For Our Children's Sake

‘An odd choice for a big boat.’

Lucy smiled and his breath caught in his throat. Her skin seemed to glow with pure life, even her hair crackled with energy. The first time he’d seen her, outside the hospital, he’d recognised she was a beautiful woman but he hadn’t anticipated his reaction to her smile. He’d no business thinking about her that way. Even so, when she smiled she took on a luminosity that was quite staggering. Her expressive eyes sparkled and her soft full mouth…What? He caught himself up on the thought.

‘Little Beauty is such a ridiculous name. I was always embarrassed by it until I read H E Bates.’

He frowned, trying to pick up the threads of her conversation.

‘Darling Buds of May. Little Beauty is the boat owned by Pop Larkin. Once I knew that, I loved it. The biggest mystery is my dad going along with it. He wasn’t that kind of man.’

‘Wasn’t?’ Dominic prompted.

‘He died when I was twenty-three. He was a very careful man. Little Beauty was his only extravagance. He believed life was too difficult to be reckless with it. He was so worried when I went to art college.’

So there was the answer to one of the questions he’d wanted to ask her. She was an artist. That fitted her image perfectly. With her dark hair pulled up on the top of her head in a haphazard manner, long wispy tendrils curling around her face, she looked slightly bohemian. Messy.

‘What about you? What do you do, Dr Grayling? What are you a doctor of?’

He smiled. He’d suspected she’d no idea who he was. It was refreshing. It was difficult to live down the description of being the ‘thinking woman’s crumpet’, and London was full of women who liked the idea of being with a man who made intellectual television programmes. It had led to hours of spurious conversations with people who’d no idea what they were talking about but who hoped to impress him with their knowledge.

‘History.’

‘Revolting. A truly horrible subject. There were far too many essays to write in History—and almost all of them were about war, I seem to remember.’

His smile broadened. ‘You obviously had some appalling teachers.’

‘So what does a doctor of History actually do?’

‘I’m more of a writer now, but history is still an overwhelming passion,’ he answered evasively, not really understanding his strange reluctance to tell her what he actually did. ‘I see myself as an educator.’ He broke off as the waitress arrived at their table. ‘Are you ready to order? Have you had time to decide what you’d like?’

‘No debate. Scampi and chips,’ she answered with determined cheerfulness. ‘I’ll worry about the calories tomorrow.’

That made a change, Dominic thought. Both his wife and his mother would never have let a sentiment like that enter their heads, let alone passed their lips. Rigid control at all times. He’d even come to believe they actually preferred lettuce and steamed broccoli.

‘If it comes that highly recommended I’ll have the same. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, please.’

The waitress scribbled frantically. ‘House white?’

‘Will be lovely,’ Lucy replied with a wide smile.

Without it being a conscious decision, Dominic was watching her closely. Searching for a fault, some reason why he shouldn’t go through with the idea that had been sitting in his brain since the first day they’d met.

Lucy seemed to be oblivious.

‘Have you lived in London for long?’

Dominic sat back in his chair. ‘Since I finished my PhD. Yes.’

‘And before then?’

‘Oxford—and before that I was at boarding school.’

Lucy smiled. ‘Oxford! Now I know where Chloe gets her brains from.’

The waitress returned with their drinks. Lucy shifted slightly to make it easier for her to put the glass down.

‘Is she bright?’

‘Very. Top of her class in practically everything. She’s just been selected for a gifted and able programme. She’s going to work with older children on a computer project.’

The feeling of satisfaction spread through him.

‘What’s Abby like?’

Dominic picked up his beer and took a small sip. ‘She’s bright. Top sets. But her passion is for art. She really loves that. 3D art, though, more than drawing.’

As he said it he realised he’d done very little to encourage that in Abby. Her evenings were so full of activities, and yet none of them really addressed what she loved to do. He’d allowed his in-laws to take far too much responsibility in Abby’s upbringing and they were reproducing what they’d done for Eloise. It would have suited her, but Abby was different. She’d love to be given a lump of clay, or just be encouraged to make a mess with papier-mâché.

‘Art? I don’t believe it!’

Lucy’s face shone with a radiance he was coming to expect. She was so easy to read. When she was pleased everything of it showed on her face. She couldn’t hide anything. ‘So much for nature versus nurture, then.’

With no regard for their conversation, the scampi was brought to the table. The plates were steaming hot and generously full.

‘I’m so hungry,’ Lucy remarked, spearing a chip with her fork.

This place suited her, with its casual informality. At home he would have chosen a select little bistro, where everything would have been arranged in delectable morsels. Lucy was like a breath of fresh air. She sat in tight, hip-hugging black trousers and a white broderie anglaise top and looked as if someone had just ruffled her in a haystack. Effortlessly sexy. It made him remember sensations and feelings he’d tried hard to bury for the past few years.

‘Do you paint still?’

‘Occasionally. I found it difficult to do when Michael was ill. I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough. My mum’s a potter, and I’ve spent more time recently working with her. It’s nice to have company and have the feel of the clay between my fingers.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Chloe’s done some lovely things. I ought to show you some time.’

He felt a sudden spear of guilt. Abby had never had the opportunity to do anything like that. He should have been more assertive. Whatever the outcome of this evening, he was going to make some changes.

‘I’d like that.’

Lucy bit into a piece of scampi before looking up at him. Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. It felt really strange, seeing you watching Chloe like that. It was just I wasn’t expecting to see you then. You know—wrong place, wrong time.’

‘Nothing about this situation is easy.’ Dominic played for time by picking up his pint glass. ‘Have you thought about what might happen when our case goes to court?’

Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. ‘I thought everyone was fairly confident. We’ll each have legal guardianship—’

‘Yes. And be recognised as the natural birth parent of each other’s children. But nothing like this has ever gone to court before.’

‘It has. I was told—’

Dominic cut her off again. ‘This case is slightly different. We had a direct swap of embryos.’