you. Philippe was Philippe.’ She looked up at Jesse. ‘I really, really hate talking about this.’
‘I wish I could hug you but, in case you hadn’t noticed, a couple of my mother’s friends are walking on the other side of the road. If I touch you, the whole town will soon know.’
Lizzie turned around. Sure enough, two older ladies who had become regulars at the café and drank more cups of tea in the space of an hour than she had imagined anyone could possibly drink, had drawn level to them. She forced a smile and waved to them.
She turned back to Jesse. ‘I see what you mean. I want to hug you too. More than you could know. But I’ll get on with the story so I can be done with it.’ She gritted her teeth. ‘I got back to France and knew immediately something was different.’
‘To cut a long story even shorter, he’d met someone else,’ said Jesse with a scowl.
‘How did you know that?’
‘Lucky guess,’ he said.
He must dislike hearing this as much as she disliked saying it. She appreciated how difficult it must have been for him to tell her about that dreadful Camilla.
‘She was a commis, a junior chef, in the restaurant where Philippe worked. He said it meant nothing.’
‘He was lonely; she threw herself at him,’ Jesse drawled, contempt edging his voice.
‘All that. He confessed and begged my forgiveness.’
Jesse’s mouth tightened to a thin line. ‘You know my opinion. No cheating under any circumstances.’
Was Jesse judging her? She wished she hadn’t started this conversation.
‘What choice did I have? I was twenty-three, had a brand new baby. We moved to Lyon to make a fresh start. I went back to work when Amy was six months old. But things were very different. No more party girl Lizzie.’
‘I think I can predict the rest.’ Jesse’s hands were curled into fists.
‘He swore he was faithful but I couldn’t believe him. I was so jealous and suspicious I became a horrible person no one would want to live with. I stuck it until Amy was four. You know the rest.’
‘Did you love him?’ Jesse’s question came from left field.
‘I thought I did.’
‘What do you feel about him now?’ Jesse’s voice was tight, his eyes guarded.
She frowned. ‘That’s a strange question to ask after what I’ve been telling you. Philippe is done and dusted as far as I’m concerned. Not only do I not love him, I don’t actually like him.’
Jesse’s face darkened. ‘Best I don’t meet the guy tomorrow. You might not be able to hold me back.’
‘I’ve probably said too much. But now you know why I resisted getting involved with someone I thought might hurt me in the same way.’
THE NEXT DAY Lizzie was so nervous about the upcoming confrontation with Philippe she felt nauseous. She had organised extra help in the kitchen so she could spend the day with Amy. That also allowed her time for a private meeting with her ex-husband. Dread that he might try to take Amy away from her put her so on edge she wasn’t fit to work anyway.
In the fairy tale her life in Dolphin Bay with Jesse had become, she cast Philippe in the role of the ogre who could take her happiness away. She was ready with sword and shield to fight him. She had given up her career and moved to Dolphin Bay for Amy’s sake. She could give her daughter a good life here. She would never, ever let her go.
The reunion with Amy had been ecstatic, as it always was when they’d been apart for any length of time. She’d held her darling girl tightly to her, breathed in the apple shampoo freshness of her, laughed and pretended to squirm at Amy’s exuberant hugs and kisses.
As usual after Amy had been with her father and his family it had taken her a few minutes to adjust to speaking English, to being a little Australian girl again. But after Lizzie had shown her the café—where the staff had made a huge fuss of her—and her new home upstairs, Amy had happily gone off with Maura. No doubt she would be introduced to little Alfie and then the begging and pleading to keep him would start. Lizzie decided to keep an open mind on that one.
Maura had so much grandmotherly love to give—and Amy was the only child in their family she had to lavish it on. Lizzie was aware of the thread of sadness underlying Maura’s warmth, stemming from the tragic loss of Ben’s little son.
With Amy settled with Maura, now it would be just her and Philippe, squaring up against each other as adversaries with their child the spoils of battle. She hadn’t seen her ex-husband for more than a year. Sometimes she liked to imagine he didn’t exist. But he was here in Dolphin Bay. She took a deep steadying breath to centre herself and headed to the Hotel Harbourside. Let the battle begin.
She’d chosen neutral territory, a quiet corner of the guest lounge. At this time of day, during the week, there should be no one to disturb them. She regretted the hurt that had flashed across Jesse’s face when she had declined his offer to accompany her. But this was something she had to do by herself.
She cast a quick eye around the room. Jesse had said he would be nearby in case he needed to rush in to her defence—like a true Prince Charming would. She couldn’t see him anywhere, but she trusted he was there. Jesse was true to his word. Although she knew the confrontation with Philippe wouldn’t get physical—unless he’d changed out of sight—it was reassuring to know that Jesse was close.
Then Philippe was there, greeting her with his accented English that had charmed her years ago. She braced herself and looked up at her ex, his handsome face with his prominent nose and Amy’s eyes, his dark blond hair. He had once been so dear to her; they had started off with such high hopes, now he meant nothing. There was an element of sadness—of failure—to her thoughts but no regret. If it wasn’t for Amy, she would be happy never to have to see him again.
* * *
Jesse knew the layout of the Hotel Harbourside very well. It had not been difficult to find a spot where, with the help of a large wall mirror, he could sit in a large, high-backed lounge chair and keep an eye on Lizzie without her—or her ex-husband—seeing him. He held an open newspaper in front of him and flicked through its pages without seeing a word. It was like a stake-out. Cloak and dagger stuff. Only this was a game where the stakes were very high.
Lizzie had come into the guest lounge by herself. She was dressed more formally than he had seen her, wearing narrow black trousers and a tight cropped jacket with the sleeves pushed up. Her hair was pulled back in a thick plait that hung in pale contrast down the back of the black jacket. She looked elegant, stylish and so unfamiliar it disconcerted him.
He could tell by the way Lizzie squared her shoulders and measured her stride that she was nervous. Was that why she had dressed like that? As armour? The ugly thought intruded. Or to look good for her ex?
She only had seconds to pace the floor by herself before she was joined
