His Christmas Present (13 page)

 The text came
through a few hours later as her taxi pulled up at the airport.

Got it! Thx 4
all ur help, sweetheart. Luv u x

Attached to it was
the photo they’d had taken by the statue of King Wenceslas. It made her catch
her breath. Her earlier self glowed with happiness, smiling at the camera. She
hadn’t noticed he’d been kissing her hair as the man took the photo. Dion had a
tender look on his face.
Luv u
, the text said, although she knew it was
just an endearment. In another world, an alternate reality, maybe he’d come
back to her hotel after the meeting and they’d fly home, make a life together.

But not in this reality.

The boarding call
sounded and she pocketed the phone. This had been a lovely dream, but that was
all. Time to go home, back to the real world. It had been great and he’d helped
her move forward, lifted her out of the gloom she’d descended into after
breaking up with Cody. The relationship with her ex now seemed like a
black-and-white photograph next to the Technicolor beauty of the night before.
But it was time to move on.

Time to forget
him.

Christmas Present

The next couple of
days passed in the lazy, hazy way Dion remembered from his teens. Sean and Gaby
took him, along with their kids, Megan and Harry, to a few places. They went over
to Ninety Mile Beach where he surfed with Sean until their limbs ached. Then
they collapsed on the sand to eat fish and chips, drink the ice cold Lion Red
lager Gaby had brought with her in a cooler and make sandcastles with the kids.

They drove up to
Cape Reinga, the headland with the lighthouse where Maori believe the spirits
of the dead enter the underworld, and Megan showed him the spot where the
Pacific meets the Tasman Sea, the water churning white as the two seas clashed.

They went over to
Russell and walked along the beach front, Megan pushing Harry in the carry seat
that clipped ingeniously to a stroller, and they stopped at a café and ate ice
cream sundaes while the gannets dived in the harbour.

Dion’s nephews and
nieces had seemed to cry continuously when they were young, so much so that
he’d dreaded going around there, and he never stayed more than half an hour,
their incessant squawking making his head ache. In contrast, Sean and Gaby’s
kids were well-behaved and fun, and Harry was amazingly content. Sometimes when
he needed changing he complained, but Megan just picked him up and whisked him
off, and within minutes they returned, the baby giggling and kicking his little
legs as before.

She fed him every
few hours, and Dion grew used to watching her snuggling the baby up to her,
feeding him with an ease Dion hadn’t expected.

When Harry had his
afternoon nap, sometimes Megan slept too—taking him off to Sean’s bedroom if
they were at the house, but if they were out she just curled up wherever they
were and dozed with him, and he’d find himself watching them, almost envious,
wishing he could share some of their contentedness.

But he didn’t ask
to hold the baby. And she didn’t ask him.

He tried not to
think about his predicament, or what he should do after the holiday ended. He
could make those decisions later, but for now he just needed to…what? Heal,
maybe, as if he was recovering from a long illness, something that only time
would mend. Or perhaps he was just avoiding the issue. But thankfully they
didn’t press him for answers.

Sometimes he felt
he was in a kind of stasis—frozen in time. He was conscious of his past all
around him, familiar enough to be calming, comforting him like a blanket. And
then he’d remember that his mother had died and his father had rejected him,
and sadness and anger would flood him all over again.

Just like in
Prague, though, Megan soothed him, her presence enclosing him in some sort of
protective bubble that, although temporary, helped to allay his worries about
the future. But still he was aware of it hovering like an insect in the
distance, waiting to get him as soon as he stepped out.

First things first
though. Before he had to worry about England, he had to meet Megan’s father on
Christmas Day.

He worried about
it all Christmas Eve. Megan spent the day helping her mother, and Sean and Gaby
went to visit friends, so he had most of the day to himself. He made his way
through the steep slope of bush leading away from the house toward the small bay,
intending to do some fishing, but when he got there he ended up just sitting on
the rocks, staring at the turquoise ocean, lost in thought.

Several times he
decided he wouldn’t go and would spend the day alone, but he knew that was
cowardly, and he had to face up to his fears. Besides which, he hadn’t done
anything wrong. Not when she was fifteen, and not in Prague. Certainly not in
Prague. They’d both been adults and she’d been completely willing—in fact she’d
pushed him into it even though he’d tried to persuade her otherwise.

Then he lay back
under the shade of one of the pohutukawa trees with its flaming red flowers and
closed his eyes in disgust. It was time he faced up to the truth. Megan had
been on the rebound and had been looking for comfort, and he could just as
easily have provided that with a hug and a few hours’ chat, without taking her
to bed. He’d let himself be talked into sleeping with her because he hadn’t had
sex for a few months and she’d looked hot.

He opened his eyes
and stared through the filter of leaves at the blue sky. But even now, he
wasn’t being honest, was he? Angry at himself for losing the CEO role—even
though he couldn’t think what he’d done to annoy his father—it fit his mood to
cast himself as the role of seducer and blame himself for ‘forcing’ Megan to
sleep with him. But he hadn’t cajoled her, and he certainly hadn’t dragged her
to that hotel room kicking and screaming.

They were two old
friends who’d come together—pun intended—in an hour of need. Okay, maybe she’d
been more in need, but that didn’t change the fact that it had been her choice.
She was a grown woman who would have laughed in his face if he’d suggested he’d
talked her into it. She’d broken up from a guy who sounded as interesting in
bed as watching dark grey paint dry. She’d wanted to experience the sort of sex
she’d heard about but wasn’t sure existed, and they’d had great fun. He’d been
certain she hadn’t regretted it, even though he knew she’d been sad that
morning he’d left. So had he—he’d thought about her all the way through his
speech to the board of the paper company, remembering every place where she’d
smiled at his jokes or suggested a change, and all the way home on the plane
his thoughts had been filled not with the success of the takeover but with
memories of the girl he’d slept with the night before.

