The Faithful Wife

Jake crawled round the base of the tree and pushed the plug into the socket. ‘There.’ He stood up, veiled eyes on her face, watching the way her eyes widened as the brilliant little lights came on, all the colours of the rainbow strung along the forest-green branches of the tree.

Something caught at his heart and tipped it over. Until her success she’d probably never had her own Christmas tree. Her father wouldn’t have wasted money on such a thing, and after he’d run out on them all her family had probably had a struggle even to afford to eat.

Their first Christmas together had been spent at that rambling, Elizabethan inn, the two subsequent ones in the sophisticated elegance of a Bahamian hotel. The third—the third had been an unmitigated disaster.

But from here on in things were going to change. A sudden mental picture of the two of them dressing an enormous tree, stacking brightly wrapped gifts around it, flashed into his mind. It was followed by the moving image of a bunch of children—their children—galloping down the stairs at first light to investigate what Santa had brought them.

The future as she had always wanted it to be was what he wanted, too. And it was what they were going to have.

‘What should we do about that turkey?’ he asked lightly. He wanted to take her in his arms and paint a picture of the future they would have together. But it was too soon. He had to tread gently, give her proof positive of his good intentions first.

‘Oh.’ Bella blinked, and the dancing lights stopped mesmerising her. ‘Cook it and eat it, I suppose.’ Could she pretend they were a normal couple spending a normal Christmas together?

It was, she supposed, the only civilised thing to do.

‘Then we’ll do it together.’

Bella flinched. His smile was so warm it hurt her. She nodded, walking into the kitchen ahead of him, taking off her coat as she went. He was an enigma.

Two hours ago they’d been almost at each others throats, the pain of the last year spilling out. And now he was behaving as if it hadn’t happened. As if last night hadn’t happened.

What had happened between them last night was something he’d already put behind him. He didn’t want to talk about it, or think about it, and he certainly didn’t want to repeat it. As far as he was concerned it had been a one-night stand.

She would have to dig deep to find the strength to cope.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

IT WAS almost a relief to be heading away from the cottage at last. She wouldn’t let herself dwell on all the painful regrets.

Bella sneaked a look at Jake’s strong profile, and then wished she hadn’t. There was an aura of excitement about him that was positively tangible. If she touched him she’d probably get an electric shock.

The prospect of getting away and dumping her safely back at her flat, out of the way, getting on with his own highly successful life must have mega-appeal if it made him look like that. It was as if he simply couldn’t wait!

‘The mechanic they sent out was on the ball,’ he commented as they left the valley behind them and turned carefully onto the mountain road, the surface of which was compacted with frozen snow, just as the valley track had been. ‘With us at nine, on the dot. That’s what I call service.’

Bella said nothing. What was there to say? His heart-felt, appreciative comment had only reinforced what she’d just been thinking about his eagerness to put her out of his life again.

He’d been ready and waiting when she’d come downstairs that morning at a few minutes before nine, champing at the bit, as she’d described his mood to herself. He must have been up for hours. Everywhere was clean and tidy—the hearth swept clear of ashes, the baubles and lights taken down from the tree and stowed neatly away in their box. And that, more than anything else, had made her feel as if her world had stopped.

It was as if the time they’d spent together hadn’t happened. And when the rescue vehicle had come into sight, advancing slowly down the track, he’d been out of the door as if someone had sprung a trap.

She’d built up_a foolish dream, founded on nothing more substantial than hope, and he’d stamped on it. And this morning’s breathtaking eagerness to get back to his life was grinding her silly dream into the ground.

And it hurt!

‘I must remember to arrange to have flowers sent to Evans’ wife,’ he murmured, concentrating minutely on his driving because the conditions were on the side of downright dangerous.

Because the driver of the tractor had been instrumental in arranging his escape, Bella deduced acidly. She wished he didn’t feel he had to make idle conversation, as if she were a stranger he felt he had to entertain.

‘I suppose,’ she answered dully, too miserable to care, and Jake took his eyes from the road for a second, sweeping them over her tight features.

‘Headache still bothering you?’ he asked softly.

As if he cared! ‘Not at all,’ she disclaimed stiffly, and looked pointedly out of the window at her side. The headache was fictional. She’d made it up because she hadn’t been able to stand another second of the false spirit of Christmas.

Yesterday, while the turkey had been roasting, they’d lunched on nuts and sherry, picked at a salad and a bowl of fresh fruit. And he’d followed her everywhere. Wherever she’d been he was there, at her shoulder. Helping. They’d prepared the vegetables together and he’d laid the table in the living room, unearthing candles from somewhere, so they’d dined by candlelight and firelight and the glitter from the tree.

Oh, she’d tried to be adult and civilised about it, but the tension had wound her up to the point of almost saying something she’d regret, coming out with something decidedly personal, like telling him she loved him so much she thought she was dying from it, and begging him to take her back!