Instant Mother

‘Yes.’ But her eyes were on Mr Jones, who thumped his tail in welcome as Jessica walked cautiously across to him.

And Alexa’s mind was on Stefan. Who was coming home.

‘He looks a bit fierce, I know...’ she murmured rather absently. In fact, Mr Jones looked like a small and rather scruffy wolfhound. ‘But he won’t hurt you,’ she reassured her. ‘He likes to be scratched behind his ears.’ After waiting a moment to be sure they would be all right together, she walked through to the kitchen.

Removing her coat, she tossed it towards the bedroom—and then went to hang it up properly. You have a quest. No sluttish behaviour, please, Alexa.

Eyes still showing her worry and abstraction, she returned to the lounge to see Jessica sitting on the floor, her arm round the dog. Finding a smile, she went to remove the little girl’s outdoor clothes. Hanging them with her own, she returned to sit in the chair. ‘Now, what shall I tell you? This is Mr Jones, and he likes to go for a walk twice a day. We can take him out after we’ve had our tea. Would you like that?’ No answer, just a solemn little face with eyes too old for her years. ‘Right,’ she persevered, ‘there’s the television...’ Picking up the remote control, she showed Jessica how to turn it on and off. ‘Then you can have it on any time you want, can’t you?’

Holding out her hand, which Jessica obediently took, she added brightly, ‘Now I’ll show you round, so that you know where everything is, and then we’ll have something to eat.’

She fed the dog, made the shepherd’s pie, and when they’d eaten she racked her brains for something to occupy the little girl for the rest of the evening. ‘What do you usually do? Watch television? Draw? I don’t have any toys or anything...’

‘Draw.’

‘Right.’ Chewing her lip as she tried to remember if she had any paper, she finally went and got her writing pad, found a pen and handed them to the little girl.

A little smile flickered and was gone as she lay down beside Mr Jones and began to draw.

Watching her, Alexa wondered if she was normally this quiet and good, or whether she was just shy. No surprise there. Dumped on a stranger... ‘How old are you, Jessica?’

‘I’m Charlie,’ she announced, without looking up from her drawing.

‘Oh, right,’ Alexa agreed with a little grin. ‘Charlie. And how old is Charlie?’

‘Six.’

‘And do you like school?’

‘Yes.’

Smothering another smile, she continued to watch her. ‘We have to take Mr Jones out in a minute. Shall you mind going out in the dark?’

Her drawing was abandoned with a haste that was almost alarming, and Alexa was even more worried when Jessica carefully put the pen and notepad tidily on the chair. She then stared at Alexa with tense expectancy.

‘There’s a good girl,’ she praised inadequately. ‘You’re very tidy, aren’t you?’

She didn’t answer, merely waited.

They took Mr Jones out, and when they came back Jessica continued with her drawing whilst Alexa rang the charity shop to explain that she wouldn’t be able to help out for a while. By eight o’clock, Jessica was yawning.

‘Would you like to go to bed, darling?’

She nodded.

Walking with her into the bedroom, Alexa asked gently, ‘Do you need help undressing and washing? ’

She shook her head.

‘All right, don’t forget to clean your teeth—use my toothbrush for now; I don’t suppose it will matter. I’ll go and find you a tee shirt to wear for bed. I expect your uncle will bring your things when he comes.’ She would obviously stay here tonight, but tomorrow... Tomorrow they would have to find somewhere else.

When Jessica came back in just her vest, carrying her clothes, Alexa smiled at her, handed her the tee shirt. ‘Would you like me to tell you a story?’

She looked surprised, then shyly shook her head. Glancing at Mr Jones, who had accompanied them, then back to Alexa, she waited.

‘Would you like Mr Jones to stay with you?’

She nodded.

‘OK, but he mustn’t sleep on the bed, only on the floor beside the bed. All right?’

She nodded again.

‘Shall I leave the door open?’

She nodded.

Holding back the covers, she helped her in, covered her up, and kissed her goodnight. There was tension in the small body. Tension and worry. Well, that made two of them, didn’t it?

Forcing her own worries to the back of her mind, she perched on the edge of the bed and gently stroked Jessica’s soft blonde hair. ‘When you wake up,’ she continued gently, ‘your uncle will be here. And if you need anything, or if you feel frightened in a strange place, just call me. I’ll be just out there. All right?’

She nodded.

‘Goodnight, then, dar...er, Charlie.’ She smiled.

