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Her Secret, His Son
Barbara Hannay


When Mary Cameron left Australia she was carrying a secret with her–a secret that she has kept to herself for years. But now she's forced to confront the choices she's made.Tom Pirelli is back. Now it's Mary's chance to tell Tom the real reason why she left him…and that he's the father of her child…Mary has to make an earth-shattering decision–one that could change her life, and Tom's, forever!







Harlequin Romance®

presents

international bestselling author

BARBARA HANNAY

Her Secret, His Son won the CataRomance Reviewer’s Choice Award 2004:

“Barbara Hannay has produced an emotional rollercoaster of a novel that packs a heavy punch. Her Secret, His Son reduced me to tears and I loved it. The novel is chock full of emotions and heart-warming characters. The author has used an entertaining blend of American and Australian settings to produce a lush novel that anyone would want to visit…. This book is a pure gem that has a charm and an emotional depth that shines through to the reader. Do not miss this very special book that will take you on an unforgettable journey. Barbara Hannay: Her Secret, His Son a truly magical ride.”

—Kelly Bowerman, CataRomance


Dear Reader,

Sometimes when I’m in the middle of writing a book I realize I’m tapping into something bigger than I expected. I uncover characters and issues and emotions that seem to have a power of their own.

I felt this happen when I was writing Her Secret, His Son. This book is a little different from my Outback stories in that it is mostly set in Washington, D.C., and Virginia. The hero, Tom Pirelli, is an Australian SAS soldier, fighting in an elite antiterrorist unit with Ed McBride, a U.S. Army Ranger.

I should mention that I haven’t tried to justify war. This book is 100 percent romance—deeply emotional romance. My heroine, Mary, has terrible choices to make. But her story is played out against a background of contemporary strife.

The city of Townsville, where I live, has a large military base and our links with the U.S. forces go back to World War II. Her Secret, His Son is my small tribute to the huge sacrifices made by our military people and their loved ones now and in the past.

Lastly, this story finishes in one of my favorite places in the world—the beautiful Atherton Tablelands of north Queensland—where I am now spending more time in our little cottage, tucked away on a misty green hillside.

Warmest wishes,

Barbara Hannay




Her Secret, His Son

Barbara Hannay







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Barbara Hannay was born in Sydney, educated in Brisbane and has spent most of her adult life living in tropical north Queensland, where she and her husband have raised four children. While she has enjoyed many happy times camping and canoeing in the bush, she also delights in an urban lifestyle—chamber music, contemporary dance, movies and dining out. An English teacher, she has always loved writing, and now, by having her stories published, she is living her most cherished fantasy. Visit www.barbarahannay.com (http://www.barbarahannay.com)

Barbara Hannay on her inspiration for Her Secret, His Son:

“In 2003 I had the privilege of spending a week as the houseguest of a top-ranking U.S. general and I was taken on a private tour of the Pentagon. This visit and the sights of Washington, D.C., Arlington and the Lincoln Memorial were wonderful inspirations for this book.”




Books by Barbara Hannay


HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3841—THE CATTLEMAN’S ENGLISH ROSE* (#litres_trial_promo)

3845—THE BLIND DATE SURPRISE* (#litres_trial_promo)

3849—THE MIRRABROOK MARRIAGE* (#litres_trial_promo)

3873—CHRISTMAS GIFT: A FAMILY




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#u82e3c4c5-cd58-5850-8bfb-e6fa50a0ad01)

CHAPTER TWO (#u99cd6069-dbc5-534a-9530-f7c8a16ac295)

CHAPTER THREE (#ue55f2361-23e1-5404-ae74-7c0051a6def4)

CHAPTER FOUR (#u762070d4-20d9-57c9-b988-118238e8a9e7)

CHAPTER FIVE (#uf3c72def-9ccd-57ab-b982-803c4051a295)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE


AT TEN minutes before midnight Mary Cameron crept out of bed, fully clothed, her heart racing. Thick carpet silenced her movements as she tiptoed to the window, drew the curtain aside and peered through the slanted slats of the venetian blinds.

Tom was waiting for her.

He was standing on the corner, just outside the pale lemon circle cast by the street light. She could see the defiant splash of his white T-shirt beneath the bulkiness of his black leather jacket. His wide shoulders were squared and his hands rested lightly on his hips, as if he were poised ready for action.

Truth was, Tom Pirelli was always ready for action. And, on this balmy North Queensland winter’s night, he was ready to run away with her.

A delicious thrill rippled through her. With one finger she dipped a slat in the blind so she could see Tom more clearly and he lifted his hand to wave. His mouth tilted in his familiar unhurried smile and her heart flipped. By this time tomorrow they would be far away from Townsville.

And she would be Tom Pirelli’s wife.

Over the past weeks she had thought of nothing but marrying Tom. She hadn’t been able to concentrate on her studies, had hardly heard any of her family’s conversations. The single most important thing in her life was a twenty-two-year-old soldier with a devastating slow smile and even more devastating, slow kisses.

He filled her head and her heart and she was certain she couldn’t possibly live without him.

‘I’m coming, Tom,’ she whispered as she released the slat and let the curtain drop back into place.

Heart knocking in her chest, she stooped to pick up her small backpack. It held little more than a change of clothes and her toiletries, but she couldn’t risk carrying a bulky pack through the dark house. It would be a disaster if she knocked something over and woke her parents. Besides, she would be travelling on the back of Tom’s motorbike, which meant travelling light.

Travelling light and lighthearted and in love.

With Tom.

Her insides jumped and danced with excitement. She was so heart-and-soul in love with Tom that it still came as a shock that he loved her back. She had to be the luckiest girl in Australia. No, make that the universe.

Without a backward glance at the pretty bedroom that had been home to her secret dreams for so many years, she hurried out into the hallway.

Here, there was danger.

The polished timber floors of the living areas were noisy, so she carried her shoes in her hands and prayed that her socks would muffle her footsteps. All would be lost if her father woke up.

Oh, help! At the thought of her father, Mary came to an abrupt halt, frozen by a panicky rush of guilt. Heaven knew this wasn’t the way she wanted to be married. Until she’d met Tom she’d enjoyed a happy relationship with her parents, and it was just awful now to be torn between her family ties and her passion for her man.

But her father wouldn’t listen when she tried to defend Tom, so he’d left her with absolutely no choice. She could only hope that once she and Tom were married all would be well. Her father would have to see that they were meant for each other.

She had no doubt that she and Tom would win her parents around. Once her dad got to know Tom, he couldn’t help but admire him. Tom would be an adoring husband. In the years to come he’d be a wonderful father for their children and the perfect son-in-law for her parents. Everything would be fine just as soon as she was safely outside. With Tom.

She took a deep breath and began to tiptoe forward again.

She’d practised creeping through the midnight-silent house several times in the past weeks, so she knew about the creaking board outside her parents’ bedroom and another near the entrance to the dining room. Once these were safely bypassed she began to breathe more easily.

As she neared the front of the house she could hear the hum of the dishwasher in the kitchen. It was reaching the end of its long cycle. Brilliant timing! She could coordinate the moment she opened the front door with the final gush of the rinse water gurgling down the drain.

