Mother Of The Bride. Кэрол Мортимер
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the weekend,’ she dismissed easily, having no idea why Helen's flustered expression suddenly took on a hunted look.
But Helen knew exactly why those friends had called, knew she was going to have a lot of explaining to do over the weekend.
‘None of the brides actually decided to call the wedding off, did they?’ Sonia prompted drily.
That had happened, more than once, with the result that they almost invariably had to start all over again a few weeks later once the bride had got over her attack of nerves and decided she wasn't marrying a monster after all!
‘No, they were a pretty hardy bunch,’ she answered distractedly, glancing at her watch; it was three minutes to four. She just had time to try calling Emily once again. She had hoped the sleepy flatmate of this morning actually might have passed on the message to Emily that she had called, but if she had Emily had obviously been too tired to bother to call her back when she did finally get in. She had probably just assumed that Helen wanted to wish her a happy birthday, and decided it could easily wait until this evening. Emily wasn't known for her conventionality!
There was no reply at the flat at all now, and if Emily was asleep Helen knew she was wasting her time even trying to wake her; Emily would sleep through a bomb being dropped if she was tired enough.
She gratefully took a mug of tea from Sonia before rushing into her office, needing to tidy her appearance before Zack arrived. She knew that, as usual, Zack would look immaculate.
At exactly four o'clock the bell over the shop door jangled as it was opened—and Helen's nerve-endings jangled along with it!
She stood up restlessly to go out into the shop, could hear the deep tenor of Zack's voice as she approached the door, feeling herself tense at the prospect of seeing him again, even though she had known it would be inevitable very soon. She just hadn't expected it to be now!
She watched him, unobserved, from the doorway for several long seconds.
He looked the same as the last time she had seen him, time having been kind to him, dark hair flecked attractively with grey at his temples, eyes the colour of warmed chocolate surrounded by long dark lashes, his nose long and straight, mouth full-lipped but always kept firmly under control, thinning it slightly, detracting from the sensuality of that fuller lower lip, his jaw square and determined.
Today he was dressed casually, for him, obviously not having been to the hospital, although Helen knew the short-sleeved blue shirt would be made out of silk, and the black trousers that fitted low on his hips had a very precise crease down the centre of the long leg, black brogue shoes highly polished.
Tall and slender, his body nevertheless spoke of a leashed power, muscles rippling in his arms and back as he moved.
An excitingly attractive man.
A fact the young Saturday girls were well aware of as they fluttered around him, totally impervious to the fact that, at thirty-nine, Zack was old enough to be father to both of them!
But even Sonia, a much more cynical individual where men were concerned, was eyeing him with totally feminine curiosity, Helen noticed.
‘My name is Neilson,’ he was informing Sonia now, his voice deep and husky, and not cold as it had been when he spoke to Helen earlier. ‘I'm here to see—–'
‘Mr Neilson,’ Helen greeted smoothly, moving forward with easy grace, meeting Zack's mocking gaze with a challenge of her own as he turned to look at her with raised brows.
‘Neilson?’ Sonia repeated softly to herself, looking up at him with dawning comprehension. ‘Then you must be—–'
‘The owner,’ Helen cut in abruptly. ‘Zack, would you like to come through to the office?’ She held the door open pointedly.
He gave an acknowledging inclination of his head, dark eyes openly mocking now as he realised he had her at a disadvantage.
Helen preceded him into the adjoining room as he gave her no chance to do otherwise, standing back deliberately until she had gone through.
She could feel his gaze on her the whole time, and hoped she hadn't suddenly developed a ladder in her tights since this morning when she set out so neatly. The distance between the shop floor and her little office suddenly seemed like a mile!
‘The owner, yes,’ Zack echoed softly from behind her as he closed the door with a decisive click. ‘But also your husband—Mrs Neilson!'
COLOUR flared in Helen's cheeks. ‘That,’ she bit out tautly, ‘is only a formality, and you know it!'
‘Formality or not—–’ Zack shrugged unconcernedly ‘—the fact remains, we are husband and wife.'
‘Only just,’ Helen snapped. ‘Another couple of months and I can apply for a divorce on the grounds of two years’ separation.'
Zack's mouth twisted derisively. ‘And you're counting the days!'
And the hours and minutes! God, she didn't know why she should be made to feel so defensive about wanting their divorce; the marriage itself had been a mistake from the first, a convenience, and not even of their own choosing.
Which was why she would rather it had been any other young man than Greg Neilson who had been named in this birthday joke on Emily! Although the people responsible for the announcement couldn't have realised just what a hornets’ nest they were poking; they had only lived together as a family for a matter of months, so most of Greg and Emily's friends wouldn't even realise they were stepbrother and stepsister.
She had known Emily and Greg still saw quite a lot of each other socially—of course she had; it had been inevitable when they were both attending the same college, and obviously the friendship had given their friends a good idea for a practical joke.
With any other boy but Greg even Helen might have found it funny!
She moved to sit behind the small desk, which was all she could get inside this room, feeling more self-assured as she took on her business mantle. ‘I'm sure you aren't here today to discuss our divorce—–'
‘Are you?’ His voice was silkily soft, as he moved with the minimum of effort needed to take him to the chair placed opposite hers, his height looking slightly ridiculous folded into the small wooden chair.
She sighed. ‘Zack—–'
‘Emily and Greg,’ he intercepted drily. ‘What are we going to do about them?'
‘Do about them?’ she echoed in a puzzled voice. ‘We aren't going to do anything about them.’ She shook her head derisively. ‘Their friends are all having a good laugh at their expense because of Emily's birthday today—–'
‘I'm well aware of the fact that it's my stepdaughter's eighteenth birthday today,’ he bit out harshly.
‘Emily is not your stepdaughter!’ Two bright spots of angry colour heightened her cheeks.
His mouth tightened. ‘Oh, yes, she is, Helen. And she always will be. Whether you like it or not,’ he challenged hardly. ‘Whether you go through with the divorce or not—–'
‘Of course I'll go through with the divorce!’ There was no doubt about that.
‘Why?’ Zack watched her with narrowed, questioning eyes, no longer the colour of warmed chocolate, so dark now, they were almost black.
Her eyes widened. ‘Why?’ she echoed. ‘But—–’ She shook her head dismissively. ‘We're straying from the point of your visit.'
‘Are we?’ He crossed one long leg over the other, perfectly relaxed, filled with that stillness that was so unnerving.
‘Zack, I've had a busy day.’ And her head was starting to pound! This man always