Just One Last Night Page 6

  ‘And he looks to me as though he knows his way about,’ Forde added grimly. ‘In every sense of the word.’

  ‘James backpacked round the world for three or four years with his friends after leaving uni, and I have never suggested he was a young boy.’ Melanie glared at Forde. ‘Not that that’s any of your business. And why are you here this morning anyway?’

  ‘So I was right. He’s twenty-four, twenty-five?’

  Why this obsession with James’s age? ‘He’s twenty-six, and, I repeat, why are you here?’

  ‘Answering an early-morning summons by my mother because she thought she had a bird down the chimney,’ Forde answered shortly. ‘OK? And before you ask, no, there was no damn bird.’

  Since an incident some years ago when a large wood pigeon had fallen down Isabelle’s chimney and then positioned itself on a ledge a few feet up from the fireplace where it had cooed frantically until Forde had arrived and got it out, along with a cloud of soot and grime that had covered the room in smuts, there had been several such fruitless summonses by Forde’s mother. Isabelle lived in horror of inadvertently lighting the fire and burning a bird alive, even though Forde had told her repeatedly that the stainless-steel mesh bird cowl he’d had installed in the top of the chimney to prevent just such a catastrophe made it impossible. When she had still lived with Forde he had been convinced that the wood pigeon he’d rescued took a fiendish delight in sitting on the roof and calling down the chimney to fool his mother and cause him grief.

  ‘Oh.’ Melanie nodded, feeling guilty of her suspicions, and—although she would rather die than admit it, even to herself—a little piqued that his presence had absolutely nothing to do with a desire to see her.

  ‘So this James.’ Forde raked back his hair with an impatient hand. ‘Is he married? Got a long-term girlfriend? What?’

  He was jealous. As the light dawned Melanie stared at him in amazement. He surely didn’t think… She didn’t know whether to take it as a compliment or an insult that he thought a handsome, virile, young stud like James would bother with a married woman two years older than himself and with enough baggage to fill umpteen football stadiums. She decided on the latter. ‘James’s personal life is his own business,’ she said icily. ‘He works for me, that’s all, Forde. Got it?’

  Forde looked spectacularly unconvinced.

  ‘He favours statuesque brunettes who can play tennis and squash and all the other sports he’s mad about as well as he does, and who can stay up all night dancing in clubs and then go sailing after breakfast,’ Melanie stated firmly. ‘But even if I was his type, and he mine, it still wouldn’t be an option. I’m his employer, he’s my employee. End of story.’

  She watched him expel a silent sigh. It was a completely inopportune moment to feel such a consuming love for him it stopped her breath. She dropped her eyes, scared he might see what he must not see. He clearly hadn’t stopped to shave before he’d left home and the black stubble accentuated his rugged good looks tenfold. Combine that with the casual clothes he was wearing—open-necked shirt showing a hint of dark body hair and beautifully cut cotton trousers—and he was any maiden’s prayer. Their mother’s and grandmother’s too.

  His voice came low and intense. ‘This should be the moment when I say I’m sorry and I have no right to ask, but I’m not sorry and I have every right to ask. You’re my wife.’

  It was one of the hardest things she’d ever done to raise her gaze to his without betraying herself. ‘It’s over, Forde.’

  ‘It will never be over,’ he said roughly. ‘It wasn’t a piece of paper that joined us, Nell, or a man of the cloth saying a few words and two gold rings. You’re mine, body, soul and spirit. I love you and I know you love me.’

  He watched her face as he spoke but all the barriers were up and he couldn’t read a thing.

  ‘We can’t go back to how it was,’ she said with a quietness that was more final than any show of emotion.

  ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘We can’t. We had a son together and he died, and he’ll for ever be a part of us and a sadness that’s shaped us into the people we are today. But you and I, that is a thing apart. This punishing yourself for something that wasn’t your fault has to end.’

  ‘What?’ She reared up as though he had slapped her.