She watched television whilst she waited for Stefan to arrive, and didn’t take in any of it. She began to feel more and more nervous, which was stupid. He wasn’t a stranger, for goodness’ sake, just someone she didn’t know very well. She didn’t know his likes, his dislikes... All she did know with any certainty was that they had nothing in common. He was a scientist. She was a cook. Or had been. She couldn’t be one now. Not professionally at any rate. The accident had robbed her of the two vital senses necessary for being one. The senses of taste and smell. Not that Stefan knew that. Not that it mattered, she supposed. But then, he didn’t know very much about her at all. He knew about David, of course... Well, no, he didn’t even really know about that. He thought David had been her lover, and he hadn’t. They’d had a relationship, but they hadn’t been lovers. Always cautious in her dealing with men, she had wanted to wait until she was sure. With a grim smile, she wondered why being right should hurt so damned much.

Feeling restless, nervous, she heard a car and stopped to listen. Heard it stop. A few minutes later there was the gentle closing of a car door, and footsteps across the icy pavement.

She turned off the television, took a deep breath—and went to open the door. To her husband.

CHAPTER TWO

BIG. Much bigger than she remembered in his thick overcoat. Powerful. Devastating.

And she was attracted to him.

Staring blankly, she felt the knowledge hit her with the force of a brick. Not just friends. Not someone she liked, but someone she wanted to spend the rest of her life with.

And he only wanted a wife for a year.

‘Alexa?’ he frowned. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Wrong?’ she echoed faintly, and then realised that she was still staring, behaving like a fool. ‘Nothing,’ she denied quickly.

‘Only we’re letting all the cold air in,’ he pointed out.

‘Oh, yes, sorry.’ She hastily let him in—and the small lounge shrank alarmingly. Alexa wasn’t a short girl, but he made her feel so, made her feel suddenly inadequate.

‘You look terrible,’ he observed quietly. But then he always spoke quietly.

‘Thank you.’

He didn’t smile—why should he? She knew she looked terrible. Did he find it offensive? The way she looked? Certainly he’d behaved differently towards her after the accident. Some men found ugliness offensive. David, for example. Perhaps that was why he had left...

‘Why are you still wearing your hat?’

Jerking up her hand, she felt it, self-consciously tugged it off. ‘I’d forgotten I had it on.’ Avoiding his eyes, because she didn’t think she could bear to see what she thought she might see there, she asked foolishly, ‘How have you been?’

‘Busy.’

‘Oh, is that why you didn’t...?’

‘Ring you regularly? Keep in touch?’ he completed for her. ‘No.’

‘No?’ she queried weakly.

‘No. I didn’t keep in touch because I didn’t want to be told you’d changed your mind... Have you?’

‘No.’

‘Good.’

But she might have done—if he’d rung. ‘Mind the light fitting!’ she called urgently as he walked towards the fire, and he halted, turned his head slightly to survey the offending globe that hung below the height of his head. Moving round it, he continued towards the armchair, put down the large leather holdall and suitcase he was carrying.

Mr Jones slunk mournfully under the chair.

Mr Jones never slunk under the chair. Mr Jones liked everybody. Except, obviously, her husband.

‘He came with the house?’

‘No,’ she denied awkwardly. ‘Someone asked me to look after him—and they never came back.’

‘Ah.’

‘If you don’t like dogs I can...’

‘What? Get rid of him? Don’t be so defensive. Jessica asleep?’

‘Yes. Can I get you a cup of tea?’

‘Coffee?’

She grimaced, shook her head. ‘Sorry, I only have tea.’

‘Then tea will be fine. I’m sorry I shouted at you.’

‘What?’

‘On the phone. I was concerned.’

‘Oh, yes. It’s all right.’ Feeling awkward, unnatural, she murmured, ‘Why don’t you take your coat off? Make yourself comfortable?’

‘Thank you. How has she been?’ he asked as he removed his bulky overcoat and looked frowningly round for somewhere to put it.

Hurrying forward, she took it from him and laid it across the back of a chair. It weighed a ton.

‘She’s been fine. As good as gold. No trouble at all. I’ll go and make the tea.’

