An Autumn Affair (13 page)

‘Are you happy?’

Julia flinched. No one had ever asked her that before. No one seemed to care if she was happy or not. As long as their needs were met.

‘I was happy with you,’ she all but whispered.

‘And I was happy too. Which is why I’ll never understand you ending it.’

Tears welled in Julia’s eyes. ‘The truth is, I was afraid. Afraid you’d get bored with me. You had the world at your feet. I never felt good enough for you.’

Max shook his head in disbelief. ‘You were more than good enough for me. You were better than me. I loved you to distraction. And I don’t think I’ve ever stopped. Yes, there have been lots of other women. But none of them has ever meant as much to me as you did.’

‘Not even the gorgeous, successful Ellie?’

‘Nowhere near. Do you love Paul?’

Tears began rolling down Julia’s cheeks. Drawing her hand from his, she swiped them away, before reaching for her glass and taking a large slug of G&T.

‘I think he’s having an affair. With Natalia. His “assistant”,’ she blurted out. Before setting down her glass with such force that a splash of liquid landed on the table top.

‘And how does that make you feel?’

She sucked in a deep breath. ‘Crap. Worthless. A complete and utter failure.’

‘You’re none of those things.’

‘Aren’t I? No one else seems to think so.’

‘I think so.’

Max reached for her hand again, this time lifting it to his mouth and brushing his lips against it. A bolt of electricity flashed down Julia’s spine.

‘Really?’ she asked shyly, her gaze fused with his.

‘Absolutely,’ he replied.

Before reaching across the table and kissing her.

*****

Still abed, propped up against the pillows, Miranda stared at the laptop screen. Details of the London abortion clinic stared back at her. She’d lost count of how many times she’d attempted to read the information. Diligently divided up into short, clearly headed sections, its user-friendly format completely bypassed her. Her eyes scanned the words, but every one of them stubbornly refused to transmit to her brain. Like an avalanche on a railway line, nothing could get through.

But that wasn’t good enough. She had to do something. She couldn’t possibly have this baby. She didn’t
want
to have this baby. Every time she looked at it she would be reminded of just what a mess she’d made of her life. Oh, she had all the material trappings: the large house, the fancy car, the designer clothes. Not that she could take credit for any of those things. She hadn’t contributed a penny. Her entire dissipating lifestyle had been funded by Doug’s hard work. Her own achievements were pathetically lacking. She wondered how different life would have been had her dad never received the inheritance; if she’d never been despatched to Briardene; if she’d stayed in Jarrow and made her life there. Would she have been any happier? Would she ever have experienced the feeling of not belonging? Would she and her parents still be close? Of course she wouldn’t have met Doug, but would he have been happier with another woman? Would he have spent so much time working away if he’d married someone else? With hindsight, perhaps he’d only married Miranda because she’d fallen pregnant, unintentionally trapping him. Was that the reason he was away so much? That he adored Josie was unquestionable, but had he ever really loved Miranda? Would the two of them still be together had it not been for their daughter? Tears began streaming down her cheeks, and at the shrill sound of the telephone on the bedside table beside her, she almost leaped out of her skin. In a bid to do nothing other than stop the intrusive sound, she snatched up the receiver.

‘Hello.’

‘Hello, darling. Are you all right?’

It was Doug. Just the sound of his voice caused fresh tears to well in her eyes, not helped by his concerned tone. She blinked them away and drew in a fortifying breath. She couldn’t let him know anything was wrong. If he started questioning her, she’d break down completely.

‘I’m fine,’ she sniffed. ‘I was just about to get up.’

‘Get up?’ His concern intensified. ‘But it must be nearly midday there.’

Miranda glanced at the bedside clock. 11.40 am. Which meant she’d been staring at the computer screen for over three hours.

‘I’ve got a bit of a cold,’ she lied. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m great, thanks,’ he gushed. ‘Even better now I’ve managed to wangle a few days away from the office. Which means … I’ll be back for Josie’s party.’

At this declaration, a surge of panic crashed over Miranda. This wasn’t what she’d planned at all. She’d intended having the whole abortion business behind her long before she saw Doug again. And have sorted out her head. But there wasn’t time now. Which meant she’d have to face her husband while carrying another man’s child. Limbs shaking, feeling like she might throw up at any minute, she dashed into the en-suite bathroom and crouched down beside the loo, the phone still pressed to her ear.

