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Oddly, she wasn’t hurt. Not deeply hurt, the way she should have been. Not gutted. Just wounded pride more than anything, with the cruel things Oscar had said. And angry. Dear God, was she angry! She started to pace round the kitchen, her fury building, and by the time Ben got back she was ready to kill.
He took one look at her, raised an eyebrow and unpacked the shopping on to the big island unit. ‘Formula. Bottles. Sterilising stuff. Food for Maisie.’
‘Missy,’ she corrected, and the corner of his mouth tipped.
‘Missy,’ he agreed. ‘Nappies—for little boys and big girls. Pyjamas. A dress. Tights. Vests. A sleepsuit for Kit. And—’ he put his hand into the bag and pulled it out ‘—toffees.’
‘I love you,’ she said earnestly, and grabbed the bag, ripping it open and peeling one. Bliss. How had he remembered?
‘Right, Missy,’ she said, her teeth firmly stuck together, ‘let’s get you ready for bed.’ She scooped up the armful of baby clothes and then, suddenly aware yet again of the enormity of their imposition, she looked at Ben. ‘Um—I take it it is OK for us to stay? I mean, just for a while? A few days or so? You will say if it isn’t, or whatever—’
‘Liv, it’s fine; don’t stress. I’ll come up and give you a hand. What shall I bring?’
She looked at the things, then at Kit finally asleep wedged in cushions on one of the big chairs by the window, and shrugged. ‘Nappies—both sorts. Nothing else. They’ll sleep once they’re in bed—please God.’
‘I’ve got a cot—in case friends stay. It’s not made up but it soon can be. Which one do you want to put in it?’
‘Missy,’ she said definitely, her mind at rest about the stairs now she knew her little daughter wouldn’t be able to fall down them. ‘Kit can sleep in a drawer or something.’
‘So you can shut it if he screams?’ Ben asked mildly, leading her into a bedroom, the baby in his arms.
Liv laughed, the tension easing a fraction. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said.
They went straight to sleep, Missy in the cot and Kit beside her in his makeshift little bed in the huge bottom drawer of a mahogany wardrobe, and Ben led Liv back downstairs, put a mug of tea in her hand and sat down, legs sprawled out under the kitchen table.
‘Drink your tea,’ he ordered, and she sat and picked up the mug, playing with it while she ran through the night again in her mind.
He said nothing, just watched her, and after a moment Liv stood up, mug in hand, and walked over to the window. It faced the road, beyond the curving drive and the neatly trimmed shrubs and the manicured lawn.
Liv didn’t see them. What she saw was Oscar, arrogant, cocky, bored, telling her where he’d been, and who with, in graphic and embarrassing detail.
‘Aren’t you going to ask?’ she said to Ben, an edge in her voice.
‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready,’ he said gently.
She put the mug down, hugging her elbows and pacing round the kitchen. ‘He’s a—a—’ she began.
‘Bastard?’
‘No, thanks to him and his liberated attitude—but yes, he’s a bastard in the sense you mean. Oh, yes.’
Ben shrugged. ‘He always has been. It’s taken you four years to realise it. I don’t know why you didn’t cotton on sooner.’
‘Nobody told me.’
‘People tend to be circumspect,’ he said, chasing a bubble in the top of his tea. ‘Anyway, it was so obvious I couldn’t believe you didn’t notice.’
‘Well, I didn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Besides, he was wonderful to me at first—when I had a figure.’
Ben’s mouth tightened and his blue eyes seemed to shoot sparks. She thought inconsequentially that it was just as well Oscar wasn’t in the room, because Ben would kill him. It was a tempting thought.
‘So what happened tonight?’
She picked her tea up and went over to the table, sitting down again restlessly. There was a bowl of sugar on the table, and she played with it, dribbling the grains off the spoon, watching it intently without seeing it. ‘He was late. He came home after midnight—he hadn’t said he was going to be late, so I’d waited with supper for him. It was ruined, of course, but he didn’t want it. He’d eaten.’
‘Alone?’
She snorted and rammed the spoon back in the sugar. ‘Yeah, right. Oscar doesn’t eat alone. Oscar doesn’t do anything alone. No, he was with his mistress. The one he’s been keeping for the past six months or so.’ She felt bile rise in her throat, and grabbed another toffee, ripping the wrapper off and shoving it in her mouth angrily.
‘Six months!’ she muttered round the sweet. ‘Damn him, he’s had her there for six months, cosily installed in the block next to his office so he didn’t even have to make the effort of commuting for his sex!’
She bit down on the toffee and growled furiously. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’ she raged, standing up again and waving her arms wildly. ‘He said he wanted a real woman—one who knew how to please a man. He said he was sick of my baggy stomach and my sagging—’
She broke off and took a deep breath. ‘He said I stank of baby sick and he was fed up with falling over toys and nearly breaking his ankles and coming home to screaming kids and a woman who was constantly out of commission—as if I was a dishwasher that was on the blink, for goodness’ sake! I’m his wife! Well, no, I’m not, because the toad wouldn’t marry me, but you know what I mean.’
