Authors: Kristen Ashley
In fact,
looking around him, he noticed all the children were eating their
food with relish. The last months, they had been eating quickly but
he saw that they were eating quickly to get it over with. Now they
were devouring the food with enjoyment and, although Lizzie wasn’t
bright eyed and giggling, she was eating. Both Will and Ruby were
acting as if they’d just won the lottery.
“Children,
what did we talk about?” Julia prompted.
Julia, he saw,
had no food in front of her and was sipping only at a cup of
coffee.
“Thank you
Unka Douglas!” Ruby shouted at the top of her lungs.
“Thank you for
the weekend in London, we had a good time,” Will recited as if he
was reading it from a script, the blankness of his tone belied the
look on his face which one could only describe as goofy. This
effect, Douglas saw, was to draw out Lizzie who didn’t bother to
respond to her brother.
“
Yeah,
thanks,” Lizzie chimed in half-heartedly.
Douglas looked
at Julia, her chair was pushed back and she was twisted in it, her
back slightly towards him, her legs crossed in front of her. Her
bare foot with its pale pink varnished toes bounced casually, or
angrily, he couldn’t tell which.
She was
cupping her coffee in both hands like it was providing warmth
against an arctic freeze and staring into it like it could tell her
the meaning of life.
He reached for
the coffeepot and poured himself a cup.
“You’re
welcome,” he told the children.
“Can we go
back? Can we, can we, can we?” Ruby asked.
“Of course,
Ruby, when would you like to go?” he inquired, sipping his coffee
and feeling the full weight of Julia’s feigned aloofness, just as
she intended.
“Tomorrow?”
Ruby tried.
He smiled at
the child and said in a gentle tone, “No, Ruby, tomorrow would be
too much of a good thing. But soon.”
“Promise?” she
shouted.
He nodded and
Mrs. Kilpatrick walked in, setting his breakfast in front of him
and announcing that Carter was ready to take the kids to
school.
They rushed
around like dervishes, all stopping at Julia for hugs and kisses.
Douglas watched in dawning realisation that this unusual practice
of affection was now an expected agenda item for the morning
schedule, or indeed any time they left Julia. Ruby even stopped and
gave him a kiss before unnecessarily chasing after the siblings who
would leave her behind.
Unable to keep
her back even partially to him and not appear rude, Julia turned
back to the table but didn’t say a word.
“Have you had
breakfast?” he asked.
“I’m not
hungry,” she replied, her tone not inviting further conversation
and her eyes were now gazing in fixed fascination on the wallpaper
across the room as if she were counting the seconds to when she
could leave and not seem ill-mannered.
“Would you
like to explain this new morning ritual?” he asked.
This shook her
out of her feigned remoteness and she turned startled green eyes to
him.
“You said that
I could decide what the children were to eat,” she looked down at
the pots of jam.
“I’m not
referring to the sugar bowl, Julia,” he explained. “I think it…
unusual to demand the children display physical affection every
time they leave you.” His tone sounded more judgmental than he
intended and she stiffened in response.
“It’s
tradition,” she told him, her voice terse.
“An odd
tradition,” he commented, regarding her levelly and she raised her
glittering eyes to his.
“Not really.
My mother always made us kiss and hug her before we went to bed or
school or, when we were older, out with our friends. We used to
hate it. Especially if it was in front of someone else or we were
quarrelling with her. Even then, we had to kiss her goodnight. One
day, when I was a senior in high school, she got sick. A really bad
case of pneumonia and she had to be in the hospital for a long time
and, for a day or two, it didn’t look good. I couldn’t give her a
kiss or hug before I went to bed and I found I missed it, was
actually desperate to do it because I was so scared at how sick she
was. It was then I realised her wisdom, because anything can happen
when you least expect it. And, if the last thing you did was give
someone you loved a hug or a kiss, it would make dealing with
whatever happened just that tiny bit better.”
