The Secret Sinclair (12 page)

Her hair was tousled and her cheeks were pink, and he noticed the top two buttons of her checked shirt had come undone—although she hadn’t yet noticed that.

‘Good idea,’ he murmured blandly, with a shuttered expression that left her feverishly trying to analyse what he was thinking.

Raoul noted the hectic colour that had seeped into her cheeks, and the way her arms tightened nervously around a very drowsy Oliver. Arrangements certainly needed to be made, he thought. Though possibly not quite along the lines she anticipated.

She wanted to deal with the formalities, and there was no doubt that certain things had to be discussed, but he was running with a different agenda.

At long last he had lost that unsettling, disconcerting feeling that had climbed into the pit of his stomach and refused to budge. He liked having an explanation for everything and he had his explanation now. Sarah was still in his head because she was unfinished business. There were loose ends to their relationship, and he looked forward to tying all those loose ends up and moving on.

He smiled at her slowly, in a way that sent a tingle of maddening sensation running from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head.

‘I’ll pour you a drink too,’ he said, his dark eyes arrowing onto her wary face, taking in the fine bone structure,
the wide eyes, the full, eminently kissable mouth. ‘And then we can … as you say … begin to talk about moving forward …’

S
ARAH
took longer than she had planned. Oliver, for a start, had discovered a new lease of life and demanded his set of toy cars. And Raoul. In that order.

Determined to have a bit of space from wretched Raoul, in which she could clear her head and plan what she was going to say, Sarah had immediately squashed that request and then been forced to compensate for Raoul’s absence by feigning absorption in a game of cars which had involved pushing them around the bed in circles, pretending to stop off at key points to refuel.

Forty minutes later she had finally managed to settle him, after which she’d taken herself off for a bath.

She didn’t hurry. She felt that she needed all the time she could get to arrange her thoughts.

First things first. She would chat, in a civilised and adult fashion, about the impending necessity to talk to Oliver. She foresaw no problem there.

Secondly she would announce her decision to finally break the news to her parents that Raoul was back on the scene. She would reassure him that there would be no need to meet them.

Thirdly, they were no longer in a relationship—although they were
friends
for Oliver’s sake. Just two people with a common link, who had managed to sort out visiting rights
without the interference of lawyers because they were both so mature.

She would be at pains to emphasise how
useful
it had been doing stuff together, for the sake of his relationship with his son.

Downstairs, Raoul had removed himself to the sitting room, and Sarah saw, on entering, that he had poured himself a glass of wine. Ever since he had been on the scene her fridge had been stocked with fine-quality wines, and her cheap wine glasses had been replaced with proper ones—expensive, very modern glasses that she would never have dreamt of buying herself for fear of breakages.

He patted the space next to him, which wasn’t ideal as far as Sarah was concerned but, given that her only other option was to scuttle to the furthest chair, which would completely ruin the mature approach she was intent on taking, she sat next to him and reached for her drink.

‘I think we can say that was a day well spent,’ Raoul began, angling his body so that he was directly facing her and crossing his legs, his hand on his thigh loosely holding his glass. ‘Despite your rant about the state of my apartment.’

‘Sorry about that.’ She concentrated hard on sipping her wine.

He shrugged and continued to look at her, his brilliant dark eyes giving very little away. ‘Why should you be?’

‘I suppose it was a bit rude,’ Sarah conceded reluctantly. ‘I don’t suppose there are very many people who are critical of you …’

‘I had no idea you were being critical of
me
. I assumed you were being critical of the décor in my apartment.’

‘That’s what I meant to say.’

‘Because you have to agree that I’ve taken every piece
of advice you’ve given and done everything within my power to build connections with Oliver.’

‘You’ve been brilliant,’ Sarah admitted. ‘Have you … have you enjoyed it? I mean, this whole thing must have turned your world on its head …’

She hadn’t actually meant to say that, but it was something they hadn’t previously discussed—not in any depth at all. He had accepted the situation and worked with it, but she couldn’t help but remember how adamant he had been all those years ago that the last thing he wanted was marriage and children.