  ‘That’s what you are doing, Nell, whether you acknowledge it or not, and you’re punishing me too,’ he said, feeling incredibly cruel to face her with what he believed. But he would lose her if he didn’t start to force her to take stock.

  ‘You don’t understand anything.’

  He flinched visibly, telling himself to keep calm. How she could come out with something like that when all he’d done since Matthew’s death was understand, he didn’t know. ‘This is not all about you—have you considered that?’ He could hear her damn assistant coming back, whistling some pop tune or other, and wanted— quite unreasonably—to punch him on the nose. ‘I loved Matthew too.’

  ‘But you didn’t cause his death.’

  ‘Neither did you, for crying out loud.’ He hadn’t meant to shout, he’d told himself before he walked out of the house he was going to be calm and rational, but at least the whistling had stopped.

  She turned away, her soft mouth pulling tight in a way he knew from past experience meant she was digging her heels in. ‘I’ve work to do.’ She glanced up to where James was standing some distance away, clearly uncertain of whether he was welcome in what was obviously a danger zone. ‘James, come and help me with the rest of this.’

  Knowing if he didn’t leave fairly rapidly he was going to say or do something he’d be sorry for, Forde turned on his heel and walked back to the house without another word. His mother was waiting for him in the hall, just inside the open front door.

  ‘I heard you shout.’ Isabelle’s voice was gently accusing.

  He loved his mother. She was a strong-minded, generous soul with the faintly old-world charm and dignity of her generation, and for that reason he bit back the profanities hovering on his tongue and said curtly, ‘It was that or strangle her, so be thankful for the shouting.’

  Isabelle’s eyes widened. She opened her mouth to say something and then clearly thought better of it.

  ‘I’m going.’ Forde bent and kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll ring you later.’

  When he left the house again Melanie and James were nowhere to be seen, although he could hear voices beyond the stone wall that separated the drive and the front of the house from the gardens at the rear. He glanced at the side gate for a moment and then decided there was nothing to be gained from saying goodbye. Striding over to the Aston Martin, he opened the door and slid inside, starting the car immediately and swinging it round so fast the tyres screeched.

  That hadn’t gone at all as he’d intended, he thought, gripping the steering wheel so hard his knuckles showed white. He hadn’t expected her assistant to look like a young George Clooney with muscles for one thing, or for Melanie to be so… He couldn’t find a word that satisfactorily described her mix of cool hauteur and wariness and gave up trying.

  Once he’d reached home he prowled round the house like a restless animal instead of showering and getting changed for the office. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of Melanie; she’d so enjoyed having the team of interior designers in when they’d first got married and stamping her mark on the house. And he loved her taste. In fact he loved everything about her, damn it, although there had been moments after she had left him when the pain had got so bad he’d wished he’d never met her.

  He had never imagined there would be a problem in life where he couldn’t reach her, that was the thing. He’d been confident whatever befell them he’d be able to protect and nurture her, see her through, that they would face it together. But he had been wrong. And it had cost him his marriage. He walked through to the massive kitchen-cum-breakfast-room at the back of the house and slumped down at the kitchen table.

  He was still deep in black thoughts when J
anet let herself into the house at gone ten.

  ‘Mr Masterson, what are you doing here at this time in the morning?’ She had always insisted on giving him his full title even though he’d told her to call him Forde a hundred times. ‘Are you ill?’

  He lifted bleak eyes to the round, robin-like ones of the little woman who was a friend and confidante as much as his cook and cleaner. Janet’s life was far from easy but you’d never have guessed it from her bright and cheery manner, and in the ten years she’d worked for him since he had first bought the house they’d grown close. She was a motherly soul, and he looked on her as the older sister he’d never had. For her part, he knew she regarded him like one of her sons and she had never been backward in admonishing him, should the situation call for it. He could tell Janet anything, unlike his mother. Not that Isabelle wouldn’t have understood or given good advice, but since his father’s death he’d always felt he had to shield his mother from problems and worry.

  ‘I saw Melanie this morning,’ he said flatly. ‘It wasn’t an… amicable exchange.’

