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‘You once left me a note when you couldn’t face having an important conversation with me. Do you remember that, Lucas? Well, it’s my turn now—and I’m doing it for exactly the same reasons. I didn’t want a protracted goodbye, nor to have to offer explanations, or listen to any more accusations. I don’t want bitter words to rattle around in my brain and imprint themselves on my memory, when we need to keep this civilised. So I’ll be in touch when I’m settled and you can see as much or as little of our baby as you want. That’s all.’ She drew in a deep breath before letting it out in a husky sigh. ‘Don’t you understand? I’m setting you free, Lucas.’
Something swelled up inside him like a growing wave—something dark and unwanted. How dared she offer him his freedom, when it was not hers to give? Did she consider him as some kind of puppet whose strings she could tug whenever the mood took her—just because she carried a part of him deep inside her? The dark feeling grew but deliberately he quashed it, because he needed to think clearly—his mind unobstructed by neither anger nor regret. Because maybe she was right. Maybe it was better this way. Better she left when things were tolerably amicable between them. Time and space would do the rest and once the dust had settled on their impetuous affair, they would be able to work out some kind of long-term plan. He would be good to her. That was a given. He would provide her with the finest home money could buy and all the childcare she needed. And he would...
He swallowed, wondering why his throat felt as if it had been lined with barbed wire which had been left out in the rain. Even if fatherhood was an unknown and an unwanted concept—that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to step up to the plate and be dutiful, did it? To be there for his child as his own father had never been there for him.
And if he found that impossible?
Why wouldn’t he find it impossible, when he had no real template for family life? And wouldn’t it then follow that he was probably going to let her and the baby down, somewhere along the line?
He swallowed as Tara’s accusations came back to ring with silent reproach in his ears.
‘Don’t you want to know why your mother sold you? To find out who your real father is and whether either of them are alive? To discover whether she had any more children?’
His mouth hardened. No, he didn’t want to know any of those things. Why should he? In an ideal world he would have gone back to the life he’d had before. The one with no surprises.
No analysis. No whip-slim woman challenging him with those sleepy amber eyes. But it wasn’t that simple. Nothing ever was.
He cleared his throat. ‘Just let me know when you get back to Dalkey,’ he said coolly. ‘And please keep me up to speed with your plans. I will return to Ireland in time for the birth.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
RAIN LASHED LOUDLY against the window and a gale howled like some malevolent monster in the dark night. In the distance Tara could hear trees creaking and the yelp of a frightened dog. She rolled over and shivered beneath the duvet, trying to breathe deeply, and, when that didn’t work, to count backwards from one hundred. Anything, really, which would bring the oblivion and ease she craved in the form of sleep, if only for a few hours.
Because it was hard. She wasn’t going to lie. If this was what being in love was like, then she wanted it out of her system as quickly as possible. The pain was unbearable. Pain like she’d never known. As if someone were inserting a burning poker into each ventricle of her heart. And the torture wasn’t just causing physical pain—it was mental too, because the memory of Lucas was never far from her mind. It hovered in the background of her thoughts throughout every second of the day. The knowledge that he was no longer part of her life was like a heavy weight pressing down on her shoulders, so that most of the time she felt weary, even when she shouldn’t have done.
She missed his face, his body, his banter. She missed being in his arms at night, wrapped in all that warm and powerful strength as he made love to her, over and over again. Angrily, she clenched her hands into two white-knuckled fists. Because that was a ridiculously romantic interpretation of what had taken place. They’d had amazing and exquisite sex, that was all, and presumably that was what he did with all the other women who had shared his bed—which perhaps made their dogged pursuit of him more understandable. She was the one who had elevated it to a level which was never intended, with her fanciful words of love. And in doing that, hadn’t she followed the path of so many foolish women before her—her mother and her grandmother included? For the first time in her life, she acknowledged that Granny might have had a point in her often expressed and jaundiced view about men, as she’d waved her stick angrily in the air.
‘I tell you, they’re not worth it, Tara! Not a single one of them!’
But, outwardly at least, Tara was determined to present a positive face to the world. She made sure she looked after herself—exercising sensibly, eating regularly and faithfully keeping all her appointments at the hospital, who pronounced themselves delighted with her progress. She even continued to dress in the new style which had been shown to her so comprehensively in New York. She liked the way the new clothes made her feel. She liked the soft whisper of silk and cashmere against her skin and she liked wearing trousers which actually fitted her, rather than flapping around her legs. If she’d learnt one thing it was that her body was nothing to be ashamed of and that there was nothing wrong with wanting to take care of her appearance.
It was only at night, under the forgiving cloak of darkness, that she cried big salty tears which rolled down her cheeks and fell silently into her sodden pillow. That she ached to feel Lucas beside her again, even though in her heart she knew that was never going to happen. And each morning she awoke to sombre grey Dublin skies, which seemed to echo the bleakness of her mood.
But she was strong and she was resilient, and, once she’d adjusted to her new life, things began to improve. Or rather, once she’d accepted that Lucas wasn’t going to suddenly turn up and sweep her off her feet—that was the turning point. She knew then she had to embrace the future, not keep wishing for something which was never going to happen. There was to be no fairy-tale ending. Lucas wasn’t going to suddenly appear on the doorstep, his face obscured by a bouquet of flowers with a diamond ring hidden in his pocket. He’d told her he would be back for the birth—which was still four whole months away—which gave her plenty of time to erase him from her aching heart.
Aware that his Dalkey house held too many poignant memories, she began to bombard local employment agencies with her CV and quickly found a job—though not, as originally planned, in a big, noisy family. With a baby of her own on the way, she decided it was better to keep focussed on that. Her new position was as housekeeper to a couple of academics, in their big house overlooking Caragh Lake, in beautiful County Kerry. Dana and Jim Doyle had both sat in on her interview, where Tara had been completely upfront about her situation.
‘I’m pregnant and no longer with the father of my child. I don’t know if that’s going to be a problem for you,’ she’d blurted out, ‘but he is providing generous financial support for us both.’
‘So do you really need to work?’ Dana had asked gently.
‘No, but I’ve always worked.’ Tara’s reply had been simple. She was unable to imagine the long days stretching ahead without some kind of structure to them, terrified of all those hours which could be devoted to pining for a man who didn’t want her.
How long before she stopped feeling this way? Before her body stopped craving his touch and her lips his kiss?
She emailed Lucas her new address and he sent an instant response, asking if she had everything she needed. The answer to that was obviously no and yet, for some reason, the question infuriated her. Why did people keep asking her what she needed when she had a warm bed, a roof over her head, and a secure job, which was a lot more than many people had? Her needs weren’t the problem but her wants were.
She stared into the mirror.
She still wanted Lucas—wasn’t that the most agonising thing of all?
Her hand moving down to her growing bump, she told herself that these feelings would fade. They had to fade—because everything did eventually. The bullying at school—once unendurable—had leached from her consciousness once she’d left Ballykenna. Even the reason for that bullying—all the shame surrounding her ancestry—had receded, so that she hardly thought about it any more. And that had come about because she’d made a determined effort to erase it from her mind.
So do that now, with Lucas, or you’ll spend the rest of your life as a ghost of a person, longing for something which can never be yours.
Tara bit her lip.
He was the father of her child. Nothing else.