At last she was safely through the house and in the slate-tiled front entry, where faint light from the street filtered through long narrow panels of glass on either side of the front door. Almost free.

The hiss of water in the kitchen was her signal. Quickly, Mary thrust her feet into her shoes, took a deep breath and stepped to the door, then slowly, slowly, turned the handle of the doorknob, praying that it wouldn’t make a sound. Not now. Not with freedom so near.

Not with Tom waiting outside.

Already she could picture the glimmer in his dark eyes when she reached him, the way he would haul her close, enfolding her inside the protection of his leather jacket. Already she could feel the warmth of his arms around her and his lips nuzzling the side of her neck as he whispered, ‘Mary-Mary.’

Holding her breath, Mary inched the door open and the potted palm beside her seemed to move. It startled her and she jerked the door back, making its hinges squeak.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

Her father’s voice exploded beside her in the dark.

Swift and terrible as a lightning strike, panic flashed through her. With a gasp of despair, she wrenched the door wide and hurled herself forward, but hands, strong as talons, gripped her.

‘No!’ she cried as she struggled to tug herself free. ‘You can’t stop me!’

Her arm was almost pulled from its socket and her backpack fell to the floor as her father hauled her back through the doorway.

‘No,’ she sobbed. ‘You can’t do this! Please, no, you don’t understand.’

She cried out as the door slammed shut. Horrified, she slipped sideways out of her father’s grasp and took off through the dark kitchen, skirting the island bench as she headed for the back door.

‘Don’t be so stupid, girl,’ her father roared, hot in pursuit. Again his hands came from behind her and he seized her arm. Again she tried to break free, but he was too big and too strong. She had no hope of trying to outrun a trained army officer in his own home. She was yanked backwards and pushed hard against the slats of the louvred door on the pantry cupboard.

‘You’ve got to let me go,’ she panted. ‘I’m an adult. I have every right.’

Colonel Cameron’s dark face loomed above her. ‘Call yourself an adult?’ he sneered. ‘An adult wouldn’t slink away in the middle of the night to a pick up with a no-good lout like Pirelli.’

‘He’s not a lout. You don’t know him.’

Light flooded the kitchen and, through her pain and her tears, Mary squinted against the sharp brightness. She saw her mother standing in the doorway in her nightgown and, behind her, her cousin Sonia, staring with huge, fascinated eyes.

‘You can’t hold me prisoner,’ Mary sobbed at them. ‘I’m not going to let you spoil this. I have to go. Let me go!’

‘Mary, be reasonable,’ came her mother’s voice.

‘No! You be reasonable,’ Mary cried back, as she struggled against her father’s tight hold.

Refusing to look at his angry red face, she focused on her mother, who looked so much more vulnerable at midnight in her pale nightgown and without the careful mask of the make-up she always wore.

‘You’re backing Dad against Tom when you don’t even know him. You won’t let me bring Tom into our house, but you can’t do this to me. I’m twenty, Mum. I’m old enough to know what I want. Tom and I love each other and you’ve got to let me live my life. I’ve got to go to him. I’ve got to!’

‘Over my dead body,’ her father roared and, to emphasise his point, he gripped her shoulders harder and forced her back against the cupboard again.

‘Ralph, there’s no need to be rough,’ came her mother’s voice.

Mary moaned and tears streamed down her cheeks. Tears of rage, not pain. Tom was waiting on the footpath. What had he heard? What had he thought when the kitchen lights came on? What would he do if she didn’t show up?

Would she ever be able to see him again? She had to. No one could possibly understand how desperately she needed him. Every cell in her body yearned for the reassurance of his strong arms around her. She needed him to hold her as he murmured his pet name for her, over and over—the way he did when they made love. ‘Mary-Mary, Mary-Mary.’

Her father’s vicelike grip loosened a fraction, but not enough to release her. ‘Stop snivelling, girl,’ he hissed. ‘I can’t believe my own daughter could be such a fool. When you come to your senses you’ll be grateful. You’ll thank me for this.’

‘Never!’ Mary cried, hating him. She couldn’t bear to look at him and she let her tears fall, making no attempt to stop the sobs that racked her. ‘You’ve d-decided you don’t like T-Tom simply because he’s not an officer and—and he rides a motorbike.’

Her father swore and gave her shoulders a shake. ‘Pirelli is a hooligan, Mary. You know he’s been up before the Provost marshal for speeding, and he was involved in a brawl at a local nightclub. I’m not letting a man like that touch my daughter.’

‘But he has!’ Mary cried with a surge of triumphant defiance, and she lifted her head to meet her father’s hard grey glare.

I live for Tom Pirelli’s touch.

‘Where is he? I’ll kill him!’

‘Ralph, for heaven’s sake,’ her mother interrupted, coming close enough to tap her husband’s elbow in a hesitant attempt to soothe him. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Keep your voice down. Why don’t we go into the lounge and sit down and talk this through sensibly?’

‘There’s nothing to talk through,’ Mary protested. ‘Can’t you both understand? I truly love Tom and he loves me. I can’t live without him. If you don’t let me go, you’ll have ruined my life.’

‘Consider it ruined,’ her father snapped.

Mary wept noisily. How could her parents be so unjust and cruel to their own daughter? She felt as if they’d hurled her into the ocean with rocks tied to her feet. Inconsolable, she slumped against the pantry door. Her father released his pressure, but she knew it was useless to try to escape. She let her spine bump down the louvred slats as she slid to the floor and crouched in a miserable, undignified huddle with her arms wrapped around her bent knees.

She wanted to die.

Her cousin Sonia’s voice reached her through her misery. ‘Would you like me to go and tell Tom that you’re not coming?’

Mary’s head snapped up.

Sonia stepped closer and Mary realised for the first time that she was fully dressed, as was her father. Had they known her plans?

Her cousin had been living with her family for the past year because she was studying law at James Cook University. Mary drove Sonia to university each day but, because they were in different faculties, they saw little of each other on campus.

They hadn’t become close, and now the bright, fascinated light in Sonia’s eyes bothered Mary. But she couldn’t leave Tom stranded on the footpath waiting.

‘He’s waiting on the corner. Go and tell him what’s happened. Tell him that I’ll work something out,’ she said.

‘Don’t bother yourself, Sonia,’ interjected her father. ‘If anyone talks to Private Pirelli tonight, it will be me. I’d talk to the mongrel with my fists except that I don’t fancy being court-martialled for assault.’

Her mother had switched the kettle on and now it came to the boil. She turned to pour bubbling hot water into mugs with tea bags.

From behind Colonel Cameron’s back, Sonia sent Mary what might have been a sympathetic smile if her eyes hadn’t gleamed with suppressed excitement. ‘I’ll go back to bed, then,’ she mumbled sleepily, but then she sent Mary a wink. And, as Mary watched Sonia shuffle out of the room, she knew her cousin planned to sneak out through the back of the house to find Tom.

She wished she found that thought more comforting.

‘How did you know?’ she asked her parents, suddenly suspicious. ‘You were waiting up for me.’

‘Some people claim that Army Intelligence is an oxy-moron, but it comes in handy,’ her father drawled, and his mouth curved into a smug half-smile.

