it all,’ he told her. ‘Mrs Griggs cleans and her husband gardens. It’s a perfect arrangement.’
The house itself was cosy and comfortable, with big squashy sofas and well-polished furniture which was a tribute to the efforts of the unseen Mrs Griggs.
The kitchen was mellow with antique pine, and a gleaming range, and there was an open fireplace in the sitting room with kindling and logs laid ready. There was also a baby grand piano, with a selection of music stacked neatly on its lid.
And, Ros saw, in pride of place, a photograph in a silver frame. The face was younger, and the hair longer, but the slanting smile was instantly familiar.
‘This is you,’ she accused, picking it up. She wheeled round on him. ‘And you don’t just “know” the owners. They’re your parents—aren’t they?’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Sam said ruefully. ‘That’s my graduation picture. I’ve never been able to persuade Ma to bury it somewhere.’
‘But you said it wasn’t your house.’
‘Nor is it,’ Sam returned promptly. ‘It’s where I grew up, and I have wonderful memories, but that’s its only claim on me. I moved out and moved on a long time ago.’
‘But surely…’ Ros paused awkwardly. ‘I mean it will be yours—in time.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘The parents are planning to move permanently to France, so it will be going on the market—probably this summer.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Not particularly.’ His voice was amused. ‘It’s not a family heirloom. And you have to look forward, not to the past. And one day,’ he added matter-of-factly, ‘I intend buying a house of my own, so that I can create some good memories for my own children.’
There was a sudden roaring in her ears, and shecould feel the colour draining from her face, leaving only an aching emptiness behind.
From some vast distance, she heard herself say, ‘Of course.’
And she turned back to replace the photograph on the piano with great care, terrified in case he noticed that her hands were shaking.
But he was walking past her to the French windows and opening them. ‘Why don’t you find us a picnic spot while I get the food ready?’
She nodded, and fled out into the open air, standing for a moment to draw great shuddering breaths as she fought for composure.
Because it had hit her with all the savage, overwhelming force of a tidal wave that there was only one woman she could bear to be the mother of Sam’s children. And that was herself.
‘No,’ she whispered, gulping oxygen into her labouring lungs. ‘No, this is ridiculous. It’s not happening. I won’t let it.’
Because she couldn’t base a lifetime relationship on the strength of a few hours’ dubious acquaintance. Or even casual lust. And that was all it was—however strongly her senses might be telling her otherwise. Even though they might be murmuring insidiously that in reality she had known Sam all her life—had breathed in the fact of his existence through her pores since the moment of her own creation. And had simply been waiting all this time for him to come to her.
Hormonal rubbish, she told herself crushingly. Janie’s famous biological clock making itself felt.
Well, she would not allow it to control her perfectly satisfactory life. Particularly when, only a few weeksearlier, she’d been contemplating marrying a very different man with serenity, if not any great enthusiasm.
Hitching herself to the star of someone who advertised for company in a personal column had never been part of her plan.
In fact the whole thing had been a grotesque mistake from beginning to end.
I should never have got involved, she thought, forcing herself to walk along the flagged terrace. And if I’m going to suffer, it’s entirely my own fault.
Which was no consolation at all.
And now she had to pull herself together and find somewhere for this picnic, when all she wanted to do was run away so far and so fast that Sam would never find
The house itself was cosy and comfortable, with big squashy sofas and well-polished furniture which was a tribute to the efforts of the unseen Mrs Griggs.
The kitchen was mellow with antique pine, and a gleaming range, and there was an open fireplace in the sitting room with kindling and logs laid ready. There was also a baby grand piano, with a selection of music stacked neatly on its lid.
And, Ros saw, in pride of place, a photograph in a silver frame. The face was younger, and the hair longer, but the slanting smile was instantly familiar.
‘This is you,’ she accused, picking it up. She wheeled round on him. ‘And you don’t just “know” the owners. They’re your parents—aren’t they?’
‘Guilty as charged,’ Sam said ruefully. ‘That’s my graduation picture. I’ve never been able to persuade Ma to bury it somewhere.’
‘But you said it wasn’t your house.’
‘Nor is it,’ Sam returned promptly. ‘It’s where I grew up, and I have wonderful memories, but that’s its only claim on me. I moved out and moved on a long time ago.’
‘But surely…’ Ros paused awkwardly. ‘I mean it will be yours—in time.’
‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘The parents are planning to move permanently to France, so it will be going on the market—probably this summer.’
‘And you don’t mind?’
‘Not particularly.’ His voice was amused. ‘It’s not a family heirloom. And you have to look forward, not to the past. And one day,’ he added matter-of-factly, ‘I intend buying a house of my own, so that I can create some good memories for my own children.’
There was a sudden roaring in her ears, and shecould feel the colour draining from her face, leaving only an aching emptiness behind.
From some vast distance, she heard herself say, ‘Of course.’
And she turned back to replace the photograph on the piano with great care, terrified in case he noticed that her hands were shaking.
But he was walking past her to the French windows and opening them. ‘Why don’t you find us a picnic spot while I get the food ready?’
She nodded, and fled out into the open air, standing for a moment to draw great shuddering breaths as she fought for composure.
Because it had hit her with all the savage, overwhelming force of a tidal wave that there was only one woman she could bear to be the mother of Sam’s children. And that was herself.
‘No,’ she whispered, gulping oxygen into her labouring lungs. ‘No, this is ridiculous. It’s not happening. I won’t let it.’
Because she couldn’t base a lifetime relationship on the strength of a few hours’ dubious acquaintance. Or even casual lust. And that was all it was—however strongly her senses might be telling her otherwise. Even though they might be murmuring insidiously that in reality she had known Sam all her life—had breathed in the fact of his existence through her pores since the moment of her own creation. And had simply been waiting all this time for him to come to her.
Hormonal rubbish, she told herself crushingly. Janie’s famous biological clock making itself felt.
Well, she would not allow it to control her perfectly satisfactory life. Particularly when, only a few weeksearlier, she’d been contemplating marrying a very different man with serenity, if not any great enthusiasm.
Hitching herself to the star of someone who advertised for company in a personal column had never been part of her plan.
In fact the whole thing had been a grotesque mistake from beginning to end.
I should never have got involved, she thought, forcing herself to walk along the flagged terrace. And if I’m going to suffer, it’s entirely my own fault.
Which was no consolation at all.
And now she had to pull herself together and find somewhere for this picnic, when all she wanted to do was run away so far and so fast that Sam would never find
Similar Books