Almost running into the kitchen, she felt despair wash over her. She couldn’t be attracted to him, she thought in panic. Not sexually. He was a friend. Had always been a friend. They had a light-hearted, sometimes flirtatious, relationship, but never anything more. It wasn’t now, she assured herself. She was run-down, vulnerable, that was all it was. And yet never, ever in her life had she had trouble making conversation with people. She’d never had trouble making conversation with Stefan! So why now? It was ludicrous. But he was different, wasn’t he? Somehow, he was different. Quieter. His voice flatter. She’d known him in Romania, in her restaurant, and he’d always been gentle, humorous. Sad after his sister’s death, of course, but not... Had he guessed? Seen from her face?

Then she jumped like a startled deer when he walked up behind her. He couldn’t get in the kitchen because it was too small, but he successfully blocked the doorway, making Alexa feel ever so slightly claustrophobic. And frightened. He obviously registered the alarm on her face, because he retreated slightly, gave her room to breathe.

‘The house was only made for little people,’ she excused.

‘Yes.’

‘And don’t say I should have stayed in the hotel.’

‘I wasn’t going to.’

He frowned, rubbed long fingers absently across his forehead, and she asked quietly, ‘Do you have a headache?’

He smiled—almost smiled. His mouth moved in a vague approximation of a smile, anyway. ‘Yes.’

‘Would you like some aspirins?’

‘Thank you.’

Turning away from him, she quickly reached into the cupboard, shook two aspirins from the bottle and handed them to him with a glass of water.

He swallowed them, handed her back the empty glass. ‘Where is she?’

‘Jessica?’

‘Or Charlie, or Corrie,’ he said drily.

‘Oh, you know about that, do you?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

Yes, of course he would; he was Jessica’s uncle. Knew her a great deal better than she did. ‘Sorry, she’s through there. I put her to bed because I didn’t know how long you’d be. Delays or something...’ But she was talking to herself; he’d already pushed through into the bedroom.

Peeping round the doorway, she watched him stand beside the bed, stare down at the little girl fast asleep. He put out a gentle hand, carefully moved a lock of blonde hair away from her eyes. She couldn’t see his face, so didn’t know what his expression was. Tender, she imagined. A much loved niece. Alexa felt a lump form in her throat. She wished she were much loved.

Stop it, she scolded herself. It isn’t real. You know it isn’t real. Anguish over David, her restaurant, the after effects of the accident, had all combined to heighten her emotions, that was all. Refusing to think, she turned back to her task, made the tea—properly, in the teapot—laid up a tray, and was amused at herself. Trying to impress him, Alexa? With a little shake of her head, because she didn’t know what she was trying to do, she carried the tray into the living room and put it on the footstool before the fire. And sat and waited for him like a well-bred hostess.

She heard the bedroom door softly close, and stiffened slightly as he came to sit opposite her. He silently examined her face for a moment, then leaned back.

‘Your hair is growing.’

Running a self-conscious hand over her slowly emerging curls, she merely smiled. Probably inanely. ‘I expect you’re tired,’ she murmured.

‘Yes. Thank you for picking her up.’

‘That’s all right. She’s been no trouble. The opposite, in fact. Very quiet. Very—obedient.’

‘Yes, she would be,’ he said rather grimly.

Would she? Why? ‘Sugar?’

He shook his head.

Pouring the tea, she handed him his cup, and waited. Nothing. He merely stared down into his tea. Mike’s best small china cups looked extremely fragile in his large hands. Obviously, if she wanted answers, she would have to ask questions.

‘Why was everything such a panic?’ she asked quietly.

‘The grandparents had flu.’

‘And there was no one else to pick her up? No neighbours?’ she asked in disbelief. Everyone had neighbours of some sort. Friends. Didn’t they?

‘They’re elderly,’ he excused. ‘Panic easily. And they don’t like to ask favours of people. Edna—Mrs Bailey—Jessica’s grandmother, went down with the flu last week, and George, her husband, was coping. He took Jessica to school this morning, but didn’t feel very well, and when he got home, he collapsed. Edna rang me—what she thought I could do from the States, I have no idea,’ he exclaimed tiredly.

‘And so you did a bit of panicking of your own?’

‘Yes. I contacted Edna’s doctor, arranged for a nurse to go in, and then I tried to ring you and could get no answer. I left your number with Edna and she said she would ring you. When I heard nothing more, I assumed she’d managed to get in touch.’

‘But she hadn’t.’

‘No. Where were you?’

‘Nowhere,’ she answered with a frown, ‘or only shopping, taking the dog out... Or I might have been in the charity shop.’

‘Charity shop?’

‘I help out sometimes. I needed something to do!’

‘You don’t need to justify yourself, Alexa, but it might have been helpful if you’d given me alternative telephone numbers so that I could contact you.’