She stopped
and he realised, with some surprise, she was having trouble
breathing. Regardless, she continued, but this time, her voice was
shaking.
“I know Gavin
and Tammy did the same thing with those kids for the same reason
and it makes it all a tiny bit better knowing that the last things
those kids did was kiss and hug their parents good-bye.”
It was then
Douglas realised why her breathing was laboured, why her voice was
shaking. She was holding back the tears that were gleaming at the
rims of her eyes. He himself felt a strange lump rise in his throat
and his hands involuntarily formed into fists in an effort not to
touch her, something that was becoming a habit, this consistent
effort not to touch her.
And he very
much wanted to touch her now. He wanted to touch her last night
after she blazed at him in anger and when she was seated demurely
on the couch listing her grievances regarding the children. He
wanted to touch her in the car when she was sleeping away her
exhaustion and jetlag. And he had wanted to touch her in the
Bentley when they were driving to the gallery and all he could
smell was her perfume and all he could see were her endless
legs.
It wasn’t
often that Douglas didn’t simply do what he wanted to do. Now, most
especially, as he watched her struggle with her emotions, sitting
there looking alone and tremendously sad, he found himself wanting
to comfort her. If he was honest, he may have even needed her to
comfort him as he felt his chest tighten with something he hadn’t
felt for years.
“Julia,” he
murmured softly.
She took a
deep shuddering breath.
“So, you see,”
she finished, a tremor still in her voice but the subject, most
definitely, was closed, “it’s tradition.”
He allowed her
a moment to collect herself, reading correctly that she would
prefer to be in control rather than let go. He understood that.
However, he did so while watching her.
She was
immensely watchable. Her face wasn’t just lovely, it was also
expressive. Her emotions, now raw and right on the surface, made
her all the more alluring. He could never countenance female tears
but then, he’d never seen any that were genuine.
He felt the
familiar pull of what he recognised as a growing attraction to her.
He’d always known it was there but the strength of it was
surprising.
He
didn’t just want to touch her. He wanted to kiss her. He’d wanted
to kiss her in the car when she had so obviously enjoyed the night
out with Charlie, her cheeks flushed, her voice happy and he was
surrounded with her captivating scent and knew
exactly
how her legs and ass looked in that
unbelievable dress. And again, when he had awakened her after they
arrived home and her eyes were heavy-lidded and her voice was husky
with sleep. And also, after she had vented her anger at him last
night.
No, last
night he hadn’t
wanted
to kiss
her, he
ached
to do it
and far more than that. He’d had to put the desk between them to
stop himself.
And now, while
she was struggling for control, he wanted very much to coax her to
lose that control. He wanted to taste her lips, hear her whisper
his name with her voice throaty with passion.
He wanted
her.
Yes, the
problem of Julia was definitely becoming quite intriguing.
As she
seemed to get a hold of herself, his mind came to terms with this
development and he immediately came to a decision and formed a
plan. It was, he realised, an excellent solution to
all
his problems most especially
Julia and the children.
“I’d like to
ask you a favour,” he stated.
She turned her
eyes to his, the grief barely masked and its presence made his tone
gentle when he continued.
“Tamsin was on
a committee for years to organise a ball to raise funds for a local
charity that provides research funding for breast cancer. This
year, she was chair of the committee until…” he broke off, not
needing to continue.
“Yes?” Julia
prompted, her voice deeper than normal with the effort to control
her emotions.
“I’d like you
to attend with me, to represent the family, to represent Gavin. I
think Tamsin would have wanted that.”
Tamsin would
have wanted Julia anywhere and everywhere. They were like sisters,
e-mailing and sending care packages full of little gifts they’d
purchase for each other the minute they saw something that reminded
one of the other.
Douglas
watched Julia nod, her sadness melting as she gave him a small,
tentative smile.
“I’d be
delighted,” she agreed and a truce was established, albeit soon to
be made very brief.
