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So she’d known, staring at a positive pregnancy test alone in a hotel bathroom six months later, that it was the end for them, even if he didn’t realise it. She could never go back.
He wouldn’t want her if she did and she wanted the baby growing inside her more than anything. She hadn’t changed her mind about that in the years since. Had he changed his?
‘There’s got to be a way,’ Merry said thoughtfully. ‘A way we can take the job, still give Ivy a wonderful Christmas—and pull off the New Year’s gala.’
Clara sat on the other end of the phone and waited. She knew that tone. It meant Merry was on the verge of something brilliant. Something that would solve all of Clara’s problems.
She’d sounded exactly like that the night they’d dreamt up Perfect London. Clara had been clutching a wine glass, staring helplessly at the baby monitor, wondering what on earth she would do next—and Merry had found the perfect solution.
Clara reached for another chocolate while she waited, and had just shoved it into her mouth whole when Merry cried out, ‘I’ve got it!’
Chewing and swallowing quickly, Clara said, ‘Tell me.’
‘We do Christmas together in Scotland too!’
For a second Clara imagined her, Ivy and Merry all joining the Fosters in their Highland castle and worried that she might be on the verge of a heart attack. That, whatever Merry might think, was possibly the worst idea that anyone had ever had. In the history of the world.
‘Not with them, of course,’ Merry clarified, and Clara let herself breathe again. ‘We find a really luscious hotel, somewhere nearby, and book in for the duration, right? You’ll be on hand to manage Project Perfect Christmas, I’ll be there if you need me and to watch Ivy, and then, once things are set up at the castle, we can have our own Christmas, just the three of us.’
Clara had to admit, that did sound pretty good. It would give her the chance to get to know this new Jacob—and see if he was ready to be Ivy’s father. Then, in January, once the crazily busy season was over, she could find the best moment to tell him.
It gave her palpitations just thinking about it, but in lots of ways it was the perfect plan.
‘Do you think Ivy will mind having Christmas at a hotel instead of at home?’
‘I don’t see why,’ Merry said. ‘I mean, we’ll have roaring log fires, mince pies by the dozen and probably even snow, that far up in the country. What more could a little girl want?’
‘She has been asking about building snowmen,’ Clara admitted. And about having a father. Maybe this could just work after all. ‘But what about you? Are you sure you don’t mind spending Christmas with us?’
‘Are you kidding? My parents are heading down to Devon to stay with my sister and her four kids for the holidays. I was looking at either a four-hour trek followed by three days minding the brats or a microwave turkey dinner for one.’
‘Why didn’t you say?’ Clara asked. ‘We could have done something here. You know you’re always welcome.’
‘Ah, that was my secret plan,’ Merry admitted. ‘I was going to let on at the last minute and gatecrash your day. Ivy’s much better company than any of my nephews and nieces anyway.’
‘So Scotland could work, then.’ Just saying it aloud felt weird. ‘I mean, I’ll need to talk to Ivy about it...’ She might only be four, but Ivy had very definite ‘opinions’ on things like Christmas.
‘But if Ivy says yes, I’m in.’ Merry sounded positively cheerful at the idea. In fact, the whole plan was starting to appeal to Clara too.
As long as she could keep Jacob away from Ivy until she was ready. If he didn’t want anything to do with his daughter then it was better if Ivy never knew he existed. She wouldn’t let Jacob Foster abandon them.
Clara reached for one last chocolate. ‘Then all I need to do is call Jacob and tell him yes.’ It was funny how that was the most terrifying part of all.
* * *
Jacob awoke the next morning to his desk phone ringing right next to his head. Rubbing his itching eyes, he sat up in his chair, cursed himself for falling asleep at work again and answered the phone.
‘Mr Foster, there’s a woman here to see you.’ The receptionist paused, sounding uncertain. ‘She says she’s your wife.’
Ah. That would explain the uncertainty. But not why Clara was visiting his offices at—he checked his watch—eight-thirty in the morning.
‘Send her up,’ he said. The time it would take her to reach his office on the top floor, via two elevators and a long corridor, should give him time to make himself presentable.
‘Um...she’s already on her way?’ Jacob wondered why she phrased it as a question as Clara barrelled through his door with a perfunctory knock.
