Page 24 of The Valentine Child


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'Truthfully, I don't really know. He did suggest that we wait a year before having any of our own. But thenJustin was very good to me when I was a teenager. In fact, when I think about it, he did tell me the reason he stayed late in London every Monday night was that he taught boxing at a boys' club. He got a blue at Oxford for boxing. And, before you ask, I have no idea why it's a blue.'

'There you are, then! He must like kids. Ring the man.'

Zoe twirled the stem of her glass around her fingers. 'Actually, I thought if you didn't mind, Margy. . .' She glanced across at her friend. 'I know it's an imposition, but I wondered if you would do me an enormous favour.'

'If you want me to ask him, forget it. This is something you have to do yourself.'

'No, no, nothing like that.' A brief smile lifted the corners of her mouth but quickly vanished. 'I wondered if you would look after Val for the weekend. Much as I hate to leave him for any time at all, I thought I'd fly to England on Friday and ask Justin in person, and hopefully bring him back with me on Monday.

'I know it's a lot to ask, but you're the only person I trust to look after Val. He loves Tessa. . .' She was pleading, but it was so vitally important.

Margy dashed across to her and wrapped her arms around her, hugging her tightly. 'Yes, of course. What are friends for? And don't worry about a thing. Take the plane and catch the man. Hog-tie him if you have to but get him back here.'

CHAPTER SIX

Zoe brushed a stray tendril of damp hair from her brow and glanced around the crowded airport, panic building in her chest. Was she doing the right thing? Did she have a choice? They were calling her flight for London; this was it. . .

She did not notice the admiring glances of the male passengers as she walked across the tarmac to the waiting Concorde. Her silver-blonde hair, scraped back in a ponytail, bounced between her shoulder-blades as she walked. She was dressed in a smart wool suit of pale cream and khaki tweed. The jacket fell, loosely sculptured, over a plain cream waistcoat and khaki silk shirt; the short, straight skirt fitted snugly over her slim hips and ended an inch above her knees. High-heeled, matching shoes flattered her shapely legs and added to her petite height of five feet.

She had the face of an angel, and a figure men would die for, but it wasn't just sex appeal that she possessed; there was something in her face, in the shadows lurking in the sapphire-blue eyes—a deep-rooted sadness that made every man within range want to comfort and protect her.

Zoe would have been horrified if she had known the impression she created. Ever since her twenty-first birthday and the break-up of her marriage she had decided that she had to harden up or she was going to be an exceptionally vulnerable person.

She thought she had succeeded and living in America had helped. In a country where women were proud oftheir independence and determination she had found it easier to adjust to being a single mother, to balancing family with an interesting career at no loss to either.

She removed her jacket, folded it neatly over the back of her seat and sat down. She placed her shoulder-bag on the floor in front of her and, dropping her head back against the cushion, closed her eyes.

The past few months had tested her character to the limit, but her steely determination had never wavered. She was like a lioness with her cub—she would do anything to protect her most cherished possession, her son Val, and if that meant leaving him for a few days to seek out his father so be it. . . Even though she was already missing Val dreadfully.

She was unaware of the elderly gentleman who sat down beside her, only opening her eyes when the voice of the stewardess broke into her reverie.

'Would you like a drink, madam?'

'No, thank you.' She tried to smile. 'And please don't disturb me for the rest of the flight. I don't want to eat, I simply want to rest. OK?'

The girl gave her a peculiar look. 'Certainly, madam. Have a nice flight.'

Zoe sighed and, turning her head to the window, closed her eyes again, her mind a seething mass of troubled thoughts. In a handful of hours—with luck—she would be face to face with Justin once again. The thought was frightening, but what she had set out to do absolutely terrified her. . .

She went over in her head one more time her conversation with Dr Lark. She had not dared tell Margy the whole story, sure that she would disapprove. Dr Lark was a wife and mother herself, and, after confirming that the immediate family was the best bet for a bone- marrow donation, she had elaborated on the theme.

'So long as you love children, and if there is no medical reason why you can't have more, then, if you want to give your son every chance available, and if you are prepared to explore every avenue open to you, I suggest you and your husband get you pregnant as quickly as possible. The long-term prognosis for your son is not good, but a baby as young as a one or two can donate bone marrow. I know if I was in your position I wouldn't hesitate.'

She knew Professor Barnet would never have suggested such a course of action because he knew her marital status. But Dr Lark, unaware of the true state of Zoe's marriage, had had no such reservations.

She shifted restlessly in her seat. The girl who had fled England at twenty-one would never have attempted to seduce her imposing husband, but the woman Zoe had become over the intervening years was determined to do just that. . .

She had debated the morality of her intention over a clutch of sleepless nights until her head had spun. She was still not absolutely sure that she was doing the right thing, but her mind was made up, and deep down inside she consoled herself with the knowledge that she would love another child.

She didn't know if Justin was involved with another woman and she didn't really care. All she cared about was getting him into bed at the first possible moment— and not necessarily a bed.

Luckily the next few days were the optimum time for her to conceive, and she was taking no chances. She guessed that once she told him about Val his rage at her deceit in hiding his son from him, and his contempt for her, would make any chance she had of seducing him virtually nil. That was why she had no intention of telling him until after she had done her utmost to get him into bed. After all—she rationalised her decision—Justin had used her. Now it was her turn to use him. . .

The warning-lights instructing passengers to fasten their seatbelts flashed on, and minutes later the aeroplane touched down at Heathrow Airport.

Once through Customs, she picked up her suitcase and marched briskly out of the building and into a waiting taxi. She had booked in advance at the Savoy, and an hour later she was sitting on the bed in her hotel room, the telephone in her hand.

Her first set-back came when she dialled Justin's chambers in the Inner Temple and to her astonishment discovered that he no longer worked there.

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