The train pulled out of the station, taking Griff with it. Janey could see his face growing smaller, his eyes glowing dark in the pale oval. She lifted her hand in a final wave and he blew her a kiss. Then he was gone, and she felt alone.
‘Dad, gone,’ Saffy wailed. Immediately, Justin’s bottom lip began to tremble in sympathy.
She took them both in a hug then fished around in her pocket. ‘Look, Griff’s left you some smarties.’ She stuffed one in each mouth then hurried them out to where she’d left her car.
‘I’ve applied for a position at the hospital in Poole,’ Griff had told her, leaving it until just before he got on the train, as if the information was somehow inconsequential. ‘If all goes well I’ll be back for good in May.’
‘I hope you get it.’
‘Do you, Janey?’ He’d sounded slightly remote, as if his mind had shifted into another sphere.
She’d hugged him then, bringing him back to her in spirit. ‘I’ll miss you, Griff. So will the kids.’
The slow curve of his smile had warmed her heart, but he hadn’t kissed her, just teased her lips with his finger. ‘I’ll miss you, too.’
She discovered tears in her eyes. It’s March tomorrow, she told herself firmly as she strapped the children into their restraints. Eight weeks to go, then with a bit of luck, he’ll be home for good.
She was halfway home when a thought came out of nowhere and punched her squarely in the midriff. Could she be in love with Griff?
‘You’ve always loved him,’ she argued out loud.
Of course you have, but this feels different.
It would be wiser to deny such a notion completely, before it took a hold. To be in love with Griff would prove to be a disaster for them both.
A horn tooted behind her, alerting her to the fact the lights had turned green. She must stop thinking about Griff. She managed it for the half hour it took her to get home, singing nursery rhymes at the top of her voice to keep the children amused.
As she turned into the gateway she saw it, a wooden plaque screwed into the gatepost. ‘William’s House.’ Pulling to a halt she gazed at the beautiful copperplate lettering with a border of dog roses carved around it, and she began to love him all over again.
* * * *
Pamela had prevaricated, never quite finding the courage to approach Janey.
Watching the girl bring the car to a halt she knew she could no longer afford to wait.
John had phoned whilst Janey was out. He’d dug up the suitcase, and although many of the photographs had deteriorated he thought there might be enough of them left for identification purposes.
‘Did you talk to Janey?’ he’d asked her.
He hadn’t pressured her when she’d confessed she hadn’t.
‘Well, it’s not an easy thing to do. We might be able to get by without involving her. I’ve talked to the priest and he’s agreed to come with me to see your husband tomorrow. But I have to warn you. He said Eddie’s mental condition is deteriorating. He’s been living in the church hospice since the house was sold, and doesn’t get any visitors.’
Linda was showing her ruthless side with a vengeance, Pamela thought before turning her attention back to John again.
‘He’s being assessed soon by a psychiatrist. If he’s found to be of unsound mind he’ll be moved into an institution. I doubt if a confession would be admissible under those circumstances. It’s highly unethical, but I’ll hold back on the photographs for a couple of days. The best we can hope for is to clear Jack’s name, I think.’
It seemed that a statement from her stepdaughter had now become imperative.
Her heart was thumping when she approached her. ‘Can we talk when you’ve got a minute?’
Janey’s smile was replaced by alarm when she saw the seriousness of Pamela’s expression. ‘What’s wrong ... there hasn’t been an accident, has there?’
‘Nothing like that.’ She managed a fragile smile as she turned towards the kitchen. ‘I’ll make us some tea.’
The children were divested of their outdoor wear, and placed in the charge of a sober-faced Susie who gave her a quick hug and whispered fiercely. ‘Whatever happens, I love you.’
Hurrying through to the kitchen Janey gazed at Pamela. Her hands trembled as she poured tea into two big blue-hooped mugs.
‘I can see from your face this is something serious. Don’t keep me in suspense.’
Pamela’s eyes slid to her hands. ‘I don’t quite know how to start.’
Janey, who’d never seen her stepmother quite so indecisive, had a feeling she wasn’t going to like what she had to say. ‘Straight out, please. Have I done something to upset you?’
‘Nothing as easy as that.’ Pamela’s made a futile effort to control her trembling hands, and sucked in a lung-full of air. ‘I need to know. Was it Eddie who attacked and raped you when you were a child?’