He put down the phone and made a mental note to send all the company’s receptionists for refresher training on how to do their job.
‘Clara. This is a surprise.’ He made an effort to sound professional, and not as if he’d just woken up two minutes earlier.
Except Clara knew exactly what he looked like when he’d just woken up. ‘Your hair’s sticking up at the back,’ she said helpfully.
Smoothing it down, Jacob took in the sight of his ex-wife. Clara stood just inside the doorway, a dark red coat wrapped around her, her gloved hands tucked under her arms for added warmth. She had a grey felt hat perched on top of her glossy brown hair and her make-up was immaculate.
He knew that look. She was wearing her ‘impressing people’ make-up—lots of dark lipstick and she’d managed some trick or another that made her eyes look even larger than normal. He blamed the receptionist a little less for letting her through. This new confident Clara, combined with her old charm, was hard to say no to.
‘You’ve come to a decision?’ he asked, motioning her towards the comfortable sitting area at the side of the office. It was too early for guessing games. And visitors, come to that.
‘Yes.’ She took her hat from her head and placed it on the table by the sofas, then removed her coat to reveal another flattering form-fitting wrap dress, this one in a dark forest green. Settling onto the chocolate-brown leather sofa, she looked utterly at home. As if she belonged not just in his office but in the corporate world. He supposed she did, now.
Jacob turned away, moving towards the high-end coffee machine behind the sitting area. This conversation definitely needed coffee.
‘I’ve spoken with my partner,’ Clara said. ‘We think we’ve found a way to work around our other commitments so we can take on your project.’ She didn’t sound entirely happy about the conclusion, but that wasn’t his problem. Neither was this partner, whoever the unlucky man was. Jacob felt something loosen inside him, something he hadn’t even realised was wound up too tight.
She was going to help him. That was all that mattered.
‘That’s good news,’ he said, trying not to let his relief show too much. Instead, he busied himself making them both a cup of strong black coffee. ‘I assume you have a standard contract with payment schedules and so on?’
‘Of course,’ Clara replied. ‘Although, given the timescales, I rather think we’re going to require full payment up front, don’t you?’
‘Understandable.’ Paying wasn’t a problem. And once she had his money, she’d have to follow through. It was far harder to pay back money than walk out on the potential of it. And heaven knew Jacob would do everything in his power to stop Clara walking out on him again.
He placed the coffee on the table in front of her, and her nose wrinkled up. ‘Actually, I don’t drink coffee any more.’
‘Really?’ She used to drink it by the bucketload, he remembered. Her favourite wedding present, in amongst far more expensive and luxury items, had been a simple filter coffee maker from Heather. ‘I can offer you tea. Probably.’ He frowned at the machine. Did it even make tea? ‘Or ask someone else to bring some up.’ Maybe he’d ask the receptionist—a small, perhaps petty act of revenge. Especially if he insisted that she bring it via the stairs instead of the lift...
‘It’s fine. I don’t need anything.’ Jacob bit back a sharp smile at her words. Clara had made that clear five years ago when she’d refused any support after she’d left.
‘So, just business then.’ Jacob lifted his own coffee cup to his lips and breathed in the dark scent of it. This was what he needed. Not his ex-wife in his office at eight-thirty in the morning.
‘Yes. Except...the usual contracts don’t cover the more...personal side of this arrangement,’ Clara went on delicately.
Jacob would have laughed if it weren’t so miserable a topic. ‘You mean the divorce.’ The idea that she wanted one still rankled. What was it about him that made him want to just keep flogging this dead horse? Why couldn’t he just cut her loose and get on with his life? Even his lawyer had started rolling his eyes whenever the subject came up. Jacob knew it was time to move on—past time, really. But, until the paperwork was signed, he hadn’t failed at marriage. Not completely.
He rather imagined that Clara would say differently, though.
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘The divorce. I think...I’d like to get that sorted in the New Year, if we could. I think it would be good for us both. We could move on properly.’
‘Are you planning to get married again?’ He regretted asking the moment the words were out of his mouth, but it was too late.
‘No! I mean maybe, one day, I suppose. But not right now. Why do you ask?’
