Cruel Legacy (65 page)

she found it very hard to accept that any woman could have that kind of long term relationship with a man, especially a man like Blake, without loving him.

She had also kept to herself her belief that the American had perhaps kept her feelings private because she had sensed that Blake did not return her love.

Now, as she saw the way the sunlight glinted on the hair on his arms, turning it from brown to gold, highlighting the underlying muscles in a way that made her stomach lurch disconcertingly and a
frisson
of sharply dangerous sexual awareness and longing shoot through her, she wasn't sure if she envied the girl or pitied her.

One thing she did know, and that was that for her a merely sexual relationship with Blake would never be enough, no matter how physically fulfilled her body might feel. Her heart and her mind would still ache and yearn for more.

That was what loving someone did to you. The simple purity of luxuriating in the satisfaction of plain physical need that she had experienced with Joel would never be enough to satisfy her with Blake; she would always long for more, so much, much more... for his love.

'Philippa...'

Suddenly realising how long she must have been staring at him, she blushed as furiously as an embarrassed schoolgirl when Blake said her name, dipping her head so that her hair swung forward to conceal her flushed face.

You really didn't need to do this, you know,' she told Blake over an hour later as she negotiated the heavy trolley out of the supermarket's automatic doors while Blake took charge of the children.

The supermarket's car park was busy; it was the school holiday season after all, and Philippa was wryly aware of the envious looks they were attracting from other mothers struggling on their own with both trolley and offspring.

No doubt in their eyes she and Blake represented the perfect family picture. If only they knew the truth.

'I wanted to do it,' she heard Blake telling her quietly as they waited to cross the road.

Her heart had started to thump far too fast. Will you stop it? she ordered the recalcitrant organ with silent firmness, warning it that it was getting far too excited ova: nothing, and that if it didn't stop she was going to have to take very severe action.

Determined not to betray to Blake what she was feeling and prejudice the friendly relationship they had built up, she forced herself to smile and challenge him teasingly, 'Why? Don't you think I can be trusted with a shopping trolley?'

'On the contrary,' he told her softly, 'I think...'

He broke off to step aside, to make way for another shopper to pass them, while Philippa headed determinedly towards the car, feeling thoroughly flustered.

What was the matter with her? Anyone would think that a man had never paid her a compliment before... never tried to flirt with her.

Blake
... flirting with
her
... impossible... Now she
was
letting her imagination get out of control.

She had almost reached the Volvo when Blake caught up with her, unlocking the doors for her and then opening the boot.

'Here, let me do that,' he insisted as she leaned forward to lift the first of the paper cartons out of the trolley. As they both leaned forward at the same time their bodies collided briefly.

'Whoops...' As Blake apologised, Philippa laughed. She was facing the sun, its warmth pleasant against her skin, the air current across the car park, which on a cold day could feel as icily bitter as though it had come from Siberia, today a lulling, fresh caress, tousling her hair so that she automatically lifted her hand to push the soft curls off her face.

And then she saw her shadow on the tarmac, saw the way the breeze had flattened her top against her body, the way her lifted arm was throwing the curve of her breast into prominence, the way her whole body seemed to be leaning yearningly towards Blake... Blake, who was standing there, his body completely immobile, his expression hidden from her by the shadow cast by the sun. He moved, leaning towards her, his hand lifted as though to touch her, and shame poured through her as she saw herself as he must be seeing her, practically inviting his touch... his kiss, showing him that she was after all still the same old Philippa...still stupid enough to want...

Quickly she pulled back from him, her body trembling as she turned away and quickly reached into the trolley, her movements jerky and unco-ordinated.

Bleakly Blake watched her, silently cursing himself for his crassness. The way she had pulled away from him just now had been quite unmistakable... told him everything he wanted to know, or rather everything he
didn't
want to know! He had seen the look of shock, of horror almost in her eyes when she'd thought he was going to touch her. He had been a fool to think he could resurrect what she had once felt for him; to imagine the woman she had become would even want to be reminded of it, never mind...

Well, he wouldn't add to her obvious embarrassment and disgust by repeating his mistake. In future he would make sure that he kept his distance from her, physically and emotionally. That was quite obviously what
she
wanted to do.

His interpretation of the conversations they had shared, of the laughter... of the way she had seemed to listen with such interest when he had told her about his life, her head held slightly to one side, her eyes sometimes alight with laughter, other times soft with emotion, but always, like her, alive and warm, quick to respond to the need in others, had quite obviously been the wrong one. He had quite obviously mistaken mere politeness for something far more personal, and that was his fault and not hers. He turned away from her, his eyes narrowing as he looked into the sun.

He bad come back to draw a line under the past, fully expecting that the reality of the woman she had become would finally banish the image of the girl she had been from his heart and his memories.

But instead. He closed his eyes. Watching her just now, seeing the laughter in her eyes, the curve of her mouth, her body, knowing how he felt about her, he had ached so much with love and need... had wanted so much to reach out and just touch her, if only to reassure himself that she was real. Behind the darkness of his closed eyelids he waited for the familiar pain to roll over him in its dull, relentless, unmerciful dragging surge.

He would have to do something, he knew that. Otherwise ...

'You get in the car with the children,' he told Philippa harshly. 'I'll see to this...'

Philippa didn't bother to argue... It was obvious that he wanted to distance himself from her, and of course she knew exactly why.

Blake was late. He was normally home by this time. Philippa tensed as the phone rang. She went to answer it, her heart flipping over unsteadily when she heard Blake's voice.

