From Single Mum to Lady (6 page)

‘It’s not your fault,’ he said tersely. ‘You weren’t to know that Rachel had died…but it’s tough being on your own.’

There was a weary sadness in his face—Jandy guessed every time he told this story it was like knives going through him. She was silent for a few minutes, contemplating the tragedy that had happened to him—his beautiful young wife killed before her baby grew up and bringing a happy marriage to an abrupt end. He had obviously loved Rachel very much, whereas her love for Terry had long disappeared. Now she only felt contempt for the man who had treated her so badly.

‘Being a single parent isn’t easy,’ she said softly. ‘I know, because I’m a single parent as well.’

He flicked a surprised look at her. ‘That’s terrible. I’m so sorry to hear that. When were you widowed?’ he asked.

It was so stupid. She was over Terry now, long over him, and yet she still felt treacherous tears welling up in her eyes whenever someone was sympathetic—especially someone like Patrick who’d gone through traumas of his own. Just when she thought she had her emotions under control, something would trigger the sadness of loneliness and rejection. And it wasn’t the thought that Terry had never loved her that upset her now—just the legacy of emotions he’d left her and how he’d changed the person she had once been.

If she started telling her life story now, she would probably start blubbing properly. And perhaps it would almost sound as if she was trying to compete in the bad-luck stakes if she revealed everything.

‘I…I wasn’t widowed—that’s not why I’m single. I’ll tell you another time about it,’ she said quickly, swallowing hard to get rid of the lump of self-pity that had lodged in her throat. ‘But it’s a long boring story.’ With relief she saw that they had arrived at Pippa’s. ‘Ah, here we are. You can drop me off at the gate.’

‘I can take you both home if you like.’

‘No, really, we’ll be fine. It’s stopped raining and we literally live round the corner. Thank you very much—I’m so grateful.’

She had started to gabble a little and suddenly she wanted to be out of the car. She’d intruded on private grief and felt embarrassed that she’d become emotional herself.

‘I’ll see you tomorrow, then.’ She pulled the handle of the door to get out. It didn’t move as she tugged it. ‘Oh…I think it’s locked,’ she said.

‘Damn—I’ve had a little trouble with it—the central locking system’s a bit dodgy.’ Patrick leant across her and punched a button on the side of the door.

He was very, very close to her—she felt his breath on her cheek, she could smell his warmth, the remnants of aftershave put on that morning, see the occasional grey hair on his temples and the slightly raised skin of the scar on his face. If he leant any further forward his chest would be jammed against her body. She closed her eyes, and like a flicker of lightning she felt the dangerous flash of attraction to a very sexy man. She had a ridiculous urge to put her cheek next to his, feel his mouth on hers and lean against that broad chest. She swallowed hard, and her heart beat a little tattoo against her ribs, a kaleidoscope of emotions whirling round in her head at this sudden sizzling magnetism she felt for Patrick. But, then, it wasn’t really all that sudden, was it? Over two weeks she’d been suppressing a growing awareness of Patrick’s charismatic appeal.

Patrick pulled back abruptly, and took a deep breath. ‘There—the door should open now,’ he said slightly huskily, then he cleared his throat and murmured, ‘I’m very sorry. It was tactless of me to ask if you were a widow—it’s upset you.’

‘Of course it hasn’t.’ She forced herself to sound brisk and controlled. ‘I’m over it now.’

He shook his head. ‘Believe me, I know what it’s like to be alone.’

Their eyes clashed in a mutual response of compassion, two people who knew what it was to lose love, albeit in very different ways, each haunted by tragic memories.

Then behind them a car hooted and roared past them and the spell was broken.

There was a short silence and then Patrick remarked casually, ‘Look, perhaps we could introduce our daughters to each other some time—Livy doesn’t know many other children around here yet and it would be great to get together. I’m sure there’s so much around here that we could all enjoy.’

Was there something in his expression that seemed to translate into ‘that you and I could enjoy’, or was she reading too much into it? Whatever, she felt a little thrill of pleasure that he was keen to see her again.

‘That’s a great idea—we must definitely do that!’