‘So what happened then?’ Ben asked, prompting her gently.
She caught her breath and sighed. ‘I said if that was the way he felt, there was no point in putting up with him and his vile temper any longer, and I’d leave in the morning. He said why wait, so I didn’t. I got the children out of bed and walked out.’
‘Without your credit cards.’
‘Without my credit cards,’ she said wryly. ‘That was a tactical error. Apart from that, it was the best thing I’ve done in years.’
She looked up at Ben and found him smiling. ‘What? What now?’ she demanded, sparks flying again.
His smile widened. ‘Good girl,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done. It’s been a long time coming, Liv, but well done.’
The tension drained out of her, and she picked up her cup and emptied it. She was starving, she realised. Starving, exhausted and safe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got such a thing as toast, have you?’ she asked, and he chuckled.
‘Why not?’ he said mildly. ‘It’s almost breakfast time. We might as well have breakfast.’
She slept like a log. It was after eleven before she woke to the sound of the baby screaming and Ben’s soothing voice just outside her door.
‘Liv? Are you decent?’
She slid up the bed and tugged the soft, thick quilt up under her arms. ‘Yes—come in.’
The door swung open and Ben entered, dressed in the snug and well-loved jeans and comfy sweater he’d worn the night before—or that morning, if she was being realistic. She’d only been in bed three hours. He looked fresh as a daisy, recently showered if the short, damp hair was anything to go by, and she could see a few of the fair, springy strands dripping slightly. She smiled a greeting, and he walked towards her, Kit flailing in his arms. ‘Hi. One baby, rather loudly demanding Mum.’
He propped him up against his shoulder and jostled him soothingly, and the contrast between the big man and the tiny child brought a lump to Liv’s throat. His large hand cupped the back of the baby’s head tenderly, cradling it next to his newly shaven cheek, and he crooned softly.
‘Hush, my precious,’ he murmured, and Liv wondered sadly why Ben was so good with him and Kit’s own father had been so bitter and indifferent.
Certainly he’d never called him precious.
‘Is he OK?’ she asked guiltily. ‘I didn’t even hear him cry—I’m sorry.’
‘That’s all right, I was up anyway. He’s fine. Just hungry, I think, and a bit uncertain about my nappy-changing skills. Missy’s still sleeping.’
She reached out and took the baby from him, and without thinking pulled up the T-shirt he’d lent her and settled Kit’s mouth over her nipple.
There was instant, blissful silence, and she looked up with a smile on her face to see Ben staring down at her breast, an unreadable expression in his sapphire eyes. After a stunned second he cleared his throat and turned away, and she closed her eyes and sighed. Damn. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just hadn’t thought.
‘Sorry—’ she began, but he cut her off.
‘Don’t apologise, you haven’t done anything,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Do you want a drink? My sisters always demand tea when they’re breastfeeding—they say they get thirsty.’
‘Please—if it’s not a nuisance.’
He hovered in the doorway, his eyes fixed firmly on her face. ‘What about a bottle? Want me to make one up, or do you want to give it a chance?’
She looked down at her breasts, soft and pale, not blue-veined and taut as they had been when they were full of milk, and sighed. ‘I don’t know. I want to feed him if I can, but I don’t want him hungry.’
‘Why don’t I make up a small bottle just in case, and I’ll ring the doctor and ask if the midwife can come and talk to you?’
‘It’s the health visitor,’ she corrected. ‘The midwife only looks after you for the first ten days—and anyway, we’ll be all right.’
‘Nevertheless, perhaps she can give you some advice. I’ll ring.’
And he left her alone with the baby. He suckled well, but he wasn’t satisfied, she could tell. He fussed and whinged, and she had to use the bottle Ben had made up to settle him in the end.
And then the health visitor came, as if by magic, and was wonderful, giving her all sorts of sane advice which she desperately needed, because she’d bottle-fed Missy at Oscar’s insistence and wasn’t really confident in her ability to feed Kit.
‘You’ll be fine,’ the woman assured her cheerfully. ‘Drink lots, plug him in whenever he seems hungry, top him up with the bottle only if it’s absolutely necessary so you can get some sleep, and you’ll soon find you’ve got more milk than you know what to do with. And now I need a quick cuddle with him before I have to go.’
She took Kit from Liv, and made all sorts of admiring noises that Kit found fascinating while Liv sat there and wondered how long they could go on imposing on Ben and relying on his good nature. Missy was curled up next to her on the big wide chair, watching the health visitor and sucking her thumb, and every now and then her eyelids drooped.
Good. If she needed a nap, and the baby would go down for a while, she could have a serious talk with Ben about this housekeeping job. Not that she knew the first thing about housekeeping! She’d left home at nineteen, lived in a dreadful shared house on yoghurt and tomatoes until she’d met Oscar, and then moved in with him into a serviced flat where the most she’d had to do was rustle up the odd meal at the weekend, if they weren’t out and felt too pinched to order in.