  ‘Oh, dear.’ Janet bustled over to the coffee maker and put it on. ‘Have you eaten yet?’

  He shook his head.

  Once he had a mug of steaming coffee and a plateful of egg and bacon inside him, he felt a little better. Pouring him a second cup and one for herself, Janet plonked herself opposite him at the kitchen table. ‘So,’ she said companionably. ‘What happened?’

  He told her the gist of the conversation and Janet listened quietly. After a moment, she said, ‘So you think Mrs Masterson is having an affair with her assistant?’

  Forde straightened as suddenly as though he’d had an electric shock. ‘Of course not.’

  ‘But you’re going to give up on her, nonetheless?’

  ‘Of course not,’ he said again, getting angry. ‘You know me better than that, Janet.’

  ‘Then why are you sitting here moping?’ Janet said, giving him one of her straight looks.

  The penny dropped and Forde smiled sheepishly. ‘Right.’

  ‘I told you when she left like that it was going to be a long job and you needed to be patient as well as persistent, now didn’t I?’ Janet poured them both more coffee. ‘The way she was that day before the ambulance came, it was more than the normal shock and despair someone would feel in the same circumstances. Mrs Masterson really believes there’s some sort of jinx on her that touches those close to her.’

  Forde stared at her. Janet had mentioned this before but he hadn’t given it much credence, thinking that Melanie was too sensible to really believe such nonsense. ‘But that’s rubbish.’

  ‘You know that and I know it,’ Janet said stoutly, ‘but as for Mrs Masterson …’

  Forde leant back in his chair, his eyes narrowed. ‘She’s an intelligent, enlightened, astute young woman, for goodness’ sake. I don’t think—’

  ‘She’s a young wife who lost her first baby in a terrible accident and she blames herself totally. Add that to what I’ve just said, bearing in mind the facts about her parents, grandmother and even a friend at school she mentioned to me, all of whom were taken away from her, and reconsider, Mr Masterson. Melanie had a miserable childhood and became accustomed to keeping everything deep inside her and presenting a façade to the rest of the world. It doesn’t come natural for her to speak about her feelings, not even to you. And, begging your pardon, don’t forget you’re a man. Your sex work on logic and common sense.’

  Forde looked down at the gold band on the third finger of his left hand. ‘Let me get this right. You’re saying she thinks if she’d stayed with me something would happen to me?’

  ‘Mrs Masterson probably wouldn’t be able to put it into words but, yes, that is what I think. And there’s an element of punishing herself too, the why-should-I-be-happy-after-what-I’ve-done syndrome.’ Janet shrugged. ‘In its own way, it’s perfectly understandable.’

  Forde stared at her. ‘Hell,’ he said.

  ‘Quite.’ Janet nodded briskly. ‘So you save her from herself.’

  ‘How?’ he said a trifle desperately. ‘Exactly how, Janet?’

  Janet stood up and began to clear the table. ‘Now that I don’t know, but you’ll find a way, loving her like you do.’

  Forde smiled wryly. ‘And here was I thinking you had all the answers.’

  ‘She loves you very much, Mr Masterson, that’s what you have to remember. It’s her Achilles’ heel.’

  ‘You really think that? That she still loves me?’

  Janet smiled at the man she had come to think of as one of her own brood. As big and as tough as he was, Mr Masterson had a real soft centre and that was what she liked best about him. Some men with his wealth and looks would think they were God’s gift to womankind, but not Mr Masterson. She didn’t think he wasn’t ruthless when it was necessary, mind, but then he wouldn’t have got to where he was now without a bit of steel in his make-up. ‘Sure she loves you,’ she said softly. ‘Like you love her. And love always finds a way. You remember that when you’re feeling like you did this morning.’ She wagged a finger at him. ‘All right?’

  Forde got up, his silver-blue eyes holding a warmth that would have amazed his business rivals. ‘You’re a treasure, Janet. What would I do without you?’

  ‘That’s what my hubby always says when he rolls back from the pub after one too many,’ Janet said drily, ‘usually after helping himself to what’s in my purse.’