'I'm afraid I'm going to be held up at work,' he told her. 'Don't wait supper for me. I'm not sure what time I'll be back.'

'But that's the second time this week he's been late,' Rory protested later over supper, adding with a scowl as he kicked the leg of his chair, 'It isn't the same having supper without him.'

No, it wasn't, Philippa agreed silently. Was Blake genuinely very busy at work, or was he simply avoiding spending time with them... with her?

Since that incident in the car park, an uncomfortable and tense atmosphere had built up between them. Philippa tried her brat to behave as naturally as she could, for the children's and especially Anya's sake, but it was difficult when every time she looked at Blake she remembered the way she had leaned towards him, looking at him...inviting him...

'Philippa, may I have a word, please?'

Philippa tensed as she caught the formal note in Blake's voice and saw the way he was frowning.

'Of course,' she agreed, trying to keep her voice as steady as she could.

Anya and the boys were in bed and Philippa had been just about to go upstairs herself when the door of the small room that Blake used as his study had opened and Blake himself had come out.

Now, as she followed him back inside, Philippa felt rather like a schoolgirl called in to see her head teacher.

They hadn't seen much of Blake this last week, he had worked late most evenings and left early in the morning. While the children complained vociferously about his absence she remained silent, even though she missed him every bit as much as they did.

Blake was standing with his back to her, facing the window.

He removed his jacket and his shirt was stretched tightly across his back and shoulders, revealing the tension in his muscles.

'There isn't any easy way to say this,' he told her brusquely. "Things aren't working out the way I'd hoped...'

Philippa stared at him, her heart thudding painfully, shock churning her stomach. What did he mean, things weren't working out? She could feel the panic starting to flare inside her.

'Oh, it's nothing to do with the way you're dealing with Anya; no one could have done a better job.'

A better job? Helplessly Philippa fought down her feelings. Caring for Anya wasn't just a job to her. Hadn't Blake himself been the one to tell her that?

Suddenly he was the cold, impervious man. she remembered from all those years ago from her visit to his flat, hard and unyielding in the face of her emotional need. Well, this time she was not going to humiliate herself, to...

'No, it isn't Anya,' she heard him saying roughly. 'It's... It's...there are other issues...I don't want to be specific— some things are better left unsaid—but I suspect you already know what I mean.'

Philippa's mouth had gone dry. She had to clear her throat twice before she could manage a thin, whispered, 'Yes.'

And she thought she had been so clever... so contained ... so good at hiding what she felt. How long had he known? Was that why he had been 'working late' so often recently—to avoid her...? Oh, God. She closed her eyes as the twin pains of despair and loss savaged her.

'For Anya's sake I don't want you to leave. She needs the stability you've given her more than what I can offer her on my own. I've decided that the best thing to do would be for me to move into rooms at the hospital, temporarily at least...'

'You can't do that,' Philippa protested. 'This is your home—if anyone leaves it should be me...'

'It's Anya's home as well,' Blake pointed out quietly, 'and she needs you here with her.'

'She needs you as well,' Philippa told him.

He turned round. She could see the stress in his eyes and on his face, and guilt was added to all her other burdens.

She had done this... She, with her stupid unwanted betrayal of a love she already knew he didn't want.

'She loves you, Philippa, and to be honest I'm not too sure that the Social Services would allow me to bring her up alone. No. The best solution is for me to move out.'

No, she wanted to protest, the best solution is for you to be here where you're loved and needed. I should be the one to go, to pay the price of loving you, not the other way round.

'I think it best that for the time being at least we tell the children that it's only a temporary arrangement...'

'Lie to them, you mean?' Philippa asked harshly.

'I don't like doing it any more than you do, but this isn't something we can explain to than, you know that...'

'You don't have to go...'

Oh, God, why had she said that? In her own voice she had heard the forlorn cry of a frightened child.

'We could... I could...'

'No,' Blake stopped her. 'No, Philippa... You see, I couldn't.'

Tears filled her eyes; fiercely she blinked them away.

Well, she had asked for it, she told herself grittily. It wasn't Blake's fault that she had pushed him to the point where he had to be so blunt.

'When... when will you go...?' Her voice was a croaky whisper forced past the huge, painful lump in her throat.

'Tomorrow.' He ignored her small, shocked protest. 'There's no point in delaying things. I'll tell the children in the morning at breakfast.'

Tiredly Philippa picked up the cup of tea she had just made for herself and wandered into the sitting-room, switching on the television and then curling up on the sofa.

It was now almost two weeks since Blake had left and if anything she was missing him more rather than less.

Tomorrow was Saturday. He had telephoned her during the week to say that he would be coming home for the weekend and she had determinedly made plans to spend as much time as she could away from the house while he was there. It seemed the only decent thing to do.

The agents had apparently had two separate people showing interest in her own house, or rather the bank's house, and the bank had informed her that it was optimistic about an early sale.

It seemed there was also a small... a very small possibility that a buyer might be found for the company, but she was not to get her hopes up too high, the bank had told her—any sale would only be for a very modest figure and it was by no means definite that the business would be sold. If it was started up again it would certainly only be with a very much reduced workforce, Neville Wilson had told her in response to her query.

She had gone up to bed over an hour ago, but lying there unable to sleep had brought her down again to make herself a cup of tea. Now, too restless mentally to focus on the television she had switched on, she closed her eyes.