Apart from that all she could manage were salads—models didn’t tend to concentrate very much on food. It was a bit like a eunuch planning a seductive evening with a beautiful woman, she supposed—too frustrating to consider.
So, not the best training ground, but she’d manage. She’d learn.
She’d have to.
Ben leant back in the chair in his study and listened to Liv singing softly to the children overhead. It was a curiously comforting sound, something sweet and gentle that touched some fundamental part of him and made him feel the world was a better place.
Then the singing stopped, drifting away, and was replaced by soft footfalls coming down the stairs. They hesitated outside his study, and he stood up and went to the door, pulling it open.
Liv was standing there, hand raised to knock, and he smiled at her, still warmed by her lullaby.
‘Hi. Fancy a cup of tea?’ he asked.
‘I wanted to talk to you.’
He nodded. ‘Can we do it over tea? I was just going to make a cup.’
‘I’ll make it.’
She turned on her heel and strode briskly down to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on, her actions busy and purposeful. Ben waited, settling himself in the comfy chair by the French window, looking out over the back garden. She’d get round to it when she was ready. You couldn’t hurry Liv. She did things her way, he’d learned that over the years.
While he waited he looked at the garden, tidied up for the winter, a few odd leaves blowing defiantly across the lawn. He loved the kitchen, facing both ways as it did and spanning the house. It was the only room apart from his bedroom that did that, and it was his favourite room in the house. In the summer he could sit here with the doors open, or take his coffee outside to enjoy the sound of birds and the distant bustle of traffic. In the winter, it was warm and snug and cosy.
In truth he hardly used the other rooms unless he was entertaining, and recently he’d done less and less of that. He was sick of the soulless merry-go-round of social chit-chat and gossip-mongering, and now he entertained for business reasons alone, and then usually in a hotel or restaurant, in the absence of a decent cook.
Anything rather than have his private space invaded by strangers.
‘About the job.’
He looked up with a start, and frowned at Liv. ‘Job?’
‘The housekeeper’s job—you rang me a couple of weeks ago to congratulate me on having Kit, and mentioned that you were looking for someone.’
He thought of Mrs Greer who had been with him for years. For all her sterling qualities she couldn’t cook, and he’d wanted to find someone to fill that slot without losing her as his cleaning lady. Still, with Liv and the babies there, she’d be much more stretched on the cleaning front, and if Liv needed the ‘job’ as a sop to her pride, so be it.
She’d have to cook for herself and the children, anyway, so cooking for him as well wouldn’t add a great deal to the burden and would make her feel useful. Besides, it would make sure she stayed for a while, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and the children so they didn’t all end up in a worse mess.
And he’d have company.
He settled back against the chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Tell me about your qualifications,’ he said deadpan, and to his amazement she took him seriously. She coloured and straightened up, her mouth a determined line, and her eyes locked with his, the resolve in them terrifying.
‘I don’t have any,’ she told him bluntly. ‘But I’ll learn. I’ll read books and practise and try new things, and I won’t kill you with salmonella or anything like that. I won’t let you down, Ben.’
He sat up and leant towards her, a smile teasing at his lips. ‘I’m convinced. You can start now. Where’s that tea?’
She looked down into the pot that she’d been mashing vigorously for the past few minutes, and coloured again. ‘Um—I’ll make fresh. I seem to have mangled the tea bags.’
Ben stifled the laugh, closed his eyes and prayed that it wasn’t an omen for his gastronomic future.
CHAPTER TWO
‘WHAT about your things?’ Ben asked, sipping his tea warily.
‘Things?’
‘You know—all the stuff you left at the flat. Your clothes, the children’s clothes and equipment, your personal bits and pieces. When do you want to go and pick them up?’
‘I can’t,’ she told him flatly. ‘Oscar won’t let me have them; he said so.’
Ben’s mouth tightened and he dragged an impatient hand through his close-cropped hair, ruffling it yet again. ‘You need your nursery equipment. The children need continuity—not Kit, particularly, but Missy. She needs her familiar toys and clothes around her. You need your clothes—you can’t wear that pair of trousers for ever. And what about all the personal stuff? You must want that.’
Liv shrugged and buttered another piece of toast. Want them or not, it was beyond her to go back to the flat and demand that Oscar give her the things. ‘Could you give me an advance on my salary? I can go and buy something second hand—’
‘While Oscar sits on all your things? What’s the point? What does he need them for?’
‘Spite? A weapon? A lever, in case he decides he wants me back?’ She bit into the toast, a late lunch because she hadn’t got round to dealing with it after her rather strange morning, and glanced up at Ben.
He was looking thoughtful and rather serious. ‘Would you go?’ he asked. ‘Back to Oscar—would you go? Do you want to?’