  ‘You’re too good for him. You know that, don’t you?’

  Janet smiled at him as Forde left the kitchen. Be that as it may, and she certainly didn’t disagree with Forde’s summing up of her Geoff, Mr and Mrs Masterson were a perfect match. She had always thought so.

  Her smile faded. She just hoped they could work their problems out, that was all. In spite of her encouraging words to Mr Masterson, she was worried Mrs Masterson would never come home, short of a miracle.

  CHAPTER SIX

  IT WAS the middle of November. A mild November, thus far, with none of the heavy frosts and icy temperatures that could make working outside difficult. But Melanie wasn’t thinking of the weather as she left the doctor’s surgery. She walked over to her pickup truck in the car park, but once she was sitting inside she didn’t start the engine, staring blindly out of the windscreen.

  She hadn’t seen Forde since the day she had begun working for Isabelle, although he had phoned her several times, ostensibly with questions about his mother’s garden. On learning from her solicitor that they’d been waiting for some time for Forde to sign and return certain documents appertaining to the divorce, she’d called him at home two nights ago.

  She leant back in the truck’s old, tattered seat and shut her eyes. Forde had been cheerfully apologetic about the delay, making some excuse about pressure of work, but what had really got under her skin was the woman’s voice she’d heard in the background when she’d been talking to him. She hadn’t asked him who he was with, she had no right whatsoever to question him after the way she’d walked out of their home and the marriage, but it had hurt her more than she would have thought possible to think of another woman in their home.

  Stupid. Opening her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Forde was at liberty to see whomever he wished. Nevertheless, she hadn’t been able to sleep that night. She had arrived at work the next morning feeling ill, and when she’d fainted clean away as she and James had been preparing a gravelled area for a number of architectural and structural plants her assistant had been scared to death.

  Poor James. If she weren’t so shocked and dazed at what the doctor had found she could have smiled. He’d been beside himself, saying she hadn’t been well for weeks and what if she fainted again when she was driving or using some of the equipment they’d hired for the job? She could badly injure herself or worse. In the end, just to appease him, she had promised to call her doctor’s surgery and as it happened they’d had a cancellation this morning. She had walked into Dr Chisholm’s room explaining she knew
she was suffering from stress and all her symptoms could be put down to that, and if she could just have some pills to take the edge off she would be fine. He’d gently reminded her that he was the doctor and he’d prefer to give her a thorough examination after asking her a few questions.

  Her hands trembling, she forced herself to start the engine. She had to get back to work. There was still plenty to do at Hillview and each day the mild weather continued was a bonus. The old-timers were predicting that a mild October and November meant the country would suffer for it come December and January. They were on target to finish the job mid-December and if any bad weather could hold off till then, it would be a huge benefit.

  But she found she couldn’t drive. She was shaking too much. She sat huddled in her seat as reality began to dawn on her stunned mind. She was expecting a baby. Forde’s baby. That one night in August had had repercussions the like of which she hadn’t imagined in her wildest dreams. With hindsight, it was ridiculous she hadn’t suspected the non-appearance of her monthlies, the tiredness and queasiness that had developed into bouts of nausea and sickness could be something other than stress. But she hadn’t. She really hadn’t. Perhaps she’d blanked her mind to the possibility she could be pregnant, but there was no mistaking it now. She was thirteen weeks pregnant.

  She had fainted a couple of times in the early days when she was carrying Matthew. Matthew. Oh, Matthew, Matthew… She began to cry, her mind in turmoil. ‘I’m sorry, my precious baby,’ she murmured helplessly. ‘I never meant for this to happen. I love you, I’ll always love you. You know that, don’t you?’

  How long she sat there she didn’t know. She only came to herself when her driver’s door was suddenly yanked open and Forde crouched down beside her, his voice agonised as he said, ‘Nell? Nell, what is it? What’s the matter?’

  He was the only person she wanted to see and yet the last person, and she couldn’t explain that even to herself. Desperately trying to control herself, she stammered, ‘Wh-what are you—you doing here?’