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Delivered: One Family
Caroline Anderson


They'd not seen each other for three long years until the night Liv turned up on Ben's doorstep–in the biggest fix of all time.Still spellbound by her warmth and loveliness, he could only offer himself and his home up to her, her cantankerous toddler and cranky baby. Despite the chaos, Ben found coming home to the warmth of a family a gift after years of bachelorhood. There was only one way out of this mess–and that was marriage!







“You had a life before we arrived.”

“Yes—a lonely, empty life with nothing in it but work. I like having you here, Liv. Believe me.”

“You are sweet to us.”

He made a disgusted noise, and she smiled sadly. “You are. Don’t be macho and funny about it. You’ve been really kind, Ben, and it’s not right to take advantage anymore.”

“You’re not taking advantage.”

“Yes, we are.”

“No. Okay, I’ll admit as a housekeeper you aren’t able to give it your best shot because of the kids, but there are other ways in which you more than earn your keep. Just having someone to come home to—someone who knows me, who can understand my sense of humor, knows my likes and dislikes. Someone who smiles and says, ‘How was your day?’ when I come in.”

“That’s not a housekeeper, Ben—that’s a wife,” she said wistfully.

He looked up, his eyes unreadable. “So marry me.”


What happens when you suddenly discover your happy twosome is about to be turned into a…family?

Do you panic?

Do you laugh?

Do you cry?

Or…do you get married?

The answer is all of the above—and plenty more!

Share the laughter and the tears as these unsuspecting couples are plunged into parenthood! Whether it’s a baby on the way, or the creation of a brand-new instant family, these men and women have no choice but to be






When parenthood takes you by surprise!

TEMPORARY FATHER

by Barbara McMahon




Delivered: One Family

Caroline Anderson










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




CONTENTS


CHAPTER ONE (#ude5be46c-f22a-5e30-a40e-9910b4ea7215)

CHAPTER TWO (#ub0d591f2-23bb-5e49-833e-4bdbb9744683)

CHAPTER THREE (#u699f42a1-eef7-5292-895e-1262ec3201f0)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

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 ONE


IT WAS a big front door. Big and solid and made of oak, a sturdy door that Liv leant on for a moment while she conjured up the courage to ring the bell.

It was four in the morning, and she was probably the last person Ben wanted to see, but she wasn’t in a position to be considerate—not then, with all that had happened. She’d apologise later—if he was still speaking to her! There was no guarantee he would be.

The doorbell echoed eerily through the silent house, and Liv pulled her coat round her and shivered. She wasn’t sure if it was cold or shock. Probably both. All she knew was that Ben had to come to the door. He had to be at home—there was nowhere else for her to go.

Because, with this last reckless and impulsive act, Olivia Kensington had come to the end of the line.

‘All right, all right,’ Ben muttered. ‘Hang on, I’m coming.’ He ran downstairs, belting his dressing gown securely and flicking on the lights as he reached the darkened hallway.

He turned the key, yanked the door open and blinked as his eyes adjusted to the light.

‘Liv?’

She looked up at him, her eyes indistinct, shimmering pools of green and gold in the too bright light of the porch. Her dark hair was artfully rumpled, and her smile was as bright as the light. She was clearly oblivious of the hour and the fact that he had been fast asleep, and Ben was tempted to strangle her.

He was always tempted to strangle her. Instead he propped himself against the door jamb and folded his arms across his chest with a resigned sigh. ‘What on earth are you doing here at this time of night?’ he asked with the last shred of his usually endless patience. ‘You aren’t locked out, you’re too far from home—so what is it, Liv? Staying with someone locally and the party ended too soon? You got bored? You’re lost?’

She shook her head.

‘No? OK, I give up. To what do I owe the singular honour of your company at—’ he checked his watch ‘—stupid o’clock in the morning?’

The smile widened, became wry. ‘Sorry, it is a bit late. It’s just—you know you rang me a few weeks ago to ask if I knew anyone who was looking for a housekeeper’s job?’

‘Housekeeper?’ He went still, anticipating trouble and knowing he wouldn’t be disappointed. Not with Liv. ‘Yes?’ he said cautiously, trying to see into the taxi behind her. Had she dragged some prospective candidate along? At whatever time it was? Only Liv—

‘I’d like to apply—if it’s still free.’

‘You?’ For a moment he didn’t move, and then he shrugged himself away from the frame and peered down at her more closely. That was when he noticed the smudge of mascara round her eyes, the brittleness of the smile, the slight tremor running through her frame.

‘For God’s sake, Liv, what’s happened?’ he said softly, stepping down into the porch and putting an arm round her.

She dragged in a huge breath and smiled gamely up at him, lifting her shoulders in a devil-may-care shrug, but the smile shattered and her mouth firmed into a grim line. ‘He threw me out—Oscar. He said—you don’t want to know what he said.’ She shuddered. ‘Anyway, he threw us out of the door and slammed it—I tried to ring you but my mobile phone doesn’t work any more. The bastard must have had it disconnected instantly—he’s probably reported it stolen.’

The bitterness and shock in her voice brought a murderous rage boiling to the surface in Ben. He looked past her again to the taxi sitting on his drive with its engine running. The driver cut the engine, and in the silence he could hear the insistent wailing of a tiny baby.

‘You’ve got the children?’

She nodded, and he raked his hands through his close-cropped hair and released a sigh of relief. ‘Come in, Liv—all of you, come in,’ he said gently.

Her shoulders straightened, pride yanking her upright. ‘Ben, I wonder if I could ask a favour? I can’t pay the taxi—I cleared out my handbag this morning and I must have forgotten to put my credit card folder back in, and I don’t have any cash—’ She broke off, biting her lip, and Ben guessed she was at the end of her tether.

‘Sure. I’ll deal with it. Come in before you freeze.’ With a deep sigh he led her inside, sat her down before she fell and went out to the taxi driver.

‘What do I owe you?’ he asked, and winced at the reply. ‘OK. I’ll just take the children inside. Could you bring the luggage?’

‘No luggage, mate,’ the taxi driver told him. ‘Just her and the screaming kids. One of them’s got a real fruity nappy, as well. Don’t envy whoever changes that one!’ He chuckled, and Ben opened the back door and reached in, lifting the tiny squalling baby off the broad seat and tucking it carefully into his arms. Poor little beast, he was only about four weeks old—maybe less. Ben couldn’t remember exactly.

A toddler with Liv’s tumbling dark curls was slumped in the corner, thumb hanging from her lip, fast asleep. The aroma seemed to be coming from her. He carried the baby in to Liv, handed it to her, found the money for the taxi in his wallet and went back for the other child.

She woke, stared at him for a second then started to cry.

‘Come on, sweetheart. Mummy’s inside,’ he reassured her, and held out his hand. She wouldn’t trust him that far, but she squirmed off the seat and stumbled to the door. He helped her out of the cab and watched it peel away, stripping his gravel in a way that made him wince.

Oh, well. The little girl was heading determinedly for the front door, leaving a trail of nappy-flavoured fog behind her. Ben followed, shutting the front door and leaning on it, looking down at Liv, seeing her clearly for the first time.