Still huddled on the floor, Mary shot him a glare filled with venom.

He let out an impatient sigh. ‘Look, Mary, I’m quite prepared to tell you why I’m opposing this. I simply don’t trust Pirelli.’

‘You haven’t given him a chance.’

‘I’m not going to. I can’t afford to take risks when my only daughter is involved. I don’t trust a guy who just doesn’t add up.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well…he tops bloody everything. IQ tests; language tests; shooting competitions.’

‘Really? He never told me that. But how can that be bad?’

A brief, startled reaction flickered in her father’s eyes, but he quickly recovered. ‘There’s something wrong with a guy who’s as bright as that and still acts like a hooligan. It’s not just his behaviour around town. On exercises, we never know what Pirelli will do. He questions and challenges commands. He won’t conform. That’s why I knocked back his promotion.’

‘Did you really?’ she murmured. ‘He didn’t tell me that either.’

‘No, he wouldn’t, would he?’ Her father’s jaw shot forward like a bulldog’s. ‘Private Pirelli is a bad bet, Mary. He’s the kind of soldier who will want to play heroes. He’ll throw himself into the front line. You know what I’m saying, don’t you?’

‘You mean he’s courageous.’

‘I mean he’s a fool. And tonight he’s proved it if he thinks I can’t see what he’s planning.’

Mary’s insides turned hollow.

‘Ralph,’ said her mother in a warning tone. ‘Be careful.’

‘I’m not the one who has to be careful, Anne. It’s Mary.’ He crouched low beside Mary and placed a broad hand on her shoulder. ‘Pirelli’s plan was to have his way with my daughter—to play with her and then leave.’

‘No!’ His words winded her. She couldn’t breathe.

‘It’s the truth, Mary. This crazy pretence at elopement is payback.’

‘No!’ Struggling for breath, she felt smothered by a thick black fog. Heavy, suffocating clouds crushed her chest as she tried to stand. She clutched at the pantry doorknob, trying to gain leverage, to regain her dignity. To fight back. ‘No, you’re wrong. It’s not like that. Tom loves me. He wants to marry me.’

‘Grow up, Mary. Do you really think there’s going to be a wedding? Wake up, girl. Marriage is the last thing on Private Pirelli’s mind. Did he tell you he’s put in for a transfer to Perth, on the other side of Australia?’

‘No, no-o-o!’ Her protest edged into a scream.

‘You’d better believe it, honey.’ Her father’s unexpectedly gentle voice reached her through the fog. ‘I’m sorry, but the little adventure he had planned for tonight was all about payback because he missed a promotion. Don’t you see? Tom Pirelli has been using you, sweetheart.’




CHAPTER TWO


THE soft red glow of a night vision light filled the Sea Knight helicopter’s cabin. Dressed in camouflage gear and floppy bush hats, the six members of the elite joint forces anti-terrorist squad sat alert and ready.

‘Five minutes out,’ came the crackling message from the pilot through their headphones.

Tom Pirelli checked his equipment one more time. Everything was ready. His gear was strapped down and the J-hook on his automatic weapon was secured so that it couldn’t pop loose or hook him up when the team made their fast rope descent to the drop zone in the South-East Asian jungle below.

There was nothing to do now but wait, and for a luxurious moment, he allowed his thoughts to turn away from the grim task ahead to a picture of his home—his family’s tea plantation on a sleepy green hillside, high on the Atherton Tableland in Far North Queensland.

He’d been thinking about home a lot lately. The morning mists, the welcoming smells of baking in his mother’s kitchen in winter and, in summer, the lacy splendour of tropical ferns in his nonna’s greenhouse.

It was a long time—too damn long—since he’d seen his family. But, since he’d joined the Australian Special Air Services, he’d been posted to so many foreign hot spots and had been home so rarely he’d almost forgotten how much he loved the old place. Yeah, it had definitely been too long.

A rap on his shoulder snapped him back to the present. Ed McBride, one of the US Rangers who’d teamed with the SAS for this joint forces mission, was leaning towards him.

‘Can you do me a favour, man?’ Ed shouted above the whining engines and the roar of the rotors.

‘What kind of favour?’ Tom’s eyes narrowed as he tried to read Ed’s expression—not easy given that his face was blackened in readiness for the night’s task.

‘Take this.’ Ed thrust a watch into Tom’s hand—not a high-tech serviceman’s watch, but a gold civilian job—an old-fashioned one at that. The kind that accompanied the golden handshake when old codgers retired. ‘Can you stick it in your pocket and look after it for me?’

‘You don’t need me to look after your stuff.’

‘Come on, man. Just this once. In case anything happens to me.’

Tom frowned. ‘Don’t talk rubbish, mate. This mission’s going to be a piece of cake.’

‘I know, I know, but just humour me on this and take the damn watch.’

Turning the watch over, Tom saw that the back was engraved and he used his penlight to read the inscription. To Robert Edward McBride. In appreciation. January 10, 1925.

‘It was my great-grandfather’s watch,’ Ed yelled. ‘It’s been handed down through the family. My dad passed it on to me and I want to keep it safe for my boy.’

‘For your son?’

‘Yeah.’

The team didn’t talk too much about their families—it was if talking about home might soften them somehow, and in this deadly game they couldn’t afford any kind of distraction. But Tom knew Ed had a wife and son back in Virginia. He’d seen a photo of the little fellow. The boy had been wearing his father’s cap and his face was in shadow, but he’d gained the impression that the youngster was sturdy and cute with a cheeky grin.

He shoved the watch back into Ed’s hand. ‘You keep this for your kid. It’ll be perfectly safe with you.’

‘No!’

The urgency in Ed’s voice sent a chill spiking down Tom’s spine.

‘Do it for me,’ Ed pleaded. ‘Just this once.’

‘Don’t talk crap,’ Tom shouted angrily. What was eating Ed? Special Operatives never lost their cool. Never showed fear. Or doubt.

But deep down he knew what Ed was trying to say. It was a feeling a soldier could get—a premonition that something was going to go wrong.

‘Please, Tom,’ Ed insisted. ‘I thought we were buddies.’

‘Well, yeah, of course we are. We’re more than buddies. We’re mates.’

It was true. He genuinely liked this American with his constant smile, spiky blond crewcut and marine-blue eyes. Ed was a crack soldier and an all-round great guy. Easygoing, salt of the earth, apple pie and Fourth of July all rolled into one six-foot, muscle-bound package. A walking-talking-fighting Good Guy.

Tom hadn’t expected to become close friends with the American, but he and Ed had formed a unique bond. They respected each other. Without question they trusted each other’s considerable battle skills, and they shared a similar outlook as well as a similar string of military decorations. But beyond that they shared something more important—a sense of humour that had helped them in the grimmer moments.

Until now.

Tom looked again at the gold watch. There was nothing particularly fancy about it. Its value could only be sentimental. And this was not a time for sentiment.

‘One minute out.’

The signal was given for the team to unbuckle their seat belts and move to the ramp at the rear of the chopper.