The color drained from her face. Dry-mouthed, and feeling as if somebody had punched her in the midriff, she eased herself into a chair. Placing her head in her hands she whispered. ‘Oh, God, I didn’t expect this!’
‘I’m sorry.’ Frightened by her reaction, Pamela rushed to put her arms around her. ‘I shouldn’t have said it like that ... I’m so sorry.’
Janey’s hand groped up to cover hers. ‘How ... how did you find out?’
‘Susie told me he touched her once, and I started putting two and two together.’
Horrified, Janey gazed up at her. ‘Poor, darling Susie.’
How typical of Janey to think of someone else. She hugged her tight, loving her generous spirit.
‘Susie got off lightly. It’s you I’m worried about. There’s worse.’
Pamela put some distance between them, but not too much, taking the seat beside her, taking her cold hand between hers. The words tumbled out of her, the rapes and the photographs, John Smith’s involvement. ‘John knows someone in the Home Office who might be able to help, but he thinks you should make a statement.’
Color edged into Janey’s face. ‘I’d love to clear my father’s name but what about Susie? How will she feel when she finds out about her father?’
‘She knows. I thought she’d take it better coming from me.’
‘Was she upset?’
‘More angry than upset.’ Pamela managed a wry smile. ‘You know Susie. She’s resilient. She wants me to divorce him.’
Janey smiled at that. ‘You’ve certainly got grounds.’
‘Yes, I suppose I have. I do know I’ll never go back to him.’
A knock came on the door. It was Susie, ever practical. ‘Have you finished talking yet? Gypsy has knocked over the potted palm and I need the dustpan and brush. Stupid dog! She needs to be taken for a run before it gets dark.’
‘I’ll take her if you can manage the kids a bit longer.’ She exchanged a glance with Pamela as she rose to her feet. ‘I thought I might go over to Coombe Cottage.’
‘Great.’ Susie beamed a smile. ‘Would you deliver a slice of fruit cake for me?’
‘A slice of fruit cake ... to John Smith?’
‘It’s a sample. Devlin gave me the idea, really. He said the cake I sent him was the best he’d ever tasted. So I thought if I sent out samples, I might get some orders. Ada’s offered to teach me how to ice and decorate. Once I’ve learned that I’ll be able to take orders for wedding and Christmas cakes.’
Janey stared at her for a moment, at the too bright eyes and the trace of tears on her face. She took Susie’s face between her hands and gently kissed her forehead. ‘I’m so sorry this has happened, Susie. I wouldn’t have hurt you for the world. We don’t have to do this, you know. We can just forget about it.’
‘Yes we do.’ Susie took her in a fierce hug. ‘I’ll never forgive him for what he did to you – never! I hope they put him in prison and throw away the key.’ She broke away, dashing the tears from her eyes and saying gruffly. ‘Don’t forget my cake. I’ve decided to become a millionaire by the time I’m thirty, so I’ve got to start now.’
One encouraging remark from Devlin and they had an entrepreneur in the family. She was grinning to herself as she set out with the dog pulling at the leash. Her other hand contained a portion of cake, prettily wrapped in a paper napkin. The phone number and price was listed on the label, as was the legend. Susie’s home-made fruit cake.
It was still cold, though the February sting had gone from the wind. Now it brought with it the smell of pine resin, as if it had blown through every nook and cranny of the woods, scenting itself on the way. There was a hint of salt too, fine spray thrown high by the winter seas, to be captured by the wind and borne over the land.
She breathed it in, letting it permeate her body. Nothing in London had smelled quite as wonderful as this.
John saw her coming from the upstairs window. As she neared the cottage she slowed to a halt and stared at it. Reluctance was written on every inch of her body. The way she stood, half-turned, reminded him of a deer poised for flight from danger. He didn’t go down, didn’t move. She had to make up her own mind.
She stood still a long time, the dog sitting patiently at her feet staring up at her. Then her head slowly turned, and she gazed up the lane towards the old cowshed.
Indecisiveness was plainly written on her face, and his heart went out to her. That’s where she’d been attacked, and God only knew what must be going through her mind. After a while, she gazed down at something in her hand - something that made her give a disbelieving shake of her head.
She was grinning as she opened the gate and made her way to his door.