She was exhausted. There were bags under her eyes that were weeks old, her face was drawn, her eyes were bleak and hopeless now she’d stopped pretending, and the despair in them made him want to kill Oscar.

Slowly.

Inch by despicable inch.

He crouched down beside Liv and squeezed her leg. ‘Your daughter needs a new nappy.’

She found a smile from somewhere, and his heart turned over. ‘I know. I noticed. I don’t have one.’

The baby started to cry again, and Ben looked at it thoughtfully.

‘Can I help you give him a bottle? Or are you breastfeeding?’

She looked suddenly even sadder, if that were possible. ‘I was—Oscar didn’t like it. He was jealous. He said it didn’t do my figure any good, but I didn’t think that was why we’d had children—’ She broke off, biting her lip, then looked up at him with eyes that tore his heart. ‘Ben, I don’t have anything—not for any of us. No bottles, no nappies—nothing. I’m sorry to land on you like this, but I didn’t know where else to go—’

She broke off again, hanging on to her control by a thread, and Ben squeezed her knee again and stood up. ‘I’ll find you some little towels you can use as nappies as a stop-gap, and you can help yourself to anything you need in the kitchen while I go to the shops. There’s an all-night supermarket—I can pick up some emergency supplies.’

He ran upstairs, threw on his clothes and ran down again, a handful of little towels at the ready. She was still sitting there without moving, the screaming baby nuzzling at her jumper and the toddler lying against her leg, whining with exhaustion.

‘Come on,’ he said gently, and helped Liv up and led her through to the kitchen. Then he passed her the towels, took the crying baby and left her to make the best she could of the new makeshift nappies. She took the little girl out to the cloakroom, following his directions, and he could hear them talking in the lulls between the baby’s screams.

‘Poor little tyke,’ he murmured, rocking it gently. ‘Do you have a name? Probably something stupid like Hannibal, knowing Oscar.’

‘He’s called Christopher, after my father. Oscar wasn’t interested in his name. I call him Kit for short.’

Ben looked up at her, holding her daughter in her arms, and wondered what else Oscar hadn’t been interested in. He hadn’t even cared enough to give this brave and lovely girl his name.

‘Does he always cry like this?’ he asked as Kit struck up again.

‘Only when he’s hungry, but I haven’t got anything to feed him—’

‘When did you stop feeding him yourself?’ he asked.

‘Last week. Why?’

‘Because you could try. He might not get much food, but he’d get comfort, surely? Just until I can get to the shops? The supermarket down the road is open twenty-four hours. I can be back in half an hour with some formula and bottles.’

She looked doubtful. ‘I could try, but I don’t think it’ll work. I don’t know what else to do, but he’s so hungry, I can’t bear it.’ Tears in her eyes, Liv took him, cradling him tenderly against her shoulder and patting him consolingly, but he didn’t want to be consoled. He wanted to be fed, and he was going to scream until it happened.

‘I’ll put the kettle on for you. Why don’t you curl up on those big chairs by the window and settle them down, and I’ll nip out? Is there anything you particularly want?’

‘The contents of their nursery?’ she said drily, with a brave attempt at humour.

‘I’ll take my mobile phone. The number’s here, on the wall. Ring me as you think of things. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

He went through to his garage, pressed the remote to open the door and then the gate, and drove up the road towards the supermarket, deep in thought. So Oscar, the scumbag, had thrown them out empty-handed in the middle of the night, had he? On what feeble pretext?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He pulled up at the supermarket, went in and stood staring dumbly at the endless rows of disposable nappies. Some for boys, some for girls, all different sizes and ages, umpteen different makes, with resealable tabs and pretty pictures and a bewildering array of specialist features, each purporting to outdo the other brands.

The formula milk was no better. He stared hopelessly at the different makes and wondered if the wrong one would upset Kit. And what about the girl, Melissa? He couldn’t remember her nickname—Maisie or something. What did she eat?

It was a minefield—and his chances of getting through it without being blown apart were so slight it wasn’t worth considering. Pulling his mobile phone out of his pocket, he punched in his home number and waited.

The phone startled Liv, waking her and Missy who started to whinge again. Kit was asleep at her breast, too exhausted to cry any more. Without moving him she struggled to her feet and picked the phone up cautiously. ‘Hello?’

‘What size and brand of nappies and milk formula?’ Ben asked without preamble.

She told him, and she could hear him muttering to himself as he went up and down the aisle. ‘Got them. How many?’

‘Whatever,’ she said. ‘One packet of each for now. I’ll have to sort something out.’ She paused for a moment, then abandoned diplomacy, because there was no diplomatic way to ask it, and said, ‘I take it you were alone last night? I mean, nobody’s about to come downstairs and ask awkward questions or get embarrassed? I didn’t mess up a hot date or anything, did I?’

He laughed. Well, she thought it was a laugh. It sounded a little stressed, but it was about five in the morning and he probably was a little stressed. ‘No,’ he said. ‘No hot date. Just my beauty sleep.’

‘Ben, I’m sorry,’ she said softly, and he stopped laughing.

‘Liv, it’s OK,’ he promised, and she believed him.

‘Thanks. Don’t forget sterilising stuff for the bottles.’

He muttered something, then cut the connection. Would he manage? It was silly, really, she should have gone with him, but she was so tired, so terribly weary and shocked and disillusioned.

Oddly, she wasn’t hurt. Not deeply hurt, the way she should have been. Not gutted. Just wounded pride more than anything, with the cruel things Oscar had said. And angry. Dear God, was she angry! She started to pace round the kitchen, her fury building, and by the time Ben got back she was ready to kill.

He took one look at her, raised an eyebrow and unpacked the shopping on to the big island unit. ‘Formula. Bottles. Sterilising stuff. Food for Maisie.’

‘Missy,’ she corrected, and the corner of his mouth tipped.

‘Missy,’ he agreed. ‘Nappies—for little boys and big girls. Pyjamas. A dress. Tights. Vests. A sleepsuit for Kit. And—’ he put his hand into the bag and pulled it out ‘—toffees.’

‘I love you,’ she said earnestly, and grabbed the bag, ripping it open and peeling one. Bliss. How had he remembered?

‘Right, Missy,’ she said, her teeth firmly stuck together, ‘let’s get you ready for bed.’ She scooped up the armful of baby clothes and then, suddenly aware yet again of the enormity of their imposition, she looked at Ben. ‘Um—I take it it is OK for us to stay? I mean, just for a while? A few days or so? You will say if it isn’t, or whatever—’

‘Liv, it’s fine; don’t stress. I’ll come up and give you a hand. What shall I bring?’

She looked at the things, then at Kit finally asleep wedged in cushions on one of the big chairs by the window, and shrugged. ‘Nappies—both sorts. Nothing else. They’ll sleep once they’re in bed—please God.’

‘I’ve got a cot—in case friends stay. It’s not made up but it soon can be. Which one do you want to put in it?’

‘Missy,’ she said definitely, her mind at rest about the stairs now she knew her little daughter wouldn’t be able to fall down them. ‘Kit can sleep in a drawer or something.’

‘So you can shut it if he screams?’ Ben asked mildly, leading her into a bedroom, the baby in his arms.

Liv laughed, the tension easing a fraction. ‘Don’t tempt me,’ she said.

