Reunited: Marriage in a Million

CHAPTER NINE

‘WHERE is she today?’

Belle was saved from answering by the appearance of the waiter, bringing them water, taking their order.

‘Daisy,’ Ivo prompted, when he’d gone. Picking up as if they hadn’t been interrupted. As if there was any other ‘she’.

‘I don’t know,’ she finally admitted. ‘Don’t look at me like that, Ivo…’ frustrated, angry ‘…she was gone when I got home from the studio this morning.’

‘Punishing you for putting work before her too?’

‘She knows it’s just until the end of the week.’

‘Not like…’ He stopped himself from saying the words. Not like a marriage. Then, ‘She didn’t leave a note?’

‘She’s an adult. She doesn’t have to account for her time.’ Then, a touch desperately, seeking reassurance. ‘I have to trust her.’

He reached out, covered her hand with his own. ‘I know. It’s the hardest part.’ He sat back, taking his hand with him. ‘I’m not complaining. Having you to myself is more than I’d hoped for.’

Ivo had brought her a package that had been delivered to the Belgravia house, the first time in a week that he’d come to the flat, although, taking advantage of her invitation, he had called her every day just to chat. Ask how things were going. Supportive. Offering advice only when it was requested. There for her, but giving her space too. Giving her…respect.

But the truth was that she’d been going out of her mind with worry when she’d got home and Daisy wasn’t there. Had practically fallen on his neck in gratitude when he’d suggested lunch. When he hadn’t insisted on one of their usual fashionable haunts, the kind of place where everyone would know them, but agreed to her choice of this tiny Italian trattoria on the other side of Camden Market.

‘How is it? Really?’ he asked.

‘Not easy,’ she admitted. ‘Apparently the adoption broke down after a couple of years and Daisy’s been in more foster homes than she can count, then a halfway house. That’s where she met this boy whose baby she’s expecting.’

‘Is he still in the picture?’

Belle shook her head. ‘Daisy just wanted a baby.’

‘He has the right to know.’

She looked up, surprised by the fierceness of Ivo’s response. ‘One step at a time, Ivo,’ she said.

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry. I wasn’t criticising. You’re doing amazingly well.’

‘Am I? The mood swings are difficult,’ she admitted. ‘She’s up and down. Prickly one minute, loving the next.’

‘Maybe it’s her hormones.’

‘It can’t be helping. The doc’s given her a clean bill of health at least and she’s looking better. There’s nothing wrong with her appetite.’

‘So what’s bothering you?’

She shook her head.

‘There’s something.’

‘Nothing that can be solved with a new coat or a vitamin pill.’ He waited. ‘It’s nothing at all. Stupid. She just hates that it’s all one way. Seems to think she’s a charity case. I can’t get her to understand how much it means to me to be able to do stuff for her.’

‘She thinks you’re going to lose interest. That she daren’t care too much in case you dump her like everyone else in her life.’

‘But that’s…’ About to say ridiculous, she realised that it wasn’t. That somehow Ivo knew exactly how Daisy was feeling. She realised just how little she knew about his past beyond the privileged lifestyle, the fact that his parents had been killed just after he’d graduated. ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’d read Psychology at Uni, instead of Economics. How come you understand her better than I do?’

‘You’re doing fine.’

An evasion.

‘Maybe what she needs is a job. Something to make her feel useful. Give her something of her own so that her entire life isn’t invested in you.’

‘Or make her think I’m getting ready to pitch her back out into the big wide world. Especially if she thinks the idea has come from you.’

‘She thinks I’m some kind of threat to her?’

Ivo sensed rather than heard Belle’s sigh and it provoked mixed feelings. The fact that Belle was still wearing her wedding ring had given him hope. And if Daisy sensed a threat, then it meant that Belle talked about him.

‘She’s fragile, Ivo. Needs to be the sole focus of attention.’

She didn’t have to tell him. He knew how needy, how self-centered, how destructive the damaged psyche could be.

‘Maybe it would be better if I left Manda to suggest it.’

‘Manda!’

He smiled at her horrified response. ‘Trust me. She knows what she’s doing.’

He understood her lack of enthusiasm; Manda had given her a hard time, he knew. ‘Really,’ he assured her. ‘In fact, I suspect you have a new fan.’