‘… which means I actually won’t arrive until the evening of the party,’ Doug said as she tuned back in. ‘That’s the earliest I could get away. But at least I’ll still see my little girl turn eighteen.’

In a futile attempt to quell her nausea, Miranda sucked in a couple of deep breaths. She prayed Doug would continue talking, allowing her more time to compose herself. He didn’t. Meaning it was her turn to speak.

‘She’ll, um, be thrilled,’ she heard herself say – in a voice that bore no resemblance to her own. ‘She’s desperate for you to be there.’

Thankfully Doug appeared not to notice her strangled tone.

‘I know,’ he chuckled. She’s told me a million times. I thought we could keep it a surprise. I’d love to see her face when I walk through the door.’

Miranda closed her eyes. Doug’s unabashed excitement grated on her like fingernails on a blackboard. Because there was no guilt driving his enthusiasm. Just unadulterated love for his only child.

‘Good idea,’ she managed to croak. ‘I’ll have the camera ready.’

Doug laughed. ‘So how are the party plans coming along? Do you need me to do anything?’

Another swell of nausea roiled in Miranda’s stomach. This charming, considerate man whose life she was now convinced she’d ruined, deserved better. Much, much better. ‘Er, no,’ she stammered. ‘It’s lovely of you to offer but it’s all in hand.’

‘I can hardly believe she’s going to be eighteen,’ sighed Doug wistfully. ‘It seems like only yesterday when we brought her home for the first time. Do you remember? We put about sixteen layers of clothes on the poor little mite. It was a wonder she could breathe.’

Shivering as she leaned against the cold tiles of the bathroom wall, Miranda’s mind cantered back to that very occasion. She recalled being completely awestruck that such a tiny being – so beautiful, so fragile – could have sprung from her loins. Despite her current pathetic state, a smile touched her lips. ‘She was so tiny,’ she all but whispered. ‘I was scared to hold her.’

Doug chuckled. ‘Me too. But I have to say, Mrs Cutler, that for all we didn’t plan on her making an appearance, that girl is the best surprise I’ve ever had. She’s one in a million, isn’t she?’

More tears pricked Miranda’s eyes. ‘She is,’ she muttered, battling the urge to ask him if he still would have married her had Josie never made an appearance.

‘Oh, I have to go,’ piped up Doug, at the sound of voices in the background. ‘But before I do … how’s your dad?’

‘My dad?’ echoed Miranda, floored by the sudden change of topic.

‘Josie said he wasn’t too good when she spoke to your mum last week. She invited them to the party but he isn’t well enough to come apparently. She was talking about visiting them soon.’

Miranda’s jaw dropped. She’d no idea Josie had been speaking to her parents, let alone planning to visit them. The information completely fried her brain. Thankfully, before she even attempted to scrabble together some meaningful words, Doug said:

‘Sorry, darling. I’m late for a meeting I’d forgotten about. I’ll speak to you later.’

And he hung up.

Miranda slid down the wall until completely prostrate on the floor. Staring up at the ceiling, it hit her with some force that she couldn’t carry on stalling. That burying her head in the sand was not an effective strategy. That this problem was not going away without serious intervention on her part.

With a great deal of effort she returned to the bedroom, plumped down on the bed and stabbed the number for the clinic into the phone. About to press the Call button, a horrible thought occurred to her. Doug hadn’t mentioned how long he’d be staying, and she’d been in such a state, she hadn’t asked. She couldn’t possibly make the appointment until she knew he’d be back in Dubai. Furious with herself, she tossed the handset onto the bed, slumped back against the pillows and began to cry.

*****

Paul deserved an Oscar. He really did. For acting like the consummate professional. When all he really wanted to do was rip Natalia’s clothes off and ravage her senseless. She hadn’t been supposed to be coming on this trip to Paris with him, but had somehow convinced Paul’s boss, Howard, that it would be a good idea.

‘Be great for her personal development,’ Howard enthused. ‘Give her some real hands-on experience.’