Yes, Jacob, why did you ask that? He didn’t care what she did now. So why let her think he did?
He shrugged, trying to play nonchalant. ‘You mentioned a partner.’
‘Business partner. Merry. You met her yesterday, actually.’
The redhead at the office. Well, in that case, unless Clara had changed far more than he’d realised, there wasn’t a marriage in the making. ‘You’re not seeing anyone then?’ He wished it didn’t sound as if he cared, but he couldn’t not ask. He needed all the facts. He always had done.
‘No. Not right now. It’s hard when...’ She cut herself off. ‘Well, you know.’
‘When your husband won’t give you a divorce,’ he guessed. Although why that should make a difference he wasn’t sure. They’d been apart five years as it was; if she’d really wanted to move on with another guy, he couldn’t imagine a lousy piece of paper would stop her. Her wedding vows hadn’t kept her married to him, after all.
If she’d really, truly wanted the divorce, he doubted he could have stopped her. His lawyers were good, but some things were inevitable. He’d known all along he was only stalling, and somewhere on the way he’d even forgotten why. But Clara hadn’t wanted to take anything from him, hadn’t wanted to make anything difficult. Really, it should have been straightforward.
But she’d never pushed, never insisted, never kicked up a real fuss. Surely, if she’d really wanted this divorce she’d have done all that and more.
Unless she didn’t really want it. Unless she’d been waiting for him to come after her.
Which he was doing, right now, in a way.
It didn’t feel like Clara, that kind of complicated long game. And to drag it out over five years seemed a little excessive. But still, logic dictated that something had to be stopping her from forcing through the divorce. And he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything else it might be.
But working with her on his Perfect Christmas project would give him the ideal opportunity to find out.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_c126ad94-2bc5-5176-a3f5-121ad5d62767)
CLARA TRIED TO BREATHE through her mouth to avoid taking in the smell of the coffee. It was ridiculous, really. She’d loved coffee, almost as much as she’d loved Jacob. But then she’d fallen pregnant and suddenly she couldn’t stand the smell of it, let alone the taste. She’d always assumed that once the baby was born she’d get her love of coffee back again, but no. Even now, four years later, the very smell made her want to gag.
So unfair.
As if this morning wasn’t bad enough already, the universe had to throw in coffee.
Ivy had woken up bright and early at six and Clara hadn’t seen much point in dragging things out so, over their traditional weekday morning breakfast of toast and cereal, she’d broached the subject of Christmas.
‘How would you like the idea of going somewhere snowy for Christmas? With Merry?’ Merry was a definite favourite with Ivy, so that was bound to be more of a draw than most other things, Clara had decided.
‘Where?’ Ivy had asked in between mouthfuls.
‘Scotland.’ Clara had held her breath, waiting for an answer.
‘What about Norman?’
‘Norman?’ Clara had been briefly concerned that her daughter had suddenly gained a seventy-year-old imaginary friend until Ivy clarified.
‘Our Christmas tree,’ she’d said. ‘You said he was called Norman.’
Clara had blinked, ran back through a mental movie of the day they’d bought the tree and finally figured it out. ‘Nordmann. He’s a Nordmann Fir.’
Ivy had nodded. ‘Norman the Nordmann. What will happen to him while we’re away?’
‘We’ll ask Mr Jenkins next door to come and water him, shall we? Then Norman will still be here when we get back.’ Good grief, she had a Christmas tree with a name. How had this happened? ‘Is that all you’re worried about? Do you think Scotland might be okay for Christmas?’
Ivy’s little face had scrunched up as she considered. ‘Will they have pancakes there for Christmas morning?’ she’d asked.
Clara had added pancakes to their list of hotel requirements, dropped Ivy at the childminder’s house and headed off to talk to Jacob. There was no point putting it off, especially since she knew exactly where to find him—Foster Medical head office. He might more usually work from one of the American offices these days, but if he was in London, Clara knew he’d be at work.
But his work was going to have to wait. They only had a week and a half to put together a perfect Christmas. Two Christmases, if you counted Ivy’s, and Clara did. So she’d rushed across London to the imposing skyscraper of an office, only pausing long enough to explain to the receptionist exactly who she was, and then bustled along to Jacob’s office.