‘Now I’m really worried. What exactly have you told her, Ivo?’

‘Just enough, so that when this hits the headlines she’ll be prepared to be door-stepped by the press.’ He glanced at her. ‘Any news from your Aussie friend?’ She shook her head. ‘It’s like waiting for the other shoe to drop, isn’t it?’

‘A bit.’ She regarded him curiously. ‘You’re good at this, aren’t you?’

‘It’s easier for me. My responses aren’t muddied by emotion.’

About to say that was because he didn’t do ‘emotion’ she stopped herself. She was beginning to suspect that it wasn’t a lack of emotion that kept him buttoned up, but a fear of letting it spill out.

‘It’s more than that, Ivo. You seem to know just what Daisy’s feeling.’

‘I have a sister.’

‘That’s it?’ On the point of laughing at the idea of Miranda being an angsty teen, she thought better of it. Ivo had told her a little of what his sister had been through. ‘I’m trying to focus on the early days with Daisy. It’s when we were together,’ she explained. ‘A family.’

‘You don’t blame her, do you? Your mother?’

‘She was trying to protect us,’ she said. ‘And she was my mum. Unconditional love is a parent/child thing.’

Something she’d longed for too. Something a child would have given her. That she’d believed her sister, in her new home, would be able to give, to receive-something precious that would blot out everything else.

‘Daisy’s father was a gambler, Ivo. He ran up debts, mortgaged my mother’s house with three different companies, borrowed money from loan sharks and then disappeared. Mum never saw the letters from the bank or the finance people. I imagine he’d lain in wait for the postman and siphoned them off. The first she knew anything was wrong was when the bailiffs turned up.’

‘That’s fraud. He could have gone to prison.’

‘Yes, well, first you had to catch him. Then you had to prove that he’d done it. All academic, because a couple of loan shark heavies threatened Daisy, held a knife to her throat until my mother handed over her child allowance, issued an instruction to be there every Monday morning for a repeat performance.’

He swore, something he did so rarely that Belle’s eyes widened in shock. ‘Why didn’t she go to the police?’ he demanded.

‘The graphic description of what would happen to both her children if she did?’

He let slip another expletive, betraying just how deeply affected he was. ‘I’m sorry…’

‘No, that describes him perfectly. Mum got us home, packed what she could carry and ran.’

‘Four years? You lived like that for four years?’

‘Something inside her broke, Ivo. My dad was supposed to be the bad one. He drank, he knocked her about, fell into the canal one night-or was pushed-and drowned. Daisy’s dad looked and acted like a gentleman. She thought the sun shone out of his eyes. He told her he was going away on business for a few days and while she was ironing and packing for him, he was emptying her purse. When her world fell apart, she wasn’t capable of putting her life back together. There were people who could have helped; she was just too broken to see it.’

‘And still Daisy wants to find this man? Acknowledge him as her father?’

‘Unconditional love,’ she repeated. ‘It’s given to bad parents as well as good ones.’

‘Not always,’ he said. ‘Not if you don’t know what love is. Not if you’ve never known it.’

Ivo knew that to compare the misery of his childhood with what she’d been through was beyond pathetic. But she’d bared her soul to him. Had told him things that she hadn’t told anyone. She deserved as much from him. The truth; the whole truth. Because, like her, he’d lived a lie, had hidden behind a façade of the perfect life. The man who had everything, including the country’s sweetheart, Belle Davenport. Except that had all been a lie too.

Well, he was done with lies. Belle had been brave enough to confront her past; he could do no less. And if anyone was capable of understanding, it was Belle.

‘My parents didn’t love each other and they sure as hell didn’t love us.’

Belle was frowning, clearly confused. ‘But I thought…you had everything. The wonderful holidays in France, Italy. I’ve heard you and Miranda talk about them.’

‘Did you ever hear either of us mention our parents?’

She thought about it. ‘Well, no.’ She sat back. ‘No, I suppose not.’

‘We barely knew them. Neither of them wanted to be bothered with us, even with a nanny to do the dirty work. We were shunted off to boarding school at the earliest possible age. Learned behaviour. Our grandparents were no different. Forget seen but not heard. We weren’t even wanted for decoration.’

‘I had no idea.’

