A t the hospital, hours blurred into days, days into weeks. Lily lost track of time completely. Each waking moment was spent at her father’s bedside as the specialist neurological team ran the gamut of diagnostic tests on her father. Each night she trudged from the hospital to a nearby motel where she tumbled into bed for a night of fitful sleep before returning again in the morning. Eventually, after a conference with a social worker and her father’s medical team, a decision was made to transfer Charles to a palliative care facility in Onemata. There was little else that could be done once the final diagnosis had come in.
The stroke had caused irreparable brain damage. Essentially, Charles Fontaine was trapped inside a body that no longer functioned beyond the most basic of physical requirements. Lily wondered whether death would not have been more bearable, for him at least. She couldn’t come to terms with how he seemed to have shrunk into a smaller version of the man who’d ruled her life. A man imprisoned behind frightened eyes that were glued each day to the door, waiting for her to arrive.
As aware as she was of her father’s faults, and as much at loggerheads as they’d been the morning of his stroke—for most of her life—it was frightening to her to imagine a world without Charles Fontaine in it. Despite everything, he was her father and she loved him. In the long hours sitting at his bedside Lily had reached a level of peace in her heart over how he’d tried to rule and control her.
It would never be right, but she was certain, without doubt, that he’d been driven by love for her. It had been the kind of love that had driven her mother away from them both, as well as driven Lily to stay away as she had. But it was the only way he knew how to look after his own, and when push came to shove, he had looked after her, financially if not on the emotional level she’d needed.
She travelled with her father in the ambulance that was organised to transport him to the new facility, the journey undertaken at a vastly more sedate pace than her trip to Auckland with Jack two weeks ago. She hadn’t seen or heard from Jack since the day he’d escorted her to the floor where her father had been admitted. She missed him with a physical ache that left her tired and lethargic.
After settling him in his new room, and promising she’d be back in the morning, Lily headed for home. As she came into the foyer of the building, her eyes scanned the cars lined up in the parking area beyond. She wished she’d thought to ask someone to bring her car up to the rest home. Come to think of it, was her car still at FonCom, or had someone taken it home for her by now? She reached for the courtesy phone on the wall to call a taxi.
“Need a ride?”
Jack’s rich, deep voice was a salve to her soul. She spun on her heels. He edged himself up from where he’d been leaning against a pillar, his long legs encased in well-worn denim, a faded T-shirt stretched across his shoulders and his strong tanned arms bare. This was the Jack she remembered from her youth—the Jack she’d craved for the past two weeks. With a tiny cry, a mixture of joy and grief, she launched herself at him, arms outstretched.
Jack folded her against him. The warmth of his chest and the reassuring steady beat of his heart something solid she could cling to. And cling she did. She didn’t realise she was crying until she felt his fingers slide across her cheeks. He tilted her face to his and he bent to take her lips. A gentle kiss, reassuring, comforting. Lily took the comfort and held it close, reluctant to break contact with him, with her sole rock of stability in uncertain waters.
Jack gently broke off the embrace.
“Come on. Let’s get you home.”
He bent to pick up the overnight bag she’d brought back with her. Lily silently nodded and slid her arm around his waist, her thumb hooked in his belt loop. It felt so right to be tucked under Jack’s broad shoulder, the decisions she was going to have to face about her father’s care seemed manageable with him by her side. Everything would be okay. Well, she corrected herself, as okay as it could get while her father still lived as he was now.
Briefly she wondered how things were at FonCom. She knew her father had kept a tight rein on things there, having overall control in all decision-making processes. She’d have to go in tomorrow to see how things were. Charles would expect it of her, and expect her to come back to him with the details, of that she was certain.
Mrs. Manson was leaving the house as they pulled up in the driveway.
“Ah, Lily.” She greeted her with a grim smile. “I’m glad you’re back. I need to speak with you about something quite urgent.”
“Can it wait until tomorrow, Mrs. Manson? As you can see, I’ve only just arrived home,” Lily replied as she walked toward the front door. Jack hung back at the car, watching, waiting.
“Actually, no, it can’t. Until I’m paid, I won’t be coming back to the house. If you could look into that for me and pay me what I’m due—” the woman flicked a sheet of paper in Lily’s direction, forcing her to accept it “—then I’ll be back as before.”
Lily scanned the list. “Hold on a moment. You mean, you haven’t been paid for a month?”
“That’s what it says, doesn’t it? I talked to your father before his stroke, and he was going to take care of it for me.”
“I’m very sorry, Mrs. Manson. I’ll see what I can find out tomorrow. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”
Lily rubbed at the worried frown on her forehead as Jack came toward her.
“Problem?”
“Yeah, Mrs. Manson hasn’t been paid. Must be some glitch at the bank. I’ll look into it tomorrow.” Lily opened the front door and let herself into the house. “Come in, I’ll put on some coffee.”
“Sure, that’d be great, thanks.”
As Lily walked down the tiled hallway to the kitchen it struck her anew how little like a home the house felt. She’d grown up here, surely she should have felt something when she came through the door. Home was supposed to be a place to retreat to, to relax in. She couldn’t ever remember feeling that way. She glanced at the pristine rooms on either side of the hallway as she walked along, each one showroom-perfect and about as soulless as a magazine spread. No signs of the usual small things that made a house a home—an open magazine, an item of clothing, a forgotten glass on a tabletop. Nothing. With a thickening sense of dread, she knew she couldn’t stay here alone.
She reached in the cupboard for the coffee beans but found the container empty.
“Sorry, looks like it’ll have to be instant.” She apologised as she fluttered about the kitchen.
