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CAROLINE ANDERSON has the mind of a butterfly. She’s been a nurse, a secretary, a teacher, run her own soft furnishing business and now she’s settled on writing. She says, ‘I was looking for that elusive something. I finally realised it was variety and now I have it in abundance. Every book brings new horizons and new friends and in between books I have learned to be a juggler. My teacher husband John and I have two beautiful and talented daughters, Sarah and Hannah, umpteen pets and several acres of Suffolk that nature tries to reclaim every time we turn our backs!’ Caroline also writes for the Mills & Boon^® Medical Romance™ series.

PROLOGUE

‘I’M NOT going with you.’

Her voice was unexpectedly loud in the quiet bedroom, and Max straightened up and stared at her.

‘What? What do you mean, you’re not coming with me? You’ve been working on this for weeks—what the hell can you possibly have found that needs doing before you can leave? And how long are you talking about? Tomorrow? Wednesday? I need you there now, Jules, we’ve got a lot to do.’

Julia shook her head. ‘No. I mean, I’m not coming. Not going to Japan. Not today, not next week—not ever. Or anywhere else.’

She couldn’t go.

Couldn’t pack up her things and head off into the sunset—well, sunrise, to be tediously accurate, as they were flying to Japan.

Correction: Max was flying to Japan. She wasn’t. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not again, not for the umpteenth time in their hectic, tempestuous, whirlwind life together. Been there, done that, et cetera. And she just couldn’t do it any more.

He dropped the carefully folded shirt into his case and turned towards her, his expression incredulous. ‘Are you serious? Have you gone crazy?’

‘No. I’ve never been more serious about anything. I’m sick of it,’ she told him quietly. ‘I don’t want to do it any more. I’m sick of you saying jump, and all I do is say, “How high?”’

‘I never tell you to jump!’

‘No. No, you’re right. You tell me you need to jump, and I ask how high, and then I make it happen for you—in any language, in any country, wherever you’ve decided the next challenge lies.’

‘You’re my PA—that’s your job!’

‘No, Max. I’m your wife, and I’m sick of being treated like any other employee. And I’m not going to let you do it to me any more.’

He stared at her for another endless moment, then rammed his hands through his hair and glanced at his watch before reaching for another shirt. ‘You’ve picked a hell of a time for a marital,’ he growled, and, not for the first time, she wanted to scream.

‘It’s not a marital,’ she said as calmly as she could manage. ‘It’s a fact. I’m not coming—and I don’t know if I’ll be here when you get back. I can’t do it any more—any of it—and I need time to work out what I do want.’

His fists balled in the shirt, crushing it to oblivion, but she didn’t care. It wasn’t as if she’d been the one who’d ironed it. The laundry service took care of that. She didn’t have time. She was too busy making sure the cogs were all set in motion in the correct sequence.

‘Hell, Jules, your timing sucks.’

He threw the shirt into the case and stalked to the window, ramming his hand against the glass and staring out over the London skyline, his tall, muscled frame vibrating with tension. ‘You know what this means to me—how important this deal is. Why today?’

‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I just—I’ve hit a brick wall. I’m so sick of not having a life.’

‘We have a life!’ he roared, twisting away from the window and striding across to tower over her, his fists opening and closing in frustration. ‘We have a damn good life.’

‘No, we go to work.’

‘And we’re stunningly successful!’

‘Business-wise, I agree—but it’s not a life.’ She met his furious eyes head-on, refusing to let him intimidate her. She was used to Max in a temper, and he’d never once frightened her. ‘Our home life isn’t a success, because we don’t have a home life, Max. We didn’t see your family over Christmas, we’ve worked over New Year—for God’s sake, we watched the fireworks out of the office window! And did you know today’s the last day for taking down the decorations? We didn’t even have any, Max. We didn’t do Christmas. It just happened all around us while we carried on. And I want more than that. I want—I don’t know—a house, a garden, time to potter amongst the plants, to stick my fingers in the soil and smell the roses.’ Her voice softened. ‘We never stop and smell the roses, Max. Never.’

He frowned, let his breath out on a harsh sigh, and stared at his watch. His voice when he spoke was gruff.

‘We have to go. We’re going to miss our flight. Take some time out, if that’s what you need, but come with me, Jules. Get a massage or something, go and see a Zen garden, but for God’s sake stop this nonsense—’

‘Nonsense?’ Her voice was cracking, and she firmed it, but she couldn’t get rid of the little shake in it. ‘I don’t believe you, Max. You haven’t heard a damn thing I’ve said. I don’t want to go to a Zen garden. I don’t want a massage. I’m not coming. I need time—time to think, time to work out what I want from life—and I can’t do that with you pacing around the hotel bedroom at four o’clock in the morning and infecting me with your relentless enthusiasm and hunger for power. I just can’t do it, and I won’t.’

He dashed his hand through his hair again, rumpling the dark strands and leaving them on end, and then threw his washbag in on top of the crumpled shirt, tossed in the shoes that were lying on the bed beside the case and slammed it shut.

‘You’re crazy. I don’t know what’s got into you—PMT or something. And anyway, you can’t just walk out, you’ve got a contract.’

‘A con—?’ She laughed, a strange, high-pitched sound that fractured in the middle. ‘So sue me,’ she said bitterly, and, turning away, she walked out of their bedroom and into the huge open-plan living space with its spectacular view of the river before she did something she’d regret.

It was still dark, the lights twinkling on the water, and she stared at them until they blurred. Then she shut her eyes.

She heard the zip on his case as he closed it, the trundle of the wheels, the sharp click of his leather soles against the beautiful wooden floor.

‘I’m going now. Are you coming?’

‘No.’

‘Are you sure? Because, if you don’t, that’s it. Don’t expect me to run around after you begging.’

She nearly laughed at the thought, but her heart was too busy breaking. ‘I don’t.’

‘Good. So long as we understand one another. Where’s my passport?’

‘On the table, with the tickets,’ she said without turning round, and waited, her breath held.

Waited for what—some slight concession? An apology? No, never that. I love you? But she couldn’t remember when he’d last said those words, and he didn’t say them now. She heard his footsteps, the wheels of his case on the floor, the rattle of his keys, the rustle of paper as he picked up the flight details, his passport and tickets, then the click of the latch.

‘Last call.’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘Fine. Suit yourself. You know where to find me when you change your mind.’ Then there was a pause, and again she waited, but after an age he gave a harsh sigh and the door clicked shut.

Still she waited, till she heard the ping of the lift, the soft hiss of the door closing, the quiet hum as it sank down towards the ground floor.

Then she sat down abruptly on the edge of the sofa and jerked in a breath.

He’d gone. He’d gone, and he hadn’t said a word to change her mind, not one reason why she should stay. Except that she’d be breaking her contract.

Her contract, of all things! All she wanted was some time to think about their lives, and, because she wouldn’t go with him, he was throwing away their marriage and talking about a blasted contract!

‘Damn you, Max!’ she yelled, but her voice cracked and she started to cry, great, racking sobs that tore through her and brought bile to her throat.

She ran to the bathroom and was horribly, violently sick, then slumped trembling to the floor, her back propped against the wall, her legs huddled under her on the hard marble.

‘I love you, Max,’ she whispered. ‘Why couldn’t you listen to me? Why couldn’t you give us a chance?’

Would she have gone with him if he’d stopped, changed his flight and told her he loved her—taken her in his arms and hugged her and said he was sorry?

No. And, anyway, that wasn’t Max’s style.

She could easily have cried again, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction, so she pulled herself together, washed her face, cleaned her teeth and repaired her make-up. Then she went back out to the living room and picked up the phone.

‘Jane?’

‘Julia, hi, darling! How are you?’

‘Awful. I’ve just left Max.’

‘What! Where?’

‘No—I’ve left him. Well, he’s left me, really…’

There was a shocked silence, then Jane said something very rude under her breath. ‘OK, where are you?’

‘At the apartment. Janey, I don’t know what to do—’

‘Where’s Max now?’

‘On his way to Japan. I was supposed to be going, but I just couldn’t.’

‘Right. Stay there. I’m coming. Pack a case. You’re coming to stay with me.’

‘I’m packed,’ she said.

‘Not jeans and jumpers and boots, I’ll bet. You’ve got an hour and a half. Sort yourself out and I’ll be there. And find something warm; it’s freezing up here.’

The phone went dead, and she went back into the bedroom and stared at her case lying there on the bed. She didn’t even own any jeans these days. Or the sort of boots Jane was talking about.

Or did she?

She rummaged in the back of a wardrobe and found her old jeans, and a pair of walking boots so old she’d forgotten she still had them, and, pitching the sharp suits and the four-inch heels out of the case, she packed the jeans and boots, flung in her favourite jumpers and shut the lid.

Their wedding photo was on the dressing table, and she stared at it, remembering that even then they hadn’t taken time for a honeymoon. Just a brief civil ceremony, and then their wedding night, when he’d pulled out all the stops and made love to her until neither of them could move.

She’d fallen asleep in his arms, as usual, but unusually she’d woken in them, too, because for once he hadn’t left the bed to start working on his laptop, driven by a restless energy that never seemed to wane.

How long ago it seemed.

She swallowed and turned away from the photo, dragged her case to the door and looked round. She didn’t want anything else—any reminders of him, of their home, of their life.

She took her passport, though, not because she wanted to go anywhere but just because she didn’t want Max to have it. It was a symbol of freedom, in some strange way, and besides she might need it for all sorts of things.

She couldn’t imagine what, but it didn’t matter. She tucked it into her handbag and put it with her case by the door, then she emptied the fridge into the bin and put it all down the rubbish chute and sat down to wait. But her mind kept churning, and so she turned on the television to distract her.

