Part-Time Father

In her eyes sparked the hatred she felt for him. To illustrate his point he had treated her no better than a whore, and in a way she had responded no better than a whore. The way she had felt in his arms had frightened her with its intensity, so that all her carefully fought for self-control had vanished like the wind. She was the vanquished, he the victor. He had all the power, and she had none. And she never wanted to see him again, not as long as she lived.

Never.

But then Kimberley discovered something else. She could see that behind the contempt which distorted the angular features there remained a hunger—a savage, sexual hunger which made his eyes glitter blackly and beat a frantic pulse at the base of his neck. He wants me, she thought, yet he despises me. And he’s a man who gets exactly what he wants.

Oh, my God, thought Kimberley weakly. He’ll come and find me. And what if I can’t—what if I just can’t resist him? What will a man who despises me offer other than instant heartbreak?

Unless she somehow contrived to make him despise her so much that he’d leave her alone forever.

She gave a small, smug half-smile, and allowed the kind of cold, calculating look which she knew he would be expecting to come into her eyes.

‘This—er—financial incentive you’re offering,’ she purred. ‘How much are we actually talking about?’

Some light in his eyes died. If she had thought she’d read scorn and derision there before, it was nothing to the look which now replaced it. He looked at her as though her very presence contaminated the air surrounding him.

He mentioned a sum, and she allowed a rapacious little smile to curve her lips upwards as she nodded. ‘I’ll do it,’ she told him. ‘On one condition.’

He shook his head, the contempt hardening his mouth into an unforgiving line. ‘No conditions, sweetheart,’ he drawled coldly. ‘Unless I make them.’

She shook her head. ‘I won’t do it unless you agree not to tell Duncan anything about what’s happened here this afternoon. I want to tell him— to break things off—in my own way.’

He stared at her incredulously. ‘Do you really think I’d hurt my brother like that? And, much though I’m tempted to tell him about his lucky escape, I’m really not cruel enough to disillusion him with the knowledge that he fell in love with a cheap little tramp. Do I make myself clear?’

‘Perfectly.’ She held out a slim white hand, which was miraculously free from tremor. ‘And now, if we can conclude our business.’

She saw his barely concealed shudder of distaste as he took a cheque-book out from the inside pocket of his suit and began to write.

What she hadn’t expected was that it should hurt quite so much…

Kimberley raked her hand roughly through her hair, as if the frantic movement could somehow magically dispel the image of Harrison which burned on her mind’s eye as if it had been branded there. After more than two years, she thought despairingly, it shouldn’t be quite so vivid. She wasn’t naïve enough to have expected to forget a man like Harrison Nash, but surely by now just the merest thought of him shouldn’t be enough to make the heat rise up in her blood with its slow, insistent throb?

She picked the tea-tray up to carry it back through into the sitting-room where her mother was waiting.

Why remember all that now?

Because she remembered it every time she came home; it was one of the reasons why her visits were more infrequent than either she or her mother liked. This place was tainted with memories of Harrison Nash and that one fateful kiss.

The day after he had kissed her she had done several things. Firstly, and most importantly, she had gone to Duncan and gently given him back his ring. He had not railed or argued with her; he had quietly accepted her stumbling explanation, saying that deep in his heart he had not been completely surprised.

The following day Kimberley had fled to stay with an aunt in Scotland, where she had remained for a fortnight, quietly licking her wounds. She had also cashed the cheque which Harrison had given her and given the money to charity. More importantly, as she’d handed the huge wad of money over to the bemused representative of Save the Children, she had made a solemn vow. That she would put Harrison Nash out of her mind forever.

And so far, at least, it hadn’t worked.

‘Kimberley!’ came her mother’s voice. ‘Where’s this cup of tea you promised me?’

‘Just coming!’ Fixing a smile on to her face, Kimberley took the tray and biscuits in, and poured out two cups.

The Earl Grey tea was deliciously refreshing, but Kimberley, though hungry, took only one bite out of a biscuit then left it—still ruffled about remembering that extraordinary day.

Forcing her mind back on to safer subjects, she offered the plate of biscuits to her mother. ‘How are you going to manage with your foot bandaged?’

‘Oh, I expect I’ll be all right,’ her mother replied unconvincingly.

Kimberley hid a smile. Her mother, love her, was like an open book! ‘Would you like me to come and stay with you until you’re up on your feet properly again?’ she asked.

Mrs Ryan’s smile could have lit up Oxford Street. ‘Oh, would you, dear? I’d be so grateful!’

Kimberley’s mind skipped along. She could telephone her bank later. She was a conscientious highflyer in the merchant bank where she’d worked for the past five years—she doubted whether they’d mind her taking a break at such short notice. ‘Of course I don’t mind,’ she said. ‘But I’ll have to drive back up to town to get some clothes.’

‘That’s fine, dear,’ said her mother contentedly as she eyed the teapot. ‘Is there another cup in the pot?’

Kimberley poured her mother another cup. ‘So, who’s Duncan marrying?’ she asked, glad that the boy she’d been so fond of had found someone else to love.

‘Some girl he met in America—an heiress, apparently.’

‘That will please Harrison,’ commented Kimberley acidly.

Her mother gave her a shrewd look. ‘I don’t know why you won’t hear a good word said about that man. He’s actually very charming.’

‘Charming?’ About as charming as a snake-pit! Kimberley gave a forced little laugh. ‘That’s the last adjective I’d use about him!’

‘But why do you dislike him so much?’

‘How can I dislike him—I’ve barely met the man?’ said Kimberley dismissively, then relented. ‘If you must know he stands for everything I hate— all that arrogance! He thinks he’s God’s gift to women——’

‘A lot of women tend to agree with him,’ cut in Mrs Ryan in amusement. ‘Or so I’m told.’

Kimberley resisted the temptation to scream. ‘I’d better leave now,’ she said hurriedly, in order to stop her mother from regaling her with any anecdotes about Harrison’s life. ‘If I set off now, I can be in London and back before dark.’

Her mother frowned. ‘Well, do drive carefully, won’t you, dear?’

‘Don’t I always?’

‘Do you? You’re a little too fond of the accelerator, in my opinion!’

But Kimberley was a good, careful driver—though she was slightly on the fast side. She made good time to London, and just over an hour later her scarlet sports car drew up outside her delightful honeysuckle-covered cottage in Hampstead.

She phoned her office and spoke to her boss, who told her to take as long as she liked off work.

‘Seriously, James?’ she laughed.

‘No! Take all that back—I’ll miss you too much!——’

‘I’ll call you when I get back—I should only be a few days!’

‘Call me sooner, if you like. That’s if you need a broad, manly shoulder to lean on.’

‘I’ll bear that in mind, James,’ said Kimberley, before ringing off.