‘No, well, maybe we both had stuff we didn’t want to talk about, Belle. Didn’t want to remember.’

‘Only the holidays. Who did you spend them with?’

‘Every year we were dumped with some family who took in kids for the summer while they went off on their own affairs. And I do mean affairs. We were just getting to the age when we might have been interesting enough for them to notice when they were drowned. What they were doing on the same yacht has always been something of a mystery to me.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

‘Don’t be. And some of the families were wonderful. Some summers. Those are the ones we remember, talk about.’

‘And the rest?’

‘We survived until a universal aunt arrived to take us back to school.’

‘And you hated that too?’

‘Hate would be too strong a word. It was just all a bit unrelenting. There was never any warmth. No one to give you a hug.’

He realised he was gripping her hand, clinging on to it as if to stop himself from drowning. He forced himself to release it but, before he could lift it away, she caught it, held it, then pushed her chair back.

He rose automatically as she got to her feet, held his breath as she came round the table. ‘No…’ The word, wrenched from him as she put her arms around him, pulled him close, was scarcely audible.

She was soft, warm, against him. He’d tried so hard not to admit to feelings that he knew would break him. Had built a barrier to protect himself. Had not allowed himself to get too close because he knew that one day she would give up waiting for what he could not give her.

Himself. A child…

And with one hug she had brought the whole edifice tumbling down so that he clung to her, held her, felt something that could only be tears stinging his eyes.

Belle leaned back, looked at him, then reached up, wiped her fingers over his cheek. ‘Let’s go home, Ivo,’ she said softly.

Her scent filled him like a warm balm to the spirit and the temptation to accept the comfort that she was offering was almost beyond enduring. The only thing that would be worse would be the aftermath.

‘I can’t.’

He was scarcely able to believe he’d said the words. This was what he’d wanted. Her back in his arms, warming the ice. But he couldn’t do it to her. Not again. He thought he’d loved her too much to let her go. Now he understand the difference between need and love. He’d seen real love in action. It wasn’t about need, about self; it was about giving, about sacrifice, about doing what was best for the person you cared for.

‘I can’t,’ he repeated.

He lowered her into her chair, carefully placed himself on the far side of the table, tried to blot out that confused look of rejection confronting him, a look that he knew from the inside.

‘I thought I could,’ he said. ‘I thought I had it all worked out. You were restless. You’d been thrown out of the groove by your Himalayan trip and you were tired of what you were doing. I thought all I had to do was stick around, point you in the direction of something that would grab your attention, distract you from the emptiness in our lives-’

‘Ivo…’

‘No. Don’t stop me, Belle. I have to say this. Have to tell you the truth.’

She made as if to say something, swallowed, waited, her face set and white.

The waiter arrived with a platter of antipasto. Did something fancy with a pepper mill. Finally left them alone.

They shouldn’t be here, he thought. They should be somewhere quiet. Somewhere private. And yet maybe this was best. A public place where emotion had to be kept on a tight rein.

‘I thought-believed,’ he said, carrying on as if they had not been interrupted, ‘that if you found something new to fill your life, then you’d be able to forget, that a moment would come when you’d slip back into your place in my life and then everything would be as it should be. Ordered. Tidy.’

‘Forget what, Ivo?’

‘That you’d made a bad deal. That security without love, without a family, without…without children, was never going to be enough for someone like you. I wanted you so much…’ He closed his ears to her gasp of something very like pain, forced himself to continue. ‘Needed you. Beyond reason. Maybe, if I’d known, understood that you wanted more, needed more, I would have found the strength to walk away.’ He would have been abandoning all that was vital, alive in him, but he’d have been in control. ‘I believed you when you said you only wanted the security of marriage. None of the emotional trappings. Or maybe I was grasping at straws, desperate to believe you because that way I didn’t have to address my conscience. Tell you the truth.’

‘What truth?’ A tiny crease furrowed the space between her eyes. ‘Tell me, Ivo.’

‘In those few precious days we spent together after the wedding, you began talking about the future as if it was real. About having children.’ He looked up, faced her. ‘I can’t go home with you, Belle. I can’t be the husband you need-you deserve. I know, I’ve always known, that I can never give you children.’