They went straight to sleep, Missy in the cot and Kit beside her in his makeshift little bed in the huge bottom drawer of a mahogany wardrobe, and Ben led Liv back downstairs, put a mug of tea in her hand and sat down, legs sprawled out under the kitchen table.

‘Drink your tea,’ he ordered, and she sat and picked up the mug, playing with it while she ran through the night again in her mind.

He said nothing, just watched her, and after a moment Liv stood up, mug in hand, and walked over to the window. It faced the road, beyond the curving drive and the neatly trimmed shrubs and the manicured lawn.

Liv didn’t see them. What she saw was Oscar, arrogant, cocky, bored, telling her where he’d been, and who with, in graphic and embarrassing detail.

‘Aren’t you going to ask?’ she said to Ben, an edge in her voice.

‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready,’ he said gently.

She put the mug down, hugging her elbows and pacing round the kitchen. ‘He’s a—a—’ she began.

‘Bastard?’

‘No, thanks to him and his liberated attitude—but yes, he’s a bastard in the sense you mean. Oh, yes.’

Ben shrugged. ‘He always has been. It’s taken you four years to realise it. I don’t know why you didn’t cotton on sooner.’

‘Nobody told me.’

‘People tend to be circumspect,’ he said, chasing a bubble in the top of his tea. ‘Anyway, it was so obvious I couldn’t believe you didn’t notice.’

‘Well, I didn’t,’ she sighed. ‘Besides, he was wonderful to me at first—when I had a figure.’

Ben’s mouth tightened and his blue eyes seemed to shoot sparks. She thought inconsequentially that it was just as well Oscar wasn’t in the room, because Ben would kill him. It was a tempting thought.

‘So what happened tonight?’

She picked her tea up and went over to the table, sitting down again restlessly. There was a bowl of sugar on the table, and she played with it, dribbling the grains off the spoon, watching it intently without seeing it. ‘He was late. He came home after midnight—he hadn’t said he was going to be late, so I’d waited with supper for him. It was ruined, of course, but he didn’t want it. He’d eaten.’

‘Alone?’

She snorted and rammed the spoon back in the sugar. ‘Yeah, right. Oscar doesn’t eat alone. Oscar doesn’t do anything alone. No, he was with his mistress. The one he’s been keeping for the past six months or so.’ She felt bile rise in her throat, and grabbed another toffee, ripping the wrapper off and shoving it in her mouth angrily.

‘Six months!’ she muttered round the sweet. ‘Damn him, he’s had her there for six months, cosily installed in the block next to his office so he didn’t even have to make the effort of commuting for his sex!’

She bit down on the toffee and growled furiously. ‘Do you know what he said to me?’ she raged, standing up again and waving her arms wildly. ‘He said he wanted a real woman—one who knew how to please a man. He said he was sick of my baggy stomach and my sagging—’

She broke off and took a deep breath. ‘He said I stank of baby sick and he was fed up with falling over toys and nearly breaking his ankles and coming home to screaming kids and a woman who was constantly out of commission—as if I was a dishwasher that was on the blink, for goodness’ sake! I’m his wife! Well, no, I’m not, because the toad wouldn’t marry me, but you know what I mean.’

‘So what happened then?’ Ben asked, prompting her gently.

She caught her breath and sighed. ‘I said if that was the way he felt, there was no point in putting up with him and his vile temper any longer, and I’d leave in the morning. He said why wait, so I didn’t. I got the children out of bed and walked out.’

‘Without your credit cards.’

‘Without my credit cards,’ she said wryly. ‘That was a tactical error. Apart from that, it was the best thing I’ve done in years.’

She looked up at Ben and found him smiling. ‘What? What now?’ she demanded, sparks flying again.

His smile widened. ‘Good girl,’ he said warmly. ‘Well done. It’s been a long time coming, Liv, but well done.’

The tension drained out of her, and she picked up her cup and emptied it. She was starving, she realised. Starving, exhausted and safe. ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got such a thing as toast, have you?’ she asked, and he chuckled.

‘Why not?’ he said mildly. ‘It’s almost breakfast time. We might as well have breakfast.’

She slept like a log. It was after eleven before she woke to the sound of the baby screaming and Ben’s soothing voice just outside her door.

‘Liv? Are you decent?’

She slid up the bed and tugged the soft, thick quilt up under her arms. ‘Yes—come in.’

The door swung open and Ben entered, dressed in the snug and well-loved jeans and comfy sweater he’d worn the night before—or that morning, if she was being realistic. She’d only been in bed three hours. He looked fresh as a daisy, recently showered if the short, damp hair was anything to go by, and she could see a few of the fair, springy strands dripping slightly. She smiled a greeting, and he walked towards her, Kit flailing in his arms. ‘Hi. One baby, rather loudly demanding Mum.’

He propped him up against his shoulder and jostled him soothingly, and the contrast between the big man and the tiny child brought a lump to Liv’s throat. His large hand cupped the back of the baby’s head tenderly, cradling it next to his newly shaven cheek, and he crooned softly.

‘Hush, my precious,’ he murmured, and Liv wondered sadly why Ben was so good with him and Kit’s own father had been so bitter and indifferent.

Certainly he’d never called him precious.

‘Is he OK?’ she asked guiltily. ‘I didn’t even hear him cry—I’m sorry.’

‘That’s all right, I was up anyway. He’s fine. Just hungry, I think, and a bit uncertain about my nappy-changing skills. Missy’s still sleeping.’

She reached out and took the baby from him, and without thinking pulled up the T-shirt he’d lent her and settled Kit’s mouth over her nipple.

There was instant, blissful silence, and she looked up with a smile on her face to see Ben staring down at her breast, an unreadable expression in his sapphire eyes. After a stunned second he cleared his throat and turned away, and she closed her eyes and sighed. Damn. She hadn’t meant to offend him. She just hadn’t thought.

‘Sorry—’ she began, but he cut her off.

‘Don’t apologise, you haven’t done anything,’ he said abruptly. ‘I’ll leave you in peace. Do you want a drink? My sisters always demand tea when they’re breastfeeding—they say they get thirsty.’

‘Please—if it’s not a nuisance.’

He hovered in the doorway, his eyes fixed firmly on her face. ‘What about a bottle? Want me to make one up, or do you want to give it a chance?’

She looked down at her breasts, soft and pale, not blue-veined and taut as they had been when they were full of milk, and sighed. ‘I don’t know. I want to feed him if I can, but I don’t want him hungry.’

‘Why don’t I make up a small bottle just in case, and I’ll ring the doctor and ask if the midwife can come and talk to you?’

‘It’s the health visitor,’ she corrected. ‘The midwife only looks after you for the first ten days—and anyway, we’ll be all right.’

‘Nevertheless, perhaps she can give you some advice. I’ll ring.’

And he left her alone with the baby. He suckled well, but he wasn’t satisfied, she could tell. He fussed and whinged, and she had to use the bottle Ben had made up to settle him in the end.

And then the health visitor came, as if by magic, and was wonderful, giving her all sorts of sane advice which she desperately needed, because she’d bottle-fed Missy at Oscar’s insistence and wasn’t really confident in her ability to feed Kit.