Not a good idea. Apparently, according to the reporter, today—the first Monday after New Year—was known as ‘Divorce Monday’, the day when, things having come to a head over Christmas and the New Year, thousands of women would contact a lawyer and start divorce proceedings.

Including her?

Two hours later she was sitting at Jane’s kitchen table in Suffolk. She’d been fetched, tutted and clucked over, and driven straight here, and now Jane was making coffee.

And the smell was revolting.

‘Sorry—I can’t.’

And she ran for the loo and threw up again. When she straightened up, Jane was standing behind her, staring at her thoughtfully in the mirror. ‘Are you OK?’

‘I’ll live. It’s just emotion. I love him, Janey, and I’ve blown it, and he’s gone, and I just hate it.’

Jane humphed, opened the cabinet above the basin and handed her a long box. ‘Here.’

She stared at it and gave a slightly hysterical little laugh. ‘A pregnancy test? Don’t be crazy. You know I can’t have children. I’ve got all that scarring from my burst appendix. I’ve had tests; there’s no way. I can’t conceive—’

‘No such word as can’t—I’m living proof. Just humour me.’

She walked out and shut the door, and with a shrug Julia read the instructions. Pointless. Stupid. She couldn’t be pregnant.

‘What on earth am I going to do?’

‘Do you want to stay with him?’

She didn’t even have to think about it. Even as shocked and stunned as she was by the result, she knew the answer, and she shook her head. ‘No. Max has always been really emphatic about how he didn’t want children, and anyway, he’d have to change beyond recognition before I’d inflict him on a child. You know he told me I couldn’t leave because I had a contract?’

Jane tsked softly. ‘Maybe he was clutching at straws.’

‘Max? Don’t be ridiculous. He doesn’t clutch at anything. Anyway, it’s probably not an option. He told me, if I didn’t go with him, that was it. But I have to live somewhere; I can’t stay with you and Pete, especially as you’re pregnant again, too. I think one baby’s probably enough.’ She gave a shaky laugh. ‘I just can’t believe I’m pregnant, after all these years.’

Jane laughed a little self-consciously. ‘Well, it happens to the best of us. You’re lucky I had the spare test. I nearly did another one because I didn’t believe it the first time, but we’ve just about come to terms with it—and I’m even getting excited now about having another one, and the kids are thrilled. So,’ she said, getting back to the point, ‘Where do you want to live? Town or country?’

Julia tried to smile. ‘Country?’ she said tentatively. ‘I really don’t want to go back to London, and I know it’s silly, and I’ve probably got incredibly brown thumbs, but I really want a garden.’

‘A garden?’ Jane tipped her head on one side, then grinned. ‘Give me a minute.’

It took her five, during which time Julia heard her talking on the phone in the study next door, then she came back with a self-satisfied smile.

‘Sorted. Pete’s got a friend, John Blake, who’s going to be working in Chicago for a year. He’d found someone to act as a caretaker for the house, but it’s fallen through, and he’s been desperately looking for someone else.’

‘Why doesn’t he just let it?’

‘Because he’ll be coming and going, so he can’t really. But it’s a super house, all your running and living expenses will be paid, all you have to do is live in it, not have any wild parties, and call the plumber if necessary. Oh, and feed and walk the dog. Are you OK with dogs?’

She nodded. ‘I love dogs. I’ve always wanted one.’

‘Brilliant. And Murph’s a sweetie. You’ll love him, and the house. It’s called Rose Cottage, it’s got an absolutely gorgeous garden, and the best thing is it’s only three miles from here, so we can see lots of each other. It’ll be fun.’

‘But what about the baby? Won’t he mind?’

‘John? Nah. He loves babies. Anyway, he’s hardly ever home. Come on, we’re going to see him now.’

CHAPTER ONE

‘I’VE found her.’

Max froze.

It was what he’d been waiting for since June, but now—now he was almost afraid to voice the question. His heart stalling, he leaned slowly back in his chair and scoured the investigator’s face for clues. ‘Where?’ he asked, and his voice sounded rough and unused, like a rusty hinge.

‘In Suffolk. She’s living in a cottage.’

Living. His heart crashed back to life, and he sucked in a long, slow breath. All these months he’d feared…

‘Is she well?’

‘Yes, she’s well.’

He had to force himself to ask the next question. ‘Alone?’

The man paused. ‘No. The cottage belongs to a man called John Blake. He’s working away at the moment, but he comes and goes.’

God. He felt sick. So sick he hardly registered the next few words, but then gradually they sank in. ‘She’s got what?’

‘Babies. Twin girls. They’re eight months old.’

‘Eight—?’ he echoed under his breath. ‘So he’s got children?’

He was thinking out loud, but the PI heard and corrected him.

‘Apparently not. I gather they’re hers. She’s been there since mid-January last year, and they were born during the summer—June, the woman in the post office thought. She was more than helpful. I think there’s been a certain amount of speculation about their relationship.’

He’d just bet there had. God, he was going to kill her. Or Blake. Maybe both of them.

‘Of course, looking at the dates, she was presumably pregnant when she left you, so they could be yours—or she could have been having an affair with this Blake character before.’

He glared at the unfortunate PI. ‘Just stick to your job. I can do the maths,’ he snapped, swallowing the unpalatable possibility that she’d been unfaithful to him before she’d left. ‘Where is she? I want the address.’

‘It’s all in here,’ the man said, sliding a large envelope across the desk to him. ‘With my invoice.’

‘I’ll get it seen to. Thank you.’

‘If there’s anything else you need, Mr Gallagher, any further information—’

‘I’ll be in touch.’

‘The woman in the post office told me Blake was away at the moment, if that helps,’ he added quietly, and opened the door.

Max stared down at the envelope, hardly daring to open it. But, when the door clicked softly shut behind the PI, he eased up the flap, tipped it and felt his breath jam in his throat as the photos spilled out over the desk.

Oh lord, she looked gorgeous. Different, though. It took him a moment to recognise her, because she’d grown her hair and it was tied back in a ponytail, making her look younger and somehow freer. The blonde highlights were gone, and it was back to its natural soft golden-brown, with a little curl in the end of the ponytail that he wanted to thread his finger through and tug, just gently, to draw her back to him.

Crazy. She’d put on a little weight, but it suited her. She looked well and happy and beautiful, but oddly, considering how desperate he’d been for news of her for the last year—one year, three weeks and two days, to be exact—it wasn’t Julia who held his attention after the initial shock. It was the babies sitting side by side in a supermarket trolley. Two identical and absolutely beautiful little girls.

His? It was a distinct possibility. He only had to look at the dark, spiky hair on their little heads, so like his own at that age. He could have been looking at a photo of himself.

Max stared down at it until the images swam in front of his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands against them, struggling for breath, then lowered his hands and stared again.

She was alive—alive and well—and she had two beautiful children.

Children that common sense would dictate were his.

Children he’d never seen, children he’d not been told about, and suddenly he found he couldn’t breathe. Why hadn’t she told him? Would he ever have been told about them? Damn it, how dared she keep them a secret from him? Unless they weren’t his…

He felt anger building inside him, a terrible rage that filled his heart and made him want to destroy something the way she’d destroyed him.

The paperweight hit the window and shattered, the pieces bouncing off the glass and falling harmlessly to the floor, and he bowed his head and counted to ten.

‘Max?’

‘He’s found her—in Suffolk. I have to go.’

‘Of course you do,’ his PA said soothingly. ‘But take a minute, calm down, I’ll make you a cup of tea and get someone to pack for you.’

‘I’ve got a bag in the car. You’ll have to cancel New York. In fact, cancel everything for the next two days. I’m sorry, Andrea, I don’t want tea. I just want to see my—my wife.’

And the babies. His babies.

She blocked his path. ‘It’s been over a year, Max. Another ten minutes won’t make any difference. You can’t go tearing in there like this, you’ll frighten the life out of her. You have to take it slowly, work out what you want to say. Now sit down. That’s it. Did you have lunch?’

He sat obediently and stared at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about. ‘Lunch?’

‘I thought so. Tea and a sandwich—and then you can go.’

He stared after her—motherly, efficient, bossy, organising—and deeply, endlessly kind, he realised now—and felt his eyes prickle again.

He couldn’t just sit there. He crunched over the paperweight and placed his hands flat on the window, his forehead pressed to the cool, soothing glass. Why hadn’t he known? How could she have kept something so significant from him for so long?

He heard the door open and Andrea return.

‘Is this her?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the babies?’

He stared out of the window. ‘Yes. Interesting, isn’t it? It seems I’m a father, and she didn’t even see fit to tell me. Either that or she’s had an affair with my doppelganger, because they look just like I did.’

She put the tray down, tutted softly and then, utterly out of the blue, his elegant, calm, practical PA hugged him.

He didn’t know what to do for a second. It was so long since anyone had held him that he was shocked at the contact. But then slowly he lifted his arms and hugged her back, and the warmth and comfort of it nearly unravelled him. Resisting the urge to hang on, he stepped back out of her arms and turned away, dragging in air and struggling for control of the situation.

‘Goodness, aren’t they like you?’

She was staring down at the photos on the desk, a smile on her face, and he nodded. ‘Yes. Yes, they are. I’ve seen pictures of me—’

Was that his voice? He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘I must have been that sort of age. My mother’s got an album—’ And then it hit him. She was a grandmother. He’d have to tell her. She’d be overjoyed.

Oh, hell. His eyes were at it again.

‘Here, drink your tea and eat the sandwiches, and I’ll get David to bring the car round.’