Something was in Eddie’s head. He could feel it moving, shifting about as if it had taken up residence. Sometimes it used his eyes as windows, pushing at them, blurring his vision as it tried to break out. It made his head ache. He thought it might be a demon.
He sat in the chair by the window. He didn’t know what he was doing in this place. The men here were old. In the dormitory at night, when they took out their teeth, their mouths shriveled up and dribbled and flapped with each rasping snore. The row of glasses on the bedside cabinets made him nervous. Each glass contained a set of teeth, each with a different smile.
Margaret had visited him last week. It had been a long time since he’d seen her. She’d disappointed him. She hadn’t brought the angel with her.
‘Be patient, Eddie,’ she’d said, laughing when he’d started to cry. ‘I’ll bring him soon.’
‘But what shall I tell him?’
‘Everything, if you want to go to heaven.’
The priest came in and drew up a chair next to him. ‘There’s someone here to see you Eddie. If you don’t want to talk to him, you needn’t.’
‘My name’s John.’
Excitement raced through Eddie’s body. John, one of the disciples! He was a bit of a disappointment really. No wings or halo, quite ordinary in fact. Still, he wouldn’t want to advertise his presence on earth. Eddie crossed himself and glanced around for Margaret. She smiled approvingly at him from the chair in the corner.
‘I want to ask you about some crimes that were committed some time ago.’ John said gently, and showed him some newspaper cuttings. ‘Do you remember these girls?’
Eddie nodded. ‘The Lord told me they needed to be punished.’
‘Can you tell me how you punished them?’
The demon in his temple jabbed him with a fiery fork. ‘I can’t remember.’
‘Yes, you can, Eddie,’ Margaret said firmly. ‘The same as you told the priest. Try and shock him ... you’ll enjoy that.’
Eddie grinned. ‘The dirty little scrubbers had it coming. They shouldn’t have flaunted themselves before a married man. They led me into temptation, like Eve did to Adam.’
John exchanged a glance with the priest as Eddie spat out the foul details. Finally, he slowed to a halt.
Eddie needed proof that John was a disciple. ‘Have you got a cigarette?’ The disciple pulled a packet of players from his pocket. When the two of them had lit up Eddie said casually, ‘I didn’t think disciples smoked.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Margaret ... she’s over in the corner. I don’t think she went to heaven because she’s a sinner.
John turned his head and smiled. ‘Hello Margaret? You’ll be happy to hear that Jack is out of prison and is reunited with her father.’ They’re very happy.’
Margaret smiled at the angel.
‘You slut,’ Eddie snarled. ‘This was your fault. I wish I’d killed you both.’ He gave a high-pitched giggle. ‘She didn’t utter a squeak that first time in the cottage. The second time was different. She was older then, more aware of the punishment.’ He began to laugh so hard that tears poured out of his eyes and ran down his cheeks. ‘Bellamy can have her now.’
‘Calm down, Eddie,’ the priest soothed. ‘It’s time for your rest. You needn’t say anything more.’
Eddie’s face crumbled. ‘I want to tell John about my diaries.’
The angel leaned forward, a compassionate smile on his face. ‘What diaries are those, Eddie?’
‘It’s a secret.’ Eddie crooked his finger to urge him closer.
‘Careful. He spits when he’s angry,’ the priest warned.
‘I hid them under a loose floorboard in my study. There are photographs of Linda as well.’ His face became suddenly vulnerable. ‘Destroy them. God has already punished Linda for her sins by giving her to the devil’s mate. Sarah Wyman has led her into temptation. Promise you’ll destroy them!’
John managed to hide his surprise at the mention of Sarah’s name. ‘I promise.’ He turned to the priest. ‘Is Linda his eldest daughter?’
‘That’s right. Mrs. Pitt lives in London.’
The demon prodded Eddie with his fork, then gazed through the pain filling his eyes. The diaries would shock the angel. Eddie didn’t want to laugh, but the demon made him. He laughed and laughed until his chest began to ache, then he began to cough. Above the noise he could hear Margaret giggling in the corner. ‘Bitch!’ he shouted. ‘You said I’d feel better if I confessed, and I don’t.’
Pity flared in John’s eyes, and he experienced an unexpected surge of guilt at having tricked such a sad, disturbed man.
The priest pressed an emergency button and drew John aside as two black-gowned sisters bustled into the room to sedate him.