‘You’ll be fine,’ the woman assured her cheerfully. ‘Drink lots, plug him in whenever he seems hungry, top him up with the bottle only if it’s absolutely necessary so you can get some sleep, and you’ll soon find you’ve got more milk than you know what to do with. And now I need a quick cuddle with him before I have to go.’

She took Kit from Liv, and made all sorts of admiring noises that Kit found fascinating while Liv sat there and wondered how long they could go on imposing on Ben and relying on his good nature. Missy was curled up next to her on the big wide chair, watching the health visitor and sucking her thumb, and every now and then her eyelids drooped.

Good. If she needed a nap, and the baby would go down for a while, she could have a serious talk with Ben about this housekeeping job. Not that she knew the first thing about housekeeping! She’d left home at nineteen, lived in a dreadful shared house on yoghurt and tomatoes until she’d met Oscar, and then moved in with him into a serviced flat where the most she’d had to do was rustle up the odd meal at the weekend, if they weren’t out and felt too pinched to order in.

Apart from that all she could manage were salads—models didn’t tend to concentrate very much on food. It was a bit like a eunuch planning a seductive evening with a beautiful woman, she supposed—too frustrating to consider.

So, not the best training ground, but she’d manage. She’d learn.

She’d have to.

Ben leant back in the chair in his study and listened to Liv singing softly to the children overhead. It was a curiously comforting sound, something sweet and gentle that touched some fundamental part of him and made him feel the world was a better place.

Then the singing stopped, drifting away, and was replaced by soft footfalls coming down the stairs. They hesitated outside his study, and he stood up and went to the door, pulling it open.

Liv was standing there, hand raised to knock, and he smiled at her, still warmed by her lullaby.

‘Hi. Fancy a cup of tea?’ he asked.

‘I wanted to talk to you.’

He nodded. ‘Can we do it over tea? I was just going to make a cup.’

‘I’ll make it.’

She turned on her heel and strode briskly down to the kitchen, filled the kettle and put it on, her actions busy and purposeful. Ben waited, settling himself in the comfy chair by the French window, looking out over the back garden. She’d get round to it when she was ready. You couldn’t hurry Liv. She did things her way, he’d learned that over the years.

While he waited he looked at the garden, tidied up for the winter, a few odd leaves blowing defiantly across the lawn. He loved the kitchen, facing both ways as it did and spanning the house. It was the only room apart from his bedroom that did that, and it was his favourite room in the house. In the summer he could sit here with the doors open, or take his coffee outside to enjoy the sound of birds and the distant bustle of traffic. In the winter, it was warm and snug and cosy.

In truth he hardly used the other rooms unless he was entertaining, and recently he’d done less and less of that. He was sick of the soulless merry-go-round of social chit-chat and gossip-mongering, and now he entertained for business reasons alone, and then usually in a hotel or restaurant, in the absence of a decent cook.

Anything rather than have his private space invaded by strangers.

‘About the job.’

He looked up with a start, and frowned at Liv. ‘Job?’

‘The housekeeper’s job—you rang me a couple of weeks ago to congratulate me on having Kit, and mentioned that you were looking for someone.’

He thought of Mrs Greer who had been with him for years. For all her sterling qualities she couldn’t cook, and he’d wanted to find someone to fill that slot without losing her as his cleaning lady. Still, with Liv and the babies there, she’d be much more stretched on the cleaning front, and if Liv needed the ‘job’ as a sop to her pride, so be it.

She’d have to cook for herself and the children, anyway, so cooking for him as well wouldn’t add a great deal to the burden and would make her feel useful. Besides, it would make sure she stayed for a while, so he could keep an eye on her and look after her and the children so they didn’t all end up in a worse mess.

And he’d have company.

He settled back against the chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Tell me about your qualifications,’ he said deadpan, and to his amazement she took him seriously. She coloured and straightened up, her mouth a determined line, and her eyes locked with his, the resolve in them terrifying.

‘I don’t have any,’ she told him bluntly. ‘But I’ll learn. I’ll read books and practise and try new things, and I won’t kill you with salmonella or anything like that. I won’t let you down, Ben.’

He sat up and leant towards her, a smile teasing at his lips. ‘I’m convinced. You can start now. Where’s that tea?’

She looked down into the pot that she’d been mashing vigorously for the past few minutes, and coloured again. ‘Um—I’ll make fresh. I seem to have mangled the tea bags.’

Ben stifled the laugh, closed his eyes and prayed that it wasn’t an omen for his gastronomic future.




CHAPTER TWO


‘WHAT about your things?’ Ben asked, sipping his tea warily.

‘Things?’

‘You know—all the stuff you left at the flat. Your clothes, the children’s clothes and equipment, your personal bits and pieces. When do you want to go and pick them up?’

‘I can’t,’ she told him flatly. ‘Oscar won’t let me have them; he said so.’

Ben’s mouth tightened and he dragged an impatient hand through his close-cropped hair, ruffling it yet again. ‘You need your nursery equipment. The children need continuity—not Kit, particularly, but Missy. She needs her familiar toys and clothes around her. You need your clothes—you can’t wear that pair of trousers for ever. And what about all the personal stuff? You must want that.’

Liv shrugged and buttered another piece of toast. Want them or not, it was beyond her to go back to the flat and demand that Oscar give her the things. ‘Could you give me an advance on my salary? I can go and buy something second hand—’

‘While Oscar sits on all your things? What’s the point? What does he need them for?’

‘Spite? A weapon? A lever, in case he decides he wants me back?’ She bit into the toast, a late lunch because she hadn’t got round to dealing with it after her rather strange morning, and glanced up at Ben.

He was looking thoughtful and rather serious. ‘Would you go?’ he asked. ‘Back to Oscar—would you go? Do you want to?’

‘No way,’ she said firmly. ‘Absolutely not. There is nothing Oscar can do that would entice me back, and anyway, he doesn’t want us. He only wanted me while everyone could remember my name and I was a cover girl on the glossies. He doesn’t give a damn now. I told you that.’

‘Yes, you did,’ he said softly, and drained his tea.

‘I have to go out,’ he went on. ‘Will you be OK? I can let you have a car—I’ve got a little runabout I use if I have to park at an airport or the station—less nickable than the Mercedes. You’re welcome to use it, and there’s a remote control unit in it for the garage door and the gate. The keys are hanging up there on the board.’

She followed his finger and nodded. ‘Thank you. I could go to the shops and buy food for supper—oh. I haven’t got the baby seats.’

‘We’ll sort that out soon. If you need to go out ring my cleaning lady. She’s very obliging and she babysits for my sisters. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind. Mrs Greer—her number’s on the board. Now, money,’ he went on. ‘I’d better give you a cashpoint card for my account—are you sure I can trust you with it?’ he teased, but it hurt. Oscar vetted her credit card bills, queried her bank account and dished out housekeeping as if he were pulling his own teeth. He was only ever extravagant if it was her money, but that was long gone.

‘Liv, I was joking,’ he said softly, and his large, firm hand came out and enveloped hers, giving her a comforting squeeze. ‘Buy whatever you need—if there’s something you have to have today, get it. We can shop for all the stuff the children need tomorrow, so long as you’ve got enough to get by till then.’