‘Sorry,’ she apologised perfunctorily, and discovered that she didn’t like being reprimanded in such a reasonable tone. As though it were obvious, and she was monumentally stupid. ‘I never thought.’

‘Nor about the size of this rabbit hutch,’ he complained wryly as he looked round him.

‘No,’ she agreed stiffly. ‘But I wasn’t expecting anything to happen until next month, and so I thought I had plenty of time.’

With a long sigh, he put his cup on the tray and leaned back. Staring into the fire, he said quietly, ‘I know, I’m sorry. It’s guilt talking.’

And regret? she wondered. Marry in haste? Repent at leisure?

Hunching forward, forearms along his knees, he shoved his hands through his hair. ‘I should have done something sooner,’ he continued levelly. ‘But I couldn’t take her when her parents died last year. I was living in a cramped room at the Institute. She loves her grandparents, seemed happy and settled with them, and I didn’t want to disrupt her schooling, her life any more than necessary. I knew I would be returning permanently one day—’ Breaking off, he added indistinctly, ‘And I’m jet-lagged, have the mother and father of all headaches, and I just need to sleep. Is there a hotel in this place?’

‘Yes. There’s one just along the road. I don’t expect they’ll be busy this time of year.’

‘No.’

‘I should have done it, shouldn’t I?’ she murmured guiltily. ‘Booked us all in.’ Something else she’d failed at.

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Settling himself more comfortably in the armchair, he watched her through half-closed lids. ‘Still getting headaches?’

‘Not so often.’ And before he could ask about David, if he’d been in touch, she asked, ‘Are you hungry? I can heat you up some soup, or something.’

‘Thank you.’

Getting to her feet, she walked into the kitchen, felt despair. She should never have married him. The old Alexa could have coped with all this. The new Alexa couldn’t.

‘I’ve bought a house near to the school,’ he said quietly from behind her, and she jumped again, dropped the spoon she was holding.

‘You don’t need to react quite so strongly, Alexa,’ he stated tiredly. ‘I’m not about to ravish you.’

‘I didn’t suppose you were,’ she denied stiffly. ‘But I don’t find this easy. I thought I had another month before...’

‘Yes,’ he agreed.

‘And I’m sorry the cottage is so small, but...’

‘Stop babbling,’ he reproved mildly. ‘And I don’t know why I make you so nervous; you’ve had six weeks to get used to the idea.’

‘I’m not nervous.’

‘And you don’t need to make small talk or entertain me.’

‘No.’

‘I’m very aware that I shouldn’t have accepted your hasty offer to marry me when you were still feeling so vulnerable...’

‘Yes,’ she swung round to agree eagerly, ‘and that’s why I don’t think this is going to work!’

‘It has to work,’ he stated flatly, his green eyes holding hers. ‘I never deceived you, never pretended it was anything other than what it was. I needed a wife in order to gain custody of Jessica, and I need you to stay with us for at least a year in order to comply with the court’s ruling, and then you may divorce me using whatever grounds you choose. I will pay you the lump sum we agreed upon, and you can go back to your life. If you back out now, Alexa...’

‘Don’t threaten me, Stefan. And I am not backing out. I’m merely saying...’ What? What was she merely saying? That she hadn’t remembered him being so large? So powerful? Hadn’t consciously accepted the fact that he was really her husband and that they would have to share their lives? Hadn’t yet come to terms with the fact that she was attracted to him? ‘I’m merely saying,’ she continued determinedly, ‘that it won’t be easy. We don’t know each other. I don’t know how they do things in Poland,’ she added aggrievedly, ‘but...’

‘I’ve never lived in Poland, and I’m only half Polish. And I never said it would be easy. Of course there will be a period of adjustment—we don’t know each other, and I have no more desire to be married than you do. But you needed somewhere to stay, and I needed a wife, so calm down and stop imagining difficulties that might never arise. She’s six years old, Alexa...’

‘I know how old she is.’

‘Vulnerable and frightened...’

‘I know!’ she agreed tearfully, ‘But look at me! I can’t even cope with myself, let alone a child!’

‘Of course you can cope with her,’ he stated impatiently. ‘You coped today. I know it will take time. I know that. You’ve lost all that was dear to you. Your home, your business. Dav...’

‘Don’t,’ she begged.

‘But you have to talk about it. You can’t keep shutting it away as though it never happened.’

Yes, she could. It was easier that way.