The last thing Paul wanted to think about was being hands-on where Natalia was concerned. Since that teasing little kiss after his speech at the cocktail party, his powers of concentration had packed their bags and left the room whenever she was around. Even the faintest hint of her perfume sent his senses reeling. The whole thing was driving him nuts. And at no time more so than the previous evening.

The French contingent had invited them out for dinner. To a very exclusive restaurant in the heart of Paris.

As if it wasn’t bad enough being in the most romantic city in the world with the object of his desires, Paul’s eyes had almost popped out of their sockets when they’d arrived at the restaurant and Natalia, her hair pinned up in a sexy chignon, had slipped out of her coat to reveal a tiny strapless burgundy brocade dress. The eyes of the other three males in their party had followed his example.

She sat on the opposite side of the table to Paul, beside some cool, go-getter marketing bloke in his mid-twenties with spiky highlighted hair and a false orange tan. He monopolised her the entire evening, directing most of his conversation to her spectacular cleavage.

While effecting what he hoped was a good show with his immediate neighbours – keeping the conversation flowing, laughing politely at their jokes, attempting several of his own – out of the corner of his eye Paul constantly observed Natalia and the spiky-haired bloke. And each time she flashed the guy a sexy smile, or he fleetingly touched her arm, or leaned just a little too close to her, a bolt of red-hot jealousy ricocheted around Paul’s gut. His dinner had borne the brunt of his feelings. He’d stabbed his pan-fried scallops, rived apart his steak
au poivre
, and punctured his profiteroles with an energy not normally associated with the consumption of food. And all the while he’d been battling the urge to jump up and haul the orange, spiky-haired bloke out of his seat.

Or, better still, haul Natalia out of hers. And straight into his bed.

The situation had been further exacerbated by her catching his eye several times, when she’d subsequently ran her tongue over her glossy lips, or twizzled the strand of honey-blonde hair which had escaped its pins and brushed languidly against her toned, golden shoulder.

Paul had never felt more uncomfortable in his entire life. His clothes seemed too tight, the restaurant too hot, the wine too bitter, the evening never-ending. Every bit of noise grated on his nerves. He’d never been more grateful for anything than when – after what seemed like an eternity – they bid their goodbyes and he and Natalia slid into the waiting taxi, which would take them back to their hotel.

‘What a lovely evening,’ she cooed, sitting next to him on the back seat.

‘Smashing,’ lied Paul. He’d wound the window down slightly. He needed air. To clear his head. And to dilute the intoxicating smell of her musky perfume, which was making him horny as hell.

‘The food was exquisite, wasn’t it?’

‘Totally,’ he agreed. Although in truth, with the bitter taste of jealousy monopolising his mouth, he hadn’t tasted a single thing.

‘I’m ready for bed now,’ she said, stretching her arms over her head and causing her magnificent breasts to almost pop out of their strapless confines.

Paul gulped, wrenched his coat over his lap, and diverted his attention to the window. They were just passing the Eiffel Tower. The vision did nothing to help his strengthening ardour.

So, given all of the above, there was no way he could subject himself to such torture again. Which was why, having no plans to dine with their French colleagues this evening, he’d told Natalia he didn’t feel too well, and had scurried up to his room the moment they’d arrived back from their meetings.

Congratulating himself on his self-restraint, he’d whipped off his suit, had a long, hot shower, then, wrapped in the hotel’s fluffy white bathrobe, tucked into the omelette and chips he’d ordered via room service. He was just flicking through the TV channels when there was a tap on his door.

Paul’s heart stopped for a second. His pulse rate soared. What if it was Natalia? Did he want it to be her? Or didn’t he? What would he say if it was? Would he invite her in? Or would he …?

Another tap.

Well, there was only one way to find out who it was, and that was to open the door.

He did just that.

To find the room service boy standing outside. ‘Sorry, sir, we forgot your bread,’ he apologised, handing Paul a basket of warm rolls, wrapped in a dazzling white linen napkin.

‘Oh, er, thanks,’ muttered Paul, disappointment almost rendering him speechless.

He closed the door and rested his head against it. He was being ridiculous. What on earth would a girl like Natalia see in him? And why did he want her to see anything in him? He was a married man with two kids, for God’s sake.

There was another tap on the door. Without even bothering to run through the possibilities of who it might be – and the associated emotions – he yanked it open.