‘Don’t you have to be at work?’ she asked worriedly. ‘I’ve messed up your night, now I’m messing up your day.’

‘I work from home a lot—I’ve got computer links to the office via the fax and email, and anyway, I employ good staff. If I want to take a day off, I can.’ He stood up. ‘Take care. I’ll be in touch. I’ll have my mobile with me—ring if you need me.’

‘Where are you going?’ she asked before she could stop herself, and then hated herself for sounding so clingy and wet.

‘London—last-minute business meeting. I won’t be late. Don’t worry about cooking; we’ll pick something up when I get back. Just feed Missy. If you raid the kitchen, I’m sure you’ll find something for her.’

He bent over and dropped a kiss on her cheek, just as she turned her head, and his lips brushed hers.

It was the lightest touch, the merest whisper of a kiss, but something happened inside her that had her staring at the door long after he’d gone through it to the garage and disappeared through the gates and up the quiet, tree-lined road.

She lifted her hand and laid her fingers flat against her lips, feeling them thoughtfully. She could still feel the imprint—could feel the warmth, the texture of his lips, firm yet soft, supple, tantalising. How strange, that a kiss from Ben could make her feel so—

What? Alive? Aware?

Cherished…?

Ben pulled into the underground car park, spoke to the security guard, slipped him a couple of notes and glided into the visitor’s spot the man pointed to.

The lift was waiting, and he went up the three floors and emerged into a carpeted foyer. A leggy blonde beamed at him and unravelled her limbs, tugging her skirt seductively. ‘Can I help you?’ she purred.

‘I’d like to see Oscar Harding, please.’

‘Do you have an appointment?’

Ben dug out his most manipulative smile and shared it with the ditzy woman. ‘I’m sure he’ll be willing to see me—could you be a darling and tell him I’m here? It’s Ben Warriner.’

She picked up the phone, and Ben scanned the doors around the foyer. None of them had Oscar’s name on, but he would stake his life that the right door would have a plate on it announcing his importance. Oscar would never let it go unremarked, so it must be further away, along the corridor perhaps.

He turned his attention back to the one-sided conversation. ‘A Mr Warriner’s here to see you, Mr Harding—Ben Warriner? He said you’d want to see him—oh. Right. I’ll tell him that.’

She cradled the phone and looked up with an awkward smile. He would hazard a guess Oscar had said something unprintable, and she was obviously unskilled in this form of diplomatic brush-off. ‘I’m afraid he’s tied up for the rest of the day,’ she lied, her eyes not quite meeting his. ‘He said to make an appointment, if you don’t mind.’

‘Unfortunately I do,’ Ben said smoothly. ‘I’ve come a long way, I’ll see him now. Which room is he in?’

Her eyes flicked involuntarily towards the corridor, and she looked even more uncomfortable. ‘Oh—no, you can’t. I’m sorry, he won’t see you, Mr Warriner, not without an appointment. He doesn’t see anyone—’

‘I think you’ll find he will.’ He strode down the corridor, leaving the girl calling after him and frantically reaching for the phone. A pair of double doors blocked the corridor, and he palmed them out of the way and scanned the doors.

Bingo. Bold as brass and writ large, as he’d expected— ‘OSCAR HARDING, MANAGING DIRECTOR’.

He turned the handle and thrust the door open, just as Oscar rose from behind his desk.

‘Throwing your weight around, Warriner, and upsetting my staff?’

Ben smiled grimly, scanning the desk and noting the photographs of Liv and the children strategically placed to reflect well on him. ‘My apologies. I wanted a word,’ he told him. ‘You’ve been refusing my calls, Oscar, making things difficult. I’ve been trying to get you all day.’

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘Aren’t we all? I’ve had a few distractions in the last twenty-four hours, though—three, to be exact. It’s made it a little difficult to concentrate.’

‘I had a feeling she’d come to you,’ Oscar said lazily. ‘She always did run to Uncle Ben when things got hot.’

‘Hot? I would say things got stone-cold, Oscar—not hot. So, are you going to have me thrown out?’

Oscar laughed and sat down again, waving at the chair opposite. ‘Good heavens, no. We’re both civilised men. Have a seat, Ben. What can I do for you? Has she sent you to negotiate her grovelling return, like the prodigal wife?’

Ben stifled the retort, thrust his hands in his pockets and crossed to the window. He preferred to stand—it gave him more authority over this snake in the grass. Anyway, it wouldn’t take long…

She was asleep when he got back, curled up in his favourite chair at the end of the kitchen, her lashes like black crescents against her pale cheeks. She looked as young as Missy, and his heart went out to her.

He crouched down and laid a gentle hand on her knee.

‘Liv?’

Her lashes fluttered and lifted, and he reached out and brushed a lock of hair away from her eyes. ‘Hi.’

She struggled upright. ‘Hi. You’re later than I thought you were going to be.’

‘I got held up. I’ve been to see Oscar. We’re going to collect your things in the morning.’

Her jaw dropped, and she collected herself and shook her head. ‘Wha—how?’

He smiled slightly. ‘Let’s just say there are one or two things I know about that he’d like kept secret.’

Her jaw snapped shut, and she stood up, hugging her arms around her waist. ‘So—what are we going to take? Doesn’t he mind?’

‘I didn’t ask. As for what we’re taking, everything that’s yours or the children’s that you want. I’ve ordered a van and two packers, and it’ll be there at eleven tomorrow so you can go through the flat yourself and pick up anything you want to bring. You can decide what to do with everything once it’s here—throw it out, if you like.’

‘Or sell it. Loads of my clothes don’t fit any more. I could sell them in a second-hand shop. The money might come in handy.’

‘What about all the money you earned modelling?’ Ben asked, puzzled. ‘There must have been—well, I hate to think how much.’

She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Didn’t you notice the flash cars and the furniture in the flat?’

‘I haven’t seen the flat. I went to the office.’

‘That’s even worse. He spent a fortune there “creating the right image”. Don’t worry, Ben, there’s nothing left of my modelling money. Oscar’s seen to that over the last four years.’

‘You gave it to him?’

She snorted wryly. ‘Not exactly gave. What do you think we lived on until it ran out? His business? I don’t think so. It’s been screeching and bumping along on the bottom for more years than I care to think about, but God forbid anyone should guess. I only found out by accident. We still had to project the right image, though. Some of my clothes were hideously expensive, but he thought it was justified—he saw me as the ultimate fashion accessory. I should be able to get quite a good price for them.’

But not enough to live on, Ben thought. Not by a country mile. Not ever. He found himself hating Oscar even more, and that galled him because it was such a waste of energy. He made himself concentrate on what mattered.

‘How about supper? Are you hungry?’ he asked.

She nodded. ‘Starving—I had more toast when I fed Missy, but I think it’s all I’ve had in the last twenty four hours.’

‘I’ll order something—Chinese? Indian?’

‘Can we have fish and chips?’ she asked wistfully. ‘I haven’t had fish and chips out of the wrapper for years.’

‘We’ll have to do something about that, then,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’ll get them locally tonight, and one day I’ll take you up the coast to Aldeburgh and we’ll get the best fish and chips you’ve ever tasted and eat them sitting on the sea wall.’

