Last Chance Marriage. Rosemary Gibson
If she’d hoped to throw Joshua Harrington even marginally off-balance, she was disappointed.
‘I thought you’d be at work by now,’ he murmured mildly, the navy blue sweatshirt hugging the wide, powerful shoulders intensifying the brilliance of his eyes. Knocking out the last fragment of glass, he stooped to gather up the plastic sheeting.
Normally she would have been, Clemency conceded, but it wouldn’t have hurt him to ring the doorbell and check. ‘I’m on leave for a week.’
Waggling her fingers at the twins, who were waving to her enthusiastically from the garden, Clemency retrieved the strong refuse bag from the floor and held it open.
‘Thanks.’
As he deposited the plastic sheeting deftly into the bag, her eyes flicked over the strong contours of his face, absorbing the weariness etched into it. For a second her hard-won composure almost cracked completely, the muscles of her stomach coiling into a fierce knot. Had he endured an equally troubled night? Lain awake for hours, like her, eyes open, staring into the past?
‘Daddy’s going to put a lovely new window in your door,’ trebled a small voice. Evidently deciding that their temporary banishment had been lifted now the glass had been safely removed, the twins scampered across the grass.
‘That’s really kind of him, isn’t it?’ The second voice piped, with unconcealed hero-worship.
‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Clemency agreed solemnly, her muscles relaxing as the small boys bounded into the kitchen.
‘Especially as Daddy broke the damn window,’ Joshua Harrington murmured sotto voce, the corners of the firm, straight mouth twitching.
Unable to keep it straight any longer, Clemency’s face broke into a warm, wide grin, the wariness in her eyes of which she’d been quite unconscious clearing briefly.
‘Where’s your lunch box, Tommy?’ Joshua enquired, straightening up.
‘Left it in the garden.’
‘Go and fetch it, please.’
‘Yes, Daddy.’ The boys started for the door and then, as if some invisible hand had tapped them on the shoulder, turned back towards Clemency.
‘Bye, Clemency,’ they chorused dutifully.
‘An’ thank you for having us...’ one voice continued absently, parrot fashion.
‘You don’t have to say that...’ Its owner was instantly corrected.
‘Goodbye, Jamie,’ Clemency said formally, repressing her laughter, a little mystified at the expression of utter resignation on their small faces as they looked up at her. They were so adorable, she could hug them! ‘Goodbye, Tommy.’
For a second neither of them moved and then, faces lighting up with relief, they turned and bounded towards the door.
‘She didn’t kiss us...’ The clear, carrying voice floated jubilantly back through the open door.
‘Or hug us...’
‘I believe,’ Joshua Harrington murmured dryly, ‘that you’ve just passed the litmus test.’
Clemency couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She so very nearly hadn’t!
‘An’ she smelled nice...’
‘Even nicer than Anna.’
Anna again, Clemency mused, but on that tantalising note the small voices faded away.
‘Hmm.’ Joshua gathered up the refuse bag and headed for the door. ‘I think I might have a word with my sons and heirs about the importance of discretion,’ he murmured thoughtfully.
‘Do as I say, not as I do?’ Clemency enquired innocently before she could help herself.
‘How much of my diatribe did you overhear yesterday?’
‘You mean did I hear the “to hell with all women” soliloquy?
‘Or the reference to the inquisitive, frustrated spinster next door?’
‘I don’t think those were quite my words...’ he refuted, his mouth quirking.
‘No,’ she conceded, ‘but that was the inference,’ she continued lightly. ‘The implication that no woman could possibly feel fulfilled without the presence of a man in her life. An arrogant male assumption that isn’t true.’ She smiled back at him to take the sting out of her words, to show him she was half-teasing. Nevertheless, it suddenly seemed very important to assure him, however obliquely, that she had absolutely no designs on either him or the twins, wasn’t in the market for happy families.
She saw his eyes flicker, but their expression was as unreadable as his face.
‘The assumption works both ways,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve had my fill over the past few years of the manipulative attempts at matchmaking by the wives of various male acquaintances.’
His voice was as light and as casual as hers had been, but perversely the underlying tension between them seemed to intensify rather than ease. They were making ground rules, Clemency absorbed, warning each other off—though why it should be necessary to do so was something she didn’t care to analyse.
‘I’ll pick up a pane of glass after I’ve dropped the boys off at school.’ Glancing at his watch, he grimaced slightly, and hurried outside to herd up his sons, their small, bowed heads on a level just above his knees as they scampered by his side, trying to keep pace with his long, rapid strides.
Moving across to the window, Clemency watched the tall, lean, assured figure disappear around the side of the house, her grey eyes thoughtful. She had nothing but admiration for those courageous women who had attempted to interfere in his private life. And she very much doubted that Joshua Harrington had ever been manipulated by anyone in his entire existence.
Breakfast! Turning away from the window, Clemency moved across the tiled floor, extracted a loaf of bread from the fridge and, changing her mind, replaced it. She’d skip her usual tea and toast this morning, settle for a cup of instant coffee instead. Her mouth twitched. Live dangerously, change her routine!
Switching on the kettle, she picked up the newspaper while she waited for the water to boil, her gaze darting immediately to the cartoon at the bottom of the front page. Josh. The distinctive, decisive signature was oddly redolent of its owner, instantly conjuring up an image of the dark, rugged face.
Abruptly she tossed the paper to one side, the cartoon for some reason failing to amuse her this morning, and armed with a mug of coffee sat down at the breakfast bar. She glanced up at the wall clock. How long would it take him to drop the twins off and buy a new pane of glass?
Determinedly she turned her attention to her post. Mostly junk mail. An exceedingly rude postcard from David Mason. Idiot. She smiled, thinking affectionately of the russet-haired man who had somehow managed the difficult task of maintaining his friendship with both herself and Simon.
Her smile faded. Had David known about Simon’s feelings for Lisa all those years ago? Let himself be used as an alibi on occasions? Had those games of squash with Simon been fictitious? She winced. Oh, blast Joshua Harrington. He was the one indirectly responsible for reviving those painful questions, questions she had resolutely dismissed years ago.
Slipping off her stool, she carried her mug of coffee through to the sitting room at the front of the house. Was that the sound of his car now? Tensing, she gazed out of the window into the lane. No, just a tractor en route to the farm. Restlessly she wandered back to the kitchen, had just sat down again when the doorbell chimed.
Trying to ignore the rush of adrenalin spurting through her, she jumped to her feet and went to answer it. Joshua had evidently decided to announce his arrival more formally this time.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door expectantly, perturbed by the immediate sense of anticlimax as she saw the grey-haired