The car. A two-seater, low, sexy, gorgeous open-top sports car with a throaty growl and absolutely nowhere to put baby seats, he thought as he got into it a few minutes later. Never mind. He could change it. He tapped the address into the satnav and headed out of town, the hood down and the icy February wind in his hair, trying to blow away the cobwebs and help him think—because he still had no idea what on earth he was going to say to her.

He still had no idea nearly two hours later, when the satnav had guided him to the centre of the village, and he pulled up in the dusk and looked at the map the PI had given him.

There was the bridge over the river, just ahead of him, so it should be here on the right, down this drive.

He dragged in a deep breath, shut the hood because he suddenly realised he was freezing and it was starting to mist with rain, and bumped slowly down the drive, coming out into an open area in front of the house.

He saw a pretty, thatched, chocolate-box cottage in the sweep of his headlights, and then he saw her walking towards the window in a room to the right of the front door, a baby in her arms, and his heart jammed in his throat.

‘Shush, Ava, there’s a good girl. Don’t cry, darling—Oh, look, there’s somebody coming! Shall we see who it is? It might be Auntie Jane!’

She went to the window and looked out as the headlights sliced across the gloom and the car came to rest, and felt the blood drain from her face.

Max! How—?

She sat down abruptly on the old sofa in the bay window, ignoring the baby chewing her fist and grizzling on her shoulder, and her sister joining in from the playpen. Because all she could do was stare at Max getting out of the car, unfurling his long body, slamming the door, walking slowly and purposefully towards the porch.

The outside lights had come on, but he must be able to see her in the kitchen with the lights on, surely?Any second now.

He clanged the big bell and turned away, his shoulders rigid with tension, hands jammed into the pockets of his trousers, pushing the jacket out of the way and ruining the beautiful cut.

He was thinner, she realised—because of course without her there to nag and organise he wouldn’t be looking after himself—and she felt a flicker of guilt and promptly buried it.

This was all his fault. If he’d listened to her, paid more attention last year when she’d said she wasn’t happy, actually stopped and discussed it—But no.

Don’t expect me to run around after you begging. You know where to find me when you change your mind.

But she hadn’t, and of course he hadn’t contacted her. She’d known he wouldn’t—Max didn’t beg—and she’d just let it drift, not knowing what to do once she’d realised she was pregnant, just knowing she couldn’t go back to that same situation, to that same man.

Even if she still cried herself to sleep at night because she missed him. Even if, every time she looked at his children, she felt a huge well of sadness that they didn’t know the man who was their father. But how to tell him, when he’d always said so emphatically that it was the last thing he wanted?

Then Murphy whined, ran back to the door and barked, and Ava gave up grizzling and let out a full-blown yell, and he turned towards the window and met her eyes.

She was so close.

Just there, on the other side of the glass, one of the babies in her arms, and there was a dog barking, and he didn’t know what to do.

You can’t go tearing in there like this, you’ll frighten the life out of her. You have to take it slowly, work out what you want to say. Oh Andrea, so sage, so sensible. Jules would approve of you.

But he still didn’t know what on earth he was going to say to her.

He ought to smile, he thought, but his mouth wasn’t working, and he couldn’t drag his eyes from her face. She looked—hell, she looked exhausted, really, but he’d never seen anything more beautiful or welcome in his life. Then she turned away, and he felt his hand reach out to the glass as if to stop her.

But she was only coming to the door, he realised a second later, and he sagged against the wall with a surge of relief. A key rattled, and the big oak door swung in, and there she was, looking tired and pale, but more beautiful than he’d ever seen her, with the baby on her hip and a big black Labrador at her side.

‘Hello, Max.’

That was it? A year, two children, a secret relationship and all she could say was ‘Hello, Max’?

He didn’t know what he’d expected, but it wasn’t that. He felt bile rise in his throat, driven by a rage so all-consuming it was threatening to destroy him from the inside out—a year of grief and fear and anger all coming to a head in that moment—but he remembered Andrea’s words and tamped it down hard. He could do this, he told himself, so he gritted his teeth and met her eyes.

‘Hello, Julia.’

He was propped against the wall, one arm up at shoulder height, his hair tousled and windswept, his eyes dark and unreadable. Only the jumping muscle in his jaw gave him away, and she realised he knew.

‘Hello, Julia.’

Julia, not Jules. That was a change. She wondered what else had changed. Not enough, probably. Inevitably. She gathered her composure and straightened up, taking control of the situation if not her trembling body.

‘You’d better come in,’ she said. After all, what else could she do? She had a feeling he was coming in if he had to break the door down, so she might as well do this the easy way.

He followed her back to the kitchen, his footsteps loud on the tiles, and she could hear Murphy fussing around him and thrashing his tail into all the furniture and doors. She thought of Max’s suit and how it would look decorated in dog hair, and stifled a smile. He’d hate that. He was always so particular.

‘Shut the door, keep the heat in,’ she instructed, and he shut it and turned towards her, that muscle jumping in his jaw again.

‘Is that all you’ve got to say? A whole year without a word, and all you’ve got to say is “Shut the door”?’

‘I’m trying to keep the babies warm,’ she said, and his eyes tracked immediately to the baby in her arms, his expression unreadable. Supremely conscious of the monumental nature of the moment, she locked her legs to stop them shaking and said, ‘This is Ava,’ and, gesturing with her free hand towards the lobster-pot playpen near the Aga, added, ‘and this is Libby.’

And, hearing her name, Libby looked up, took the bubbly, spitty teething ring out of her mouth and grinned. ‘Mum-mum,’ she said, and, holding up her arms, she opened and closed her hands, begging to be picked up.

Julia went to move towards her, then stopped and looked at Max, her heart pounding. ‘Well, go on, then. Pick up your daughter. I take it that’s why you’re here?’

He was transfixed.

Your daughter.

Oh lord. It was ages since he’d held a baby. He wasn’t even sure he’d ever held one this age. Older, yes, and probably walking, but not small, dribbly and gummy and quite so damned appealing, and he was suddenly terrified he’d drop her.

He shrugged off his jacket and hung it over a chair, then reached into the playpen, put his hands under her armpits and lifted her out.

‘She’s light! I thought she’d be heavier.’

‘She’s only a baby, Max, and twins are often small, but don’t be scared of her. They’re remarkably robust. Say hello to Daddy, Libby.’

Daddy?

‘Mum-mum,’ she said, and, reaching up, she grabbed his nose and pulled it hard.

‘Ouch.’

‘Libby, gently,’ Julia said, easing her fingers away, and told him to put her on his hip, then handed him Ava, settling her in the curve of his other arm. ‘There you go. Your children.’

He stared down at them. They were like peas in a pod, he thought, wondering how on earth she told them apart, and they smelt extraordinary. Like nothing he’d ever smelt before. Sweet and clean, and somehow…

Then Ava reached out to Libby, and they beamed at each other and turned and stared up at him with brilliant blue eyes exactly the colour of his own, and they smiled at him in unison, and, without warning, Max fell headlong in love.

‘Here, you’d better sit down,’ Julia said with a lump in her throat, and pulled a chair out from the table and steered him towards it before his legs gave way. He had a thunderstruck look on his face, and the girls were clearly as fascinated as he was. They were pawing his face, pulling his ears, grabbing his nose and twisting it, and he just sat there looking amazed and let them do it.

Then he looked up at her, and she saw that behind the burgeoning love in his eyes was a simmering anger fiercer than any she’d ever seen before, and she fell back a step.

He hated her.

She could see it in his eyes, in the black, bitter rage that filled them, and she turned away, tears welling. ‘I’ll put the kettle on,’ she said, more to give her something to do than anything. But then Ava started to cry again, and Libby whimpered, and she plonked the kettle down on the hob and turned back and took Ava from him.

‘Come on, sweetheart,’ she murmured, her voice sounding fractured and uncertain, and Ava picked up on it and threw herself backwards. She caught her easily, snuggling her close, and the baby started to tug at her jumper.

Oh, hell. Her breasts were prickling, the babies needed feeding, and Max—Max, who knew her body better than she knew it herself—was sitting there watching her with black, brooding eyes.

‘I need to feed her,’ she said, and then Libby joined in and started to yell. ‘Both of them.’

‘I’ll help you.’

‘I don’t think you can. You don’t have the equipment,’ she said with an attempt at levity, and as the penny dropped a dull flush of colour ran over his cheekbones.

‘Um—here,’ he said, handing Libby to her. ‘I’ll—um—’

‘Oh, sit down, Max,’ she said, giving up and heading for the sofa in the bay window. There was no point in procrastinating. And, anyway, he wasn’t going to see anything he hadn’t seen before. She sat down, pulled the cushions round to rest the babies on, one each side, undid her bra, pushed it out of the way and plugged them in.

He didn’t know where to look.

He knew where he wanted to look. Couldn’t drag his eyes away, in fact, but he didn’t think it was exactly polite to stare.

He stifled a cough of laughter. Polite? This situation was so far from being polite that it was positively off the chart, but he still couldn’t sit there and stare.

‘Kettle’s boiling. I’d love a cup of tea,’ she said, and he realised she was looking at him.

‘Ah—sure.’

He got up, went over to the Aga and lifted the kettle off, then didn’t know where to put it. On the lid? Maybe. He put the lid down, then realised there was room beside it. What a ridiculous system. What on earth was wrong with an electric kettle or the tap for boiling water they had in their apartment?

Their apartment?

Still? A year later?

‘Where are the mugs?’

‘Over the sink. The tea’s in the caddy there by the Aga, and the milk’s in the fridge in the utility room. Put some cold water in mine, please.’