He went back out, drove to the nearest decent chippy and went home to enjoy the satisfying sight of Liv, cross-legged in one of the chairs, tucking into the impromptu meal with great concentration. Ben was fascinated. He’d never seen anyone before eat with such dedicated single-mindedness. She didn’t even pause for breath.

Then she screwed up the paper, licked her fingers one by one and grinned. ‘Wow. That was the best.’

He chuckled and relieved her of the wrapper, putting it with his into the bin. ‘I thought you models only ate raw tomatoes and lettuce leaves.’

She wrinkled her nose. ‘I know. Millions of calories, but I don’t care. I was so hungry. I can diet tomorrow.’

‘You don’t need to diet.’

‘Oh, I do,’ she corrected. ‘I’m much fatter than I used to be.’

She was. Personally, Ben thought it was a huge improvement. He didn’t like skinny, anorexic-looking women. He liked smooth curves and soft hollows and firm, substantial limbs. He liked a woman that didn’t feel as if she would break if he touched her.

He looked at Liv, pottering at the sink now, washing her hands and filling the kettle, and frowned thoughtfully. Had Oscar made her feel unhappy about her body? He thought it quite likely, from the odd remarks she’d made about breastfeeding.

He shook his head slowly. He’d had to restrain himself hard today to keep from punching the guy’s lights out. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to go back to London and satisfy that urge. Thankfully Oscar was going to be out of the way tomorrow—that was one of the conditions.

Ben thought he’d put the frighteners on him sufficiently that he wouldn’t be a problem. If not, he had a few other tricks up his sleeve. He’d been watching the sleaze ball for the last four years, ever since he’d latched on to Liv, and he’d acquired quite a body of information. The man had a respectable veneer about a millimetre thick, and under that he was all slime. Ben just hoped Liv never had to find out quite how bad he really was.

It was odd going back. They’d left the children in the care of Ben’s cleaning lady, a sweet and motherly sort whom Liv had trusted instantly. The journey to London had been uneventful in Ben’s Mercedes, and she’d had nothing to take her mind off Oscar and what he would say.

‘Are you sure he’s not going to be there?’ she asked for the hundredth time as they turned into the underground car park, and Ben shot her a patient and understanding smile.

‘Quite sure. Stop worrying, Liv, it’ll be all right.’

It was. There was no sign of Oscar, just an empty flat that echoed with memories, most of them unpleasant. The packers were quick and efficient, and within half an hour all trace of her life there had been removed. She had the baby photos, all her modelling memorabilia and the childhood bits and pieces that she’d brought from her parents’ house, and all the children’s things.

And her clothes, wonderful clothes that would never fit her again, extravagant designer originals and exquisitely tailored suits and dresses. She looked down at her jeans and jumper that she’d changed into, and sighed.

Her life was going to be very different from now on, but she had no regrets. Leaving Oscar was the best and most sensible thing she’d done in the last four years.

‘Right, I’m done,’ she said to Ben, and he nodded.

‘Right, that’s it, lads, thank you. See you in Suffolk.’

They went out, and she took one last look round.

‘Sad?’ Ben asked her, and she shook her head.

‘Absolutely not. I feel nothing. It’s actually quite scary.’

He put his arm round her and hugged her up against his solid, dependable warmth. ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ he said, and she really felt as if that was what she was doing.

Going home.

Missy was thrilled to see her toys again. Her little face lit up, and Liv was glad she’d gone back with Ben and collected everything. There were so many treasures, as well—things like Missy’s first haircut, and the baby photos. She wouldn’t have been able to bear losing the baby photos, and she didn’t imagine Oscar would miss them. She’d send him copies, but it was probably pointless.

He’d got photos of them on his desk, in silver frames—if they were still there. It was all for show, of course—all part of his ‘trust me’ image. The perfect father of the perfect children.

They were being less than perfect at that moment, Missy crying because she couldn’t make a piece of her jigsaw fit the wrong way round, and Kit because he’d woken up and was suddenly, furiously hungry.

She helped Missy with the errant bit of jigsaw, picked the baby up out of his crib and settled down into the chair to feed him. He was impatient and screamed again, but as soon as she pulled her jumper out of the way, unclipped her bra and settled him at her breast, there was a blissful silence broken only by the occasional slurp as he suckled.

She closed her eyes, settled back against the comforting embrace of the big chair and felt her shoulders drop with the release of tension. She ought to be thinking about the evening meal—taking her housekeeping duties seriously—but she had to feed the baby and for now, what she needed was peace. Peace and—

‘Tea?’

She looked up to find Ben there, eyes carefully not on her breasts, not that there was a lot to see with her jumper drooping down and the baby’s head in the way, but it did seem to make him strangely uncomfortable. Still, he was there, rendering first aid as if he’d read her mind, and she loved him for it. He was a wonderful friend.

‘Please,’ she said, smiling. ‘He’s starving. Mrs Greer said he wouldn’t take his bottle very well this morning. Perhaps he’s getting used to me again.’

‘Hope so. It’s good for you both—just what you need. Oh, Missy, won’t it fit?’

He crouched down beside her daughter, and gently and patiently helped her complete the jigsaw. When it was done she picked up the wooden puzzle and waved it triumphantly, and all the pieces fell out. She giggled and picked them up, and she and Ben put them back again while Liv watched, entranced.

The kettle boiled, and he made some tea and sat in the other chair, bending forwards sometimes to help Missy, and at other times focusing on his mug of tea with undue concentration.

Still avoiding looking at her, she realised, and chewed her lip. It obviously worried him.

‘Would you be happier if I fed the baby upstairs, out of your way?’ she asked quietly. ‘I mean, I don’t want to embarrass you.’

He turned his head, meeting her eyes, and then lowered them, looking at the baby, at her breast, at the rosebud mouth suckling vigorously at her nipple. Then he raised his head and met her eyes again, and there was something unreadable and curiously sad in them.

‘You don’t embarrass me, Liv,’ he said, and his voice was gruff and tender. ‘You go ahead and feed him wherever you like.’

He looked away, returning his attention to his tea, and she gave a tiny shrug and eased the baby off, burping him and swapping sides. It was getting easier, she realised—more natural. Practice was obviously making perfect, or something closer to it, at least. And now Ben had assured her he wasn’t embarrassed, she relaxed again.

He must be right. If he was embarrassed, he’d take himself off to his study instead of actively seeking her out and having tea with her. Perhaps he’d just been avoiding looking at her because he didn’t want to embarrass her, rather than the other way round.

She gave up worrying and concentrated on the tiny, downy head snuggled in the crook of her arm. So soft, so fragile and vulnerable, and yet so very good at getting his own way. Nature, she decided with satisfaction, was immensely clever.

‘I’ve put the baby seats in the car for you,’ he said out of the blue, ‘so when you want to go out, they’re all ready. Do you want a buggy in the car too?’

She was still dealing with nature being clever, and she looked at him blankly. ‘Go out?’ she said, like an idiot.

‘Yes—out. You know—shopping and things?’

Buying food for his supper. Oh, Lord.

‘Great. Thanks,’ she said, and conjured up a smile. ‘What do you fancy eating tonight?’

