The Single Mum and the Tycoon

‘Oh, David—I didn’t—your father didn’t say anything—’

‘They don’t know.’

Her hand flew up to cover her mouth, soapsuds and all, and her wide green eyes were filled with a million emotions. ‘Don’t—? Oh, David. Why not?’

He shrugged. ‘My father had a heart attack just a few days after my accident. It didn’t seem like a good time to tell him how bad it was.’

‘So you’ve—what? Lied about it ever since?’

‘Pretty much. And not really lied. I told them I broke it, which was sort of true. It was certainly broken. It was only amputated last year. That’s why I don’t know much about Liz. I was in hospital when they got engaged, about to have the surgery.’

She stared at him, then at his legs, then back up, eyes wide with horror. ‘How on earth will you tell them?’

‘I have no idea.’

She dropped her hand, grabbed a towel and scrubbed the suds off her face, dried her hands and then picked up the cloth again and started squeezing it again furiously under the water as if she could squeeze away all the hurt and pain and injustice in the world.

‘Molly, it’s OK,’ he said softly. ‘It’s better than it was before.’

‘I don’t understand,’ she said, her brow furrowing. ‘How can it possibly be better?’

‘Because it works now. I spent two years in and out of hospital with an external fixator and endless operations to repair my foot. They replaced part of my ankle joint, grafted blood vessels—but nothing worked and nothing took away the pain. So finally I gave in and had it amputated, and it was the best thing I’ve ever done. I can move on now—start living again.’

She nodded, and he watched her throat bob as she swallowed. ‘So—when did this happen? And how?’

‘Nearly three years ago, in May. I got tangled up with a propeller—’

She gasped, but he didn’t elaborate. He really didn’t want to go there. ‘Anyway, I’ve had ten months, which is a good long while to practise walking, but football—well, I don’t know, it’s one of several things I haven’t tried, but I can imagine it might be tricky, and I didn’t want to have to explain things to Charlie without you knowing first and okaying it.’

She let go of the cloth and dried her hands, turning back to him, her eyes tormented. ‘I’m really sorry. I know that probably sounds empty and meaningless and I hate it when people say they’re sorry when they find out about Robert, but I really am sorry. I’ve heard so much about you, and all of it seems to revolve around you being active. So it must have been—must be—really hard.’

He tried to smile. ‘It was. Being inactive nearly drove me crazy. But it’s better now. I can get about easily, and I can run if I’m careful and the ground’s flat, and I can swim and dive and drive my car, and apparently I can do gardening, and, best of all, it doesn’t hurt any more.’ Well, not so much, at least, and he could deal with his phantoms.

Her eyes searched his, and she nodded and gave a faint smile. ‘Good.’

‘Just—’

She tipped her head on one side questioningly. ‘Just…?’

‘Don’t tell them. My family. Please. Not before the wedding. I don’t want to put a damper on it.’

She looked shocked. ‘I wouldn’t dream of it. It’s not my leg to talk about—and I won’t tell Charlie either, and I’d rather you didn’t yet. He’s good at secrets but I don’t think it’s healthy to expect youngsters to watch every word.’

He nodded. ‘Sure. Thanks. I won’t. I’ll try and make sure he doesn’t suspect anything if you could just back me up when I have to let him down with things like the football.’

‘Of course.’

‘Thanks.’ He scrubbed his hand round the back of his neck and kneaded the muscles briefly. He ached all over, and his stump was feeling tight in the socket. He really needed to get his leg off and lie down, and, if he was incredibly lucky, he might be able to sleep.

‘Look, I know it’s early,’ he said, ‘but I’m bushed. I’ve been on the go for thirty-six hours and I could really do with an early night. I think I’ll just turn in, if that’s OK.’

A little frown flitted over her face. ‘Are you sure? What about food?’

He shook his head, and the little frown came back.

‘Can’t I make you some toast or something first, at least? You’ve been working so hard.’

His stomach rumbled, and he grinned. ‘Actually, toast would be lovely. Thanks. I’ll go and sort my stuff out.’

She appeared in the cabin door behind him a few minutes later, a mug in one hand, a plate in the other. ‘Where do you want this?’

‘This’ turned out to be tea and a toasted cheese sandwich, and it made his mouth water. ‘Wow, that smells good,’ he said, trying to remember when he’d last eaten anything that he’d wanted so much. Days ago. More. ‘Just stick it on the side. I’ll grab it in a second. Thanks.’

‘My pleasure. Look, David, are you sure you’ll be all right out here? I mean—what if you need something in the night? A drink or anything?’

‘I’ll get up,’ he said, and watched her face scrunch up in a little scowl.

‘Don’t talk to me like an idiot child!’ she reproved him. ‘I’m just concerned about the steps.’

‘I’ll put my leg on.’

‘Isn’t that a fiddle?’

He laughed softly and straightened up from his suitcase. ‘Yes, Molly, it’s a fiddle. It’s all a fiddle. Using crutches is a fiddle. Putting the leg on is a fiddle. Having to think before you get out of bed and fall flat on your face is a fiddle. But you get used to it. And I’ve had three years of not being able to get out of bed without thinking, so it’s not a problem. Besides, there’s water in the tap in the bathroom here if I need a drink. Now, if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to crash.’

She recoiled as if he’d slapped her. ‘Fine. We’re going to get some fish Bob’s saved for us and then I’ll keep Charlie inside so he doesn’t disturb you.’

She straightened up, backing off with a wounded look in her eyes that made him feel sick, but he was too tired and jet-lagged and generally hacked off to deal with it now, so he let her go, and, as she closed the door, he heard her call Charlie and take him away.

There was no sign of them when he emerged from his shower room a few minutes later after a brief wash that of necessity included giving his stump some attention—no question of just taking off his clothes and getting into bed like a normal person, he thought heavily as he laid his folding crutches down beside the bed within reach.

Oh, well, at least it didn’t hurt any more—or not nearly as much. If only it had all been worth it, if there’d been any point in him having got himself into this mess, but his heroics hadn’t been enough, in the end, and tragedy had had its way. It had all been a complete and total waste.

And he wasn’t going to think about that now or he’d go stark, staring mad. Instead he’d think about Molly, and how she’d looked at him with those hurt, reproachful eyes when he’d bluntly dismissed her and all but told her to leave him alone.

Damn. He’d apologise tomorrow.

He got into bed and lay down in the bed with a sigh. He felt disappointed, as if he’d let himself down somehow, and his heart ached with—what? Regret?

Or just plain loneliness.

He rolled onto his front, jamming the pillow under the side of his head and stretching out his leg for the first time in what seemed like hours. Not that he’d been uncomfortable in the plane. Travelling business class was hardly roughing it, but it couldn’t prevent the turbulence and he was exhausted, his body clock disrupted by the time difference. But that didn’t mean he could sleep.

He shifted a little, and realised that the bed was, as Molly had said, very comfortable.

But not so comfortable that he could forget the look in her eyes as she’d backed away.

He thumped the pillow and turned his head the other way, and finally gave up and rolled on to his back, staring at the window. There was a chink in the curtains, and he could see the kitchen light on. She must be cooking their fish for supper, he thought, and felt a pang of regret that he’d bottled out. He stopped looking at it, turned his head away, tried not to think about what she and Charlie were doing and the fact that he could have been sitting with them and eating Bob’s sea bass instead of lying there alone.