He put the teabags in the mugs, stepped over the dog, fetched the milk and sloshed it in the tea, then put the milk away, stepping over the dog again, and took Julia her mug.

‘Thanks. Just put it there on the end of the table,’ she said, and he set it down and hesitated.

He could see the babies’ mouths working on Julia’s nipples, a bluish film of milk around their lips, fat little hands splayed out over the swollen white orbs of her breasts. They were so much bigger than normal, the skin on them laced faintly with blue veins, and he was fascinated. There was just something basic and fundamental and absolutely right about it.

And he felt excluded.

Isolated and cut off, kept out of this precious and amazing event which had taken place without him.

Cheated.

He turned away, taking his tea and propping himself morosely against the front of the Aga, huddling against its warmth. He felt cold right to his bones, chilled by his exclusion. And angry.

So furiously bloody angry that he was ready to hit something. A door? A wall? Not Jules. Never Jules, no matter how much she might infuriate him. It was only his surroundings that bore the brunt of his recent ill-temper, and right then he was ready to tear the house apart.

‘Max?’

He glanced across at her.

‘Could you take Ava for me? She’s finished, she just needs to burp. Could you walk round with her? Oh, and you’d better have this; she might bring up some milk on you.’

She handed him a soft white cloth—a muslin nappy; how did he know that?—and then his daughter. His precious, precious daughter. God, that was going to take some getting used to. She was sunny now, all smiles again, but then she burped and giggled, and he wiped her mouth with the corner of the cloth and smiled at her.

‘Lager lout,’ he said with an unaccustomed wave of affection, and she giggled again and grabbed his nose. ‘Hey, gently,’ he murmured, removing her hand, and, lifting his tea to his mouth, he was about to take a sip when her hand flew up and caught the mug and sent it all over him.

Without thinking he swung her out of the way, but there was nothing he could do to save himself from it and it was hot—hot enough to make him yelp with shock—and Ava screwed up her face and screamed. Oh, lord. Water. Cold water. He carried her to the tap and sloshed cold water over her, holding her hand under the dribbling tap just in case, while Julia put Libby down and ran over.

‘Give her to me,’ she said, and quickly laid her on the table and stripped off her clothes. The muslin nappy had caught most of it, and there wasn’t a mark on her, but it could so easily have been a disaster, and he felt sick. Sick and stupid and irresponsible.

‘What the hell did you think you were doing? You don’t hold a cup of boiling tea over a child!’ Julia raged, and he stepped back, devastated that he might so easily have caused his tiny daughter harm.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t think—Is she all right? Does she need to go to hospital?’

‘No, you must have missed her, she’s fine—no thanks to you.’

‘You gave her to me.’

‘I didn’t expect you to pour tea over her!’

‘It missed her.’

‘Only by the grace of God! It could have gone all over her! Of all the stupid, stupid—’

‘You were holding your tea over them!’

‘It had cold water in it! What do you think that was for? Shush, sweetheart, it’s OK.’ But the babies were both screaming now, upset by the shouting and the whining of the dog, and he stepped back again, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘Jules, I’m so sorry—’

He scrubbed his hand through his hair and turned away, furious with himself for his stupidity, but he wasn’t to be allowed to wallow.

‘Here, hold her. I need to change her. I’ll get her some clean, dry clothes.’ And then she paused and looked up at him, her lashes spiked with tears, and her voice softened. ‘She’s all right, Max. It was just the shock. I’m sorry I yelled at you.’

‘She could have been—’ He broke off, and Julia’s face contorted.

‘Don’t. It was an accident. Just hold her. I’ll only be a moment.’

He didn’t move a muscle. Just stood there, motionless, until she came back into the room armed with nappies and tiny clothes, and took the screaming baby out of his arms. Then he sat down, buried his face in his hands and sucked in a breath.

‘Can you cuddle Libby, please?’

He pulled himself together and sat up. ‘Do you trust me?’ he asked tersely, and she gave him a grim smile.

‘I have to, don’t I? You’re their father.’

‘Am I?’

‘Max, of course you are! Who else?’

‘I don’t know, but perhaps we should get a DNA test.’

Her face went white. ‘Whatever for? I wouldn’t lie to you about that. And I’m not about to start asking you for money to support us, either.’

‘I wasn’t thinking about money, I was thinking about paternity. And I wouldn’t have thought you would lie about it, but then I wouldn’t have thought you’d leave me without warning, shack up with another man and have two children without bothering to share the information with me. So clearly I don’t know you nearly as well as I thought I did and, yes, I want a DNA test,’ he said, his anger rising to the surface again. ‘Because, apart from anything else, it might be handy in court.’

‘Court?’ She looked aghast. ‘Why court? I’m not going to do anything to obstruct your access.’

‘I don’t know that. You might move again—go into hiding somewhere else. I know you’ve got your passport with you. But on the other hand, if you decide to go for maintenance, I want to be damn sure it’s my kids I’m paying for.’

She gasped, her eyes wounded, and he felt a total heel.

‘Don’t bother to turn the tears on,’ he growled, hating it—because he thought she was going to cry and Jules never, ever cried—but his words rallied her and she straightened up and glared at him.

‘I’d forgotten what a bastard you are, Max. You don’t need a test to prove you’re the father! You were with me every minute of the day and night when they were conceived. Who else could it possibly have been?’

He shrugged. ‘John Blake?’

She stared at him, then started to laugh. ‘John? No. No, John’s not a threat to you. Trust me. Apart from the fact that he’s in his late fifties and definitely not my type, he’s gay.’

The surge of relief was so great it took his breath away. She hadn’t had an affair—and the babies were his. Definitely.

And one of them was still screaming for attention.

He picked Libby up, moving almost on auto-pilot, and went over to where Julia was dressing Ava. She ran her eyes over his chest. ‘Your shirt’s soaked. Are you all right?’ she asked, without a flicker of compassion, and he told himself he didn’t deserve it anyway.

‘I’m sure I’ll live,’ he replied tersely. ‘Is she really OK?’

‘She’s fine, Max,’ Julia said, her voice grudging but fair as ever. ‘It was an accident. Don’t worry about it.’

Easy to say, not so easy to do. Especially when, some time later, after they’d been fed little pots of disgusting-smelling goo—how lamb and vegetables could possibly smell so vile he had no idea—Julia put the babies down in their cots for a sleep and made him take off his shirt, and he saw the reddened skin over his chest and shoulder. If that had been Ava…

He nearly retched with the thought, but Julia’s soft sound of dismay stopped him in his tracks.

‘Idiot. You told me you were all right!’ she scolded softly, guilt in her eyes, and then spread something green and cool over his skin with infinite gentleness.

‘What’s that?’ he asked, his voice a little hoarse, because it was so long since she’d touched him that the feel of her fingers on his skin was enough to take the legs out from under him.

‘It’s aloe vera gel,’ she murmured. ‘It’s good for burns.’

And then she looked up and met his eyes, and time stopped. He couldn’t breathe, his heart was lodged in his throat, and for the life of him he couldn’t look away.

He wanted her.

He was still furious with her for keeping the babies from him, for leaving him without warning and dropping off the face of the earth, but he’d never stopped loving her, and he loved her now.

‘Jules—’

She stepped back, the spell broken by the whispered word, and screwed the lid back on the gel, but her fingers were trembling, and for some crazy reason that gave him hope.

‘You need a clean shirt. Have you got anything with you?’

‘Yes, in the car. I’ve got a case with me.’

She looked back at him, her eyes widening. ‘You’re planning on staying?’ she said in a breathless whisper, and he gave a short huff of laughter.

‘Oh yes. Yes, Jules, I’m staying, because, now I’ve found you, I’m not losing sight of you or my children again.’

CHAPTER TWO

HE WENT out to his car to get a dry shirt, and she watched him through the window, her hand over her mouth.

He was staying?

Oh, lord. Staying here? No! No, he couldn’t stay here, not with her! She couldn’t let him get that close, because she knew him, knew that look in his eyes, knew just how vulnerable she was to his potent sexual charm. He’d only have to touch her and she’d crumple like a wet tissue.

She was shocked at the change in him, though.

He’d lost weight; she’d been right. He was thinner, the taut muscles right there under her fingers as she’d smoothed the gel on his reddened skin. His hair was touched with grey at the temples, and he looked every one of his thirty-eight years. He’d aged in the last year more than he’d aged in all the years she’d known him, and she felt another stab of guilt.

She told herself it wasn’t her fault he didn’t look after himself, but she hadn’t expected him to look so—so ravaged. His ribs had been clearly visible in the kitchen light, but so, too, had every muscle and sinew, and she realised that, although he was thinner and looked driven, he was fit.

Fit and lean and hard, and she felt her mouth dry as he got his case out of the boot, plipped the remote control and headed back towards the door, showing her the firm definition of those muscles and ribs in the harsh security lighting. He’d been working out, she thought. Or running. Or both. He often did, usually when things were tricky and he needed to think.

Or to stop himself thinking.

Was that her fault? Possibly. Probably. Oh hell, it was such a mess, and just to make things worse he’d scalded himself when Ava had lunged at him. He must be freezing, she thought, with that wet gel over his burn. It wasn’t bad really, but he’d looked so stricken when he’d seen the pink mark across his skin, as if he’d been thinking that it could have been Ava, and she felt dreadful for shouting at him.

She’d just been so tense, and it had been the last straw.

‘Is there a pub or somewhere I can stay?’ he asked, coming back into the kitchen and crouching down to open his case, pulling out a soft sweater and dragging it over his head in place of the shirt.

She opened her mouth to say yes, but some demon in his pay had control of it, because all that came out was, ‘Don’t be silly, you can stay here. There are plenty of rooms.’