‘What can you cook?’ he asked, and her mind went totally blank.

Not hard. On the culinary front, her mind was totally blank. Well, not totally, but it certainly wasn’t her strongest point.

‘Um—chicken in sauce?’

‘Sounds promising. What sort of sauce?’

Bottled, she nearly said, but one look at his hopeful face and she stifled the retort. ‘I don’t know. I haven’t thought. Rice or potatoes?’

‘Rice.’

‘OK.’ Blast. Rice was tricky. Even she could scrub potatoes and put them in the oven, but rice was the one thing that had always defeated her. Why on earth had she suggested it? Idiot. Still, boil in the bag, that was the thing. Idiot-proof.

Kit had finished his feed, and she laid him on her lap, restored her modesty and stood up. ‘I’ll change him—Missy, do you want to come with me?’

She shook her head. ‘Puzzle,’ she said, and looked hopefully at Ben. ‘Help,’ she ordered, and to her astonishment he got down on his hands and knees on the rug and helped her.

‘Like mother, like daughter,’ he murmured. ‘Twisting me round your little finger—I don’t know. Talk about manipulated.’

Missy giggled, and he pressed her nose and made a noise. She giggled again, and Liv tore herself away and went upstairs to change the baby’s nappy. With any luck he’d sleep through their shopping trip and not be too much of a nuisance…

He screamed. He screamed from the moment she walked through the door of the supermarket, with him in his nest in the newborn cradle on the trolley and Missy beside him in the toddler seat.

He screamed through the vegetables, past the dairy products, up and down the baby aisle and through the chiller section. He let up for a minute in the frozen food aisle, then started again in the biscuits.

Liv gave up. She’d bought a bottle of sauce to add to chicken for a casserole, she’d bought chicken breast fillets, boil-in-the-bag rice, frozen peas and sweetcorn. She’d found food for Missy, something instant and delicious-looking for dessert and that would have to do.

She headed home, getting lost once on the way because she wasn’t very good at doing directions backwards and Kit was making it hard to concentrate, and when she arrived back at the house it was deserted.

She felt a curious pang of disappointment. She’d expected Ben to be here, and she’d grown rather used to his company in the past two days. Silly, really, because he had work to do and between them they must be playing havoc with his schedule, but the house seemed horribly empty without him.

She brought the children in, settled Kit in the crib in the kitchen and left him to scream for a moment while she brought the rest of the things in from the car. Fortunately the garage was large and attached to the house, so it was easy to carry things through with Missy milling around under her feet in perfect safety.

Well, almost perfect. She stumbled down the step and grazed her hands, and screamed even louder than Kit, and Liv cuddled her and washed her hands and wondered how on earth she was going to get a chance to cook.

She cuddled the baby again, settled him at last and turned her attention to supper. She studied the instructions on the side of the jar, decided they looked foolproof and stopped worrying. What could go wrong?

‘Right, little Miss, are you going to help me?’ she asked. Missy nodded, and Liv lifted her up and sat her on the edge of the worktop next to the sink, and washed and dried all four of their hands. Then she settled her in her high chair without the tray, fastened the lapstrap and pushed her up to the edge of the kitchen table so she could join in.

‘Now, first things first; read the instructions again,’ she said, and Missy reached for the jar.

‘No, I’ll have it, darling, please. I don’t want it to break; it’s my only chance of impressing him. Now. Cut the chicken up, put it in a casserole dish, pour sauce over. Bake. Easy-peasy,’ she said with a grin, and Missy giggled.

‘Shall I cut up the chicken?’ Missy nodded, then watched intently as she cubed it neatly and spread it in the bottom of the dish. ‘Now, the sauce,’ she said, and picked up the jar.

The lid wouldn’t shift. She ran it under hot water, gripped it with a tea towel and finally it came away with a pop.

She turned back to Missy, and saw to her horror that she had escaped from her high chair and was sitting on the table, playing with the sugar bowl. ‘How did you get out?’ she asked in amazement, and Missy gave her a megawatt smile.

‘Missy undo it,’ she piped proudly. ‘Missy clever.’

One more thing to worry about! Liv thought with a slightly desperate laugh, and scooped her errant daughter off the table, removing the sugar bowl from her grasp. At least there wasn’t too much in there! It could have gone everywhere, and instead there was just a little sprinkle here and there. ‘As if I didn’t have enough to worry about—stay there, please!’ she instructed, strapping her firmly back into the chair.

She stayed, while Liv poured the sauce quickly over the chicken, spread it evenly and stuck it in the oven.

While it cooked she made Missy scrambled eggs and chopped up bacon, with toast fingers and a glass of fruit juice, and fed Kit again before bathing them both and popping them into bed. Then she cooked the rice, fluffed it up, left it to keep warm in the other oven and boiled the veg while she laid the table.

The gateau was thawing, the children were in bed asleep, the table was laid—success.

Feeling thoroughly pleased with herself, she settled back to wait for Ben.

It was revolting. She hadn’t expected it to be nice, but it was bizarre. Sickly.

Liv pushed her plate away and looked up at Ben in disgust. ‘I’m sorry. I thought it would be OK—it sounded nice. I can’t believe the sauce is so awful.’

She prodded the rice disparagingly. It was lovely, but it had been soaked with the sauce, and—well, frankly it was horrible.

The chicken underneath had been all right, but the jar of sauce had been more than generous, and it was hard to find any chicken without it.

Ben was shuffling it round his plate, tasting it cautiously, his brow furrowed. ‘Um—is it by any chance supposed to be sweet and sour?’ he ventured. ‘Perhaps—without the sour?’

Sweet and—?

‘Oh, no!’ She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared at Ben in horror.

He froze, his fork halfway to his mouth, his expression comical. ‘What?’ he asked warily.

‘Missy,’ she said, remembering. ‘I couldn’t get the lid off, and when I did, she’d escaped from her high chair and she was paddling in the sugar bowl on the table.’

‘Anywhere near the chicken?’

She nodded miserably. ‘It was just there, beside her. She was helping me. She must have tipped it on to the chicken—oh, Ben, I’m sorry!’

‘Or were you trying to sweeten me up?’ he said mildly, pushing his plate away.

‘Wretched child,’ she said crossly, throwing the ruined meal into the bin. ‘I’ll kill her.’

‘No, you won’t,’ he said. ‘You’ll keep it out of her way in future—if there’s going to be a future. I thought you said you could cook?’ he added teasingly.

‘I said I could learn—and I only promised you wouldn’t get salmonella,’ she reminded him. ‘I never said you’d like it.’

His mouth twitched, and she cleared the plates away and sighed. ‘Dare I ask about a dessert?’ he said from behind her. She had the feeling he was getting ready to duck, in case she threw something at him. She stifled a smile.

‘Not had enough sugar yet?’ she teased, and he growled softly. She laughed and patted his cheek consolingly. ‘You’re all right. I bought a chocolate gateau. I didn’t think even I could ruin it, unwrapping it, and I promise you Missy hasn’t been near it!’

He chuckled, and she put the gateau and their plates down on the table with a pot of cream, a knife and two spoons, and between them they ate it all. At least he didn’t seem angry, Liv thought, and wondered yet again why a man as genuinely nice as Ben still wasn’t married. The girls in Suffolk must all need their heads checked, she decided.

