The Five-Year Baby Secret

‘Maybe I do, but I have a right to have it confirmed. Apparently the gossip in the village is that you don’t know who Tom’s father is.’

‘You know better than to listen to gossip.’ Then, because this wasn’t about her, ‘He’s so little, Matt. He won’t understand. I don’t want him to be frightened.’

‘You should have thought of that before. You’ve had it your way for five years. Now I’m dictating the terms.’

‘Please…’ She heard herself begging and didn’t care. ‘I’ll do anything.’

There was another seemingly endless silence before he said, very softly, ‘Anything?’

It was just as well that Matt gave her no chance to confirm or deny it.

‘Very well. Meet me tonight at the barn,’ he said briskly, as businesslike as if he were making an appointment to clear up some unfinished business—and maybe he did see it that way. ‘We can discuss exactly what “anything” means then.’

The barn? She covered her mouth with her hand, shutting in the cry of pain. Had he chosen the location, their special place, deliberately to hurt her?

But then, where else would they meet? In the village pub? That would certainly give the gossips a field day. The alternative was driving halfway across the county to find somewhere where there was no risk of them being recognised. If he’d been making enquiries about them, he must know that she didn’t have the time for that.

She breathed in and out once, very slowly, then said, ‘I won’t be able to get out until late.’

‘Nothing has changed, then.’ There was the faintest sound, a sigh of resignation perhaps. ‘Come when you can. I’ll wait.’

Matt pressed the disconnect button.

Please…

If he closed his eyes he could still see her, eighteen years old, lying back on a bed of straw in the old hayloft, her green eyes soft, her mouth warm and inviting. ‘Please…’

Even now, after all that had happened, he still responded like a horny teenager to the sound of her voice. Had to work to remember his anger.

‘Did I hear the phone?’

His mother paused in the doorway as if careful of invading his space, apparently unaware that checking up on his phone calls was even more intrusive.

‘Yes,’ he said and, taking that as an invitation, she joined him, setting her bag down on what she was already referring to as ‘his’ desk, and he glanced up. ‘I’ve been offered a cottage in Upper Haughton,’ he said. True enough. But not the answer to her question. Nothing, it seemed, had changed.

He and Fleur were both still locked in by nearly two centuries of hatred. They were both still lying to their parents, creeping out to meet in secret. But, while playing Romeo and Juliet had had a certain illicit appeal when they’d been too young to recognise the dangers, he’d had his fill of subterfuge.

‘You’re not staying here?’ she asked, trying hard to disguise her disappointment.

‘I’ve arranged to pick up the keys from the owner this evening.’

‘Renting a cottage in Upper Haughton will cost a pretty penny.’

‘It’s just as well I’ve inherited your business acumen, then.’

The compliment brought a smile to her face, as he’d known it would. But she wasn’t happy and, unable to stop herself, she said, ‘Why on earth waste good money, when there’s all the room you need here? You’ve been away for so long. I’d like the chance to spend some time with you. Cosset you a little.’

Yes, well, he’d been angry with her too, and cruel, as only the young, with time on their side, can be. He regretted that, but not enough to live under the same roof as her. But he reached out, briefly touching her arm, to soften the rejection as he said, ‘It isn’t far.’ Just far enough to avoid prying eyes. ‘If I decide to stay, I’ll look around for somewhere permanent to buy.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed, immediately retreating, as if walking on eggs. ‘I still can’t quite think of you as…well, an adult. Clearly the last thing a grown man of means wants is to live at home with his mother.’ Then, ‘What about the office?’ She did a good job of keeping the need, the fear that he’d leave again, from her voice as she gestured around her at the office she’d placed at his disposal. ‘Will this do you for the moment, or will you need more room?’ she asked, quickly recovering and giving him the opportunity for a graceful exit. Demonstrating that, no matter how desperate she was to cling to him, she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself.