“
Well,
well, well, isn’t
this
cosy?” A
refined, but glacial, female voice sounded from the doorway and
Douglas looked up to see his mother standing there, staring down
her nose at Julia.
Monique
was wearing a white suit with a filmy black blouse and a huge black
and white hat. Douglas regarded his mother with remote disdain. She
looked like she’d walked right out of a rerun of
Dynasty
.
She was
sixty-four years old and through a strict diet and exercise regime,
monthly visits to the spa and hairdressers, twice-yearly visits to
a plastic surgeon and sheer determination, she looked twenty years
younger.
She was
carrying a newspaper and walking forward, the expression in her
eyes was frosty.
He stood, as a
gentleman should, but for no other reason.
“Mother,” he
greeted her warily for he could see she was in a mood.
She ignored
him.
“You!” she
pointed, her tone accusatory, her gaze malicious, at Julia who was
staring at her brother’s mother-in-law, her expression a study in
shock, her eyes riveted to the finger pointed in her direction.
Monique then
threw the paper she was carrying and it slid down the table, over
the children’s dirty dishes and spilled onto Julia’s lap taking
marmalade and butter with it.
Julia caught
it reflexively, jumping up from her seat.
Douglas
gritted his teeth.
“Mother,” he
said through them, his voice a warning.
“
Didn’t
take
you
long did
it?” Monique hissed. “Went right in for the kill, didn’t
you?”
Julia was
looking down at the paper and Douglas saw in it was a printed the
photo taken of them outside his house in Kensington.
He had to
admit, it looked damning. He knew he’d just caught her after a
stumble but they looked like they were two lovers embracing. He was
forced to subdue a pleased smile at this turn of events as this was
fortuitous to his new plan.
Julia looked
at it horrified.
“This is all a
mistake. I –” Julia started.
“You’re a
parasite, is what you are… which was expected but I cannot believe
how quickly you’ve managed to latch on.”
At that piece
of rudeness, Douglas cut in curtly.
“Mother, we
were in London for an art opening. Julia tripped, I caught her, the
photographer got lucky. Did you come all the way back from the
Mediterranean for this?”
His words and
tone made her actions sound ludicrous.
She tore her
angry gaze away from Julia who was visibly shaken. Julia looked
from Monique to Douglas then back to Monique.
For her part,
Monique looked to be trying to decide the veracity of his words.
She also looked at him and then Julia.
He looked
annoyed, which he was. Julia looked stricken and offended.
And he noted
passingly, rather glorious.
Even standing
there, barefoot, wearing snug-fitting jeans and an equally
snug-fitting chocolate brown t-shirt that said “Eat at Ed’s” in
pink on the front, she somehow appeared to match Monique in
panache. Even injured and caught off guard, there was something
almost regal about her that even Monique, with her wealth of
aristocratic background and good breeding, couldn’t match.
Douglas tore
his gaze away from Julia and watched as his mother made her
decision. Perhaps believing Douglas, perhaps realising that her
opponent may not be as much of a pushover as she anticipated,
perhaps sensing she wouldn’t have Douglas’s support, she backed off
with ill-grace.
“That,”
Monique answered Douglas belatedly, her tone no longer icy but now
airy, “and Beatrice was getting on my nerves. I forgot I can only
stand the woman for hours at a time, why I thought I could spend
three weeks with her is beyond me.”
Deciding to
give up her tirade, without another word, she turned and began to
walk away, as usual without any kind of greeting, asking after
Douglas, who she hadn’t seen in weeks, or inquiring about Julia,
who had moved an ocean away from her home to take up the care of
Monique’s grandchildren.
“Mother,”
Douglas called, his voice so unyielding even Monique stopped and
turned.
“Yes, my
darling?” she replied.
He stared at
his mother and saw her eyes glittering with malice. Her words were
uttered in a sugar sweet tone that he knew from years of experience
she didn’t mean. He’d been enduring her faux motherhood for
thirty-eight years and he’d always been able to ignore it. For some
reason, today, he found it grated.