Their craft dropped to a hover and the men stood, bracing themselves. Ed would be the fifth man to descend the fast rope, while Tom, who was the squad’s leader, would bring up the rear.

‘Please!’ Ed yelled once more, holding the watch out to Tom.

Already, the assigned soldier was shoving the coiled rope off the ramp and leaning out as he watched it fall to the ground. Then he signalled to Zeke, the first man to descend. Zeke grabbed the rope with both hands, hooked it with one foot, pivoted, jumped clear of the ramp and disappeared, sliding down.

Tom sighed. ‘OK, give it here,’ he said, taking the watch from Ed and zipping it quickly into an inner pocket. ‘But I’ll be giving this bloody thing straight back to you just as soon as this mission is over.’

He lowered his night goggles and Ed’s teeth flashed green as he grinned.

‘Thanks, bud,’ he called back to Tom. Then, still grinning, he turned, ready to descend.




CHAPTER THREE


IT WAS a warm summer’s day in Virginia but Ethan had the beginnings of a cold.

Mary frowned as she reached over the breakfast table to lay a hand on her son’s forehead. He’d started coughing during the night and this morning his nose was snuffly and his skin slightly warm. If he had a raised temperature she would have to keep him home from school today.

‘Is your throat sore?’ she asked, noting the way he dawdled his spoon around and around his bowl of cereal, then sipped half-heartedly at his orange juice.

Ethan nodded, and beneath his floppy blond fringe his big brown eyes grew round as he sent her his sad puppy look.

She’d seen rather too much of that look lately.

‘Why didn’t Dad come home for Fourth of July?’ he asked her. ‘He promised.’

Mary sighed. Ever since she’d received the terrible news that her husband was missing in action and presumed dead, she’d tried to keep the news from Ethan. Coping with her own sickening fear was hard enough.

Ethan idolised Ed, and Mary was concerned that his cold was a symptom of his distress as much as a seasonal chill.

‘Sometimes soldiers can’t keep their promises, but I’m hoping Daddy will be home very soon, sweetheart.’

She wasn’t prepared to tell him the truth. She still clung to the hope that Ed was safe and well.

But the boy was supersensitive to her tension, to her friends’ kid glove treatment of them both, to Grandma McBride’s open concern and Grandpa McBride’s stoic acceptance.

Not knowing was the worst. There was so little news—just that Ed was missing behind enemy lines. She couldn’t stop thinking about what might have happened to him. As an Army wife, she’d always known something like this might happen, particularly when he’d joined the Special Squad, but she’d pushed that knowledge to the back of her mind.

But now he was missing. And missing could mean so many things. Awful, unbearable things.

‘What’s the matter, Mummy?’

Oh, God, she’d nearly given in to tears in front of Ethan. Flashing him a quick, tight smile, she said, ‘Would you like to stay home from school and rest up today?’

He nodded listlessly. ‘Can I watch TV?’

‘Sure,’ she said, frowning as she watched him wander through to the adjoining family room.

Until they’d received the news about Ed, Ethan had always loved school. She told herself that one day wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps today, when he wasn’t well, the comforting sight of the familiar bright puppets on his favourite children’s show would cheer him up.

As her son settled on to a beanbag, in front of the television, she poured herself another cup of coffee, put her feet up on the opposite chair and forced her thoughts to practical things—like the changes she would have to make to her day’s plans.

With Ethan sick, she wouldn’t be able to play tennis this morning but, because she ran her business from home, she would still be able to get on with her work this afternoon. She reached to the phone on the nearby kitchen counter, planning to call one of her tennis friends, but she’d only dialled the first digit when the doorbell rang.

Surprised, she swung her feet from the chair and looked around for her slip-on shoes. Where had she left them? Her hand flew to her hair. She hadn’t taken any trouble when she’d brushed it this morning and she hadn’t given a thought to make-up. Who would be calling her at this hour? It was too early for tennis.

Could it be someone from the Army?

Oh, God. The unwelcome thought hit her like a smack in the face. The Army would send someone around if there was bad news about Ed.

Her stomach screwed itself into a nervous knot as her feet found shoes beneath the table. Ed, please be safe. Please let him be safe.

Her hand was shaking as she opened the front door.

‘Good morning, Mrs McBride—’

Oh, help!

In an instant she recognised the man standing on her doorstep.

Tom.

Tom Pirelli…Staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.

After eight long years.

‘Mary!’

Tom. She couldn’t get a word out. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Her hands pressed against her chest as she felt something snag in its centre, as if a pulled thread was unravelling her heart, spooling her back into the past.

Within a mad second she was twenty again, feeling the same swift clutch in her throat, the same painful, aching rush she’d always felt whenever she saw Tom.

Her legs trembled. She was drenched in a thousand sweet memories.

Eight years had hardly changed him. He was dressed in neat civilian trousers and a snowy white open-necked shirt, but his black hair was still clipped short, military style.

Perhaps he was more mature-looking—his body more honed and muscular, his face a little more rugged, lined and lean—but in every other way he was the same Tom. His eyes were the same haunting, deep black-brown and were teamed with the same strongly defined cheekbones and, heaven help her, the same mouth.

But today there was no slow smile. Tom Pirelli looked as shell-shocked as she felt.

‘It’s you. It’s Mary Cameron.’

‘Yes. I—I’m M-Mary McBride now.’

‘McBride?’ He seemed to wince as he bit off an exclamation. ‘You don’t mean—don’t tell me you’re Ed’s wife.’

He looked so suddenly ill her heart almost stopped beating. She opened her mouth to ask him how on earth he was connected with Ed, but confusion and fear held her back.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I’m Ed McBride’s wife.’

‘Oh, God, Mary. I can’t believe this. I—I—’ He shook his head and rubbed the back of his hand over his brow. ‘I had no idea you were still here in America.’

She was so numb she couldn’t think of the right way to respond.

‘I hadn’t heard you were married,’ Tom went on. ‘I heard that your father was posted back to Australia and I assumed—’

‘No, I didn’t go back with my parents.’

Tom muttered something harsh beneath his breath and Mary felt her face heat. Seeing him sent her compass points suddenly haywire, her emotions swinging wildly between joy and despair. She had loved this man. She’d broken her heart over Tom Pirelli and it had taken far too long to mend.

But this was the very worst time to be meeting him again. If she’d had Ed by her side, she would have been able to handle this. But alone?

‘Why are you here?’ she managed to ask.

At first he shook his head, as if he couldn’t remember, then blinked and said, ‘Uh—because of Ed. We were in the same Special Squad.’

‘Really?’ His words sank in. ‘You mean you’ve found him? No one told me. Is he OK?’

‘No, Mary. I’m sorry if I misled you. Ed hasn’t been found.’

‘Oh.’ She swayed against the door frame and her eyes closed as tears burned against the insides of her eyelids and stung her throat. The combined shock of seeing Tom on top of her worries about Ed were too much to take in. Covering her mouth with her hand, she tried to hold her emotions in check, but beneath her fingers her lips twisted as she struggled not to cry.

Tom’s throat worked. His dark eyes shimmered as he said, ‘Please accept my sympathy, Mary. Ed was—the best.’

‘Don’t say that. You make it sound like he’s dead.’

