The Pregnant Tycoon

‘I’d help you up, but—’

She grinned up at him, her soft green eyes alight with joy, and his heart lurched, taking him by surprise. She stood easily, brushing down her knees with a careless hand. ‘That was wonderful,’ she said, the joy showing in her voice as well as her eyes, and he wanted to hug her.

Instead he took a step back, gathered up his bucket of hot water and soap and towel, and quickly made a pen around the little family.

‘We’ll leave them to it. They’ve got all they need for now.’

‘Why isn’t that one feeding?’ Izzy asked, staring worriedly at the lambs as one of them stood by bleating forlornly and butting its mother without success.

‘They’ve only got two teats, but she’s had triplets before. They’ll take turns and she’ll sort them out. She’s a good mother. Come, Banjo.’

He ushered her towards the back door, the dog at his heels, and, kicking the door shut behind them, he stripped off his padded shirt and scrubbed his arms in the sink.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said dryly, and he looked up, suddenly self-conscious, to find her laughing softly at him across the kitchen.

He felt his mouth quirk into a grin, and he shook his head. ‘Sorry. Didn’t think. Actually, I could do with a shower. Can you give me five minutes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Make yourself at home,’ he told her, and then, as he ran up the stairs, he remembered the photos of Julia and the children all over the piano in the corner.

He shrugged. What could he do? She’d been his wife, the mother of his children. She deserved to be remembered, and he couldn’t protect Izzy from that reality any more than he could have prevented Julia’s death.

She looked around the kitchen, so much as it had been all those years ago, and felt as if she was caught in a time warp.

Any minute now Rob and Emma and Julia, and maybe Sam or Lucy, would come through that door from the farmyard, laughing and chattering like magpies, and Mrs Thompson would put the kettle on the hob and pull a tray of buns out of the oven.

She’d always been baking, the kitchen heady with the scent of golden Madeira cake and fragrant apple pies and soft, floury rolls still hot in the middle. She’d fed everybody who came over her threshold, Izzy remembered, and nobody was ever made to feel unwelcome.

And at Christmas they’d always come here carol-singing last, and gather round the piano to sing carols and eat mince pies hot from the oven.

With a tender, reminiscent smile still on her lips, Izzy turned towards the piano—and stopped dead, her heart crashing against her ribs. Slowly, as if she had no right to be there but couldn’t help herself, she crossed the room on reluctant feet and stood there, rooted to the spot, studying the pictures.

Julia and Will, laughing together on the swing under the apple tree. Julia with a baby in her arms and a toddler leaning against her knee. Will on the swing again, with the toddler on his lap, laughing, and another one with the baby, nose to nose, his expression so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

What am I doing here? I don’t belong! This is her house—her husband.

She turned, stumbling blindly towards the door, and Will caught her and folded her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as the sobs fought free and racked her body.

‘Shh. I’m sorry. I should have realised it would upset you. I’d forgotten how much you loved her.’

Loved you, Izzy corrected silently, but she couldn’t speak, and anyway, it didn’t seem like the smartest thing to say under the circumstances.

Her sobs faded as quickly as they’d come, the shock of her reaction receding in the security of his arms, and gently he released her and stood back, looking down at her with worried eyes.

‘OK now?’

She nodded, scrubbing her nose with the back of her hands, and he passed her a handful of kitchen roll and waited while she blew her nose and mopped her eyes and dragged out that smile.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Too many memories.’

He nodded and turned away, his face tight, and she could have kicked herself. If she had too many memories, what on earth did he have?

‘Tea?’

‘Please.’

He put the kettle on, then turned and propped himself against the front rail of the Aga and studied her thoughtfully. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she studied him back and fired off the first salvo.

‘You’ve changed,’ she said, her voice almost accusing.

He snorted softly. ‘I should hope so. I was a puny kid of nineteen the last time you saw me. I’ve grown two, maybe three inches and put on a couple of stone. I work hard—physical stuff. That builds muscle.’

It did, and she’d seen the evidence for herself just a few moments ago when he’d stripped off at the sink. Putting the disturbing memory away, she shook her head, studying the lines on his face, the lingering trace of sadness in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, and then gave a short, hollow laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being a real idiot here. Of course you’ve changed, after all you’ve been through. Who wouldn’t?’

His smile was wry. ‘Who indeed? Still—it’s all over now, and we’re moving on.’ He cocked his head on one side and his smile softened. ‘You don’t look any different,’ he said, his voice a trifle gruff, and she rolled her eyes.

‘All that money, all that sophistication, and I don’t look any different?’ She’d meant to sound a light note, but instead she sounded like a petulant little toddler. How silly, to feel hurt. After all, she probably hadn’t changed that much. Nothing had touched her as it had touched him.

Not since he’d gone away.

But Will was looking embarrassed, and she wanted to kick herself again. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave an impatient sigh. ‘I meant—oh, hell, I don’t know what I meant, except it wasn’t an insult—or not intended to be. I’m sorry if it came over like that.’

His eyes were full of remorse, and she shook her head and reached out, laying a gentle hand on his arm. ‘Of course it didn’t. I just feel different, and I suppose I thought it might be reflected in my face, but a sensible woman would be flattered. Anyway, I wouldn’t want my money to have changed me, and I certainly don’t want to look like Godzilla, so perhaps I should just be grateful!’

His mouth lifted in a wry smile, and his eyes swept her face, their expression tender. ‘I suppose you have changed, a little, but you’re still you, every bit as beautiful as you ever were, and it’s really good to see you again. That’s what I was trying to say in my clumsy, inept way.’

She laughed, her turn now to be embarrassed, and shook her head. ‘I’m not beautiful—’

‘I’m not going to argue with you,’ he said, but his thumb came up and brushed away the last remnant of her tears, and the tender gesture nearly brought her to her knees. Then he dropped his hand and stepped away, ramming it into his pocket, turning away.

When he spoke, his voice was gruff. ‘It’s a bit of a shock, really, seeing you again—takes me back all those years. But that’s never a good idea, and you can’t really go back, can you? Too much water under too many bridges.’

And just then some of that water came pouring into the kitchen in the form of a tidal wave of giggling and chasing and high-pitched shrieks that skidded to a halt the moment they saw her.

The little girl she was ready for—dark-haired, blue-eyed, the image of her father. The boy, though—he stopped her in her tracks. His colouring was almost the same, but it was the shape of his face, the expression, the vulnerable tilt to his mouth.

Julia.

Will straightened up, looking down at them with pride in his eyes.

‘Izzy, meet my children—Michael and Rebecca. Kids, this is Isabel. She was at school with me and your mother. Say hi.’

‘Hi,’ they chorused, and then their four eyes swivelled back to him and mischief sparkled in them again. ‘Grannie says can we ask you for some more eggs, because everybody wants egg sandwiches today and she’s run out,’ Rebecca said in a rush.

‘And Grandad’s sold a climbing frame and a tree house this morning, and you know old Mrs Jenks?’ Michael said, his eyes alight. ‘She’s having a willow coffin. She’s going to have a woodland burial, and her son’s up in arms. I heard Grannie telling Grandad. They were arguing about it in the café, and she said it was her body, she could do what she wanted with it. And Grannie said to tell you there’s roast pepper flan today,’ Michael added inconsequentially, and Izzy felt her lips twitch.

Will was smiling at them, ruffling Michael’s hair and slinging a casual, affectionate arm around his daughter’s shoulders, and Izzy felt suddenly empty.