‘Do you think a cup of normal coffee to finish is expecting too much, or should I resign myself to Turkish?’ Ben asked wryly, and she chuckled and flapped him with a teatowel.

‘Don’t push your luck. Where do you want it?’

‘In the drawing room? I hardly ever use it, but it’s a nice room. Or my study. That’s cosier, but it’ll remind me of all the work I should be doing.’

‘Or we could stay here. I love those chairs.’

His eyes crinkled. ‘Me, too. Let’s do that.’

He helped her clear up, and when the coffee was done they settled down in the chairs with a sigh and talked about nothing in particular for hours.

They’d always been able to talk, she mused as she fed Kit in her room just before she went to bed. In all the years she’d known him, they’d never been lost for words, or awkward, or distant.

Well, only once.

When she’d told him she was moving in with Oscar. Then he’d been distant, and she had the strangest feeling he’d been hurt, but she couldn’t imagine why. He had no interest in her—if he had had, he would have said so, and he always seemed to have a bevy of girlfriends hanging round him like bees round a honeypot.

It was the only time in ten years that she’d felt that he disapproved of her, and it had hurt her terribly. She’d treasured his friendship ever since she and her parents had moved in next to his family when she was fifteen and he was twenty-two. He’d been away at university and had come back, and was working in his father’s firm.

They’d moved in the same circles, mixed with the same people, and she’d always known she was too young to interest him, but he’d been endlessly kind to her and patiently escorted her to a host of parties. Then, when she’d grown older, he’d been just the same, good old Ben, her best friend and confidant. He’d taught her to drive, taken her out to celebrate when she’d passed her test, and again when she got her first major modelling job.

She’d dropped out of university to pursue her career, and he’d turned up one day on the set of a shoot and taken her out to lunch. He was there for her when she’d had her first disastrous affair, and he’d never criticised or interfered.

Till Oscar. Then, he’d just taken himself away for a while, and she’d missed him horribly.

She wondered if he even realised she was a woman and not just a person, and then she laughed at herself. How many of her friends had wailed that their partners didn’t realise they were people and not just women? And she was complaining that Ben was the other way round.

Well, not complaining. Of course not. She and Ben were very dear and close friends, nothing more, nothing less, and she knew that he would never see her as anything else. Not after all this time.

It was a curiously saddening thought.




CHAPTER THREE


THE following day she put the children in the double buggy, warmly wrapped up and covered with the hood, just in case it rained, and headed off to the centre of Woodbridge.

There was an up-market second-hand shop there that dealt in nearly-new designer clothes, and when she told them what she had to sell, the owner was ecstatic. ‘May I come round, to save you dragging everything down here? I can go through them with you and tell you what will sell.’

‘OK,’ she agreed, hugely relieved that she wasn’t going to have to struggle with the clothes and the children.

‘It’s coming up to the ball season, as well—have you got any evening wear?’

‘Masses,’ Liv assured her drily. ‘Are there any skinny women in Woodbridge?’

‘Lots,’ she said with a laugh. ‘I hate them all. When would you like me to come? Day or evening?’

‘Day’s better,’ Liv said, thinking of Ben coming home from work and the chaos of supper and bath-time, and they arranged a time the following day. Then Liv strolled up the main street, window shopping, and thinking what a pleasant, pretty town it was. She went into the chemist and bought vitamins for the children, and then couldn’t resist the bread shop.

They had big hedgehog loaves in the window, and Missy screamed because they weren’t for sale and she couldn’t get one.

‘Never mind. We can make one,’ she promised rashly, and was wondering how on earth she could achieve it when she clashed wheels with another buggy.

‘Sorry,’ she said, smiling, and looked up to see the familiar face of Kate, an old college friend, staring at her in amazement.

‘Liv? Liv Kensington? What are you doing here?’

‘Shh,’ she said with a smile, conscious that her name, if not her face, would attract attention. Nobody would notice a woman with two children, but her name had once been as well known as Liz Hurley’s, and she didn’t want to be reminded—not when she was two stone overweight and her hair was on end! ‘I’m staying here for a while with a friend. What about you, Kate? You look wonderful! Tell me all about yourself.’

Kate laughed. ‘Nothing to tell. I’m married to Andy—you remember Andy, he was around at college—and I’ve got three children—these are the youngest—and I live in Woodbridge. Where are you staying?’

She told Kate the address, and her jaw dropped. ‘But that’s next door but one! We’re neighbours! How amazing. You must come round—what are you doing now?’

Liv shrugged. ‘Nothing. I have to get back because Kit’s going to wake up soon, and he’ll scream all the way home.’

‘Why don’t you come round?’ Kate offered. ‘Have coffee with me—or lunch. Both. We can catch up. That would be so good.’

So they pushed their buggies back up the hill, and she went into Kate’s chaotic but friendly kitchen, and while Kate made coffee she fed Kit and watched the children playing together. Missy was thrilled to have new toys to look at, and there was a smidgen of hope that she’d forget the hedgehog bread!

‘So you’re staying with Ben, are you?’ Kate said, settling down at the table for a good gossip. ‘Do tell all! How come your hubby’s let you slip the leash and stay with a guy like that? He must need his head examined! Andy gets the hump if Ben so much as sets foot on the drive while he’s out—he says all that testosterone is bound to go to my head!’

She laughed good-naturedly, and Liv gave a polite chuckle.

Testosterone? Ben?

Was she missing something—or had that shiver of awareness when his lips had accidentally clashed with hers been more than just a fluke?

‘I don’t have a husband,’ she confessed, dragging her mind back to Kate’s question. ‘Oscar and I never got married.’

‘Oh, Lord, Oscar Harding—I remember reading about you in one of the glossies. But that was years ago!’

‘Four,’ she confessed with a wry smile. ‘I’m old news now.’

‘Four years. Heavens. I suppose it would be; I was at home with Jake. That was how I had time to read a magazine, I guess! Wow. I never thought I’d see you again. So where’s Oscar now?’

She shrugged. ‘In London. I’ve left him.’

‘With the babies and everything? Gosh, I expect he was gutted.’

Liv gave a hollow laugh. ‘No. Not gutted. Not Oscar.’

‘Oh, love, I’m sorry,’ Kate said sincerely. ‘So how will you cope?’

She laughed again, with more humour this time. ‘I’m Ben’s new housekeeper,’ she admitted. ‘He’s being more than kind. I cannot cook to save my life, and it doesn’t help when Missy puts sugar in the chicken casserole.’

Kate’s jaw dropped, and then she laughed till the tears ran down her face. ‘Oh, no. I’m sorry, I have this dreadful vision—’

‘It’s probably accurate,’ Liv said with another wry smile. ‘It was awful. It probably would have been pretty awful without Missy’s help, though, to be fair.’

Kate sat back and tipped her head on one side. ‘Want me to teach you? I mean, say no if you don’t, but really there are some dead easy things that will impress the socks off him. I’ve got a long list of them—I use one of them on Andy if I want something.’ She grinned mischievously. ‘I do a great line in aphrodisiacs,’ she stage-whispered, and Liv smiled ruefully.




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