He frowned. ‘But—’

She shook her head. ‘He’s only missing. I haven’t given up hope. I’m sure he’ll be found, that he’ll come back.’

‘Yes, of course. I understand.’ Tom’s eyes avoided hers and his tone implied that he understood her words but didn’t quite agree with her.

There was an awkward pause while he stood on her doorstep and she stood with her hand on the door, knowing that if he were any other man she would invite him inside. But inviting Tom into her home seemed impossible. It felt too momentous, too meaningful.

‘What about you, Tom? Are you married?’

‘No.’

The single syllable seemed to hang in the warm July air the way the boom of a brass gong lingers.

Mary groped for another question. ‘So…What have you been doing?’

His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. ‘Same as your husband—defending the free world.’ For a moment he studied her with hard, dark eyes. ‘I have something for your son,’ he said. ‘Ed wanted me to bring it to him.’

At the mention of Ethan, Mary felt a fresh surge of dismay. Her stomach churned. Their gazes locked and her cheeks burned as years of silence and buried emotions hung in the air between them. So many unanswered questions…

After all this time…What was Tom thinking? What was he feeling? What did he expect from her?

She turned back and could see through the house to the family room. Ethan was lying upside-down on the beanbag, laughing at the antics on the television screen. Already he looked much brighter than he had at breakfast.

‘Ethan’s home from school today,’ she told Tom. ‘He has a cold.’

‘Would it be better if I waited till he’s feeling better?’

Goodness, that would mean seeing Tom again. Was that wise? ‘How long will you be here?’

‘Just a few days.’

‘Well, I don’t want to mess you around. I’m sure you have lots of other things you want to do. And if you’ve brought Ethan a gift from his father it might cheer him up.’

‘It’s a watch.’ Tom patted his pocket.

‘A watch?’

‘I believe it’s the McBride family watch.’

‘Oh, no!’ Ed treasured that watch; it was his talisman. To have it returned seemed so symbolic. A tangible sign. Surely it meant that he must be dead.

This time Mary couldn’t hold back her tears. She covered her face with both hands.

‘Mary—’

She could hear Tom’s voice. His hand patted her arm tentatively and for a brief moment she thought how comforting it would be to cry on his shoulder. But, heavens, how inappropriate.

She sniffed loudly and dragged her arm over her face, trying to wipe her tears away on the sleeve of her shirt. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I’m not usually so fragile. It’s such a strain, waiting to hear.’

‘I’m sure it must be. Look, I’ll just give the watch to you. I don’t want to upset your son. And if he’s not well he wouldn’t want to have to meet a stranger.’

‘That might be best.’

He reached into his shirt pocket and extracted a bulky envelope. ‘There’s no fancy packaging, I’m afraid.’

‘Thank you,’ she said softly, staring at the packet he held out to her, almost afraid to touch it. But as her fingers closed around it she said, ‘I don’t understand how Ed could give you this if he’s disappeared.’

Tom grimaced. ‘He wanted me to keep it safe for him till he got back from his last mission.’

‘But he didn’t come back?’

‘No.’ He avoided eye contact and bent down quickly. For the first time she saw a box-shaped parcel covered in brown paper on the step at his feet. ‘I knew the watch wouldn’t mean a great deal to a little kid, so I bought him something else as well. A toy.’

‘Tom, that’s so thoughtful.’

He gave a dismissive shrug. ‘It’s no big deal. Ed and I were good mates so I wanted to do something for his son.’

Suddenly it felt wrong to keep this man standing on her doorstep. She had to forget about the past and the wild riot of feelings that tumbled through her. The past was behind them and the sane thing to do was to leave it there, locked away.

Her life and Tom’s had taken different paths and they were different people now. These days Tom Pirelli was a good friend of her husband and he’d very thoughtfully brought Ed’s son a gift.

That was how things were and how they must remain. Nothing more complicated than that.

She gestured to the box. ‘This is very kind of you, Tom. You must come inside and give it to Ethan.’

‘Are you sure it’s OK?’

‘Absolutely. I’ll make some fresh coffee.’

‘I must say I’d like to meet Ed’s boy.’

Mary stepped back to allow Tom entry, and as he walked past her into the hall she drew a sharp breath. He was taller and more broad-shouldered than Ed and he seemed to fill the narrow hallway.

With the front door closed behind them she took Tom through to the kitchen, where the breakfast things were still on the table. Then she put the packet with Ed’s watch on the counter and resisted the impulse to dash about madly trying to clear away cups and bowls and cereal packets. She didn’t have to impress Tom; he hadn’t come to check out her homemaking skills.

He stood in the middle of the room, holding the boxed gift in both hands.

‘Ethan,’ Mary called. ‘We have a visitor.’

As the boy came running into the room her heart jolted painfully. Had Ed told Tom that he wasn’t Ethan’s biological father? She glanced from her son to Tom and saw the intense expression on Tom’s face as he stared at the boy.

Oh, Tom, don’t look like that.

For one horrible moment she thought the storm inside her might break through, but then she dragged in a deep breath and walked over to Ethan. The simple journey across her kitchen felt as dangerous as walking across thin ice, but once she reached the boy she drew him against her and brushed his fine blond hair with her trembling fingers.

‘This is my little man,’ she said, hoping her voice didn’t sound as shaky as she felt. ‘Ethan, honey, this is Tom. He’s a friend of your daddy’s.’

A brief frown creased Tom’s brow when she said that, and she wondered if he expected her to add that he was also an old friend of hers. But they’d been so much more than friends and she couldn’t say that.

‘Hello, Ethan.’ Tom smiled and held out his hand, while Ethan hesitated and leaned shyly against Mary’s leg.

‘Say hello to Tom,’ she urged, giving him a gentle nudge.

‘Hello, sir.’ Ethan’s big brown eyes seemed bigger than ever as his hand disappeared inside Tom’s.

To Mary’s surprise, Tom dropped to squat at Ethan’s level as he offered him the box. ‘Call me Tom,’ he said.

‘Hi, Tom.’

‘Your Dad told me about you. I figured that you probably like knights in armour.’

The boy’s eyes widened and he nodded solemnly.

‘This is for you.’

To Mary’s relief, her son remembered to say thank you without being prompted.

‘Would you like a hand to open it?’

Ethan nodded and Tom set the box on the floor. For the next few moments the two males were silent and focused as they stripped the brown paper away and opened the box to reveal a toy castle, complete with towers, turrets and pennants. There was even a moat and a drawbridge.

‘Wow!’ exclaimed Ethan.

‘The knights are inside,’ Tom told him, and he swung a hinge that opened the castle.

‘Wow!’ Ethan breathed again as he reached in and drew out a model of a knight in shining plastic armour seated on a black horse. ‘Oh, this is so neat.’ He looked back to Mary, his eyes shining.

‘Aren’t you lucky?’ she said.

‘Is this from my dad?’ Ethan asked. ‘He said he’d bring me a present.’

Before Mary could set her son straight, Tom said without hesitation, ‘Sure, mate, this is from your father.’

Ethan’s eyes shone and Mary suppressed a choking sob.