‘Really?’ he asked, studying her with concern, and something else that might have been mockery in his eyes. ‘Aren’t you worried that I’ll compromise your position in the village?’

She laughed at that. ‘It’s a bit late to worry about compromising me, Max,’ she said softly. ‘You did that when you got me pregnant. And frankly the village can take a running jump.’

He frowned, and turned his attention back to his case, zipping it shut and standing it in the corner. ‘What about Blake?’ he asked, his mouth taut.

‘What about him? I’m caretaking. I’m allowed visitors, it’s in my agreement.’

‘You have an agreement?’

‘Well, of course I have an agreement!’ she said. ‘What did you think, I was just shacked up with some random man? He’s a friend of Jane and Peter’s, and he was looking for someone to house-sit. Don’t worry, it’s all above board.’

‘The woman in the post office seemed to think otherwise.’

‘The woman in the post office needs to get a life,’ she said briskly. ‘Anyway, as I’ve already told you, he’s gay. Are you hungry?’

He frowned. ‘Hungry?’

‘Max, you need to eat,’ she said, feeling another stab of guilt over who if anyone fed him these days, who told him when he’d worked late enough and that it was too early to get up, who stopped him burning the candle at both ends and in the middle.

Nobody, she realised in dismay, looking at him really closely. Nobody at all, and least of all himself. He was exhausted, dark hollows round his eyes, his mouth drawn, that lovely ready smile gone without trace.

She felt tears filling her eyes, and turned away.

‘There’s some chicken in the fridge, or I’ve got all sorts of things in the freezer.’

‘Can’t we go out?’

‘Where, with the twins?’

His face was a picture, and she shook her head and stifled a laugh. ‘I can’t just go out, Max. It’s a military operation, and I don’t have instant access to a babysitter.’

‘Does the pub do food?’

‘Yes. It’s good, too. You could go over there.’

‘Would they deliver?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘I could offer them an incentive.’

‘I’m sure you could,’ she said drily. ‘Why don’t you go down there and sweet-talk them? It’s only just the other side of the river. It’ll take you two minutes to walk it. Or you could just eat there if you’re worried I’ll poison you.’

He ignored that. ‘Do they have a menu?’

‘They do. They’re very good. It’s a sort of gastro-pub. You could choose something and have a drink while they cook it. It’ll take about twenty minutes, probably.’

And she could have a shower and change into something that didn’t smell of baby sick and nappy cream, and brush her hair and put on some make-up—No, no make-up, she didn’t want to look too desperate, but she could call Jane.

‘It’s a bit early. I could go later.’

‘Except the babies may wake later, and it’s easier to eat when they’re asleep. Besides, they only serve until nine, and anyway I’m starving. I forgot about lunch.’

Still he hesitated, but then he gave a curt nod, shrugged on his jacket and headed for the door. ‘What do you fancy?’

‘Anything. You know what I like.’

He sipped his beer morosely and stared at the menu.

Did he know what she liked? He used to think so. Skinny sugar-free vanilla lattes, bacon rolls, almond croissants, really bitter dark chocolate, steamed vegetables, pan-fried sea bass, a well-chilled Chablis, sticky-toffee pudding with thick double cream—and waking up on Sunday morning at home in their apartment and making love until lunchtime.

He’d known how to wring every last sigh and whimper out of her, how to make her beg and plead for more, for that one last touch, the final stroke that would drive her screaming over the edge.

‘Are you ready to order, sir?’

He closed his eyes briefly and then looked up at the pretty young waitress with what he hoped was something resembling a normal smile. ‘Um—yes. I’ll have the rib-eye steak, please—rare—and the—’ He hesitated. The pan-fried salmon, or the chicken breast stuffed with brie and pesto?

Then he remembered her saying she had chicken in the fridge. ‘I’ll have the salmon, please. And I’d like to take them away, if you can do that for me? I know you don’t usually, but we don’t have a babysitter and, well, it’s the closest we can get to going out for dinner. I’ll drop the plates back tomorrow.’ This time the smile was better, less jerky and awkward, and she coloured slightly and smiled back.

‘I’m sure we can do that for you, sir,’ she said a little breathlessly, and he hated himself for the little kick of pride that he could still make the girls go silly with a simple smile.

‘Oh, and could I have a look at the wine list? I’d like to take a couple of bottles home, if I may?’

‘Of course, sir. I’ll take this to the kitchen and bring the wine list back to you.’

She was back with it in moments, and he chose a red and a white, paid the bill and settled back to wait.

Funny. This time yesterday he would have been too busy to wait for his food. He would have had it delivered. Even if they didn’t deliver, he would have had it delivered, because everything had a price. You just had to pay enough.

But tonight, after he’d made a couple of phone calls and checked his email on his BlackBerry ^® Smartphone, he was glad just to sit there in the busy pub, which was more of a restaurant than a watering hole, and take time out from what had been probably the most momentous day of his life. Unless…

But he didn’t want to think about that other day, so he buried the thought and tapped his fingers and waited…

‘That was lovely. Thank you, Max. It was a really nice idea.’

‘Was it all right? My steak was good, but I knew you wouldn’t want that, and I thought the fish was safe, but I didn’t know if you’d want a pudding.’ He frowned. ‘I realised I didn’t know what you would want.’

She felt the smile coming and couldn’t stop it. ‘You aren’t alone. I often don’t know what I want.’

One brow flew up in frank disbelief. ‘Are you telling me you’ve become indecisive?’

She laughed at that. ‘I’ve always been indecisive if it affects me personally. I’ve just trained myself to remember that I’m going to eat it, not marry it, so it really doesn’t matter that much. Well, not with food, anyway. Other things—well, they’re harder,’ she admitted slowly.

His eyes turned brooding as he studied her. ‘Is that why you didn’t contact me? Because you couldn’t decide if it was the right thing to do?’

She looked down, guilt and remorse flooding her.

‘Probably. But you just wouldn’t listen, so there didn’t seem to be any point in trying to talk to you—and you hadn’t tried to talk to me, either.’

He sighed shortly. ‘Because I told you to get in touch when you wanted me.’ He paused, then added, ‘The fact that you didn’t…’

She nearly let that go, but in the end she couldn’t. There was just something in his eyes she couldn’t ignore. ‘I nearly did. So many times. But I told myself that if you were prepared to listen, to talk about it, you’d ring me. And you didn’t.’

‘I tried. I couldn’t get you. Your number was blocked and I had no idea why.’

‘My phone was stolen. But that wasn’t till June! So you didn’t try for nearly six months, at least.’

He looked away, his jaw working, so she knew before he spoke that she was right. ‘I was waiting for you to call me. I thought, if I gave you space—and when you didn’t call a bit of me thought, to hell with you, really. But then I couldn’t stand it any longer—the uncertainty. Not knowing where you were, what you were doing. It was killing me. So I called, and then I couldn’t get you. And you weren’t spending any money, you weren’t using your account.’

‘John pays my living expenses and runs the car.’

‘Very generous,’ he growled.

‘He is. He’s a nice man.’

His jaw clenched at that—at the thought of another man supporting her. Well, tough. He’d get over it. It was only a job.

‘He’s been marvellous,’ she went on, turning the screw a little further. ‘He was really understanding when the babies were born, and he got a friend to stay until I was able to come home.’

‘Home?’

She smiled at him wryly. ‘Yes, home. This is home for us—for now, anyway.’ She didn’t tell him that John was returning soon and she’d have to find somewhere else. Let him think everything was all right and there was no pressure on her, or he’d use it to push her into some kind of reconciliation, and she wasn’t buying that until she was sure he was ready for it. If ever.

‘That’s when my phone was stolen, in the hospital, and I reported it and had the card blocked. But Jane gave me her old pay-as-you-go to use for emergencies, so I cancelled the contract. There didn’t seem to be any point in paying an expensive tariff when most of the time I’m at home with the babies and I’ve got the landline.’

‘And you didn’t think to give me either of those numbers?’

She laughed a little bitterly. ‘What, because you’d phoned me so regularly over the previous six months?’

His jaw clenched. ‘It wasn’t that. I told myself you’d contact me if you wanted me. I made myself give you space, give you time to sort out what you wanted. You said you needed time to think, but then I wondered how much time it could possibly take. If you needed that much, then we probably didn’t have anything worth saving in your eyes, and I was damned if I was going to weaken and call you. But then when I couldn’t get hold of you I got a PI on the job—’

‘A PI!’ she exclaimed, her guilt and sympathy brushed aside in an instant as her anger resurrected itself. ‘You’ve had someone spying on me?’

‘Because I was worried sick about you! And, anyway, how the hell do you think I found you? Not by accident, all the way out here.’

‘Well, not by trawling round yourself, that’s for sure,’ she said drily, ignoring yet another twinge of guilt. ‘You’d be too busy to do that kind of thing yourself. I’m surprised you’re here now, actually. Shouldn’t you be somewhere more important?’

He gave her a sharp look. ‘If it was more important, I’d be in New York now,’ he growled, and she shook her head, the guilt retreating.

‘I might have known. So when did you find out I was here?’

‘Today. This afternoon—two-thirty or so.’

‘Today?’ she said, astonished. She’d thought, when he said about the PI, that he’d known where she was for ages. ‘So you came straight here?’

He shrugged. ‘What was I supposed to do? Wait for you to disappear again? Of course I came straight here—because I wanted answers.’

‘You haven’t asked me any questions yet—apart from why didn’t I contact you, which I’ve told you.’

‘And who’s the father.’

She sat up straighter and glared at him. ‘You knew they were yours! You weren’t the slightest bit surprised. I expect your private eye took photos!’