‘He’s becoming agitated – and he usually gets violent. The doctor is visiting him in the morning. I’m very much afraid he’ll be committed. I’m sorry I couldn’t help you further.’
He’d been most helpful ... most helpful indeed, John was thinking as he left the hospice. He contacted Pamela at work, told her about the diaries and asked for the address of the Bournemouth House.
‘Eddie used to keep a spare key on a ledge over the door,’ she offered cautiously and told him where the study was located.
‘Shame on you, Pamela,’ he teased. ‘Are you suggesting I enter illegally?’ He could almost see the blush rising to her face as he replaced the receiver. All the same, if all else failed, it was a thought!
As it happened, he didn’t have to. The house was in the process of being demolished, a sign stated that a hotel was to be erected on the site.
He could hear workmen talking, and the chink of tea cups from the back of the house. Grabbing up a clipboard, and donning a handily placed hard hat, John picked his way over the debris towards the study.
Just in time! Half the floorboards were up, the others loose. He discovered the package exactly where Eddie had told him it would be, and shoved it hastily inside his coat when a voice said from behind him.
‘Who the hell might you be? This is private property.’
‘John Smith, Ministry of Safe Work Practices.’ Gazing down at the clipboard, he turned, frowning. ‘You should have danger warning signs on display.’
‘I don’t know nothing about any signs. You’ll have to see the boss. He’ll be back in a tick.’
‘I haven’t got time to hang around. Tell him if they’re not in evidence by the day after tomorrow he’ll be fined. Good-afternoon to you.’
The man stood respectfully to one side as John walked calmly past him towards the door.
That night, as John burned the photographs of Linda Pitt, he realized the sending of them had been little more than a malicious act. If blackmail had been the intention there would be no negatives. He dropped the negatives on top of the photographs, watching them melt on to the glowing coals.
The diaries were on the table. Six of them, bound in black. There was reluctance in him to read them – but read them he must.
It was gone midnight before he finished, and any compassion he’d felt for Edward Renfrew had been completely and utterly eradicated.
In the early hours of the morning, Eddie was woken from sleep by the demon in his head pounding on his temple.
Frightened by the intensity of the pain he thrashed his head from side to side and started to groan.
The demon was relentless, pushing behind his eyes, burning them with his fork, clawing and scratching to get out. For one clear moment Eddie saw the teeth – rows of them, grinning at him from their jars. ‘Margaret,’ he screamed, his eyes bulging under the pressure. ‘Help me! Fetch the priest.’
She mocked. ‘There’s no extreme unction for you.’ He heard her giggle as the demon burst through.
It was the last thing he heard.
* * * *
Janey and Susie refused to attend Eddie’s funeral, but Pamela went. She needed to convince herself she was finally free of him.
Amongst the sprinkling of mourners were Linda, and Martin, looking bored and sulky as he slouched in his seat. Exquisite in an expensive black suit, a discreet diamond brooch attached to one lapel, Linda’s face was composed into a mask of sorrow as the priest dispatched Eddie to his spiritual home.
Hypocrite, she thought, watching her apply a delicate lace-edged handkerchief to the corner of each dry eye.
Sarah Wyman was sat next to her, a faint smile on her lips. She caught Pamela’s eye, and as recognition dawned inclined her head in a slightly regal manner. She remembered Ada telling her Sarah Wyman had married again, and was now a countess.
‘Trash is trash, whatever the title,’ Ada had said self-righteously. ‘And anyone who treats a lovely man like Sir Charles the way she did, is trash.’
As the widow Pamela might have well been invisible. The nod was the only recognition she received, except for Linda briefly confronting her after the service with a casual, ‘I don’t suppose you know if father had any life insurance, do you.’
‘Not to my knowledge.’ Memory jogged, and remembering the policy she’d taken out on Eddie’s life just after Susie was born she just managed to hide a smile. And to think she’d nearly cashed it in it after she’d left him! It wasn’t a grand sum, but it might be enough to buy a modest house.
Neither Linda nor Martin asked about Justin. They stepped into Sarah’s sleek, chauffeur driven car and sped away, leaving her to walk alone through the dismal rain-swept cemetery to the bus stop outside.
Umbrella bent towards the wind, each step she took seemed to get lighter and lighter. She was free of Eddie at last. Free! There was no sense of guilt in her for feeling as she did. Giving in to impulse, she held her umbrella aloft and skipped round it like a young girl, laughter bubbling up inside her.
