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He had always had a dream girl at the back of his mind, the sort of girl he wanted to marry one day, and the minute he had seen her he’d known Laura perfectly matched that image—with her cat-like green eyes and pale golden hair, the slender elegance of her body and that fine-boned face.
He’d once asked Laura, ‘Did you ever daydream about the sort of man you wanted to marry?’ Of course, he’d hoped she would tell him he was her dream come true.
‘Of course, doesn’t everybody?’ she had smiled. ‘I knew it would have to be a man who was ready to share everything with me—fifty-fifty. Who was cheerful about cooking supper if I was tired, or would do the shopping for me when I had to work late, who didn’t expect me to wait on him the way my mother waited on my father, as if she were a servant and he were the lord and master. I made up my mind when I was very small that I’d never put up with that sort of relationship.’
How stupid could you be? he thought, his eyes dark. He had made himself everything he’d thought she wanted him to be; but she had still left him. Well, he’d never turn himself into a doormat for another woman. Doormats just got walked all over—the way Laura had walked all over him.
He had been a fool. He’d lied to himself, told himself she was too busy to have time for love; Laura was a high-powered and ambitious woman whose business drained all her energy and attention. Her emotions had been in deep freeze, but one day, he had believed, she would suddenly thaw, and he would be there.
He had been wildly wrong. Oh, she had suddenly thawed, but not for him—for another man.
For all Laura’s talk about being a modern woman who would only marry a man who treated her like an equal, for all her claim to want a modern man who was ready to share the jobs around their home, who would happily change a nappy or do the ironing, who could be gentle, sympathetic, caring...for all that, she had ended up by dumping him for a man who was the exact opposite of everything she had said she wanted.
Patrick was still reeling from the shock. Who could have guessed? Oh, now and then he had worried that one day Laura might meet someone who really got to her in a way that Patrick knew he didn’t. But never in a million years would he have suspected it could be Josh Kern.
The man Laura finally flipped over was an aggressive Yorkshire farmer who had put Laura’s back up the minute she met him. It had never occurred to Patrick that she might actually find Josh Kern attractive. Laura was sophisticated and clever—what could she have in common with a farmer Patrick saw as some sort of Neanderthal, who rode over anyone who got in his way, who certainly showed no signs of being gentle or caring? Patrick couldn’t even imagine the guy changing a nappy, let alone cooking or doing the shopping.
From the first day she met Kern Laura had been very vocal on the subject of how much she disliked him, and Patrick had believed her until the other day, when he had arrived at her flat to find Kern there and to see the way they looked at each other. He had known in a flash, and hadn’t needed to hear Laura admit she had fallen in love with the guy.
It showed in her eyes, in her face, even in her body. She had been alight with passion.
Patrick’s jaw clenched. Rae caught sight of his tense face and instinctively put out a hand, touched his arm. ‘Oh, Patrick, don’t! I hate to see you so miserable!’
He jerked his arm away, scowling. ‘Oh, for God’s sake! How many times do I have to tell you? Leave me alone, can’t you?’
Her kindness was like a fingertip laid on raw, burnt skin; the lightest brush was agony to him. He needed to be alone, to be quiet, to be still. Pain throbbed in his head, his veins, his heart. He wished to God Rae had not come to the airport.
‘Which hotel?’ Rae asked huskily a moment later, and when he told her, ‘Oh, yes, I know it, one of the nineteenth-century hotels, lovely ironwork balconies,’ she assured him, weaving in and out of the fast, busy traffic pouring along the Promenade des Anglais, the blue of the Baie des Anges on the right and the elegant façades of Nice hotels on the left.
‘How’s the new book coming?’ Patrick asked curtly, and Rae accepted the change of subject, beginning to talk about her work.
She had written her first children’s book when she was at university. A modern fairy-story, it was a runaway bestseller and was later made into a very successful film, with spinoffs from toys and games, making Rae Dunhill a very wealthy and famous writer.
Patrick had been very excited when she had asked him to illustrate the new series of books she was writing—international stories of mythology and legend. He’d leapt at the chance to work with a writer he admired, and he hadn’t argued when Rae insisted he did everything her way.
Maybe that was my trouble! Patrick thought, his eyes moody. Maybe I was too eager to please; both her, and Laura. I never argued with either of them, let them ride roughshod over me. Did Laura come to despise me in the end? Stop thinking about her! he angrily told himself.
They left the Promenade, spun round a corner and then another; the sea breeze blew his brown hair across his face, and he raked it back with an impatient gesture, felt Rae giving him sideways glances, and sensed her trying to read his mind, which made his profile harden, resisting her.
‘Here we are,’ she said, pulling up outside his hotel.
‘Thanks for the lift,’ he said and managed a reluctant, apologe
tic smile. It wasn’t Rae’s fault that his engagement had been broken off, after all; and it had been very kind of her to drive all this way, across the Italian border, to come to the airport to meet him. He shouldn’t have been so surly with her.
‘I enjoyed the drive,’ she assured him, then put a hand on his arm. ‘Patrick...’
‘Yes?’ Not more questions! he thought, a little nerve twitching beside his mouth, while behind his sunglasses his blue eyes burnt fixedly on the bluer sky.
‘Will you at least come over to Bordighera for the weekend? Alex gives famous barbecue parties on the beach; he’s planning one for Saturday, and it will be terrific fun. Do come!’
‘How many times do I have to tell you?’ he broke out, then his voice shook and he had to stop speaking. He felt her watching his averted face and wanted to scream at her, Stop staring! Will you just leave me alone? But he couldn’t; it would have been too much of a self-betrayal. He struggled to contain his rage, but felt as if his bones were pushing out through his tense skin. Then he caught sight of Rae’s small hands trembling on the wheel, her knuckles showing white. There was a silence for a few minutes and Patrick stared out of the window without seeing anything.
Why am I taking it out on her? he thought. She’s only a little thing, for all her bossiness and her self-assurance. It isn’t her fault.
‘OK,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll come for Saturday night, but just for the weekend, Rae!’
‘That’s fine,’ she said, breaking into a smile. ‘I’m so glad, Patrick; I’m sure you’ll have a great time, and you’re going to love Alex and Susan-Jane. They’ve got a terrific sense of humour.’