He held her furious glare, but there was a flicker of something that might—just might—have been guilt. She ignored it and ploughed on.

‘Anyway, why would you care? You told me so many times you didn’t want children. So what’s changed, Max? What’s brought you all the way up to sleepy old Suffolk in the depths of winter to ask me that?’

He was still looking her straight in the eye, but for the first time she felt she could really see past the mask, and her traitorous heart softened at the pain she saw there. ‘You have,’ he said gruffly. ‘I’ve missed you, Jules. Come back to me.’

Oh no, Jane had been right, he was going to do the sweet-talking thing, but she’d been warned, and she wasn’t falling for it. ‘It’s not that easy.’

‘Oh, you’re going to start the lifestyle thing again, aren’t you?’ he said, rolling his eyes and letting out his breath on a huff.

‘Well—yes. You obviously haven’t changed; you look dreadful, Max. How much sleep did you have last night?’

‘Four hours,’ he admitted grudgingly, looking a little uncomfortable.

‘Four hours of sleep, or four hours in the apartment?’

‘Sleep,’ he said, but he looked uncomfortable again, and she had a feeling he was hiding something, and she had a feeling she knew what.

‘Max, how many hours are you working at the moment, on average? Fifteen? Eighteen? Twenty?’ she added, watching him carefully, and she saw the slight movement when she hit the nail on the head. ‘Max, you idiot, you can’t do that! You need more than four hours’ sleep! And where are you sleeping? The apartment, or in the office?’

‘Why do you care?’ he asked, his voice suddenly bitter, and he lifted his head and seared her with his eyes. ‘What the hell is it to you if I burn myself out trying to—?’

‘Trying to?’ she coaxed, but then wished she hadn’t because, his voice raw, he answered her with an honesty that flayed her heart.

‘Trying to forget you. Trying to stay awake long enough that I fall asleep through sheer exhaustion and don’t just lie there wondering if you’re alive or dead.’

She sucked in her breath. ‘Max—why would you think I was dead?’

‘Because I heard nothing from you!’ he grated, thrusting himself up out of the chair and prowling round the kitchen, the suppressed emotion making his body vibrate almost visibly. ‘What was I supposed to think, Julia? That you were OK and everything was fine in La-La Land? Don’t be so bloody naïve. You weren’t spending anything, your phone wasn’t working—you could have been lying in a ditch! I’ve spent the days searching for you, phoning everyone I could think of, nagging the backside off the PI, getting through PAs like a hot knife through butter, working myself to a standstill so I could fall over at the end of the day so tired I didn’t have the energy or emotion left to—’

He broke off and turned away, spinning on his heel and slamming his hand against the wall while she stared at him, aghast at the pain in his words—pain that she’d caused.

Didn’t have the energy or emotion left to—what? Cry himself to sleep, as she did?

No. Not Max.

Surely not?

She got up and crossed over to him, her socks silent on the stone-flagged floor, and laid a hand on his shoulder. ‘Max, I’m so sorry,’ she whispered, and he turned and dropped his shoulders against the wall and stared down at her.

‘Why, Jules?’ he asked, his voice like gravel. ‘Why? What did I ever do to you that was so bad that you could treat me like that? How could you not have told me that I was going to be a father?’

‘I wanted to, but you were always so anti-children—’

‘Because you couldn’t have any, and because—’

‘Because?’

He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s irrelevant now, but we were talking theory, there, not practice. When you found out you were pregnant—When did you find out, by the way?’

She swallowed. ‘While you were on your way to Tokyo. Jane took one look at me and gave me her spare pregnancy test.’

His eyes widened. ‘All that time? Right from the very first minute you knew, and you kept it from me? Jules—how? Why?’

‘I didn’t think you’d want to know. I wanted to tell you—I wanted so much for you to be there with me, to share it.’

‘I would have been,’ he said gruffly, his eyes tormented. ‘I would have been with you every step of the way if you’d given me the chance.’

‘But only when you weren’t too busy.’

He looked away. ‘I wouldn’t have been too busy for that.’

‘Of course you would.’

‘No. Not for something like that. You should have given me the choice, Julia, not taken that decision away from me. You had no right to do that.’

He was right, of course. So right, and his anger and grief at the lost time cut right through her. She wanted to hold him, to put her arms round him, but she had no right to do that any more. How could she comfort him for the hurt she’d caused? And anyway there was no guarantee he wouldn’t reject her, and she couldn’t stand that.

And then he looked up and met her eyes, and she realised he wouldn’t reject her at all. She was locked in the blue fire of his gaze, unable to breath for the emotion flooding through her.

He reached out his hand and cupped her cheek tenderly, and she realised his fingers were trembling. ‘I need you,’ he said under his breath. ‘I hate you for what you’ve done to me, but, God damn you, I still need you. Come back to me. Please—come back to me; let’s make a life together. We can start again.’

She stepped back, her legs like jelly. It would be so easy…

‘I can’t. Not to that life.’

‘To what, then?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Just not that. Not the endless jetting round the world, the profit-chasing and the thrill of the stock market, the crazy takeovers, the race to the top of the rich list—I don’t want to know any more, Max, and I can’t do it, especially not with the babies. That’s why I left you, and nothing’s changed, has it? You should be in New York now, and, OK, you’re here—but I bet you’ve been on the phone while you were in the pub or on the way over, or on the drive up here, or later after I go to bed you’ll find calls you have to make. Am I right?’ she pushed, and he sighed and nodded.

‘Yes, damn it, you’re right, of course you’re right, but I have a business to run.’

‘And staff. Good staff. Some excellent people, who are more than capable of keeping things going. So let them, Max. Give them a chance to prove themselves, and take time out to get to know your children.’

‘Time?’ he asked cautiously, as if it was a foreign concept, and she would have smiled if her life hadn’t depended on it. As it was she was on the verge of tears, and she tilted her chin and put a little backbone into her voice.

‘Two weeks. Two weeks here, with me, with no phones, no news, no papers, no laptop or email or post—just us. A holiday—you know, one of those things we’ve never had? You, me and the babies, to see if there’s any way we can make a family.’

He was shaking his head. ‘I can’t take two weeks—not just like that. Not without any contact.’

‘You can contact them and tell them,’ she said. ‘I know you’ll need to do that. Look, I can’t talk about this any more. It’s been a hell of a day, and I’m shattered. I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do, too. You can have the room beyond the babies, it’s all ready. And think about what I said. If you’re really serious about us getting back together, then I want that two weeks. No compromises, no cheating, no bending the rules. Just you, me and the babies. Phone your PA and fix it first thing in the morning.’

One of those elegant, autocratic brows gave an ironic quirk. ‘That sounds very much like an order.’

‘Just laying down the ground rules. Either you’re going to engage with this or you’re not.’

‘Just give me one good reason why I should.’

She laughed softly. ‘I can give you two—and if you want to be part of their lives you’ll do this. Because I’m not subjecting them to an absentee father who can’t keep his family commitments and doesn’t know the difference between work and home.’

He stared at her searchingly for the longest moment, then, just when she thought he’d refuse, he nodded.

‘OK. I’ll call Andrea in the morning and set it up. And you can have your two weeks. But make no mistake, I’m doing this for the children, because you’re right—they deserve more than an absentee father. But it’s going to take a long while before I can forgive you for cheating me of their first months, and for keeping something so monumentally important from me. So don’t expect me to be all sweetness and light, because I’m still so angry with you I can’t even find the words for it.’

Her eyes filled, and she swallowed the tears. ‘I know. And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you, but, for what it’s worth, I still love you.’

‘You still love me? You can stand there and say that, and yet you walked out and didn’t come back?’ he said incredulously.

‘Because it was killing me,’ she told him unevenly. ‘And I couldn’t remember who we were. But I do still love you. That’s never been in doubt.’

‘Then come back to me.’

‘No. Not just like that. It’s not enough, not on its own. There has to be more. And I want to know if we’ve got anything left, when our old life’s stripped away and all we’ve got to fall back on is each other. I think we could both be in for a shock.’

CHAPTER THREE

‘ANDREA, it’s—’

‘Max! Are you all right?’

He blinked, a little startled by her concern. ‘Fine,’ he lied. ‘I’m fine. Look, I need you to do something for me.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed, but then, before she let him move on, she added, ‘Max, how are things?’

Bizarre. Confusing. ‘I’m not sure,’ he said honestly. ‘I need time to find out. Can you clear my diary for the next two weeks?’

‘I’ve done it,’ she said, surprising him yet again. ‘Well, I’ve shuffled what I can, and cleared most of it. I’m still waiting for Yashimoto to come back to me.’

Damn. He’d forgotten about Yashimoto. He was supposed to have been going on to Tokyo from New York to firm up the new contract.

‘Maybe—’

‘Max, I’ll get him. It’s not a problem. He can deal with Stephen—’

‘No. Stephen doesn’t know all the ins and outs. Get them both to call me—’

‘Ma-ax?’

The warning voice from behind him made him turn, to find Jules propped up against the door frame cradling a cup of tea in her hands, one foot rested on the other, her bare toes looking curiously vulnerable. Not so her face. She was staring at him unflinchingly, and her expression was uncompromising. ‘No phone calls,’ she reminded him, a thread of steel that he’d forgotten about in her voice, and he gave a low groan of frustration and turned his back on her.

‘OK. Scratch that, deal with him yourself, let Stephen handle it. I need to—Well, there are…’

‘Rules?’ Andrea said softly, and he sighed.

‘Two weeks, no business, no distractions.’