‘Now, these guys with bows and arrows go up in the keep,’ Tom said, lifting out some models and setting them in place.

‘And this one can be riding across the drawbridge,’ Ethan chimed in excitedly.

Mary was so absorbed by the astonishing sight of them together that at first she didn’t notice the way her eyes were brimming with tears again. When a damp splotch rolled down her cheek she hurried away to clear the breakfast things and to make coffee.

After a while, Tom straightened again and left Ethan to play. He crossed the room to where Mary was taking a blue and white sugar bowl from an overhead cupboard.

His eyes drifted to her feet and his mouth quirked into a grim smile. Mary followed his gaze. Good grief! She was wearing one red shoe and one lime-green. Heavens, there must have been two pairs of slip-on shoes under the kitchen table and she’d taken no notice.

‘So you still have trouble making decisions, Mary-Mary.’

‘I jumped up to answer the door in a hurry,’ she muttered as she crossed the room and extracted the odd shoes from under the table. She slipped off a lime-green shoe and swapped it for a red one. ‘There, that’s better,’ she said, forcing a tiny laugh. ‘At least I’m colour coordinated now.’ She was wearing a red shirt and blue jeans.

She looked back towards Tom and their gazes linked. One corner of his mouth lifted into a tight, rueful smile. Was it her imagination, or could she see a shadowy sadness in his eyes as he looked at her for a long moment without speaking?

‘Ethan looks like you,’ he said at last. ‘Same big brown eyes and soft blond hair.’

She nodded and gulped.

‘Ed’s mighty proud of him,’ he added.

At the sound of his father’s name Ethan’s head snapped up. ‘My dad’s a Ranger,’ he announced with pride.

‘That’s right, General.’

The boy’s eyes grew huge and worried. ‘Why did you call me General?’

‘It just kind of slipped out. That’s what your dad called you when he talked about you.’

Ethan’s lower lip trembled.

‘That was Ed’s special nickname,’ Mary explained. ‘No one else called him General—only Ed.’

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise.’ Tom walked back over to Ethan, bent down and touched him on the shoulder. ‘Your dad and I were good mates.’

Don’t talk in the past tense, Mary pleaded silently. Ethan’s very bright and he picks up on any subtleties.

‘Do you know when my dad’s coming home?’ Ethan asked.

‘No,’ Tom admitted with reluctance.

The light died in Ethan’s eyes. He turned back to the knights and the castle and played with them quietly, keeping his head low, as if he needed to retreat. Sensing his mood, Tom backed away, but tension hovered in the air.

Mary fetched milk from the refrigerator and set it and the sugar bowl on the table. After a very short while Ethan asked her, ‘Can I go back to watch TV?’

‘I guess so,’ she answered, nodding.

The boy hurried away and left the castle and its splendid knights on horseback lying abandoned in the middle of the kitchen floor.

Mary worried her lower lip with her teeth. ‘He’s not dealing very well with the bad news about his father,’ she said.

‘I dare say it will take a long time.’

She frowned. ‘Why do you keep acting as if Ed’s already dead? Surely, while there’s a chance he’s alive, we should hope?’

Tom kept his gaze fixed on the abandoned castle. ‘I don’t think there’s much chance, Mary.’

‘Why are you so sure?’ she asked quietly. ‘The Army has a great support network but I can’t find out what happened. Were you there? Can you tell me?’

He swung his gaze back to hers and for the first time she saw how tired he looked. Smudges of shadow lay beneath his eyes and creases bracketed his mouth. ‘We were involved in a hot extraction. You’ve heard about them, haven’t you?’

‘Where ropes are lowered from a helicopter?’

‘That’s it. Well, we’d finished a mission in the jungle and we were ready to be winched back up—’

‘Where? Where was the mission?’

‘South-East Asia.’

‘But which country? Which jungle?’

‘You should know better than to ask me that, Mary.’

She sighed. ‘It was worth a try.’

‘Anyway, the chopper was in position above us and we were below in the jungle and we had to get out fast. Really fast. There were guerrilla fighters all around us and it was pitch black. Even with night vision goggles we couldn’t see a lot because of the dense timber, so we’re not absolutely sure what happened. But somehow, when it was Ed’s turn to ascend, the rope got tangled.’

‘Oh, no,’ Mary whispered.

‘Sometimes trees, brush or ground debris can snag it. It hardly ever happens that the rope breaks, but it did this time.’

Mary flinched and tried to blot out the picture that formed in her head. ‘So Ed fell,’ she whispered.

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘But what happened then? Couldn’t you find him?’

Tom heaved a loud, painful sigh.

‘You did search for him, didn’t you?’

‘We tried, but we couldn’t hang around for long. There was too much enemy fire. We had to consider the safety of the rest of the squad. And—’ He looked as if he was about to say something else and changed his mind.

‘So you just left him there?’

‘Believe me, if I had my way I’d still be looking for him now, but that’s not how the Army works. I had to follow orders. When I demanded permission to go back I had a run-in with the brass. A proper ding-dong confrontation.’ He let out a hiss of air through gritted teeth. ‘By the time I persuaded them that we should at least go back and recover his body there was no trace of him.’

Looking away from her, he stared through her kitchen window to a view across Arlington parkland. ‘I think you should resign yourself to the fact that Ed won’t be coming back, Mary. Everyone is convinced that he couldn’t have survived that fall.’

She didn’t answer, but she shook her head.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tom added, and his throat worked.

The smell of coffee filled the room and Mary distracted herself by collecting the coffee pot and their mugs and setting them on the cleared kitchen table. They took seats opposite each other and Mary felt painfully self-conscious. She wondered if Tom felt as awkward as she did to be sitting in such a domesticated setting—after all these years. It was so strange to be taking coffee with Tom Pirelli as if he were no more than a friend of Ed’s.

Was he feeling as self-conscious as she was? Was he inwardly calm, or was he battling memories? She couldn’t stop thinking about the past…Their past.

Good grief, here she was, worried about her husband, and yet she was remembering it all. Dancing and laughing with Tom, kissing him, riding on the back of his motorbike, walking hand-in-hand with him in the moonlight along a beach of silver sand. Making love…

And then her father’s insistence that Tom Pirelli couldn’t possibly love her.

‘Do you take cream or sugar?’ she asked, forcing the memories aside.

‘I’ll have a little milk, no sugar, thanks.’ He watched her fill his mug and then his face broke into a smile.

‘What’s amusing you?’ she asked tightly.

‘The way you call milk cream—like a proper Yank.’

She gave an offhand shrug. ‘It happens when you spend eight years in a place. After a while you don’t even notice the differences.’

‘There are differences, though, aren’t there?’ he said, as if he were deliberately trying to steer their conversation into safe, pedestrian waters. ‘I mean, on the surface Australians and Americans seem to speak the same language, but—’

‘But here nappies are diapers and tomato sauce is ketchup.’

‘Yeah—and footpaths are sidewalks and taps are faucets.’

‘And scones are biscuits and biscuits are cookies.’ Mary smiled too.

