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‘Can we go and meet him at the airport, please, Mummy?’
Claire shook her head firmly, ignoring Lucy’s cry of disappointment. As always, fortunately, her daughter’s attention proved fairly easy to distract. She was unlike Heather in that respect, who would worry and brood over something until it was sorted out to her satisfaction.
Jay’s return coincided with the half-term holidays. Claire had made tentative plans to take the girls to Bristol, mainly to buy them both new clothes, and she had also rashly promised a brief visit to the zoo.
How long would Jay wait before demanding an answer to his proposal? Not long, she suspected. He was a decisive man who would not tolerate shilly-shallying in others. Inwardly she knew that her decision had been made, but even so, actually telling Jay that she was prepared to marry him was something she wasn’t looking forward to doing. Actually saying the words made it seem so final. She guessed that he wouldn’t want to wait very long after her agreement before legally formalising their marriage.
Partly because Lucy had pleaded with her and partly to avoid being left alone with him, Claire had agreed that the girls’ evening meal could be delayed so that they could share it with Jay.
She had no real idea or knowledge of his culinary preferences, but knowing the delays that could arise both during the flight and after it, she had made another casserole, a slightly more glamorous one this time: chicken breasts in a special sauce, which she intended to serve with duchesse potatoes, and fresh vegetables. She suspected that after several days in Dallas Jay would be heartily sick of prime steak, and so the chicken should be a welcome change.
Leaving both girls happily occupied in the kitchen with their crayoning books, she went upstairs to check on Jay’s room.
Shortly after he had left she had entered it for the first time to strip his bed, and as it had then, when she opened the door and walked into it, its almost monastic austerity surprised her. She didn’t know what she had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been this coldly plain room, so empty of any personal possessions that it might have belonged to a hotel. The large bed was covered by a plain, dull spread. The bedside tables held only a telephone and an alarm clock. A bank of fitted wardrobes and cupboards presented a plain cream front to her cursory glance. Brown curtains hung at the window to tone with the neutral-coloured carpet.
All in all, the room was spectacularly uninspiring and, unlike the rest of the house, did not reveal the decorative hand of Jay’s ex-wife.
Claire wondered why. She already knew from Heather which room had been her mother’s, and although she had not as yet ventured inside it she had assumed that Jay must have shared it with her. She could well understand him choosing to sleep in a different room after the break-up of the marriage, but what she couldn’t fathom out was why this one room out of the whole house had not been redecorated.
Arming herself with clean sheets, she set about making the bed. Jay had his own private bathroom off his bedroom, and she was just on her way out when she remembered he would need fresh towels.
The telephone rang, distracting her. She hurried to answer it, surprised to hear Jay’s voice as she picked up the receiver.
‘I just thought I’d let you know I’d landed. I’m calling in at the factory on my way back. I should be home for about six.’
He didn’t say anything else. Claire had no opportunity to ask him about the contract. He had sounded tired, and he had made no mention of his proposal—but then he wouldn’t, of course.
‘What are we going to have for pudding?’ Lucy asked her as she walked into the kitchen.
‘You could make an apple pie,’ suggested Heather eagerly. ‘It’s Daddy’s favourite.’
Telling herself that it was what she had, after all, planned to make, Claire cleared the table and started making pastry, carefully checking the enthusiastic assistance of her two ‘helpe
rs’.
Baking was something she had always found therapeutic, and somehow one thing led to another. The mouthwatering aroma of cooking pastry and fruit mingled with that of the chicken, and Claire was just putting a final dollop of mixture in to some bun tins when she heard the sound of a car.
‘It’s Jay,’ shrieked Lucy eagerly, scrambling down from her stool, and rushing for the back door.
Jay reached it first, his eyebrows lifting slightly as he walked in.
‘You’re early?’ For some reason Claire felt oddly shaky. He looked so alien standing in the kitchen, in his immaculate business suit and his crisp white shirt.
‘Yes … and we’ve been making your very favourite—apple pie,’ Lucy announced.
A sudden awareness of pastry-sticky fingers and flour-smeared hands made Claire dart forward to pick Lucy up before she could inflict any damage on his immaculate suit, but Jay forestalled her, swinging Lucy up into his arms, so that she shrieked with delight.
‘Jay, your suit …’ She reached up automatically to brush off the floury marks left by Lucy’s hands and then realised to her mortification that her own were equally floury.
‘Stop fussing, it will clean.’
He put Lucy down and held out his arms to Heather. As always she clung to Claire’s side. Bending down, she gave her a little push. ‘Go and kiss Daddy hello.’
Over Heather’s dark head Jay gave her a wry look.
‘Odd, isn’t it? Your daughter can’t wait to fling herself into my arms, whereas mine …’
‘Give her time,’ Claire urged in a low voice. ‘She’s such a sensitive child, and she’s had too many upheavals in her life. She needs to learn that she can trust you always to be there. She needs stability …’
