The Lost Wife by Maggie Cox Page A

him to know that living ‘out in the sticks’, as it were, wasn’t nearly as dreadful or inconvenient as he imagined. She also wanted him to realise that she was much more together than she’d used to be … that she was capable and strong and forging a good life for herself and their daughter after the unspeakable tragedy that had wounded and demoralised them all.
    ‘I don’t know what you saw in me when we first met.’ The admission was out before she realised.
    Laying down his fork, Jake steadily met her gaze across the candle flames. The midnight-blue lake that confronted her was so compelling that Ailsa’s heartbeat all but thundered in her chest.
    ‘That’s easy. I saw a beautiful young woman who was shy and uncertain in an environment she clearly wasn’t used to,’ he answered, ‘but who was so intent on doing a good job that it was endearing.’ His rich voice was so low that she had to lean in to hear him.
    ‘Shy and uncertain just about sums me up back then. I was so afraid of making a mistake that I practically jumped out of my skin every time the phone rang.’
    ‘You left out beautiful.’
    ‘What?’
    ‘I said you were beautiful as well as shy and uncertain.’
    She knotted her hands together. ‘I never felt very beautiful … and I’m not looking for you to reassure me about that. The truth is I was stunned that someone like you would even glance at a girl like me.’
    ‘Someone like me?’
    ‘Yes—someone who seemed to have it all … looks, money, position. It really was hard for me to understand your interest in me.’
    ‘You didn’t see the eyes of the other men that followed you whenever you walked into a room?’
    ‘No … I didn’t.’
I only saw your eyes,
Ailsa admitted silently. From the very first time, when Jake had introduced himself to her, she’d been completely captivated by him. The other men that had walked through her days had been relegated to ghostlike figures of little substance in comparison.
    ‘Why don’t we take our drinks into the living room?
    It’s getting a little chilly in here and we can add another log to the burner,’ he suggested, already on his feet.
    Glancing distractedly down at her barely touched glass of wine, Ailsa felt her senses roar at the idea of spending the evening sitting by the fire with Jake, with nothing but the light of the dancing flames of fire and candle to illuminate the blackout.
    Her hand shook a little as she curled it round the glass’s crystal stem and stood up. ‘Are you sure you only want to drink orange juice? You wouldn’t prefer a glass of wine?’ she asked, a husky catch in her voice.
    A glimmer of a smile visited Jake’s well-cut lips but was quickly gone again. ‘I’m sure.’
    ‘You don’t enjoy it any more?’
    ‘No.’
    ‘Can I ask why?’
    ‘I don’t touch alcohol because I can’t find pleasure in something potentially so destructive.’
    The seductive warmth that had been curling deep into Ailsa’s belly was suddenly replaced by ice-cold steel. She snatched her hand away from the wine glass as though a piece of it had sheared off and cut deep into her skin. ‘You mean because that driver was drunk when he ploughed into us?’
    A muscle flinched clearly in the cheek that was still smooth and unscarred. ‘Yes. But I’m not saying that
you
shouldn’t enjoy it. I’m sorry if I was too blunt.’
    His meant-to-be consoling words didn’t help. ‘You weren’t too blunt. I’d rather have the truth, no matter how hard it is to hear. I think there are too many sorrys between us … we’ve blamed each other for so much, Jake.’
    He looked to be considering this comment for a long time. Then he breathed out a sigh and said, ‘Let’s go intothe living room, shall we? You take that candelabrum and I’ll bring the other one. Bring your wine too.’
    ‘I don’t want it now.’
    ‘Bring it.’ He lifted a gently chastising eyebrow.
    Once they’d arranged the candles in the best positions to