The priest shook his head as he watched her dancing in the rain, until he remembered this rather shabby-looking woman was Eddie Renfrew’s widow. A soft, pitying smile lit his face as he murmured.
‘Give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness.’
He chuckled when a gust of wind caught her umbrella and turned it inside out.
Still laughing, she turned and gazed at him then lifting her hand in a wave she dropped the useless article in the nearest rubbish bin and scurried off towards the gate.
* * * *
April arrived, bringing its own special symphony to nature. Bluebells rang a visual welcome through the woods. Clumps of daffodils trumpeted out of the earth. Daisies were a thousand open-mouthed choirboys singing in unison to the sky. The lilies gathered in dignified conference on the banks of the stream and unfurled their creamy throats.
As she’d promised, Janey took John to see them. The heady perfume assailed their senses as they walked towards the bog.
‘I’ve never seen flowers like this in their natural habitat. I hadn’t realized how beautiful this place is.’
‘When I was a child I used to hide behind a tree and watch the bubbles rise from the boggy patch. I thought goblins lived there and if I stayed there long enough I might catch a glimpse of one.’
John chuckled. ‘Did you see one?’
‘Only a frog.’
He gazed at her, eyes twinkling. ‘It must have been a prince in disguise.’
‘Have you ever been married, John?’
‘Yes. I lost my wife and daughter during the war. An air-raid.’
Janey could have bitten out her tongue. ‘I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.’
He gave her a surprised look. ‘Why not? Pain fades with time, and asking questions is the only way you get to know people.’
‘You didn’t ever think of marrying again?’
He shook his head. ‘I tried to enlist, but like the proverbial copper I had flat feet. So I joined the police force, and threw myself into my work.’
‘What did you do before that?’
‘Worked on my father’s barge up and down the Thames.’
Dreams colored her eyes. ‘I did a painting of Thames barges once. It must have been wonderful working on them.’
John grinned. ‘You’re taking the utopian standpoint. It was actually hard, dirty work, with very little to show for it at the end of the week.’
‘What made you abandon your police career to strike out on your own?’
‘The realization I wasn’t going to rise above detective sergeant.’ He shrugged. ‘A few years after the war ended a lot of bright young men poured out of the universities into the force. Joe Plods’ like me were shelved in the promotion stakes, and politics came into the job.’
‘Did you like being a private eye?’
He stopped walking and engaged her eyes. ‘I’ve been doing it long enough to know when someone’s leading up to something. What do you really want to ask me, Janey?’
‘I don’t know.’ She worried on her bottom lip for a second. ‘It just struck me as an odd coincidence that we lived in the same building in Hammersmith, then met again at Charles and Brenda’s wedding.’
‘You want to know who I was working for then?’ He smiled when she nodded, relieved she hadn’t guessed about his involvement with her former partner. ‘I can’t answer that. My clients are confidential.’
Color flooded her face. ‘I wasn’t prying. I just wondered if it had anything to with me. I mean ... you weren’t there to spy on me, were you? If you were working for my stepfather it wouldn’t break confidentiality now he’s dead, would it?’
‘Good God, no! Whatever gave you that idea? I just used that bed-sit to store files and things. It was cheaper than finding a bigger office to work from. Sometimes, I slept there if I had a lot on. It really was a coincidence.’
Glancing sideways at him, she grinned. ‘So you were telling lies when you told me you were a chauffeur.’
‘Not entirely.’ Half smiling, he shrugged. ‘Sometimes it’s necessary to assume another identity in my game.’
As she thought about that for a moment her the expression in her eyes changed from curiosity to laughter. ‘Sandy was right. It was cloak and dagger stuff. There’s a lot of Peter Pan in you. It’s refreshing to meet a man who’s never quite grown up.’
‘I’ve never really thought of it that way,’ he said, biting back a laugh. ‘But you could be right.’
Her laughter faded. ‘Have you heard anything more about our case since we gave our statements to the police?’
‘The photograph of Eddie was identified by the victims, so those files have now been closed.’
‘What about my father?’
‘The evidence of his innocence is in the hands of the Home Office. I must warn you, Janey, government departments are notoriously slow. It could take years.’
He could almost taste her disappointment. ‘I was hoping I could give it to him for a Christmas present. You haven’t told him?’