And he’d thrown it
all away. He should have rung her, kept in touch. But he’d known that would
make things a lot harder. He’d been working twelve hours most days, flying
around Europe—there hadn’t been time to court a woman on the other side of the
world. And it was arrogant to think she’d move to England just to be with him.
Many times he’d picked up the phone to call her, but each time he’d replaced
the receiver, thinking it would only make things more difficult for her if she’d
been determined to forget him.

And now here he
was, in New Zealand. He’d lost the job he’d always wanted, and he’d gotten
Megan pregnant. He’d screwed everything up, and he didn’t know how to undo it
all. He couldn’t help feeling resentful that she hadn’t told him she was
pregnant, and obviously she didn’t want him to play a part in the baby’s life
or wouldn’t she have told him? So he was doomed to be an absent father, and the
baby would grow up like he had, half-hating the dad who obviously didn’t care
about him enough to hang around.

What a fucking
mess.

And now he had to
meet her father. Great. What better way to feel two inches high than to stand
in front of the man who’d exiled him from the country, knowing he’d knocked the
man’s daughter up?

Christmas Day
dawned bright and sunny, and the weather forecasters promised it would stay
that way for the rest of the day. Megan opened her presents at her small but
pretty home in town, and turned up at her parents’ house on the edge of the
inlet at twelve o’clock. She helped her mother prepare the meat and fish for
the barbecue, directed her father to the bits of the pool he’d missed during
cleaning, fed Harry, chopped salad, and did all this with nerves bubbling in
her stomach at the thought of what her father was going to say to Dion when—or
if—he turned up.

She half expected
Sean and Gaby to arrive and tell her that Dion had decided to stay at home, but
just after two o’clock Sean’s four-by-four rolled into the driveway, and
through the window Megan watched Dion get out, looking cool and gorgeous in
khaki shorts and a smart, stone-coloured polo shirt.

She went out into
the garden, carrying Harry, and stood amongst the lemon and mandarin trees as
Dion walked across to the house.

“Hi,” she said,
somewhat shyly, taken aback as always by how much faster her heart beat when he
approached.

“Hey. Merry
Christmas.” He bent and kissed her cheek, although she noted that he didn’t
acknowledge Harry at all.

“Merry Christmas.
I’m glad you came.”

He hesitated and
looked toward the decking, where her father was starting the barbecue. “I
nearly didn’t.” He looked back at her. His eyes were tired, the cloud of
depression still hanging over him.

“Well, we’re glad
you’re here.” She smiled and jiggled Harry in her arms. “Aren’t we, bib-bab?”
She beckoned with her head for Dion to follow her. “Come on. Let me introduce
you to a few people.”

It was a small
gathering—Megan’s aunt and uncle and their kids, Gaby’s parents and her sister
and her family, but the friendly group welcomed Dion warmly. Her parents had
warned them all of their strange predicament—that he’d only just found out he
was the father of Megan’s baby—and as a consequence nobody questioned him about
it, and she saw the relief wash over him as he realised he wasn’t going to be
quizzed.

The worry lines
reappeared, however, as they went up to her father. He turned as they
approached, and he put down the tongs and wiped his hands on a tea towel.

“Dad,” Megan said
nervously, “you remember Dion.”

“Yes, Megan,”
Richard Green said wryly. He met Dion’s gaze. “Hello, Dion.”

“Hello, Mr. Green.”
Dion held out his hand.

Richard stared at
him for a moment, then slowly accepted the handshake. “Call me Richard,” he
instructed. “We’re men now, no need for formalities.”

Dion nodded.
“Sure.”

Richard gestured
at Harry. “Bit of a shock for you, I understand.”

Dion glanced at
his son, and his lips curved. “Just a bit, yes.”

“How do you feel
about it?”

Dion blinked,
obviously surprised by the question. But he lifted his chin and answered, “I’m
not sure yet. We haven’t really talked about where to go from here. But I
promise I’ll stick by her, sir. I’ll make sure Harry has everything he needs.”

Including a
father who loves his mother?
Megan bit her lip as the words formed in her head, and she turned away,
leaving them to talk now she knew there wouldn’t be fists flying.
I’ll make
sure Harry has everything he needs.
Money, he meant. How medieval, as if he
was king and she was some mistress he kept on the side.

But that was
unfair. He was telling her father that he’d face up to his responsibilities,
and she knew her dad would appreciate it. Responsibility, status and
respect—these things were important to men. The last thing Richard Green would
be worried about was whether Dion had feelings for her.

The rest of the
afternoon passed smoothly enough, everyone dividing their time between eating
and drinking too much, swimming in the pool and playing games with the kids on
the large lawn. Megan took Harry into the pool in a special swim diaper, and he
enjoyed it so much that every time she went to lift him out, he squawked in
protest. Eventually though she took him inside, fed and changed him, then put
him in his carry seat to snooze for an hour or two while she finished her lunch
and snatched a half hour doze herself.

She awoke when a
shadow fell over her, and opened her eyes to see that Dion had moved the
umbrella in its stand to shield her from the sun.

“Crap, sorry,” he
said, straightening. “Did I wake you?”

She checked her
watch. “It’s okay, any more than half an hour and I get grumpy.”

“I didn’t want you
to burn,” he said.

“Thanks.” Her
parents were watching them further along the decking, and her cheeks warmed in
response.

She hid her blush
by glancing over her shoulder to where she’d left Harry in the coolness of the
living room in his carry seat.

“He’s still
asleep,” Dion said.

“Oh, okay.” Had
Dion checked on him then? For the first time, she felt a little glow inside her
that he’d bothered to check.