The Faithful Wife

‘He killed himself soon after he’d been made bankrupt, and we were forced to live on the State, try to make sense of what had happened. I would have trusted that man to the ends of the earth. After what happened, the way he just left us to cope without him, mistrust came easily.

‘I inherited Dad’s fascination with the money markets,’ he told her soberly. ‘But, fortunately, not his capacity to make mistakes. But it was always there, at the back of my mind—the fear that I could come unstuck in a big way. It drove me to work harder and harder, determined that any family of mine would never have to suffer the way my father’s did. It became an obsession. I didn’t stay still long enough to register the fact that I’d got enough financial security to last several lifetimes.’

He rubbed his thumb over her lower lip. ‘I’ve at last woken up to the fact that I want to make a life with you. A real life. Now, if you’re still of the same mind, shall we see if we can begin to make that family of ours?’

The sinuous, seductive twist of her body against his was all the answer he needed.

EPILOGUE

‘IT’s going to be a white Christmas,’ Jake said, drawing the heavy brocade curtains, closing out the wintry landscape.

‘Perfect!’ Bella fixed the diaphanous fairy on the top of the tree and shuffled round on the stool she was standing on, holding out her arms to her beloved husband.

He helped her down, holding her close. In spite of her condition, in spite of his objections, she’d insisted on dressing the tree herself, as she did every year. She rested her head against his chest, twisting sideways a little because of her bulk. He felt the new life they were expecting in a few weeks’ time kick against his body, and his hand went to hold her glossy dark head exactly where it was for a few more moments.

She was the most precious thing in his life, and her happiness spilled over and made his whole life bright.

A crash, a delighted squeal and a definite chortle alerted him to the fact that the second most precious thing in his life was up to mischief.

Incorrigible mischief—which was why they’d put him in his walker while the tree was being dressed, out of harm’s way—or so they had thought.

‘Bedtime, I think,’ Jake stated, marching to the rescue, and Bella waddled after him, giggling as she retrieved the scattered brightly wrapped packages she’d stacked in a corner waiting to go under the tree after Jamie had gone to bed.

Starfish hands had found them. Jake gently ungripped the tiny fingers and lifted his son into his arms, where the grip was immediately transferred to his hair. ‘I’ll bath him,’ he said. ‘Put your feet up.’

‘I’ll make supper.’

‘You’ll put your feet up.’

Bossy, she thought, kissing her squirming son a fond goodnight and watching with love-drenched eyes as her husband walked from the room. She turned then, allowing the mellow homeliness of the room—one of over a dozen in this converted farmhouse—to soak into her.

Sometimes the perfection of her life overwhelmed her, filled her heart until she thought it would burst.

The perfect home, found only days after that ecstatic reconciliation. Deep in rolling countryside yet only an hour’s drive from London.

The perfect child, and another to come.

The perfect husband. Oh, he still kept a finger decidedly on the pulse of his business affairs, but he worked from his study at the side of the house. It was a book-lined room, bristling with the technological monsters that allowed him to use his talents as an independent international financier, the head of a huge insurance company and a highly successful backer in the industrial and technological arenas of the world.

He still made time to share her life, care for her, taking a hands-on interest in helping her make a garden. manage the strip of woodland that bordered their very own lake.

The perfect husband, except for that bossy streak. Bella threw another log on the fire and went to make the supper, wondering if he’d like the gift she’d selected for him.

After a great deal of thought she’d decided on a chainsaw.

‘Keep still, young Jamie. Kicking’s fine when I’m teaching you the rudiments of football. Right now I’m trying to get you into this sleeping suit.’

Jamie talked back at him in baby talk, very fast and rather loud, and, mission accomplished, Jake squatted back on his heels and eyed his son. His son eyed him back then yawned, his dark eyes drooping.

Jake grinned and scooped him up, holding him close to his heart as he carried him out of a bathroom that looked as if a hurricane had struck. Somehow, when he took over Jamie’s bathtime, it always ended up that way. And he got soaked.

As soon as he’d got him bedded down in the nursery he’d change and then make supper. He hoped Bella was doing as he’d told her—resting.

He was creeping carefully from the dimly lit nursery when Bella joined him.

‘Asleep?’

He nodded. Their son had needed a whole bunch of stories, plus several not-very-tuneful renditions of lullabies—recalled out of desperation—before he’d consented to settle down.