‘He sold your home, your livelihood, whilst you were in the hospital...’

‘I hadn’t been paying the rent!’

‘Of course you hadn’t been paying it! How could you? He never came to visit you...’

‘He came once,’ she interrupted defensively.

‘Yes,’ he agreed grimly, ‘whilst you were unconscious. He never wrote, explained...’

Shoving her hands over her ears, she begged, ‘Stop it. Please. Just stop.’

He sighed, gently reached out to remove her hands, stared into her white, distressed face. ‘He ran out on you, Alexa. Face it. Accept it. The man’s a rat.’

She knew he was a rat. She didn’t need it spelled out.

Removing her hands from his, she turned away, stirred aimlessly at the soup. ‘The Davids of this world can’t accept—ugliness,’ she murmured. ‘They can’t help it any more than I can help some of the things I do.’

‘You aren’t ugly!’ he argued, with an irritability that she would have thought foreign to his nature. ‘You look fragile and lost and hurt. Has he been in touch?’

‘No.’

‘I’m sorry. I am sorry, but...’

‘But your own troubles come first,’ she stated quietly. ‘I know that.’ He looked as though he were about to say something, but in the end said nothing. ‘I’m not running out on you, Stefan, I just...need a little time to get used to this. Tell me about the house you’ve bought. I didn’t know you were buying one. You never said.’

‘No,’ he denied wearily. ‘I contacted a house-hunting agency, asked them to find me something near the school.’

‘And you bought it sight unseen?’ she demanded in astonishment.

‘Yes. They sent me photographs.’

‘But you can’t buy a house from a photograph!’

‘I already did,’ he said flatly. ‘But it won’t be ready for occupation until next week at the earliest. We’ll have to find a hotel—I gave her my word Alexa,’ he added quietly. ‘Promised her that we would be her family. I can’t go back on that.’

‘No. I’ll bring this soup through to the lounge, shall I?’

He examined her face for a moment, then nodded, returned to the lounge.

Letting her breath out on a long sigh, she relaid the tray, poured the soup into a bowl, cut up the remains of the crusty bread, took a moment to compose herself, then carried it through.

He was lying back in the chair, his eyes closed.

‘Stefan?’

Nothing.

‘Stefan!’

With a tired sigh, she put the tray on the footstool and gave his shoulder a shake.

He merely turned his head to one side, exhaled gently.

Great. After returning the tray to the kitchen, she trailed slowly back to the lounge. Staring at him, at a strong face softened by sleep, she wondered again how on earth she could have been such a fool. Because he was persuasive? Attractive? And he was attractive. No, she admitted honestly, the man was devastating. High Slavic cheekbones—inherited from his mother, she supposed—well-shaped brows, thick lashes, a well-shaped mouth and a determined chin. And she knew absolutely nothing about him.

How did you live with a man you didn’t know? What did you talk about? She couldn’t discuss his work because she didn’t know anything about it. The wedding had, of necessity, been rushed. She’d looked awful; he’d looked grim. But he’d been kind, gentle as he’d pushed the ring onto her finger, kissed her cheek. He’d given her a rueful smile, a quick hug... Separate rooms in the hotel, the court hearing to grant custody, and then he’d gone back to the States.

Absently twisting the wedding ring round and round on her finger, a little frown in her eyes, she continued to watch him. Articulate, clever, a man whose thoughts and feelings eluded her. He’d paid some money into an account for her—which she hadn’t yet touched. Bought and paid for. A husband in name, an employer in reality. A business arrangement. And she wanted more, she thought bleakly. And how on earth had she not known all this six weeks ago? Six months ago?

She stared at him and she saw the man she had liked, laughed with. The same face, the same nose, mouth—how could she not have known?

How could she know now? She didn’t know. Only knew that it was different. That she wanted to touch him. Be held. Feel his mouth move under hers.

With a little shudder, she closed her eyes tight, clenched her hands to stop them from touching. Because supposing she did touch him? Trailed her fingers down his cheek? And he woke? What then? He wanted a wife for a year, not for life.

Had he ever been in love? she wondered. Felt about someone as David had professed to feel about her? No contrast between two men could have been greater. David was slight, fair, charming, a liver of life. Shallow. And a rat. Stefan was large, dark and—intriguing. But he loved his niece. Wanted to make a home for her. Was determined to do so. At any cost? Yet she had liked him. Felt comfortable with him. So why didn’t she now? Why, in God’s name, did everything have to change?