‘Well, hallelujah! I think I’m going to like your wife. I just hope I get the chance to meet her. Don’t blow it, Max.’

Lord, what had happened to her? She was supposed to be on his side! ‘I’ll do my best,’ he muttered. ‘Look, I know it’s against the rules, but if there really is a problem…’

‘If there really is a problem I will, of course, ring you. Give me your wife’s number.’

‘What?’

‘You heard. I’ll call her.’

‘You don’t need to trouble her.’

‘No, I don’t suppose I do, but I’ll give her the veto.’

He said something rude, then apologised and handed the phone to Julia. ‘She wants your number—for emergencies.’

‘Right,’ she said, and took the phone out of his hand and walked off with it, shutting the door behind her with her foot.

He swore again, scrubbed his hand through his hair and then heard a cry from the babies’ room.

His daughters. That was what this was all about, he reminded himself, and, padding across the landing in bare feet, he went in there and lifted the one who was awake out of her cot and smiled at her.

Ava? He wasn’t sure, so he said, ‘Are you Ava?’ out loud, and she turned her head and looked at the other cot.

‘Libby?’

She turned back and beamed, reaching up and pulling his ear. Oh, well, it gave his nose a break. He shifted her slightly so she couldn’t reach, and then sniffed. Hmm. She had a problem that was mercifully outside his experience, but that was fine. Jules wouldn’t be long.

Would she?

‘Max?’

‘I’m in here,’ he said, coming out of the babies’ room with Libby in his arms. ‘Are you happy now?’

‘Mmm. She sounds nice. I’ve given her my number and my other contact details, just in case.’

‘In case what? The office catches fire?’

‘That would be pointless. What are you going to do, spit on it? Did you wake Libby?’

‘No, she was awake. She—um—needs you.’

She chuckled and took the baby, kissing her and nuzzling her nose against her neck. ‘Hello, monster. Is Daddy chicken?’

She started to cluck and squawk, and Libby thought it was hilarious and got the giggles, and she looked at Max over her head and saw his glower crumble and fade under the influence of Libby’s delicious chuckles.

‘Of course, part of the bonding process is learning about nappies,’ she told him deadpan, and she could have sworn his colour drained a fraction. ‘It’s OK, I’ll let you practise on a harmless one,’ she said with a grin, and nearly laughed out loud when his shoulders dropped in relief.

He propped himself up in the doorway and watched her from a safe distance as she dealt with Libby, then she put the little girl back in his arms and washed her hands. Then she lifted Ava out and cuddled her while she found a clean nappy and got it ready, then changed her, too, and dropped the nappy in the bucket.

‘Are those cloth nappies?’ he asked, peering a little closer now it was safe.

She turned her head and raised an eyebrow at him. ‘Don’t look so shocked.’

‘I—I’m not. I’m just surprised. I would have thought—I don’t know; all that washing. You could just chuck disposables.’

‘Mmm. Eight million a day, going into landfill.’

‘Eight million? Good grief!’

‘Mmm. Just in this country. And they don’t biodegrade, either, so they’re there for hundreds of years. Or I can wash these and dry them on the Aga. It’s easier, cheaper and better, and they’re not even made of cotton, they’re made of bamboo. And they’re lovely and soft. Right, Ava, that’s you done!’

‘How on earth do you manage both of them at once on your own?’ he asked, looking utterly out of his depth, and she summoned a grin and shrugged.

‘You learn coping strategies,’ she said honestly. ‘You deal with the urgent one first, and the other one gets to wait. It’s normally Libby who waits, because Ava’s got a shorter fuse.’

‘So she’s learned to manipulate you already?’ he said, sounding astonished for the second time in as many minutes, which made her laugh out loud.

‘Of course.’ She gave him a dry look. ‘She takes after you.’

His head jerked back and he eyed her doubtfully. ‘I’m not sure that’s a compliment.’

She chuckled. ‘It’s not. But babies are amazing. They’re such good little survivors, and it doesn’t take them long to sort out a pecking order. They’ll have you sussed in no time flat, you wait and see. Right, girls, time for breakfast.’

‘Not more of that disgusting goo,’ he pleaded, looking appalled.

‘No. They have instant multi-grain porridge for breakfast, and fruit. That’s good and messy. I’ll let you clean them up.’

He looked horrified, and she nearly laughed again. But then she remembered that any normal father of eight-month-old babies would know what their children had for breakfast, and how to change a nappy, and that they were manipulative and very good at engineering the adults around them.

Except, of course, that Max hadn’t had the chance, and that was her fault.

Turning away so he didn’t see the thoughtful frown on her face, she headed downstairs with Ava, leaving him to follow with Libby. And, if she was really lucky, she’d be able to get through breakfast without drooling over the sight of him in that robe which showed altogether too much of those toned, muscular legs. Not to mention the fact that she knew only too well just how little he’d have on underneath it.

And it was absolutely nothing to do with her. Not now, and not ever again, unless they could turn this situation around and find a way to get the two of them back together. Still, at least he’d phoned his PA, as instructed.

She sounded sensible. Nice. Decent, and utterly on her side. She was looking forward to meeting her—but not yet. There was a lot of ground to cover before they reached that point, and she was going to make damn sure they walked over every single inch of it.

‘Right, girls, want some breakfast?’

He had to learn the hard way, of course, not to put the bowl close enough for Libby to slap her little hand in.

And then there was catching it before she had time to rub it in her hair. And on his face when he leant in to clean her up. Oh, boy, he’d need a shower by the time they were finished.

‘Here.’

He looked up and took a warm, damp cloth from Jules, smiled his thanks and wondered where to start.

‘Move the bowl,’ she offered, and he pulled it out of reach and swiped most of the gloop off Libby’s hand before she could stick it anywhere else, conscious of Jules hovering in range just in case he couldn’t manage.

‘Right, monster, let’s try again,’ he said, putting the cloth out of reach on the edge of the sink and settling down with the bowl and spoon. ‘Open wide.’

He got most of it into her before she decided she’d had enough and spat it out at him with a cheerful grin, and he closed his eyes and laughed in exasperation before getting up, rinsing out the cloth and tackling her mucky little face.

Which she hated, apparently, because she screamed the place down until he stopped, then beamed again.

‘You’re a madam,’ he told her, grabbing her sticky hands and sorting them out one by one, and she giggled and tried to squirm out of the chair.

‘What now?’ he asked Jules.

‘Bath time.’

‘Bath—?’ He rolled his eyes and sighed. ‘Sounds messy.’

‘It is. I’ll let you do it.’

‘Bathe them?’ he asked, feeling a little flicker of panic.

‘You’ll cope,’ she assured him drily, but he wasn’t sure. He had a horrible feeling it was just another opportunity for him to make an idiot of himself or do something else wrong.

‘I’ll get dressed,’ he said, and she laughed.

‘I shouldn’t bother. You’ll probably get soaked.’

And her mouth twitched, and he realised she was enjoying this. Hugely.

He clamped his teeth together to hold back the retort, carried Libby upstairs and stopped by the bathroom door. ‘So now what?’

‘Put her on the floor on her tummy so she can practise crawling, and run the bath. Here, you can have Ava, too. I’ll go and find some clothes for them. Don’t undress them yet, though. They’ll get cold waiting for you.’

Cold? How could they possibly get cold? The bathroom was steaming. But they were just little people. What did he know? He’d nearly scalded Ava last night. He wasn’t going to argue.

Run the bath, he thought, and remembered something from his mother’s wisdom: run the cold first, so the bath never has just hot in it.

Wise woman.

He ran the cold, then turned the hot tap on and swished it about until he thought it was hot enough. Was it? Hell, he wasn’t going to risk another scald. He turned the hot off. Hmm. Maybe.

‘Ava? What are you doing?’

He rescued the loo brush from her before she stuck it in her mouth and pointed her in the other direction, then yelled, ‘I’ve run the bath.’

‘Is it hot?’

‘No!’ he retorted with only a trace of sarcasm, and he heard her chuckle.

‘Undress them, then. I’ll be in in a second.’

So he undressed Ava, as she was heading for the brush again, and then Libby, and then he put her back down on the bath mat, rescued Ava yet again from the corner by the loo, and lowered her carefully into the water.

And yanked her out again instantly when she let out a piercing yell.

‘What now?’ Jules had flown into the room and snatched her from him, shielding her in her arms and glaring at him like a lioness defending her cub. ‘I thought you said it wasn’t hot!’

‘It isn’t!’

She bent over and touched the water, then shook her head and laughed weakly, sitting down on the side of the bath and shaking her head. ‘No. You’re right; poor little mite. It’s freezing.’

‘Freezing?’

‘Mmm.’

Freezing. He sighed. ‘I didn’t want—’

‘To burn them?’ Her smile faded. ‘OK. I’m sorry. I just thought it was common sense.’

‘Well, clearly I haven’t got any,’ he retorted, sick of the whole business and wondering what he was going to do wrong next, but she took pity on him.

‘Max, you’re doing fine. Here, look, use the inside of your wrist. It should feel comfortable—not hot or cold. That’s the best test.’

Hell. He was never going to survive this fortnight.

Never mind the rest of his life.

‘How can it be so hard?’ he grumbled gently, retrieving Libby this time from the loo brush and plopping her in the bath beside her sister. ‘Fourteen-year-old girls manage it.’

‘No, they don’t. They manage to get pregnant, but they don’t manage to look after babies without support and coaching and lots of encouragement. Having ovaries doesn’t make you a good mother, and not knowing how to run a bath doesn’t make you a bad father. You’ll get there, Max,’ she added softly.

