It had been rather a shock to hear Celeste describing their marriage as ‘romantic’. Did she think that she and Jay were wildly in love, then? Obviously she must do. Even more disquieting, though, had been her innocent revelations about John’s views on men and marriage. Was it possible that Jay had married her not just for Heather’s benefit, but possibly for his own?
It was too late by a long time to start querying his motives now, she told herself, and anyway, what did it really matter? It mattered because, having discovered that she loved him, she found that it hurt to think that to him their marriage was just a sensible business manoeuvre. She had thought, before Christmas, that there was a closeness developing between them, a closeness which she had foolishly cherished.
‘I think I’ll take the girls upstairs now. It’s gone six o’clock and they’re both beginning to look tired.’
‘They’ll want something to eat …’ began Celeste, but Claire shook her head. ‘No, the sandwiches they’ve just eaten and the food they had on the plane will be enough. If they have another meal now, they won’t sleep.’
‘I’ll come and give you a hand.’ Jay smiled easily at John Goldberg. ‘I miss out so often on saying goodnight to them that I like to share their bedtime whenever I can.’
‘Yes, they grow up all too quickly,’ John Goldberg agreed. ‘I often regret that I didn’t have more time to spare for our two when they were kids.’
Claire was surprised by Jay’s behaviour. After all, this was essentially a business trip, even if the Goldbergs had specially wanted him to bring his family to meet them, and she had expected Jay to remain downstairs talking to John while she got the girls into bed.
She said as much as they went to their suite, careful to keep her voice down so that Lucy and Heather wouldn’t overheard her.
‘We’re here for four days,’ Jay pointed out. ‘Plenty of time to discuss business matters, and besides, John’s already told me that his advisers have finally agreed the contract. I’m not the sort of man who wants to sacrifice everything on the altar of material success, Claire. Oh, I enjoy my work: I like producing something that I know is good, and I like the success of selling it—but it isn’t the be-all and end-all of my existence. I don’t want either Lucy or Heather growing up thinking of me as a casual participant in their lives who can be relied on for expensive presents and not much else. Parenting is a dual role.’
They had reached the outer door to their suite. Claire hung back while the two girls rushed eagerly inside. Reluctantly she followed them.
‘Jay …’ she began.
‘Mmm?’
‘Celeste has only given us one room—with a double bed.’
His eyebrows lifted, and he asked in amusement, ‘For all four of us?’
Claire could feel the hot colour flooding betrayingly over her skin. ‘No, of course not.’
‘Don’t worry about it.’ Suddenly for some reason his voice sounded clipped, angry almost. ‘If I know anything about American beds, it will be large enough for us and at least half a dozen bolsters.’
Claire felt her mouth compress. It irritated her that he should be able to treat the matter so casually, and yet, what had she expected? Horror at the thought of having to share the bed with her? Pleasure?
‘Mummy, come and look—this bath is big enough for Lucy and me!’
Distractedly Claire pushed aside her disturbing thoughts and went through to the girls’ bathroom.
‘NO, TRULY, I COULDN’T EAT another mouthful.’
In point of fact, she was totally exhausted, realised Claire, as she refused another helping of sweet. Jet-lag was obviously catching up with her. In contrast the other three, including Jay, all seemed unfairly wide awake.
Not even two cups of coffee in the white and gold drawing-room that overlooked the sweep of lawns at the front of the house could lighten her heavy eyelids and Jay, catching sight of her smothering yet another yawn, said quietly, ‘Why don’t you go up to bed? John and I still have one or two things to discuss, and I can see that you’re tired.’
‘Yes, please don’t stand on ceremony, honey,’ insisted Celeste, ‘and don’t worry about having a lie-in in the morning. We’ve all suffered from jet-lag at one time or another, and we all know what it’s like.’
Having been assured that her host and hostess wouldn’t think her rude, Claire went gratefully upstairs. She was so tired she could barely walk.
She almost fell asleep in the bath, a huge affair with an in-built jacuzzi effect that she was too exhausted to try.
It was sheer luxury to find that all their luggage had been unpacked and put away. After a couple of attempts she managed to locate her nightdress—in the same drawer as Jay’s silk pyjamas—and ridiculously, her last muddled thought as sleep claimed her was to wonder on which side of the bed Jay preferred to sleep. Well, it was too bad if she had chosen the wrong one, she thought grumpily; he would just have to wake her up.
He did, but only very briefly and only because she was an extremely light sleeper.
It was the bedroom door opening that brought her out of a strangely confused dream to the odd knowledge that she was feeling extremely cold. She said as much, very crossly, to Jay as he apologised for waking her, and heard him laugh.
‘It’s probably the air-conditioning—it’s still on, and the temperature does drop quite a lot at night.’
She was almost asleep by the time he came out of the bathroom, one small part of her registering the fact that he was sliding into bed beside her.