Millionaire's Woman

After a few more minutes, during which time Lucinda had extracted a promise from Nick that he would attend her thirty-fifth birthday party in the middle of July—Cory having ducked her invitation by saying she would have to check her diary—the two disappeared back into the pub, leaving them alone. They were the last ones in the garden now, apart from a cheeky robin who was busy pecking a morsel of gateau under a nearby table and chasing off a horde of hopeful sparrows when they got too near his plunder.

‘How long have they been married?’ she asked Nick as they finished the last of their now cool coffee.

‘Ten years.’

‘Have they any children?’

He shifted in his seat. ‘Lucinda can’t have any. They tried everything but…’ He shrugged. His eyes lifted to hers as he continued, ‘It was a bad time. She comes from one of those huge Italian families where every daughter pops one out a year. They were living in Italy then but when she had a nervous breakdown John brought her over here for a change of scene for a while. That was five years ago and they haven’t looked back since.’

‘And John doesn’t mind? About not having children?’

Nick looked at her levelly. ‘He minds like hell, but the way he sees it he didn’t fall in love with Lucinda because she was some sort of baby-making machine. He loves her, he always has from the day he first set eyes on her.’

Cory stared at him. She wanted to cry but he would think she was mad. Nevertheless her voice was thick when she said, ‘They’re lucky, the way they feel about each other, I mean.’

‘Yes, they are, but they’re not unique.’ His eyes were holding hers now and although she wanted to break the contact she found she couldn’t. ‘That’s what you were thinking, wasn’t it,’ he said softly, and it was a statement not a question. ‘That they’re unique. I could read it in your face.’

She wanted to deny it but he would know she was lying. ‘Not unique,’ she prevaricated. ‘More…unusual.’

‘Why do you think that way?’

It was straight for the jugular but she was recognising he was that sort of man. She couldn’t answer him. She let her hair fall to cover her face. ‘I don’t want to continue this conversation.’

‘OK.’

It was immediate and almost nonchalant and the tone shocked her. Which was ridiculous, she told herself angrily. She hadn’t wanted him to pursue the matter so why should she feel so let down that he didn’t seem to care?

‘Let’s go for a stroll on the Heath to walk the lunch off and get ready for dinner,’ Nick said easily as she raised her head again.

Dinner? Who had said anything about dinner? ‘I don’t think—’

‘Good. Don’t think. I like you better that way.’

‘Now look—’ And then she noticed his smile. Weakly, she said, ‘You’re trying to wind me up.’

‘Me?’ He leant forward as he stood to his feet and kissed her on the top of her nose. ‘As if. Finish your wine while I go and settle with John. We’ll lea

ve the car in the pub car park for now.’

He was gone before she could object.

Cory had wanted to stay remote and detached on the Heath but she found she couldn’t. The beautiful day had brought many Londoners out into the fresh air, the fathomless blue sky above too perfect to waste time indoors.

They walked hand in hand, talking now and again, and unlike in the pub garden she found herself relaxing, waves of contentment flowing over her like a balmy breeze.

‘You’re beginning to burn.’ Nick pulled her into the shade of an old tree, the bottom of its trunk splotched with lichens and velvety moss. The grass was thick and warm as they sat down, and in the distance two young boys were throwing a Frisbee for a shaggy mutt of a dog who was barking enthusiastically as he ran.

Cory turned her head. Nick was stretched out beside her, hands clasped under his head and his eyes shut. He opened one eye. ‘We’ve had the walk, now it’s time for a nap.’

This was far too beguiling. ‘You make us sound like a couple of old-age pensioners,’ she said flatly, aiming to break the mood. ‘And I don’t nap during the day.’

‘Try.’ He reached out one arm and pulled her down beside him, settling her head on his chest. ‘Even a pillow provided,’ he drawled lazily, idly stroking her hair. ‘Now shut your eyes like a good girl.’

She was as tense as piano wire for a few minutes but then, as he made no move to kiss her or do anything except slowly stroke her hair, she found herself relaxing. The heat of the day, the dappled shade through the leaves of the tree, the muted sounds in the background all combined to unknot her nerves and make her drowsy. At the most she had only managed two or three hours’ sleep the night before and the Sunday lunch had left her comfortably full, not to mention the soporific effect of the wine. She slept.

When she next opened her eyes, Nick was looking down at her. He was propped on one elbow and her head was now resting on his middle. ‘Hello,’ he said, very softly.

Still dazed with sleep, she murmured, ‘Hallo yourself.’