Tom watched her, then looked away and seemed to study her kitchen. It wasn’t a remarkable kitchen but he took his time, as if he wanted to remember the yellow walls, white cupboards and sandstone-coloured bench tops, the decorative touches of blue and white pottery—Ethan’s artwork stuck on the refrigerator door with magnets. On the wall, stars and stripes fashioned in cross-stitch framed the words ‘God Bless America’.

‘Ed’s mother made that and gave it to us last Thanksgiving,’ she said, feeling a need to explain.

She sat stiffly, twisting the coffee mug back and forth and not looking at him, aware that they would very quickly run out of safe topics to discuss. ‘How is your Nonna?’ she asked. ‘I hope she’s still alive.’

Fresh smile creases showed around his eyes and at the corners of his mouth. ‘You bet she is. I think nonna’s organised a special deal with God. No doubt she’s promised him that when she gets to heaven she’ll cook gnocchi gorgonzola on a regular basis, if he’ll let her stay here till she’s good and ready.’

‘You’ve always loved your nonna’s gnocchi gorgonzola, haven’t you?’

‘I’m surprised you remember.’

‘Of course I remember.’ I remember everything about you, Tom. ‘Your nonna’s very special.’

‘Yeah.’ Tom released a long sigh. ‘It’s too damn long since I’ve seen her.’

‘Are you going back to Australia now?’

‘Definitely. Soon as I can.’

The awkwardness returned and this time Tom must have decided he’d had enough. He jumped to his feet. ‘Thanks for the coffee. I’d better get going.’

‘Yes,’ she said, jumping up just as quickly.

Was he happy to be leaving? Was that relief in his eyes? She remembered the way he used to smile whenever he saw her. The way his whole face would light up and his dark eyes would glow—and how she used to cling to him when it was time for them to part, begging for one more kiss—for him to hold her just a little longer.

And now they were both relieved to be parting.

He walked to the front door and she followed.

They said simple, unsatisfactory goodbyes without mentioning Ed again…Or their shared past.

Apart from the cold ache in her heart, there was nothing in the formal way they shook hands that suggested they had ever been lovers—nothing in the way she slipped her hand just a little too quickly from his that indicated that they had planned to marry.

Any second now, Tom would be turning away, walking out of her life. She knew this was best. His mission was accomplished. He’d brought the McBride family watch for Ethan and there was no more to do. Already she could sense his next move; he would execute a sharp about-turn and get the hell out of her home.

But he didn’t move.

Instead, he stood on her front step and looked at her for ages. The muscles in his throat worked. ‘Have you been happy, Mary?’

Oh, help! This was the one question in the world she didn’t want to answer. And Tom was watching her so intently she feared he must see her sudden dismay. Had it shown in her eyes? Had it twisted her mouth downwards? She couldn’t be disloyal to Ed now. He’d been a good husband. There was no one better. In a flash she recovered and sent Tom a bright smile.

‘Of course I’ve been happy,’ she said. ‘You’ve met Ed, Tom. You know what a great guy he is. He’s a very good man.’

‘Sure,’ Tom grunted. ‘Ed’s top shelf—he must have been a prize catch.’

He gave a curt nod and spun on his heel, at last eager to get away. Mary watched him and told herself she was glad he was leaving. It was best that they hadn’t made any attempt to rake up the past. What was the point? They couldn’t go back. Parting without regret or recrimination was the adult way to behave.

But as Tom’s foot touched the bottom step she felt the cruel weight of finality sink into her bones. Tom Pirelli was walking out of her life. A picture flashed before her of the last time she’d seen him, waiting on the corner, waiting to run away with her, to marry her.

And she heard herself calling suddenly, softly. ‘What about you, Tom? Have you been happy?’




CHAPTER FOUR


THE fear came the very moment Mary asked the question.

Have you been happy? As soon as the words were out she felt a dreadful quaking terror deep inside. Why? Why couldn’t she ask the question as easily as he had? And why was Tom staring at her with such a dark, accusing shadow in his eyes, as if he were angered by her question?

Was she imagining that sense of deep resentment that seemed to cling to him—as if it were a menacing presence that haunted him?

Was it guilt that made her so scared?

She had no cause to feel guilty. Eight years ago, on that night they’d tried to elope, Sonia had gone to Tom to explain why she couldn’t meet him and Mary had waited for his answer. And waited…But there had been no word. And he’d never tried to contact her afterwards.

He hadn’t suffered the agonies of disappointment that had made her so ill. He hadn’t suffered in silent, lovesick misery the way she had. And he hadn’t been left with a terrible, frightening secret. He knew nothing of the burden he had left her with, and he’d gone off to play heroes in the SAS without a backward glance in her direction.

Of course he’d been happy.

‘I haven’t been as happy as I should have been,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘How can you ask that, Mary?’

Her hand flew to her chest and her heart knocked. ‘I don’t understand. You can’t be suggesting…’

Tom waited for her to finish. Mary couldn’t breathe. This was a nightmare. He couldn’t be telling her that he’d been unhappy all these years. Not because of her.

‘You’re not blaming me, are you?’ she whispered.

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘But, Tom, I didn’t think you minded that I didn’t go away with you. You just vanished without contacting me.’

His upper lip curled into a cold smile. ‘Because that was what you wanted.’

‘What?’

‘Don’t pretend you can’t remember. You sent your cousin.’

‘Yes, she went to tell you what happened. My father—’

‘She came with the message that you didn’t want to marry me.’

‘No, she can’t have.’

‘You changed your mind, Mary-Mary.’

‘No!’

‘No?’ Tom whispered.

‘No way. You must have known. My father caught me and wouldn’t let me out of the house. Of course I didn’t change my mind. How could you think that?’

They stared at each other—the woman in the doorway, clutching the door handle to keep herself from falling; the soldier on the bottom step with a face so still it might have been carved from dark granite.

Mary’s head swam and in the next heartbeat Tom was leaping up the steps, clasping her hands in his and drawing her back into the house.

‘We have to talk,’ he insisted, his voice choked, breathless.

‘Not now, Tom,’ Mary protested weakly. ‘There’s no point.’

The intensity in his eyes and the strength of his grip on her wrists frightened her. Talking to Tom about the past was dangerous.

Having him hold her like this was dangerous. She’d always been so susceptible to his touch.

No matter how hard she’d tried to forget, she remembered so much about Tom’s touch. Heavens, she could even remember the first night she’d felt it—when she’d danced with him and the music had slowed and he’d drawn her close. She’d rested her head on his shoulder and she’d felt the whisper-soft brush of his lips on her temple just near her hairline.

How crazy that she’d remembered the electric thrill of that tiny caress through all these years. She mustn’t think about it now.

‘We have to talk. You owe me this, Mary,’ he said quietly.

It was useless to pretend she didn’t understand. The moment she’d asked Tom if he was happy she’d begun a conversation that had to be completed. She’d asked the first in a series of questions that had to be asked. And answered.

But what could they achieve besides heartache? There was no way they could go back. They couldn’t undo the past eight years. And she was afraid of Tom, afraid of the power he’d always had over her.

Afraid he might somehow learn the truth about Ethan.