‘Then we’ll think of something…’

His voice trailed off and their eyes locked for a moment, until out of embarrassment Jandy said quickly, ‘Right—I must go now.’ She jumped out of the car and waved at him before she went up the path. ‘Thanks again for the lift, Patrick,’ she called.

And for the rest of the evening her emotions were in turmoil—sympathy over Patrick’s terrible loss, alternating with the realisation that he had lit a spark of desire inside her that she’d thought had gone for ever. Had he felt it too? Probably not, she told herself sharply. It had probably meant no more to him than comforting a child who’d been hurt—after all, how could she compete with the memory of a beloved and beautiful wife?

* * *

‘What are we having for tea, Daddy? Can we have sausages and baked beans—I like that! Did you hear me, Daddy—did you?’

Patrick looked in the rear-view mirror at Livy, chattering away behind him, and laughed.

‘Yes, sweetheart—of course you can. And perhaps some ice cream afterwards?’

‘Yes!’ shouted Livy, rocking backwards and forwards in her car seat with delight. ‘Grandpa can have some too!’

‘That’s a good idea, Livy. We’ll be back at Easterleigh soon and you can tell him what you’ve been doing at nursery school.’

Livy settled back in her seat and started to suck her thumb, her eyes drooping, and Patrick reflected sadly that it was at this time of day that he felt Rachel’s loss most of all. There should be a mother waiting at home to greet his little daughter, someone with better culinary skills than his basic sausages, fish fingers or mince. Someone, he sighed, who could help him with the strain of coping with a demanding father and an energetic four-year-old. Oh, there was Sheena, the housekeeper, and she was marvellous, but she was getting on, and he felt he should do as much as he could for Livy when he wasn’t working.

He flicked a glance at the little girl now asleep in the back of the car. The intense grief he’d felt with Rachel’s death had turned to a gentle sadness over the years, but the guilt about causing that death was still as burning as ever. If only they hadn’t had a stupid row about something as trivial as shopping, after he’d told her he’d be late home that evening as he was playing squash after work.

Her voice still rang in his ears. ‘You do remember we’re having a supper party tonight and you said you’d get the wine?’

He’d been short with her, tired after too many tense days at work. ‘For God’s sake, can’t you get it when you go shopping? I only get so much free time,’ he’d snapped.

‘I did all that yesterday,’ she’d snapped back at him. ‘I’ll have to make a special journey now.’

And she had done, thankfully leaving Livy with her friend then driving through pelting rain down the bypass to the shops. A car had skidded coming towards her…she hadn’t stood a chance. If he had picked up the wine on his way home, as he could have done so easily, she would still be alive and Livy would have a mother. If only…He would never forgive himself—never forgive himself that his last words to her had been in anger.

There’d been plenty of opportunities to get married again, had he taken them up—but he’d made a terrible mistake after Rachel had died, flinging himself into a relationship that had nearly ended in disaster. He’d learned his lesson now, he thought grimly. Never again would he reveal his background until he was absolutely sure that the woman he was dating loved him for himself alone and would love Livy almost as much as he did.

And why should he be dwelling on this now? He smiled grimly. It was because he’d met Jandy Marshall, sure that he had felt the crackle of sexual tension between them in the closeness of the car. It was as if two electric contacts had touched and a spark had been ignited. And he had been totally and utterly shaken by it.

He changed gear viciously as he went round a corner—it was just his luck that he should be drawn to a beautiful girl like her at this stage of his life. And how dangerous was that? He knew nothing about her at all except that she was single, and that she had enough on her plate without taking on another child—and so did he. But didn’t it change the whole dynamics of everything from being a colleague to something much more intimate, even if the attraction was only on his side? What a fool he was…

He swung into the long drive of Easterleigh House and drove down the imposing avenue of beech trees. Their leaves were turning to a hint of red and amber, reflecting the coming autumn, and the house stood at the end of the avenue, its golden stone mellow in the dwindling light—magnificent, but in sad need of repair and refurbishment.

Patrick sighed as he drove slowly towards the house—so many memories were there. His early childhood had been so happy—then all of a sudden things had changed and what had been an idyllic life had become miserable and bitter—so much so that he and his brother couldn’t wait to leave. But now he was back and perhaps Easterleigh could once again be a happy home and he could save the place for future generations, as his father longed for. But it was going to be difficult and it was not the right time to fall in love with someone like Jandy Marshall.