‘You had your whole life mapped out,’ she continued, staring off into the distance. ‘You were only a few years older than the rest of us, but you always seemed to know just what you wanted to do and where you wanted to be.’

‘Am I sensing some criticism behind that statement?’ Raoul harked back to her annoying little summary of the sort of thing she looked for in a man. ‘Fun-loving’ somehow didn’t quite go hand-in-hand with the picture she was painting of him.

‘Not really …’

He decided not to pursue this line of conversation, which would get neither of them anywhere fast. ‘Good.’ He closed the topic with a slashing smile. ‘And, to get back to your original question, having Oliver has been an eye-opener. I’ve never had to tailor my life to accommodate anyone …’

And had he enjoyed it? He hadn’t asked himself that question, but thinking about it now—yes, he had. He had enjoyed the curious unpredictability, the small rewards as he began making headway, the first accepting smile that had made his efforts all seem worthwhile …

‘If it had been any other kid,’ he conceded roughly, ‘it would have been a mindless chore, but with Oliver …’ He
shrugged and let his silence fill in the missing words. ‘And, yes, my life had been disrupted. Disrupted in a major way. But there are times when things don’t go quite according to plan.’

‘Really? I thought that only happened to other people.’ Sarah smiled tightly as she remembered all the plans he had made five years ago—none of which had included her. ‘What other times have there been in your life when things didn’t go according to your plan? In your adult life, I mean? Things don’t go according to plan when you let other people into your life, and you’ve
never
let anyone into your life.’

Okay, so now she was veering madly away from her timetable, but the simmering, helpless resentment she felt after weeks of feeling herself being sucked in by him all over again was conspiring to build to a head. It was as if her mouth had a will of its own and was determined to say stuff her head was telling it not to.

‘I mean, just look at your apartment!’

‘So we’re back to the fact that you don’t like chrome, leather and marble …’

‘It’s more than that!’ Sarah cried, frustrated at his polite refusal to indulge her in her histrionics. ‘There’s nothing personal anywhere in your apartment …’

‘You haven’t seen all of my apartment,’ Raoul pointed out silkily. ‘Unless you’ve been exploring my bedroom when I haven’t been looking …’

‘No, of course I haven’t!’ But at that thought she flushed, and shakily took another mouthful of wine.

‘Then you shouldn’t generalise. I expected better of you.’

‘Very funny, Raoul. I’m being serious.’

‘And so am I. I’ve enjoyed spending time with Oliver.
He’s my son. Everything he does,’ Raoul added, surprising himself with the admission, ‘is a source of fascination.’

‘You’re very good at saying all the right things,’ Sarah muttered, half to herself.

Where had her temper tantrum gone? He was refusing to co-operate and now she was reduced to glowering. It took her a few seconds before she brought her mind to bear on the things that needed discussion.

‘But I’m really glad that everything is going so well with Oliver, because it brings me to one of the things I want to say.’ She cleared her throat and wished that he would stop staring at her like that, with his fabulous eyes half closed and vaguely assessing. ‘Oliver has come to like you very much, and to trust you. When he first met you I really thought that it would be a huge uphill struggle for you two to connect. He had no real experience of an adult male in his life, and you had no experience of what to do around young children.’

‘Yes, yes, yes. You’re not telling me anything I don’t already know …’

Sarah’s lips tightened and she frowned. She had laid out this conversation in her head and she had already deviated once.

‘It’s terrific that you haven’t seen it all as a chore.’

‘If you’re hoping to get on my good side, then I should warn you that you’re going about it the wrong way. Derogatory remarks about where I live, insinuations that I’m too rigid for parenting … anything else you’d like to throw in the mix before you carry on?’

She thought she detected an undercurrent of amusement in his voice, which made her bristle. ‘I think we should both sit down with Oliver and explain the whole situation. I’m not sure if he’ll fully take it in, but he’s very bright, and I’m hoping that he’ll see it as a welcome development.
He’s already begun to look forward to your visits.’ She waited. ‘Or, of course, I could tell him on my own.’

