, and the resultant publicity, would be something he would find utterly distasteful.

Perhaps he wanted her help in the damage limitation department.

The thought was deeply depressing.

‘Feeling better?’

Behind closed eyelids Mattie’s mind was drifting in neutral, fuzzy round the edges. But the soft concern of his voice, the touch of cool fingers on her forehead as he moved a tangle of rumpled hair to one side, made her come fully awake, shamefully aware of the nuisance she’d made of herself.

She opened her eyes slowly. The big double bed was comfy and she was covered by a white cotton cut-work spread, and the room was blessedly cool, many long windows with the bright Caribbean sunlight slanting downwards through the partially closed hardwood louvres, making the pale sage green decor misty by contrast.

‘James,’ she managed thickly. Bending over her, his face was shadowed, dark brows drawn down, but there was a hint of a smile on his sensual mouth. What on earth would he be thinking of her? That her behaviour was par for the course—that he couldn’t have expected anything else from his gauche, unsophisticated wife?

She shuddered inside. Fiona wouldn’t have been airsick, she wouldn’t have come within a whisker of passing out in the transit lounge of Barbados’ airport, or thrown up again on the scary helicopter flight out to this island. She wouldn’t have arrived a sweaty, crumpled wreck, barely able to stand.

Fiona would have taken it all in her stride, lapped up the first-class nine-hour flight, sipping champagne, making witty, clever conversation. But then Fiona wouldn’t have been feeling ill with apprehension, wondering if her marriage was about to end.

Mattie groaned. ‘Is it tomorrow yet?’ she asked stupidly.

The smile in his voice told her he’d registered the silliness of her question, but he didn’t answer it, simply asked again, ‘How do you feel? You’ve slept for hours.’

How did she feel? Mattie sat up against the white-covered pillows to find out and only when she saw the sinfully seductive yet intent gaze of his eyes did she glance down and discover she was naked, the twin pertly rounded globes of her breasts the focus of his complete attention.

Flustered, she jerked at the spread to cover herself. The caress of his eyes had been like a physical touch, almost as if his hands had shaped and discovered her, his mouth suckled the rosy tips. Already her breasts had hardened, her whole body on fire, pulsing with need.

She smothered another groan. Somehow she was going to have to cope with the way she ached for him, wanted him, needed him. Their marriage was going nowhere; it was about to end—she was certain of that now. She could think of no other reason for his sudden desire to take them both out of circulation for an entire month.

‘Did you put me to bed?’ She injected asperity into her tone but inside she felt as if she were coming unstitched, imagining his hands on her body, his eyes. She couldn’t remember much about their arrival apart from a headache that had felt as if her scalp had been split in half, the tablets he had given her, him carrying her up the stairs.

‘No, Mercy did. Under the circumstances, I thought it best.’