He saw the confusion, the frown deepen as she struggled to comprehend the magnitude of what he had told her.

‘Is that…’ She stopped. ‘Is that why we came home from our honeymoon early?’ She struggled to say more. ‘Is that why you chose to sleep separately? Because you thought I wouldn’t stay. If I knew.’

He nodded, just once. ‘I should have told you.’

‘Yes, you should. But then we should have told one another a lot of things, Ivo, but if I’d married you simply for children, I wouldn’t have stayed after I saw…’ She was struggling with the words. Paused to gather herself. ‘I couldn’t have stayed when you left me alone on the pretext of flying off to deal with some business crisis.’

‘How did you know?’

‘That it was a lie? You didn’t have to say anything, Ivo. You’re good at hiding your feelings, but that day I could read you like a book. I knew that you didn’t love me, that I was always going to be a temporary wife, but when we were alone, after the wedding, I glimpsed a sight of some fairy tale happy ever after. Made the mistake of sharing it. One look at your face told me I was on my own…’

‘So why didn’t you leave then?’ He dragged a hand over his face, struggling to understand what she was telling him.

Belle swallowed. She’d got it so wrong. Right from the beginning she should have fought for her marriage. Fought to hold on to something precious. She’d been so afraid to show him how she felt. Overwhelmed by that horrible house. Intimidated by his sister…

‘I was afraid,’ she said. ‘Afraid I’d lose you.’

‘Then, why now?’

She looked at him. She’d been so afraid, but she wasn’t now. She was struggling, but she was winning-a new life, a sister. Maybe, if she was brave enough, she could even have the marriage she’d always wanted.

‘I left because I hated myself for compromising. For hoping and hoping that one day you’d wake up and…’ she made a helpless gesture as if the words were too difficult ‘…see me. Be the man I’d glimpsed on our honeymoon. Relaxed, happy…’

‘They were the happiest days I’ve ever spent.’

‘Then why? Why couldn’t you talk to me?’

‘You were not the only one who was afraid. You were the most beautiful woman I’d ever met. No!’ he said, when her dismissive gesture suggested that she’d made her point.

That she was no more than a temporary trophy wife.

‘I’m not talking about your looks, although that’s true too. You are lovely. It was your warmth, your vitality, a smile that could melt permafrost that drew me to you. I always knew you wouldn’t stay.’

‘Permafrost? You appear to have overestimated its power.’

‘No. If you hadn’t melted it, why would I care?’

‘I didn’t leave you because you so plainly didn’t want children, Ivo. I left you because I couldn’t stand the coldness. The distance. Couldn’t bear the thought of waking up alone one more day.’ And then, as if everything had suddenly fallen into place. ‘That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?’

He didn’t ask her what she was talking about. In the last week he’d talked to her about Daisy. And about Miranda.

His sister’s desperate need for love had driven her into a series of disastrous relationships. Too needy, too desperate. When, over and over again, everyone she loved, in whom she had invested her emotions, rejected her, she’d spiralled down into a destructive phase of anorexia. Rejecting herself.

Stealing from Belle, he knew, had been prompted by the same self-destruct response in Daisy. Anticipating rejection, she’d provoked it.

He’d been there himself. Had fought his own demons in his own way. Self-destruction came with the territory.

‘You were waiting for me to reject you,’ Belle said, slowly, wonderingly. ‘Protecting yourself from being hurt.’

‘It didn’t work.’

‘You held me at such a distance, Ivo-’

‘I meant about the hurt.’ Living with himself had been a world of hurt. The only relief had been in her arms and selfishly he’d sought to win her back. Keep her. ‘I cheated you. Lied to you. You were right to leave. You deserve better.’

‘Life isn’t about what we deserve, Ivo.’ She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. ‘If it was about what we deserved then there wouldn’t be any kids on their own, cold and hungry. Scared women. Men for whom fatherhood is an unfulfilled dream.’

‘Leave me out of your list of deserving souls.’

‘Why? You’ve suffered too.’ Then, with a sudden frown, ‘What happened to you, Ivo?’ she demanded, the bit between her teeth now, fearless in her refusal to accept anything less than the whole truth. ‘Were you sick as a child? How do you know that you can’t have children?’

