Second Chance with the Millionaire

Her voice sounded stiff with defensiveness as she pulled away.

‘Why? Because I’m not Summers?’

Saul’s voice was unwarrantedly harsh. Why did he keep having to bring Neville into their conversations? Was he doing it to hurt her? Deliberately mentioning the name of the man he thought she loved to cause her pain? It hurt to know that he thought her capable of making love with him for calculating motives, in order to help Neville. Surely he must have known when he held her in his arms that her emotions were real and not assumed? But why should he care either way? He had made it plain that he had simply been using her as he thought she had been using him.

After that she couldn’t sleep again, growing increasingly tense and nervous as the end of their journey drew nearer.

How would she fit in with Saul’s family? How much would they be expected to see of them? Where did Saul live? Did he have his own house, or…

Almost as though he followed her train of thought he said abruptly, ‘Tonight we’ll be staying with my parents. They think this is a love-match, Lucy, and I’d be obliged if you don’t do anything to alter that impression. I owe my stepfather a good deal,’ he added harshly, ‘and if you do anything, anything at all to prejudice his health…’

What sort of a woman did he think she was? She felt almost sick with despair.

‘You don’t have to extract promises from me, or make threats, Saul,’ she told him tightly. ‘I’m as anxious for your family to believe we’re happily married as you are.’

She saw his expression and told him tonelessly, ‘Our child will be growing up among them. I don’t want him to be considered an outcast, to hear gossip about his parents, or…

‘Him?’ Saul queried mockingly, his expression lightening briefly. ‘Are you so convinced we will have a son, then?’

Was she? She examined the question and found she didn’t really mind if she had a boy or a girl.

‘“He” just came automatically,’ she told him. The brief softening in his mood encouraged her to ask tentatively, ‘Where will we live Saul? Do you…’

‘At the moment I have an apartment—it’s in the centre of town and convenient for my work, but I shall sell it and find something more suited to family life. I spent several years cooped up in an apartment as a child, and it’s not what I want for any son or daughter of my own.’ He frowned as he said, ‘My mother will probably ask us to stay but in the circumstances I think we’d be better using the apartment until we can find the right house. It would be too much of a strain if we had to keep up the pretence of our marriage on a day-to-day basis.’

‘Yes.’ Oddly enough it made her feel closer to him to hear him say that he, too, was aware of that strain; it made him seem more human, more like the Saul she had seen so briefly in those halcyon days before their quarrel.

‘I warn you, you’ll be subjected to a good deal of cross questioning by my stepsisters; they both live locally with their families and…’

‘And quite naturally they’re going to be curious about the woman who’s married their little brother?’ Lucy supplied.

The voice of the captain announced that they were nearing the end of their journey and further personal conversation became impossible in the hurly-burly and bustle of preparations for quitting the plane.

* * *

It was not so much the heat as the humidity that struck Lucy first, hitting her like a wall of hot, moist air the moment they left the terminal building. Saul had refused to allow her to help him with their luggage, and now she felt glad. The effect of the humidity was such that it drained her completely of energy.

‘Saul! Saul, over here…’

A tall, dark-haired woman was waving to them, and Lucy felt her heart jump and then almost stand still as she recognised in his mother her resemblance both to Saul and to her own father.

So this was Saul’s mother… her aunt. Tanned and slim, she was elegantly dressed in walking shorts and a patterned top, her hair elegantly styled, her fingernails gleaming with polish. Against her Lucy felt untidy and drab, conscious of the fact that her hair was probably curling in the humidity and her nose shining. And then, as she was unexpectedly enveloped in a warm hug, she saw past the elegant façade to the woman beyond, and a tiny glimmer of hope began to grow inside her. Saul’s mother didn’t dislike or resent her.

She was released and held at arm’s length, to be studied by twinkling grey eyes, very like Saul’s.

‘A true Martin by the looks of you, Lucy. That must have pleased your father.’ A faint shadow crossed the grey eyes.