A Rekindled Passion. PENNY JORDAN
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doesn’t it?’ John’s mother had sighed…and had then bitten her lip in embarrassment and apologised.
‘Heavens, I’m sorry…that was tactless.’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Kate had assured her, and then, because of the pity she could see in her eyes, she had added firmly, ‘And besides, the relationship I had with Sophy’s father was as important to me as though we were married. It was only later when I discovered that he already had a wife and a child.’
Mary Broderick bit her bottom lip guiltily. She hadn’t meant to raise unhappy memories for Sophy’s mother, and, despite her initial shock at discovering that her son’s mother-in-law was a woman of thirty-seven who looked barely thirty, and who had conceived her daughter outside marriage when she was only sixteen during a relationship with an already married man, once she had met Kate she had quickly realised that, however deplorable the circumstances of Sophy’s conception, her mother was not to blame for them.
‘Do you never see him…hear from him?’ she asked awkwardly, wanting to fill the painful silence.
Kate shook her head quickly and lied, ‘And nor do I want to.’
Her head was pounding with sickening intensity. All she wanted to do was to go and lie down on her bed, but instead she had the evening to go through.
When it was all over, she would sleep for a week, she promised herself tiredly as she forced a smile to her lips and tried to appear as though she was enjoying herself.
CHAPTER THREE
OF COURSE, she didn’t. On Monday morning it was back to her normal routine of preparing the very special sandwiches that she and Lucy delivered to offices in York, along with their special executive lunches.
They were frantically busy, with two of their staff off on holiday and Kate having to drive into York in their van to make the deliveries and pick up fresh supplies.
After that she had an appointment with a woman who wanted them to cater for her husband’s fortieth birthday party, and then there was an evening reception in York, but thankfully Lucy was doing that.
The week whirled by and it was Friday before she knew it. Thankfully she had managed to give herself Friday afternoon off. The house was desperately untidy and needed cleaning from top to bottom, she acknowledged ruefully, and then there was the garden…The marquee people had been as careful as they could, but…
Acknowledging wryly that her afternoon off was likely to prove more arduous than working, she rushed back from York, dropped off the fresh supplies at Lucy’s home and then hurried home.
All afternoon she worked at top speed, refusing to acknowledge that part of her determination to keep busy was rooted in her desperate need to hold at bay the shock of seeing Joss again so unexpectedly and unwantedly.
By six o’clock she was exhausted, but she refused to allow herself to rest. There was still the garden to do, and it was silly not to take advantage of the long summer evening.
She hadn’t bothered to stop for lunch and she wasn’t hungry now. In fact, she hadn’t been hungry all week, and had lost a dramatic amount of weight. Lucy had noticed it and teased her about it, saying that it was the bride who traditionally wasted away, not her mother, and Kate had grimly let her believe that it was the build-up to Sophy’s wedding that had caused her to drop so many pounds, rather than admitting the truth.
At nine o’clock, her back aching and her muscles trembling with exhaustion, she acknowledged that it was time to give up.
Wincing as her strained muscles protested, she went inside and straight upstairs to her bedroom.
After her parents’ death, although she had cleared out their room, she had felt unable to move into it, and so she was still using the bedroom she had grown up in. She and Sophy had shared a bathroom, her parents having their own, and she acknowledged tiredly how empty the house felt now that she was living in it on her own.
Showered and dried, she grimaced slightly at her unmade-up face and wildly curling hair. All she wanted to do was to go to bed, but there were the books waiting downstairs for her attention…if she could just spend a couple of hours on them now…
Tiredly she went down to the comfortably shabby sitting-room at the back of the house. It overlooked the garden and had been her parents’ favourite room.
Both she and Sophy had grown up in this room with its faded chintz furniture, and its worn rugs and polished parquet floor.
She got the books out and sat down at the desk that had belonged to her mother.
She was so tired that it was virtually impossible to concentrate on what she was doing. The french windows were open, admitting the cool evening air and the musky scent of the bourbon roses.
Her back ached appallingly. If she could just lean back in the chair and close her eyes for a couple of minutes…
When the expensive Jaguar saloon car purred up over the gravel, she was too deeply asleep to hear it.
It stopped alongside her own car, the driver’s door opening and then closing again with a quiet click.
The man who emerged from the car straightened up and looked warily at the silent house.
It had been a long drive from London, and an even longer week, with this meeting on his mind throughout the length of it. He had been hard pressed to leave the office early, but eventually he had managed it. The ailing company he had taken over from his father twenty-odd years ago was now high-powered and very successful, but there were times when that success tasted like ashes in his mouth.
He walked to the back door and knocked briefly on it. There was no bell, and when no one answered his summons he turned to glance back at the car parked next to his own and his frown deepened.
Her car was here, but that didn’t necessarily mean that she was in. Then the faint movement of the open french windows on the other side of the back door caught his eye and he walked curiously towards them.
The light was just beginning to fade, the room illuminated by a lamp on the desk several feet away.
There were papers scattered on it; the breeze had lifted some of them on to the floor; a familiar blonde head lay on the desk, pillowed on two slender, tanned arms.
The breath locked in his throat as he stared at her ringless left hand. He took a step towards her and then another, stopping abruptly when he saw the silver photograph frame on the desk.
He focused hungrily on the photograph inside it. Her daughter. His daughter. Then with a bitter frown he overcame his qualms and reached out to shake her awake.
The sensation of a hand on her shoulder was at once both familiar and alien, bringing her instantly out of her exhausted doze and into alert tenseness.
As she opened her eyes she struggled to sit up, wincing as her stiff neck muscles protested.
Someone was leaning towards her, blocking out the light from the lamp so that his features were indistinct, and then he said her name and a wild shudder convulsed her.
‘Kate, wake up,’ he demanded peremptorily, and to her own astonishment she heard herself saying grumpily and mundanely, as though the sight of him here in her sitting-room was nothing unexpected at all.
‘I am awake. What do you want? What are you doing here, Joss?’
Her mind, fogged by exhaustion and shock, relaxed its normally vigilant hold on her defences. She lifted her head, rubbing her stiff neck muscles and glaring at him fiercely.
‘How did you get in?’
She saw the open french windows and grimaced wryly. It was her fault. She had left the french windows open.
A little to her surprise, she saw his mouth thin angrily as he too looked at the open doors.
‘Anyone could have walked in here,’ he told her tersely.