He’d hoped she wouldn’t think to ask him that. Unlikely. What man, unless he’d attempted to father a child and failed, would know he was infertile?

He had none of the pity-inducing excuses to offer. No mumps or childhood fever to blame. Only himself.

‘I know,’ he said, ‘because ten years ago I had a vasectomy.’

A vasectomy.

The word filled her head, swelling until she thought it would explode.

Belle looked at the food laid out temptingly on a platter for them to help themselves. Grilled baby aubergines, olives, sundried tomatoes, paper thin slices of meat. All of them untouched.

She made a helpless gesture, then, covering her hand with her mouth to hold in the cry of pain, she scrambled to her feet, rushed outside, desperate for air.

Just desperate.

Neither of them said a word when Ivo emerged in a rush a few moments later, catching up with her as she walked blindly through the lunchtime crowds of the market, draping her abandoned coat around her shoulders.

The tenderness of the gesture caught her unawares. Without warning, the strength went out of her legs and she subsided on to a bench, sat, bent double, her face pressed against her knees.

The awful thing was that she didn’t have to ask why he’d done it. She knew. Understood. The sins of the father. His grandparents, his parents, the fear that he too would follow the genetic imprint-become another cold, distant parent of unhappy children.

Understood why he was so driven-the relentless pursuit of wealth and power filling a bottomless void.

He sat beside her, not touching her, said, as much to himself as to her, ‘At the time it seemed so rational.’

She didn’t look up, just reached out a hand. There was an endless space of time before his fingers made contact with hers; maybe he thought that she was the one who needed comfort. He wasn’t a man who knew how to ask for it.

‘I suspect I was on the edge of a breakdown. Miranda was already there. I’d just signed the papers to keep her in hospital for her own protection…’

‘You don’t have to explain.’ She risked an attempt to sit up. The world tilted, then steadied. ‘Really,’ she said, ‘I understand.’

‘Do you?’

Oh, yes. He’d thought he was protecting some unborn child from what he’d been through. He was, like Miranda, like her sister, like her when she’d been too scared to tell him that she was marrying him not because of his millions, but because she couldn’t imagine living without him-like most people faced with the prospect of pain-just doing what he had to in order to protect himself.

Not self-destruction, but self-preservation.

‘I tried to have it reversed. When I realised what I’d done. What I’d done to you.’

She turned to look at him then. ‘You’d have done that for me?’

‘I…’ He faltered. ‘Yes, I’d have done that. Done anything.’

‘Except say the words.’

‘I…I didn’t know how to.’

‘There is more than one way of showing love, Ivo. Words are the least of them.’

The fact was he hadn’t left her on their honeymoon, left her to return home and face Miranda’s cold welcome by herself simply to chase down some deal, but to try and have the vasectomy reversed.

‘I’d been able to justify what I’d done, marrying you, not telling you, because…’ He broke off.

‘Because I said that the only reason I’d marry you, marry anyone was for security.’

‘Sex and money. I thought we’d both got what we wanted and then you started talking about a future, a real future, children, and I knew-’

She tightened her grip on his hand to stop him.

‘-I knew that’s what I wanted too,’ he persisted. ‘I’d just been too afraid to admit it to you, to myself. I thought I could fix it. That I could come back and we could begin again. But you didn’t wait.’

No. He’d said he would come back once he’d dealt with ‘business’ but there had seemed no point. They had been in paradise and she had wanted more. Had destroyed it.

‘Don’t,’ she said. ‘Please don’t blame yourself. Neither of us were brave enough to risk everything for something as dangerous as love.’

‘No.’ Then again, ‘No.’ And, almost to himself, ‘“…the coward does it with a kiss…”’ He sighed. ‘Confronted with what I’d done to you, I knew I had to get home to see the doctor who’d performed the original surgery. Beg him for a miracle.’

‘I’m so sorry…’

He shook his head, rejecting her pity. Never had she felt so helpless. Felt the lack of words to express the way she ached for him.

‘I can’t say I wasn’t warned when I first went to him. He hadn’t wanted to do it. Had advised me against it, suggested some kind of counselling. He only relented when I made it clear that if he wouldn’t do it there and then, I’d find someone who would, even if it meant going abroad. He was kind enough not to remind me of that.’

He looked down at their locked hands.