But now, with the scent of coffee making her queasy, and Jacob’s sleep-ruffled hair looking all too familiar, Clara really wished she’d waited. Or even called instead.
‘Anyway. If that’s all settled...’ She picked up her hat from the table.
‘I wouldn’t call it settled,’ Jacob said and she lowered the hat again. No, of course not. That would be too easy. ‘We still need to discuss the particulars.’ Putting his coffee cup down, Jacob came around from the counter to sit beside her. The leather sofa was vast—ridiculously so, for an office—and there was a more than reasonable gap between them. But, suddenly, it wasn’t coffee she could smell any more. It was him. That familiar combination of aftershave, soap and Jacob that tugged at her memory and made her want to relive every moment. To imagine that this was that other life she could have been living, where they were together in London, still married, still happy.
‘Particulars?’ she asked, shaking her head a little to try and stop herself being so distracted by his nearness.
‘Like where we want it to take place, how many people, what the menu should be, timings... Little things like that.’ He was laughing at her, but Clara couldn’t find it amusing. It just reminded her how much there was to do.
‘I’m assuming the timings are fairly self-explanatory,’ she said drily. ‘Christmas Eve to Boxing Day would be my best guess—I can’t imagine you wanting to take any more time off work than that, regardless of the circumstances.’ Even that was two days more than he’d managed for their last Christmas together. Two and a half if she counted him sloping off to the study for an hour or two after Christmas lunch. ‘Guests. I’m assuming just your parents and Heather, unless she has a partner she’d like to bring? Or you do,’ she added, belatedly realising that just because her love life was a desert didn’t mean his was.
‘No, you’re right, just the four of us.’ He still looked amused, but there was less mockery in his expression. ‘Go on.’
‘Location. you said the Highlands, and I happen to know of a very festive, exclusive castle that would be brilliant for your celebrations.’ And particularly helpful to her, since the client she’d originally booked it for had pulled out and she’d promised the owner she’d do her best to find someone else to take over the booking. If she didn’t find someone, thanks to a contract mishap Perfect London would be losing the rather hefty deposit.
‘Sounds ideal.’
‘As for the menu—traditional Christmas turkey dinner plus appetizers, puddings, wine and liquors, cold cuts and chutneys in the fridge, then smoked salmon and scrambled eggs with croissant for breakfast. Sound about right?’
‘Yes.’ He blinked, looking slightly bemused. ‘How did you know all that?’
‘It’s my job, Jacob,’ Clara said, irritation rising. He might not have appreciated everything she’d done to keep his nice little business gatherings and parties ticking over, but even he had to respect that she’d built up a successful business with her skills. ‘And it’s not like you’re asking for anything out of the ordinary.’ If she was lucky and used every contact she had, she could pull this off for Jacob and manage her own wonderful Christmas with Ivy too.
‘No, I suppose not. Of course, snow is obviously essential,’ Jacob added.
Clara stared at him. Was the man insane? ‘Snow. You want me to arrange snow?’
Jacob lifted one shoulder. Was he teasing? She never could tell when he was teasing her. ‘Well, it is Christmas, after all. I think we can all agree that the perfect Christmas would have to be a white one.’
Clara’s mouth tightened. ‘I’ll check the weather forecast then.’ Jacob looked as if he might be trying to dream up some more outlandish requests, just to throw her off her game, so Clara hurried on.
‘Which just leaves us with the presents.’ This, she knew, was the real test. If Jacob truly had changed—if this perfect Christmas idea was a sign that he was ready to embrace a family and, just possibly, the daughter he didn’t know he had—the presents would be the giveaway.
‘Presents?’ Jacob frowned, and Clara’s heart fell. ‘Aren’t you going to buy those? I’d have thought it would be part of the contract.’
‘Usually, Perfect London would be delighted to source the perfect gift for every member of your family,’ she said sweetly. ‘But, under the circumstances—with less than a fortnight to go, not to mention this being your father’s last Christmas—I am sure that you will want to select them yourself.’ She stared at him until he seemed to get the idea that this was not a suggestion.
‘But what would I buy them?’ He looked so adorably flustered at the very idea that for a moment Clara forgot that she was testing him.