He hadn’t discussed his plans with her, but only because he didn’t yet know what they were. He could work from the cottage, but an office at Hanovers gave him an excuse to come into the village whenever he wanted, so he said, ‘The use of a spare desk is welcome until I decide what I’m going to do.’

‘For as long as you like.’

‘No, for as long as you don’t try to drag me into your war with the Gilberts.’ If it hadn’t been for that nonsense…

‘I’m not at war with them, Matt,’ she said, and laughed as if the very idea were ridiculous. ‘I’m just doing my best to make a living.’

‘And your best is very good indeed,’ he said, not convinced by her swift denial but, having made his point, happy to change the subject. He got up, crossing to the window. ‘You’ve made an extraordinary success of this. Dad wouldn’t recognise the place.’

‘No.’ There was just a hint of self-satisfaction in her voice, Matt thought, turning to look at her. His father wouldn’t have recognised her, either.

She’d been one of those dull, practically invisible women, never getting involved in the business. Always ready to give a helping hand at village functions, but never, like some mothers—like Fleur’s mother—drawing attention to herself with her clothes or her make-up, something for which he’d been deeply grateful as a boy. Seeing her now, every inch the stylish and successful businesswoman, he wondered about that. About how unhappy she must have been.

‘What made you change your mind about selling up, moving away?’ he asked, keeping his own voice even, emotionless.

‘Time, maybe. I spent the best part of a year trying to sell it, hating every minute that I was forced to stay here. Unfortunately, the only people who showed an interest were housing developers but, much as I’d have enjoyed seeing a rash of nasty little houses on Hanover land, I couldn’t get planning permission.’

He didn’t bother to remind her that he’d pleaded with her to let him run the place for her. That she could have left, settled in comfort wherever she liked on the pension his father had provided. He was sure she’d thought about it many times during the last six years.

‘You must have really hated him.’

‘I wasn’t thinking straight at the time. If I had been, I would have realised that I wasn’t the only person hurting.’

It was as near to an apology as he was going to get, he thought and shrugged. ‘You did me a favour. Prised me out of a rut I’d been stuck in since I was old enough to know that my life was all laid out for me.’

She glanced at him, a frown creasing her forehead, and for a moment he suspected she hadn’t been thinking about him at all. Then she smiled and said, ‘That’s generous of you.’ She turned back to the window. ‘The truth is that I was pretty much at rock bottom when two men turned up full of plans for turning the place into a low-cost pile-’em-high-and-sell-’em-cheap garden centre. They were talking about finance, turnover, suppliers, as if I wasn’t there and I realised that I’d been invisible for most of my life.’

This was so close to what he’d just been thinking that Matt felt more than a touch uncomfortable. ‘So,’ he said, ‘you got your own back on them by nicking all their ideas?’

‘Far from it. Their ideas were rubbish. They were missing the whole point. This business isn’t just about dumping everything in a warehouse and selling the basics at the cheapest price. You have to sell gardening, the garden, as you would an expensive kitchen or good furniture. It’s got to be desirable, a lifestyle.’ And finally she smiled. ‘You’ve got to appeal to the women.’

‘Did you tell them that?’

‘I thought about it.’ She shrugged. ‘They’d have just looked at me in that puzzled way that men do and then carry on as if I hadn’t spoken, but after they’d gone I couldn’t stop thinking about it.’

‘You had no trouble with planning permission? Change of use?’

‘I’d learned my lesson. I had my hair cut, bought a decent suit, turned myself into someone men would take seriously. I put it to the planners that I simply wanted to change the emphasis from growing to selling. Then I went to the bank and showed them my figures, my business plan.’

‘There were no objections from the neighbours?’ he asked, looking across at the solid stone house, the roofs of the Gilbert glasshouses just visible above the fence. ‘Not even from Seth Gilbert?’

‘Not even from him. Maybe he felt sorry for me.’

‘His mistake.’

‘Yes,’ she said. Then, almost to herself, ‘Not his first.’