‘When I thought Daisy was your daughter, when I thought that you had a chance to be a mother, it seemed like a gift. The miracle I’d hoped for.’

‘A difficult teenager?’ She managed a smile. ‘Not everyone’s idea of a miracle.’

‘She’d have been your difficult teenager. Our difficult teenager,’ he said, and she thought her heart would break for him. Almost wished she had been a teenage mum with a kid out there somewhere just waiting for her to get in touch.

‘She’s not my daughter, Ivo, but she still needs us. If it hadn’t been for you…’ She looked at him. ‘Did I ever say thank you for what you did?’

‘Don’t…’ He shook his head. ‘Don’t ever thank me.’

She owed him more than thanks, but she let it go and said, ‘Daisy needs us, Ivo. Not just me, but you. A decent man in her life. And there’s her baby. Seven months from now there’ll be a little one who’ll need an aunt and uncle to spoil him or her rotten.’

‘Don’t be kind, Belle. Don’t pretend that it doesn’t matter. I saw your face when you told me that Daisy is expecting a baby.’

‘Still jealous of my little sister? Not a very attractive picture, is it? Especially from someone as lucky as I’ve been.’

‘Luck had nothing to do with it. You radiate warmth, Belle. It was there from the first moment you looked up from the telethon switchboard, smiled into the camera, said “Call me” in that sweet, sexy voice. Half the country reached for their phones.’

‘Sex sells,’ she said dismissively. ‘I got my break because it was hot and I’d undone one too many buttons.’

‘Do you really think that’s why the network is so desperate to hang on to you that they’d pay you any amount of money? Because of your cleavage?’ He finally smiled. ‘Lovely though it is.’

‘No. They’re offering me big money because it’s easier-cheaper-than finding someone to take my place. Go through all the time-consuming, expensive, image-building hoops with someone new.’

He breathed out another uncharacteristic expletive and said, ‘You haven’t got an egotistical bone in your body, have you?’

‘What have I got to be vain about? Other people put me together, made me what I am.’

‘You really don’t get it, do you?’ he said, not bothering to hide the fact that he was angry with her.

‘Ivo…’ she protested uncertainly. He didn’t lose his temper, didn’t get angry.

‘What you are, Belle, what makes you a star, won you that award, has nothing to do with image consultants or PR. The viewers adored you from that first husky giggle, a fact the network wasted no time in taking advantage of. All the professionals did was put the polish on a very rare diamond.’

‘Oh, please!’ Belle knew she was blushing. It was ridiculous…Then, ‘I have to get back,’ she said. ‘Daisy will be wondering where I am.’

‘You’re an adult, Belle,’ he replied, refusing to back off. ‘Daisy has to learn to trust you when you’re out on a date.’

And without warning the whole tenor of the conversation shifted. One moment he’d been angry with her, the next his eyes were a soft hazy blue-grey that she knew was for her alone. That never failed to stir an echo from somewhere deep inside her.

She swallowed. ‘This is a date?’

‘We’re sitting on a bench holding hands. The last time we did that…’

He stopped, but her memory filled in the rest. The last time had been the first time. She’d been talking to someone about the charity they were all supporting that night when something had made her turn. It was all the invitation he’d needed and a path had seemed to open up before him as he’d walked across the Serpentine Gallery, offered her his hand and said, ‘Ivo Grenville.’

And she’d said, ‘Belle Davenport.’ And took it.

And that was all. He was a workaholic millionaire, she was a television celebrity, their histories were public knowledge and words weren’t necessary. And when she placed her hand in his, he tucked it beneath his arm and walked out of the gallery with her, through the dusky park, along the side of the lake until, eventually, they’d reached a bench set in the perfect spot. And they’d sat on it, her arm tucked beneath his, his hand holding hers.

‘I remember,’ she said, her voice thick with regret for all the wasted years. Was it too late? Could they go back to that moment? Start again? ‘Do you remember what comes next?’

Around them the market was a blur of noise and colour but Ivo was back in another time-another place; in the warmth, the stillness of a summer’s evening with a beautiful woman who, like him, had recognised the moment for what it was. For whom words were an irrelevance.

‘Do you remember?’ she asked again.

Ivo rubbed his thumb over the ring he’d placed on her finger.