And he swallowed hard and looked away, because they were kneeling side by side, their shoulders brushing, and every now and then she swayed against him and her hip bumped his, and all he could think about was dragging her up against him and kissing her soft, full lips…

‘Ow!’

Jules laughed and detached Libby’s fingers from his hair, and the scent of her skin drifted across his face and nearly pushed him over the brink.

‘Right, what next?’ he asked, and forced himself to concentrate on the next instalment of his parentcraft class.

Eventually they were washed, dried and dressed in little denim dungarees and snugly warm jumpers, and Jules declared that as soon as he was dressed himself they were going out for a walk as it was a lovely day.

‘Can they walk?’ he asked, and she rolled her eyes.

‘Of course not. We’ll take the buggy.’

Obviously. Of course they couldn’t walk. They could barely crawl. Except towards the loo brush. He put it on the window sill out of reach while he thought about it, and had a quick shower to get the baby breakfast out of his hair. And eyes. And nose.

Then he threw on his clothes and went down to the kitchen to join them. ‘Right, are we all set?’

She eyed him thoughtfully. ‘Jeans?’

‘You know I don’t own jeans,’ he said, and then gave a short sigh when she rolled her eyes. ‘What? What, for God’s sake? Is it a character flaw that I don’t own jeans?’

‘No,’ she said softly. ‘It’s a character flaw that you don’t need to own jeans.’

He worked out the difference eventually, and scowled at her. ‘Well, I don’t—either own them, or need them.’

‘Oh, you need them, of course you do. How are you going to crawl around the floor with the girls and the dog in your hand-tailored Italian suit-trousers?’

He stared down at his legs. Were they? He supposed they were, and, when she put it like that, it did sound ridiculous. ‘We could go and buy some,’ he suggested.

‘Good idea.’

‘And while we’re in town we can go to the Mercedes garage and talk about changing the car for something a little more baby-friendly.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with my car, and, anyway, it’s John’s!’

‘Not yours,’ he explained patiently. ‘Mine.’

She swivelled her head and stared out of the window at his car. ‘But Max—you love it,’ she said softly.

He shrugged. ‘So? I need a baby-carrier, Jules. No matter what happens with us, I need a baby-carrier. So I might as well do something about it now. And there’s no room at the apartment for more than one car, so it’ll have to go.’

‘You could leave it here. Take mine when you have the girls.’

‘I thought it was Blake’s car?’

She frowned. ‘Oh. Um—yes, it is,’ she agreed. ‘So I can’t really let you have it.’

‘So it’s back to plan A.’

She looked at his car and chewed her lip doubtfully. She’d never driven it—never driven any of his sports cars. She’d had a little city car when he’d met her, and she’d hardly used it, so she’d sold it when they’d moved in together and she hadn’t bought another one.

But she knew how much he loved it. It would be such a shame if he had to get rid of it. ‘Or plan C,’ she suggested. ‘You buy another one, and leave it here for when you come up.’

He stared at her, then looked away to conceal his expression, because he’d suddenly realised they were talking as if she was going to be staying here, and he was going back to London without them.

And he didn’t like it one bit.

They bought the jeans and some casual shoes and a couple of jumpers in one of the high-street department stores, and he emerged from the changing room looking stiff and uncomfortable and utterly gorgeous. ‘Better?’ he asked, a touch grumpily, and she smiled.

‘Much. Right, let’s go and sort the car out.’

They did. It was easy, because they had an ex-demon-stration model which he could have instantly, and he held his hand out. ‘Phone?’

‘It’s at home. But I’ve got Andrea’s number in mine, if you want to call her to get the car on cover.’

He rolled his eyes and took her phone, made the call and handed it back in disgust. The negotiations complete, the salesman handed him the keys, and they headed back to the house in convoy, her with the babies, him alone in his new and very alien acquisition.

He followed her into the house and held out his hand again.

‘So—my phone?’

She smiled a little guiltily. ‘It’s fine. You don’t need it.’

‘I might.’

‘What for?’

‘Apart from calling Andrea just now to get the car on cover—emergencies?’

‘What—like contacting one of your business associates to set up a new deal, or checking that one of your overpaid and undervalued team is doing his or her job?’

‘They aren’t undervalued!’ he protested, but she just arched a brow and stared straight back at him until he backed down. ‘OK,’ he sighed. ‘So I have delegation issues.’

‘Hallelujah!’ she said, sounding so like Andrea that it made him want to strangle them both—or do something to ensure that they never spoke to each other again! ‘So, anyway, you don’t need your phone.’

‘But what if there is an emergency?’

‘Like what?’

He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. Like I set fire to the house or fall over on you all and squash you or drop one of the babies down the stairs—’

She went pale. ‘Use the house phone.’

‘What if we’re out like we were this morning?’ he pushed, the empty pocket in his jeans making him feel nervous and a little panicky.

‘I’ll have my mobile. You can use that. It’s always in my bag.’

His eyes slid to the bag, just there on the side in the kitchen. It hadn’t moved since he’d arrived last night, apart from to go to town with them, and, now he knew her phone was in it, the temptation to borrow it and sneak down the garden and make a couple of calls was overwhelming. Except, of course, he didn’t have the contact numbers.

‘Max, get over it,’ she said firmly, and he realised there was no way he was going to talk her round. He swallowed hard and told himself Andrea would ring when she needed him. Except that he’d forgotten to tell her…

‘Max, let it go. Andrea said she’d ring if it was urgent.’ And then she added curiously, ‘What’s she like? She sounded nice.’

He smiled at that, a little wryly. ‘I don’t know if I’d call her “nice”. She’s fifty-three, slim and elegant, and frighteningly efficient; she rules me with a rod of iron. You’ll probably love her, but it’s not like having you there, Jules. It was great working with you. You just knew what I wanted all the time and it was there, ready. I hardly had to think the thought, and sometimes I didn’t even need to do that. I miss you.’

‘I’m not coming back just because your new PA isn’t as good as me,’ she retorted, but his mouth quirked and he shook his head.

‘Oh, she’s good, but at the end of the day, when we’ve finished work, she doesn’t look at me like you did,’ he said, his voice lower. ‘As if she wants to rip my clothes off. And I don’t undress her in the shower and make love to her up against the tiles until the security staff wonder who the hell’s being murdered because of all the screaming.’

She felt a tide of colour sweep over her at that, and shook her head. ‘Max, stop it. It was only once.’

‘And it was amazing,’ he said softly, and, reaching out his hand, he cupped her flushed cheek and lifted her chin, as his mouth came down and found hers in a gentle, tender kiss that could so easily lead to…

She stepped back, her legs like jelly. ‘Max, no! Stop it.’

He straightened up, his eyes burning, and gave a crooked smile. ‘Sorry,’ he murmured, but he didn’t look in the least bit sorry. He looked like the cat that got the cream, and she could have screamed with frustration.

‘So—how about that walk we were going to have?’ he said, which just showed what he knew about babies and their timetabling.

‘The girls need lunch and a nap, and so do I. We can go for a walk later if it’s still nice.’

‘What am I supposed to do, then?’ he asked. She realised he was utterly at a loss with so much unstructured time on his hands, and she gave a wicked little smile.

‘You could wash the nappies.’

He’d never gone in her handbag.

It was one of those unwritten rules, like swearing in front of ladies and leaving the seat up, that his mother had drummed into him as a child.

But, with the house quiet and all of them asleep, he stood, arms folded, and stared at her bag. It was only the phone. Just one call. He could sneak down the garden, or out to the car, and she’d never know.

He could even see the corner of it, sticking up out of the pile of junk that she seemed to have in it. And that was a change. Her bag had always been immaculately well organised before, and now it was a walking skip.

With a phone in it.

He caught the corner of it gingerly between finger and thumb and lifted it out of the bag as if it would bite him. It was a very ordinary phone, and he knew how to use it because he’d made a call on it this afternoon. And he knew Andrea’s number was in there. He had to talk to her, he told himself, trying to justify it.

He had to.

He went into the address book and then, on impulse, he scrolled down to M, and there he was: Max, and his mobile number. And the apartment. And work. He looked under ICE—in case of emergency—and found his numbers all repeated.

In her new phone.

Because of the girls, he reminded himself, squashing the leap of hope, and then had a thought. If he rang his mobile number, it would ring, and he’d be able to find it…

What on earth?

She lifted her head, stared at the pillow and pulled it aside.

Max’s phone was ringing—on silent, because she’d silenced it, but the vibration had alerted her. And the number that had come up was her mobile.

Which was in her handbag.

‘You’re cheating,’ she said into it, and there was a muttered curse and he cut the connection. Suppressing a smile, she threw back the covers and slipped out of bed, pulled on her jeans and jumper, ran her fingers through her hair and went downstairs.

He was standing by the bag, her phone in hand, looking defiant and guilty all at once, and she felt suddenly sorry for him, plunged head-first into this bizarre situation that was totally outside his experience, dislocated from everything that was familiar.

Except her, and even she’d changed beyond recognition, she realised.

She smiled. ‘It’s OK, Max, I’m not going to bite.’

‘Just nag me.’

‘No. Not even nag you. I’m going to ask you, one more time, to take this seriously. To give it your best shot, to see if we can make a go of it. If not for us, then for the girls.’

He swallowed hard, and looked away. ‘I need to make a call, Jules. There’s something important I forgot to tell Andrea.’

‘Is anyone going to die?’

He looked startled. ‘Of course not.’

‘Or be hurt?’

‘No.’

‘So it doesn’t really matter.’

‘It’ll just hold things up a few days until they realise.’

‘Realise?’

‘There’s a document I was going to get faxed to Yashimoto.’

‘And he won’t ask Stephen or Andrea for it?’