Christmas Child

And she was looking eye-poppingly sexy. A tiny scarlet skirt revealed the perfection of her endless legs and the skinny-rib cotton vest she was wearing did nothing to disguise the fact that her magnificent breasts were bra-less.

Mattie tried to speak, to ask to see her husband, to make some attempt to push past the other woman, to go inside and find him, but couldn’t.

‘Look, don’t stand there like a dummy,’ Fiona said with hasty impatience. ‘Didn’t I tell you he’d get rid of you as soon as I said the word? He said you might come crawling back, and if you did I was to tell you his solicitor will contact yours. You’re not wanted around here. So just go, will you?’

The door was closed decisively in her face.

Slowly, Mattie turned and stumbled away, her body filled with pain. There was nothing for her here. Nothing left of her brief marriage, not even friendship. Certainly not caring. James didn’t care what became of her and their child.

She would never have imagined that the man she’d known and loved for so many years could be so callous.

She had never really known him at all.

CHAPTER TEN

Six months later

MATTIE sat on the side of the hospital bed, a warm coat over the maternity dress she’d arrived in. Any time now her father and Emily would collect her from the private room they’d insisted she have.

She couldn’t wait to take her baby daughter out of the hospital atmosphere and back to their cosy cottage; she couldn’t wait to show her her home.

Her smile loving, she gently eased away the soft folds of the woollen shawl that made a small bundle in her arms and ate up the tiny pink face with her eyes.

‘You’re a Christmas child,’ she said softly. ‘So how do you like the name Noelle? Oh, I see, not a lot!’ Her smile broadened to an infatuated grin as the blue eyes batted open then screwed shut again, the rosebud mouth blowing a raspberry. ‘You think it’s far too obvious? And it isn’t Christmas Day until tomorrow. Ok, forget Noelle. How about Chloe? That’s pretty, don’t you think? And do you know something? When I was small I always felt sorry for kids who had birthdays and Christmases close together. I don’t see why you shouldn’t have two birthdays—a real one and an official one, like the Queen.’

The baby slept. Mattie dropped a feather-light kiss on the tiny forehead. Forty-eight hours old and there was already a strong resemblance to her father.

James. During the months since that fateful evening back in June she’d been successful in knocking any thoughts of him right out of her mind the very moment they’d intruded. It had been the only way.

As soon as she’d got settled she’d told her father what had happened. She was pregnant. James didn’t want children. James still wanted Fiona. End of story. She’d made him promise that he wouldn’t, in any circumstances, let James know where she was—not that she thought he would ask—but it was best to make sure.

Any necessary contact could be made through their solicitors, she had echoed the message he’d had Fiona pass on. And after that she’d refused to have his name mentioned during their regular phone calls and their occasional visits.

But strangely enough, from the moment when she’d first held her daughter in her arms, thoughts of James had come thick and fast, unhindered by her strict mental censor. Mostly they’d been of pity. He would never know the sheer joy of holding a child of his in his arms, never know the purity of completely selfless love or this fiercely protective pride.

And just sometimes there was a deep and aching sense of regret…

Frowning softly, she glanced up at the round face of the wall clock, then relaxed. In her eagerness to get home she’d got dressed and ready far too early. Her father and Emily would be here within the next five minutes.

‘Ten o’clock in the morning, on the dot,’ Emily had promised as they’d left after visiting the evening before. ‘The nursery’s warmed and aired—that night storage heater you had installed works a treat—and there’ll be a fire in the sitting room, and Edward went shopping for the turkey and trimmings. So we can all have a lovely relaxed Christmas.’

They’d been so good to her, Mattie thought, insisting on spending the last month of her pregnancy at the cottage, making sure she didn’t do too much, that she ate properly, that they were on hand to drive her to the hospital in Dorchester when she went into labour.

She could have managed on her own, of course, but it was nice to feel cosseted and pampered for a change. And Christmas was a time for families. Her father, Emily and baby Chloe, what more could she want?

James.

His name came unbidden, unwanted. She clamped her suddenly trembling lips together. It was only to be expected, she excused her wayward thoughts swiftly. Chloe was his baby, too. And a mere forty-eight hours after giving birth it was only natural that she should be feeling vulnerable, her thoughts constantly flying to the man who had created the miracle of this new and precious life with her.

She would soon get back on track. No problem. Once back in her rented cottage on the outskirts of the Dorset village she had fallen in love with over the last few months, she’d be fine. Absolutely one hundred per cent fine.

Her soft mouth relaxed a little; already she was feeling far more positive. Giving herself a sensible talking to was all it took. But her heart took a negative nosedive when James walked into the room, closely followed by one of the pretty young nurses.

For a moment she thought she was seeing things, that her mind was playing tricks on her. Her heart seemed to stop, then thundered on as if it were trying to shake her body to pieces.

His thick dark hair and his black leather jacket were spangled with moisture and the austerity which had been softened during that brief time when she’d believed they’d been happy together was back with a vengeance.

The slightly hooded eyes were grim as they fastened on her and the baby. Mattie shuddered. He looked as if he hated the sight of both of them!