‘No. I like the idea of us doing it together.’

‘Good. Well … maybe we should fix a date in the diary?’

‘“Fix a date in the diary”?’
Raoul burst out laughing, which made Sarah go even redder. ‘How formal do we have to be here?’

‘You know what I mean,’ she said stiffly. ‘You’re busy. I just want to agree on a day.’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Fine.’

‘Shall I get my phone out so that I can log it in?’

‘I’m trying to be serious here, Raoul. After we talk to Oliver I can talk to my parents. I haven’t breathed a word to them, but Oliver’s mentioned you a couple of times when he’s spoken to Mum.’

Nor had she visited her parents in nearly a month. She was used to nipping down to Devon every couple of weekends, and she was guiltily aware that it had been easier to fudge and make excuses because her mother would have been able to eke the truth out of her, and she hadn’t wanted the inevitable sermon.

‘But that’s not your problem. You won’t have to meet them at all. I’ll explain the situation to them … tell them that we happened to bump into one another … They’ll be pleased because it’s always worried them that you were out there, not knowing that you had fathered a son. I’ll have to explain that I haven’t mentioned anything earlier because I wanted you to get to know Oliver, work through some of the initial difficulties. I think they’ll understand that …’

‘And I won’t meet them because …?’

‘Why should you? You’ll be involved in Oliver’s life, but you won’t be in mine. Which is really what I want to talk to you about. Visiting rights and such. I don’t think
we have to go through lawyers to work something out, do we? I mean, the past few weeks have been fine. Of course I realise that it’s not really been a normal routine for you, but we can work round that. I’m happy to be flexible.’

Raoul found himself recoiling from the deal on the table, even though it was a deal that suited him perfectly. Yes, he had taken a lot of time off work recently. In fact working late into the night, pretty much a routine of his, had been put on temporary hold, and even time catching up in front of his computer had been limited. Her willingness to compromise should have come as a relief. Instead, he was outraged at her easy assumption that he would be fobbed off with a night a week and the occasional weekend as Oliver’s confidence levels in him rose.

‘Visiting rights …’ he repeated, rolling the words on his tongue and not liking how they tasted.

‘Yes! You know—maybe an evening a week, whenever suits you. It would be good if you could set aside a specific day, although I know that’s probably unrealistic given your lifestyle …’

Quite out of the blue she wondered when his lifestyle outside of work would recommence. His extra-curricular activities. Should she go over old ground? Repeat that she would prefer Oliver not to have to deal with any unfamiliar women? Or would Raoul be sensible enough to understand that without her having to spell it out in black and white?

It was all well and good, laying out these rules and regulations in a calm, sensible voice, but nothing could disguise the sickening thump of her heart when she thought about the longer term. The days when she would wave goodbye to Oliver and watch from the front door of her new house as Raoul sped him away to places and experiences of which she would be ignorant.

She had become accustomed to the threesome.

She had to swallow hard so that the smile on her face didn’t falter. ‘Aren’t you going to say anything?’ she prompted uncertainly.

‘Let me get this straight,’ Raoul intoned flatly. ‘We arrange suitable days for me to pick Oliver up and drop him off a couple of hours later, and beyond that our relationship is severed …’

‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t call it a
relationship
.’ She thought of the tingling way he made her feel, and tacking the word
relationship
onto that just seemed to make things worse.

‘What would you like me to call it?’

‘I’d like to think that we’re
friends
. I never thought that I’d see the day when I could refer to you in that way, but I’m pleased to say that I can. Now.’

‘Friends …’ Raoul murmured.

‘Yes. We’ve really worked well together on this … er … project …’ That didn’t sound quite right, and she lowered her eyes nervously, realising, with a start that she had managed to drink her glass of wine without even knowing it. She could feel his proximity like a dense, lethal force, and it was all she could do not to squirm away from him.

‘And that’s what you want, is it, Sarah?’

Dazed and confused, she raised her bright green eyes to his, and was instantly overwhelmed by a feeling of light-headedness.