‘I have a great deal of respect for your father. It would be unfair to build up his hopes after what he’s been through.’
‘You mean the application might be turned down?’ Her chin tilted and her expression became fierce. ‘If it does I’ll contact the papers and blow the lid off it. I swear, if I don’t hear anything by Christmas I’ll write to the Home Office and tell them so.’
As they strolled back towards the village, John thought it might prove judicious to contact his colleague in the Home office and inform him of her intentions. Once brought to light, an injustice such as this could cause heads to roll.
He invited her back to Coombe Cottage for coffee, but she declined. ‘I promised Susie I’d pick up Pamela’s birthday present and hide it before she gets home from work.’
To John’s surprise, she kissed him. ‘Thank you for being such a help,’ she said. ‘You’re a lovely man, and I count myself lucky that I can consider you one of my friends.’
Spring fever hit the village like an epidemic. Curtains flapped from washing lines, windows were polished to a gleaming brightness. Rugs hung limply over fences, while women with set, determined faces and robust arms, thrashed the dust from them with cane paddles.
Pamela’s birthday came and went. April became May and the weekenders’ became more evident.
Some of them joined the fete committee, which caused a bit of friction until the villagers concluded that their organizational skills were far superior to their own. It was to be a grand affair. There were rumors that Princess Margaret would come down to open it, followed by Laurence Olivier and then The Beatles.
Painting steadily in every spare moment, Janey wouldn’t have noticed it if hadn’t been for the gossip-loving Susie. ‘I’m entering a cake in the competition, but don’t you dare tell Ada. She’s entering one too, and she always takes off first prize.’
Janey was approached to donate a painting for the auction. She decided on a scene of the village pond with a pretty thatched cottage to the right of the foreground, and the church beyond. The fact that the cottage was the weekend retreat of a wealthy coach tour operator hadn’t escaped her notice.
Tim had been posted to Singapore, and much as she loved him, Janey wasn’t sorry to see him go. As a houseguest he’d been rather like a large, over-friendly and very untidy puppy.
He gave her a passionate kiss good-bye at the station, but she thought it might have been more for the benefit of the fellow officer who was travelling with him, than any declaration of undying love. Judging from the amount of phone calls from females he’d received and the late hours he’d kept, Tim was definitely not a one-woman man!
‘Tell Susie to send me a fruit cake,’ he yelled from the window as the train pulled out – a request Janey decided she’d be wise to ignore.
She was expecting Robert Pitt that last weekend in May. He’d accepted her offer of Tim’s old room for the night, and she was looking forward to his company.
When the doorbell rang on Friday evening she was in the middle of bathing the children, readying them for bed.
‘I’ll get it,’ Susie yelled.
Surely Robert hadn’t arrived a day early. ‘Ask him if he’d like a cup of tea, I’ll be down as soon as the children are in their night-clothes.’
Both Justin and Saffy were being their uncooperative bedtime selves. Justin was wriggling and a giggling Saffy egging him on. Finally, Janey managed to dry them, then took them into the bedroom and dumped them both on Saffy’s bed.
‘Behave yourselves, you two. Saffy, see if you can be a clever girl and put your nightie on by yourself.’ Trying to stuff the flailing legs of the giggling Justin into his pyjama bottoms was proving impossible.
‘Need any help?’
Griff! Her eyes absorbed him in one glance. ‘Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? Saffy, you’re putting your head into the sleeve!’ Justin escaped her clutches and bounced up and down on the bed. ‘Stop it, you’ll fall off!’
Trying to fight her way into her nightgown Saffy’s head was a wailing lump in the middle. Her arms flapped like a pink flowered ghost. ‘I can’t see anyfink, mummy.’
Griff ‘s grin was a mile wide. One hand grabbed Saffy’s nightie and jerked it down over her head, the other cut Justin’s legs from under him in mid-flight. ‘Pyjamas, young feller,’ he said as Justin flopped on his back.
Ten minutes later the bedtime story had been read, eyelids drooped shut, and peace reigned.
Janey feathered a kiss on each soft cheek. ‘They look like angels now. How did you manage it?’
‘They need a father.’ His eyes were dark on hers, enigmatic, giving nothing away – but his glance strangely disturbing to the orderly rhythms of her heart.
Yes, she thought, turning away. I do love you, Griff, but you deserve someone better.