He remembered. Every touch, every look. Eyes like warm butterscotch, hair gleaming pale as silver, a soft, inviting mouth waiting for him to take a step outside the emotional vacuum in which he’d imprisoned himself. Waiting now, for him to find the courage to finally break free.

He stood up, his hand beneath hers inviting her to do the same. She rose at his touch, waited.

He lifted a hand to her hair, as he had then.

‘Did I tell you that I like this new style?’ he said. ‘That you look wonderful?’

She didn’t answer, seeming to know that he was talking to himself rather than her.

He laid his palm against her cheek and she leaned into it, nestling against his hand, closing her eyes.

‘Look at me,’ he said.

And when she raised her head, lifted heavy lashes, he kissed her-no more than the touching of lips, it was deeper, more meaningful than any exchanged in hot passion. It said, as it had said then, everything he could never put into words. Say out loud. Admit to.

‘You remembered,’ she said, her sweet mouth widening into a smile.

‘How could I ever forget?’

A kiss. A cab ride. The slow sensual dance of a man and woman making love for the first time. Each touch something rare and new. Each kiss a promise.

‘You took me home,’ she said, tucking her arm beneath his and turning to walk the short distance to her flat. ‘And stayed to be dragged out of sleep by my four o’clock alarm call.’

‘I remember.’ Then, ‘That’s not why-’

‘I know,’ she said quickly. ‘I understand now why you wanted separate rooms. Why you left my bed.’

‘Because the kiss was a lie. If I’d loved you, truly loved you, I’d have walked away then.’

Instead he’d deceived her. Deceived himself. Fooling himself that he was taking no more than the minimum.

Protecting himself from the moment when she’d see their marriage for what it was-a hollow sham. And then, when she’d done just that, driven away by his coldness, he’d discovered that there was no way of protecting himself from loving Belle Davenport. That he couldn’t live without her.

‘Don’t be so hard on yourself, Ivo.’

‘Why not?’

She didn’t answer, but as they reached her front door, she handed him the keys and he unlocked it, remained on the step. She didn’t take them from him, but walked up the stairs, leaving him with no choice but to follow.

She’d already tapped on the flat door by the time he joined her. ‘No answer. Daisy’s still out,’ she said, standing back so that he could open that door too, dropping her bag on the hall table before sliding her hands around his neck.

‘Belle…’

He’d said her name in just that way too, that first time. Then it had been a warning that once he’d stepped over the threshold there would be no turning back. Now it was more complex.

He wanted her and right at this moment he was sure she wanted him, but it was simple need, comfort they both craved. Afterwards, nothing would have changed.

‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘It wouldn’t be right.’

‘Just lie with me, Ivo. Hold me.’ And, for the first time since he’d known her, the tears that brimmed in her eyes spilled over and ran, unchecked, down her cheeks. ‘Please. I’m so tired. I can’t sleep. But if you held me, just for a little while…’

Denying her was beyond him and he took her coat from her shoulders, hung it, alongside his own, on the stand, then took her hand and led her to her bedroom, undressing her slowly, as he had time without number, each button, hook, zip, each brush of his fingers against warm skin sweet torture. When she was naked, utterly defenceless, he lifted back the soft down quilt, settled her beneath it. Then he, understanding her need for closeness, began to undress.

This was new.

This was new, different, important beyond imagining.

For the first time in three years he was about to share a bed with his wife and not make love to her.

Or maybe he was. Because that was what this was, he thought as he slid in beside her, put his arms around her and pulled her back against him, fitting her to his body like a spoon. Gently kissed her shoulder, whispering soft words of reassurance, words of love that spilled out of some locker where they’d been stored away, not needed in this life.

This was the love, comfort, sharing, being there for someone that he’d been running from all his adult life. He nestled his face into the back of her neck, breathed in her familiar scent. Vanilla. Rose. Something darker, more potent that stirred the passions.

He’d imagined having to fight down his body’s aching need for her, do quadratic equations in his head to distract himself, but it wasn’t like that. This wasn’t about him; it was about Belle. Giving back all he’d taken.

And conversely feeding his desire on a completely different level, transcending the purely physical; this closeness, just holding her, met his needs, fulfilled them in every way that mattered. And he closed his eyes.