But, without another word, Tom led her back into the kitchen. They stepped around Ethan’s castle and the scattered knights and he pushed her gently into a chair. Their empty coffee mugs were still sitting on the table where they’d left them. From the family room came the sounds of canned laughter and Mary thought guiltily that she mustn’t let Ethan spend the whole morning watching television.

Tom sat opposite her with his elbows on the tabletop and his clenched fists pressed together. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her.

She took a deep breath. Best to get this over with. ‘What did Sonia tell you that night my parents stopped me from going to you?’

‘She said that you’d changed your mind, that at the last minute you’d hadn’t been able to dredge up the courage to elope with me.’

‘But that’s not true. You didn’t believe her, did you?’

Tom’s gaze held hers for the longest time. She could see the way his eyes were searching her face, trying to gauge how honestly she was answering.

‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t believe her. I told her that I would be in touch with you, that we needed to talk it through and come up with a better plan.’

Mary pressed a hand against the pulse beating wildly at the base of her throat. ‘Sonia didn’t tell me that, Tom. She told me you were angry with me for chickening out—that you called me a tease.’

‘The witch. I’d like to wring her scrawny neck.’

Mary sighed. ‘It might cost you a packet. She’s a lawyer these days and quite good at pressing charges.’

‘That figures.’

‘But, Sonia aside, what about your move to Perth? You never told me you’d applied for a transfer.’

‘I didn’t!’ Tom shouted, then looked a little shame-faced and lowered his voice. ‘Your father had me transferred. I had no choice.’

Mary stared at him as she came to grips with his news and the total injustice of what had happened. ‘Dad convinced me that you were only pretending you wanted to marry me. He said it was some kind of payback because he refused your promotion. He said you’d already applied for a transfer to Perth.’

‘Every word was a bloody lie. Your father had me transferred.’

‘Oh, Tom. If only we’d been able to talk.’

‘I tried to phone you.’

‘My mobile phone mysteriously disappeared around that time.’

‘Damn it, I tried everything, Mary. I hung around your house waiting to see you. I wrote letters. After I was transferred to Western Australia I even telephoned your house using a disguised voice, but I was told you wouldn’t take my call. And when I tried to call again a few weeks later I was told that your father had been posted overseas and you’d moved to the States.’

‘Dad managed to wangle a kind of exchange position at the Pentagon.’ Mary hugged her arms over her chest. ‘But you—you got on with your life, didn’t you, Tom?’

‘Yeah, I guess so.’ He sent her a grimacing smile. ‘I went out of my way to stop thinking about you. I disciplined my mind to cancel out thoughts of you. I just put you out of my mind.’

Was it easy, Tom? Mary’s eyes and throat stung. Did she have the right to ask that question? On the surface it must look as if she’d had no trouble turning her back on Tom and creating a new life.

‘I was so mad at my parents,’ she said, needing to change the subject.

‘But then you found Ed,’ Tom said quietly. It wasn’t an accusation, just a plain statement of fact.

‘Yes.’

She’d been a single mother in a foreign country—surrounded by military families. She’d been so lonely and Ed’s smile had been so warm. He’d been like a lighthouse—a friendly beacon for a shipwrecked sailor. And, as it turned out, he’d needed her and Ethan as much as they had needed him.

‘And what about you, Tom?’

‘I told you I haven’t been married.’ He scratched his head and smiled sheepishly. ‘I was engaged once, for twenty-four hours, but I was drunk when I proposed.’

Mary rolled her eyes. ‘How come you’ve always had a reputation as a bad boy, and yet I’ve never seen that side of you?’

He cocked his head to one side and sent her a crooked, quizzical smile. ‘Funny about that, isn’t it?’

Mary looked away. Was he suggesting that she had the power to transform him?

‘To be honest,’ Tom said, ‘I was a bit of a problem in your father’s unit. There were things about the regular Army that drove me nuts—guard duty, drill parades, admin book work. But when I got to Perth, and they discovered I had good grades, was good at languages, but had a bit of a wild record, the SAS snapped me up. That suited me better—action all the time, interesting people—important projects like Afghanistan—Iraq.’

The telephone rang, startling Mary, and she jumped to answer it.

‘Hi, honey,’ came her mother-in-law’s warm voice.

‘Oh, Susan, hi.’

‘I wasn’t sure if I’d catch you before tennis.’

Oh, heavens. Mary glanced at the clock and remembered that she still hadn’t rung to excuse herself from tennis this morning. ‘I have Ethan at home with a cold,’ she said.

She was aware of Tom standing, gathering up their coffee mugs. They made a slight rattling sound as he put them in the sink. Then came the sound of water running as he rinsed them.

‘Do you have company?’ Ed’s mother asked.

‘Actually, I have a visitor here who knows Ed,’ Mary said as calmly as she could. ‘He’s from Ed’s Special Squad.’

‘Fancy that.’ Susan McBride’s voice quavered. ‘Does he have any—any news?’

‘He brought Ed’s watch, Mom.’

‘Oh, Mary. Oh, dear Lord. Does that mean…?’

‘Tom doesn’t know where Ed is. Ed gave him the watch just before their last mission.’

‘Oh.’

During the stretch of silence that followed, Mary twisted the phone cord with nervous fingers.

‘Will this man be here for long?’ Susan asked. ‘You must bring him down our way. How about coming to lunch on Sunday? Or perhaps tomorrow would be better if he’s only here for a short stay. Frank and I would love to meet him.’

Mary hesitated. Clutching the phone receiver against her shoulder, she turned to Tom. ‘Ed’s mother has invited you to lunch on Sunday,’ she said as casually as she could manage, trying to hide her reluctance to have him more deeply involved in her life. ‘Or perhaps you’d prefer tomorrow.’

She prayed that he would refuse. How could she cope with the complication of Tom meeting Ed’s parents? Every minute with Tom stirred the deep hidden feelings she’d worked so hard to bury, and she didn’t know if she could hide her confusion with Ed’s parents watching her.

Tom must be as anxious as she was to leave the past dead and buried behind them.

‘Sure,’ he surprised her by answering readily. ‘Please tell Mrs McBride thank you. I’d like to meet Ed’s parents. Tomorrow would be great.’




CHAPTER FIVE


AS TOM strode down the hill away from Mary’s apartment the undulating green parkland of Arlington National Cemetery stretched beyond the trees to his right. In the distance ahead of him he caught a glimpse of the slow, dignified curve of the Potomac River.

The sun was warm on his back and it was a relief to be walking. The way he felt right now he needed to walk all the way from Arlington right on to downtown Washington DC. Hell, finding Mary had him so wired with pent-up energy and angst he could walk clear across Virginia to Chesapeake Bay without stopping.

What a whacko world they lived in.

How could fate be so crazy that it led him to Mary Cameron again after eight long years, only to reveal that she was married to one of his best mates? And, damn it, she was a mother as well. Mother of his mate’s son.

And the hell of it was, she was still able to cause him heartache. Mary had an extra aura of womanliness about her now, a Madonna-like softness and a mysterious, sensuous depth to her beauty that pierced him like a bayonet.

Ramming his hands into his trouser pockets, he flexed his shoulders and tried to release some of the building tension. Mary—his Mary. It shocked him to realise that he still thought of her as his. Damn fool that he was.




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