* * *

‘So—don’t worry about the flood in the kitchen. Clever me got a plumber and sorted it out,’ said Lydia as she doled out spaghetti bolognese for Jandy, Abigail and herself. ‘And now, we haven’t had much of a chance to talk for the past four weeks, with me being on long-haul flights. Tell me what the new registrar’s like. I bet it was difficult for you. I know when I’m working on a different shift with new people, it drives me mad when they don’t do things my way.’

Lydia was a stewardess with an airline and had a varied work schedule, together with a hectic social life.

Jandy put a forkful of food in her mouth and chewed it reflectively. She wasn’t about to tell Lydia that Patrick Sinclair was drop-dead gorgeous or the tragic story of his wife. If Lydia knew he was unattached, she would never hear the end of it. Lydia was longing for her to find a partner.

‘He wasn’t bad,’ she replied cautiously. ‘He’s good at his job.’

Lydia’s eyes gleamed. ‘That’s a start! How old is he?’

‘Thirtyish—he has a little girl,’ added Jandy mischievously, to put Lydia off the scent.

‘Damn! Where have all the single men gone in that place?’

‘They got snapped up—anyway, Lydia, you know I’m off men for good. They really aren’t worth the hassle!’

Lydia laughed and started to clear the plates away. ‘Wait till you meet Mr Right—not everyone’s like Terry, you know. There are still a few good men out there.’ She added mock-severely, ‘Anyway, darling, you need someone to look after you and Abigail in your old age…’

‘Here,’ protested Jandy. ‘I’m not quite in my dotage yet—and if I am, so are you!’

Lydia put her tongue out at her sister. ‘Cheeky! Look, love, I’ll put Abigail to bed—you look a bit bushed. Have a run through those leaflets on places to let. I have to admit the one I described over the phone was probably a bit pricey so that’s a no-no.’

Despite her madcap ideas about what they could afford, Lydia was a tower of strength in so many ways, reflected Jandy as she settled down to riffle through what was on offer in the letting market. Lydia was kind and adored Abigail—but one of these days she would meet someone special and go her own way, and, oh, how Jandy would miss her then! As Patrick had said, it was tough being a single parent.

She started to look at the properties advertised but there was nothing suitable in her price bracket. Anyway, she was finding it hard to concentrate, her mind reverting back to Patrick and reliving that moment when every nerve in her body had been kick-started into life again…

Then there was the tragic revelation about his personal life that belied his surface confidence and good humour. But, of course, she too knew what it was like to put on a good face and if she wasn’t careful she’d end up feeling sorry for him. Life went on and you had to put the past behind you, and his arrival seemed to have stimulated thoughts about her future that she hadn’t had for a long, long time.

Jandy didn’t sleep well that night, her dreams a jumble of scenarios that mostly featured a man with blue eyes and a brilliant smile, yet in the morning she felt wide awake, anticipating the day with a tremor of nervous excitement. She took a little more care with her hair and didn’t forget to put on some lipstick and a stroke of blusher on her cheeks.

‘What are you like, Jandy Marshall?’ she asked herself scornfully. ‘Trying to attract a man because you’ve learned he’s not married. Pathetic!’

All the way to the hospital she tried to persuade herself that she wasn’t all that bothered whether Patrick noticed her or not really. He was just another colleague, only there for a few months, but she couldn’t stop the way her stomach fluttered when she thought of him and she had a sense of unusual excitement about going to work.

She met Karen coming out of one of the cubicles wiping her hands on a paper towel. Karen raised her eyes to heaven.

‘It’s one of those days, I’m afraid. We’ve got an elderly patient with dementia from a care home in Delford—can you believe they’ve sent him in on his own?’

This happened with monotonous regularity: a confused patient would be ‘dumped’, as Dr Vernon put it, in A and E with little information on his health or age, and it would take considerable time to establish what was wrong with him as he couldn’t help with any questions. Karen bustled off to contact the care home and Jandy looked at the list of patients to be discharged.

‘That’s a familiar name,’ she murmured. ‘Albert Roper…’ She scanned his notes, which informed her that the patient had seen Dr Vernon, who had said Mr Roper could be discharged after his intravenous fluid.