She stilled as Jack reached across the granite countertop and put his hand on hers.
“Stop. Don’t worry about it. Why don’t you come back with me for a few days, this place feels like a mausoleum right now. Besides, if Mrs. Manson hasn’t been paid, it’s likely she hasn’t been reimbursed for shopping, either. She’ll have taken stuff home rather than leave it here, don’t you think?”
“I didn’t think of that.” Lily spun around and checked the refrigerator, the pantry. Nothing perishable or vaguely edible remained. “What am I going to do?”
“Aside from the shopping?” Jack teased briefly. “No. Forget about it. Come back with me. Bring your car. I had it garaged here when I came back from Auckland. At least then you can come and go as you like. Okay?”
Lily worried at her lower lip with her teeth, then nodded. What he said made sense. “I won’t be imposing on you, will I?”
“I want you with me. It’s no imposition.”
Lily watched as his eyes darkened and his lids lowered in a sultry look that promised she wouldn’t feel alone for long.
“Then thanks, I accept. I’ll get some more clothes and things.”
“No problem. I’ll get your car out of the garage and make sure everything’s locked up behind me. Meet me out the front, okay?”
Later that night, with Lily sprawled naked across his chest, her legs entangled with his, Jack thought about what lay in store for her. The business with Mrs. Manson was just the tip of the iceberg. How much longer would it take before the ripples would reach earth-shattering proportions? Not terribly long, if his calculations were correct.
One thing still niggled at him. Their child. Had he yet succeeded in his final goal? Foisting a child bearing his name on Charles Fontaine’s memory. An inner battle raged. His conscience ground incessantly at his need for satisfaction. A child deserved better than simply being a tool for settling an old score. Yet he knew any child of his would be loved unconditionally. It would bear his name with pride. It would know the love of his or her father as it deserved to from the point of conception.
He stroked a hand along the curve of Lily’s hip and felt her press against him in response. The thought of her swollen with his baby sent a surge of longing through his body. He hadn’t been oblivious to the faint silver lines across her hips, the telltale signs of weight gain, of stretched skin. The marks on her skin were the all that lingered of the child he’d been unable to track down even with the immeasurable resources at his disposal.
Gently he rolled Lily off his body and stroked her to wakefulness, his fingers deft on the points of her body that he knew without fail would bring her sighing to instant arousal. He would have his satisfaction against Charles Fontaine, he would have his child from Lily. Only then would the circle be complete.
“I don’t understand it!” Lily threw her bag onto the couch in Jack’s sitting room and flung herself into the chair.
“Don’t understand what exactly?” Jack asked from where he stood at the kitchen tossing salad greens in a bowl.
From the outset it was clear that Lily was a stranger to the kitchen. In the interests of keeping them both healthy, they’d agreed he’d do the cooking each night when they weren’t dining out.
“I had a meeting with Dad’s second-in-charge today. He says staff are leaving in droves.”
“Droves?” Jack raised an ironic brow.
“Okay, so I’m exaggerating. But several key staff have suddenly left, forfeiting holiday pay and benefits they’ve accrued. I can’t understand it? So Dad’s not at the helm anymore, but that shouldn’t make a difference. The company should still keep running.”
“Well, you can expect some instability. After all, your father always said he ran a tight ship.” Except he’d run it so tight he’d strangled the lifeblood out of it, Jack thought as he watched Lily run her hand through her hair. The charming disarray it left in its wake spiked a fresh jolt of desire through his body. It seemed he couldn’t get enough of her.
“That’s not all. I went to the bank today, with a letter of introduction from Dad’s solicitor as holding his enduring power of attorney. I know now why Mrs. Manson didn’t get paid. There’s no money in Dad’s personal accounts. He’s exceeded his overdraft limit by several thousand. It just doesn’t make sense.”
“You’re right, that doesn’t make sense.” Jack set the salad on the small dining table off the kitchen and came through to the lounge. “But don’t worry about it now. Tell me, how was your father today?”
Lily sighed and kicked off her shoes. “No worse, no better. It’s about all I can expect, I’m told. It’s awful seeing him like that. So helpless, so frightened. The nurses say that the only time he seems to relax is when I’m there. It’s so hard.”
Jack knelt in front of her and lifted one foot, massaging her instep and up to her ankles and calf muscles with sure, steady hands. Lily groaned with the pleasure of it.
“Hey, don’t let it worry you. You do what you can, when you can. Right now, you need to eat.”
“I couldn’t eat, honestly. I haven’t been feeling well all day. I think I might head upstairs and have a nap.”
Jack looked at her in concern. “I’ll take you to the doctor.”
“No, I’m sure that’s not necessary. I just need some sleep.” She gave him a shy smile. “It’s a commodity I’ve been lacking in lately.”
“I’ll have something light ready for you when you come back down,” Jack promised, suddenly struck by how fragile she looked. There were shadows under her eyes and her cheekbones appeared even more defined than before, the hollows underneath them deeper.
Over the next few nights he reined in his hunger for her, allowing her the sleep her body craved and ensuring she had light, nutritious meals. It occurred to him that she’d been back now for just over a month, in fact, at the end of this week it was a month since they’d become intimate again. To his knowledge, she hadn’t had a period yet. A thrill danced through his veins. Even though they had only been unprotected that one time, could she be pregnant?
As much as he wanted to force her to the doctor to find out for certain, he had to hold fire. It could just be a result of the emotional stress she was under on top of her slow recovery from the glandular fever. Add to that the disappointment she’d expressed at putting her business idea on hold, and it all combined to make sense that she was under a great deal of pressure.
He had to simply wait and hope, a fact that didn’t settle comfortably with him at all.