The Secret Mother. Lee Wilkinson
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as well as Caitlin.’ His voice was brusque.
Flushing a little, she said, ‘It’s no trouble, really.’
‘In that case, thank you.’
While she made a plateful of cheese and ham sandwiches he sat on the couch, leaning forward, his elbows on his knees, gazing into the flames. His dark face wore a sombre, brooding look that boded ill for the holiday.
Caroline put the coffee pot and sandwiches on a tray and carried them over to a small table nearby. As she turned away he demanded, ‘Where are you going?’
‘I’m a bit tired,’ she answered awkwardly. ‘I thought I’d go to bed.’
‘Sit down and have a cup of coffee and a sandwich.’
‘She shook her head. ’I’m not hungry, and coffee this late will keep me awake.’
‘Then stay and talk to me.’ It was an order.
Biting her lip, she took a seat on the other end of the couch and asked as levelly as possible, ‘What would you like to talk about?’
‘You. I’d like to know why you’re calling yourself Miss Smith.’
Shock made Caroline catch her breath. Somehow she answered, ‘Because it’s my name.’
‘Miss—when you’ve been married?’
Every drop of blood drained from her face. ‘What makes you think I’ve been married?’ Her voice sounded high and strained.
‘Remember the day I took you to pick up your belongings? While you were packing Mrs Amesbury showed me a snapshot of you and the twins, taken when you’d only been there a short time. Perhaps you recall the one I mean? You were sitting with them on your knee, an arm around each of them...’
When she merely stared at him, her aquamarine eyes grown dark with apprehension, he went on, ‘Facially it’s not particularly good—you have on those heavy spectacles and your head’s bent—but your hands are in focus, and quite clearly you’re wearing a wedding ring.’
She’d taken it off and put it away for good shortly afterwards.
‘So tell me about your marriage,’ he pursued.
‘There’s really not much to tell.’ Her voice was brittle as ice. ‘We were both young, and it didn’t last long.’
‘Where is your husband now?’
About to lie, to pretend he’d left her, Caroline hesitated. Suppose Lois Amesbury had told Matthew what little she knew?
Her lips so stiff they would hardly frame the words, Caroline admitted, ‘My husband died.’
‘So why does a respectable widow need to call herself Miss Smith?’
‘I decided to leave the past behind me and revert to my maiden name. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I really am tired.’
Before he could make any further move to detain her, she jumped to her feet and hurried away.
If her precipitate departure was unwise, she couldn’t help it. She had come to the end of her emotional resources and could stand no more.
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER the traumas of the evening, sleep refused to come, and Caroline tossed and turned until dawn lightened the sky and the first bird began to sing. Then, exhausted, she slept heavily for more than an hour, wakening to bright sunshine and the appetising smell of coffee.
When she’d showered and pulled on slim-fitting wool trousers and a cream sweater, she went through to the living area to find Matthew.
A tea towel knotted around his lean hips and a lock of dark hair falling over his forehead, he was cooking breakfast while Caitlin fed Barnaby Bear and herself with fruit and cereal.
His glance flicked over Caroline, taking in her air of fatigue and the shadows beneath her clear aquamarine eyes. ‘Good morning.’ He sounded relaxed and almost friendly, the black mood of the previous night banished. ‘Did you sleep well?’
‘Very well, thank you,’ she lied, adding, ‘I’m sorry I’m up late.’
‘No problem,’ he returned easily. ‘We’re on holiday.’
Strictly speaking she wasn’t, Caroline thought, and bent to give Caitlin her usual morning kiss. As she straightened she caught Matthew’s satirical glance and flushed.
He made no comment, however, merely remarking casually, ‘Did I mention that the spa has a special swimming pool for beginners?’
As she half shook her head he added, ‘I’ve asked for our best instructor to be standing by, so that after breakfast you can have your first lesson.’
Dismay filled her. She had hoped to find some way of wriggling out of it, or at least postponing things for as long as possible.
‘I haven’t got a swimsuit.’ Even as the protest left her lips she knew it was useless.
‘There’ll be a selection waiting for you.’ His tone brooked no further argument. ‘Don’t look so worried,’ he added, with a sudden edge to his voice, ‘you may find you’re a natural.’
As soon as breakfast was over Matthew took Caroline along to the leisure complex, which housed several blue and inviting pools on different levels, as well as a sauna and Jacuzzi.
On a kind of raised dais at the end of the teaching pool was a diving basin, and a group of youngsters were learning to dive, supervised by a tall blonde woman.
Outside it was a beautifully sunny day. Ice had formed lacy embroidery around the edges of the sapphire lake, and the trees looked as if they’d been sugar-frosted, while on the slopes the snow lay thick and even, patterned in parts with animal and bird tracks.
Inside, safe from the rigours of winter, the air was comfortably warm, and a pale sandy beach, complete with palms and flowering shrubs, gave the illusion of a tropical island.
The whole place had a sensuous sybaritic feel, while the poolside furniture and the bar-restaurant, with its palatial changing cabins, could only be described as luxurious in the extreme.
After Matthew had introduced Caroline to the young well-built instructor who was waiting for them, he cast a cursory glance over the swimwear on display, then left her to choose while he took Caitlin and Barnaby over to the toddlers’ activity centre.
By the time he returned she had changed into a modest one-piece suit, patterned with oranges and lemons on a white background, and a matching terrycloth robe.
She hoped that if Matthew did intend to swim he would join the experienced swimmers in one of the other pools. Her hopes were dashed, however, when he said, ‘You go ahead. I’ll join you as soon as I’ve changed.’
The handsome fair-haired instructor, who’d introduced himself as Brett Colyer, jumped into the shallow water and waited while she walked carefully down the steps.
Caroline had always enjoyed swimming and as the water flowed around her, silky, cool and caressing, she felt her spirits lift.
Once she was in the pool, and looking at her ease, Brett began to demonstrate various strokes. Her attention only partly on what he was saying, she saw Matthew arrive. Dressed in neat black trunks, his olive skin gleaming, his dark hair a little rumpled, he looked disturbingly attractive.
Very conscious of his unrelenting gaze, she tried to behave like a beginner as, following Brett’s instructions, she practised first floating on her back and then turning to do a few breast strokes.
When, after some patient tuition, she ‘managed’ to swim a width, Brett said enthusiastically, ‘Excellent progress, Miss Smith. You’re obviously a born swimmer.’
Matthew, who had just completed a couple of leisurely lengths, broke in drily,