moment had been well and truly brushed under the carpet.
And although there were times when he wished it hadn’t been quite so rigorously filed under ‘let’s never mention this again’, this was a stark reminder why it had to be.
Families, children, commitment. All very nice in principle, but tying. Even more weighty than the phone.
‘I know we don’t usually work on a Sunday.’ She made the statement sound like a question and Raff shrugged non-committally.
It was chilly outside, cold enough for Clara to pull her wrap around her shoulders as they exited the building and began to make their way down the wide stone steps into the brightness of a London night. If the stars were out Raff couldn’t see them, the streetlamps and neon signs colluding to hide the night sky from the city dwellers.
He had arranged to meet their driver on the corner of the street and steered Clara along the cobbled pavement, waiting for the inevitable comment about how much her feet hurt.
It didn’t come. ‘I have an appointment,’ she said instead, looking down at the uneven cobbles. ‘I wondered if you would come with me. You said, a few weeks ago...’ Her voice trailed off.
‘Yes.’ He frowned as he remembered. ‘Of course.’ He had said he would attend a meeting with her. Only, that was before.
People must be talking about them, about the amount of time they were spending together, about the way he picked her up almost nightly in a chauffeur-driven car—maybe it was his turn to act the graceful escort. Only, it seemed worse somehow. Her family were so close, it felt deceitful.
The thought of getting to know her family, of possibly being accepted by them, twisted his stomach. What if he liked them? Or God forbid felt at home?
‘It was the only day they offered me.’ She finally looked up, her face pale, her features standing out starkly from the almost unnatural pallor of her skin.
‘They?’
She took a deep breath, her body almost shaking. ‘Summer’s father isn’t involved. It’s his choice. I really tried.’ Raff had to take a deep breath of his own to dampen down a sudden, shocking anger. How could anyone have left her to raise a child on her own?
‘I send him photos, videos, school reports, tried to get him to Skype with her. He’s never been that interested. But a few weeks ago, the day you asked me to help you out, he emailed.’
‘He wants to see you tomorrow.’ It wasn’t a question.
‘He’s here with his father. They have money—’ She came to an abrupt stop, her throat working.
‘So do I.’
She gave him a tiny smile but he wasn’t joking. They wanted to play powerful and well connected? He was brought up to play that game.
‘Byron’s father thought that I, well, it doesn’t matter now, but we don’t have the best relationship.’ She twisted her bangle round. ‘I wanted to be strong enough to do it alone.’
Raff’s heart squeezed, painfully. It couldn’t be easy for her to ask for help. ‘Is Summer going?’
She shook her head. ‘They don’t want her there.’
‘Of course I’ll be there.’ It was just returning a favour, right? The cold, still anger that consumed him when he saw the stricken look in her eyes, heard her voice shake, watched her search for words no mother should have to say had nothing to do with his decision. It was just a favour. No big deal.
‘I’ve been dreading this,’ she confessed, the shadows under her eyes making them look even bigger than usual. ‘All I’ve ever wanted is for Byron to be part of Summer’s life. And now he’s finally here, in London, just an hour away from her, I’m terrified.’ She shook her head helplessly. ‘I don’t know why. I should be stronger than this.’
Raff stopped and turned her around to face him, tilting her chin up, making her look at him, see the truth of his words. ‘Clara, you are incredible. You raise Summer alone, you run a business, half of Hopeford relies on you one way or another. You are the strongest woman I know.’
She stared up at him, doubt in her eyes. ‘Really?’
‘Really.’ He squeezed her shoulders, ignoring the urge to pull her in a little closer.
She exhaled. ‘Thank you, I appreciate it. I really do.’
Raff knew instinctively that it wasn’t easy for her to lean on him; he was honoured, of course, that she had asked him, had confessed her fears to him. It must have hurt her to show him the vulnerable side she kept so locked away. But it was terrifying as well. Physical intimacy was one thing, emotional intimacy, honesty, secrets? Another ballgame altogether.
But she’d been let down enough already. One morning, that was all she was asking. He was capable of that at least.
* * *
As they approached the hotel Clara’s demeanour subtly changed, as if she were going into battle. There was little outward sign of her stress although her grip tightened on his arm. Her face was utterly calm as if she were going to any business meeting, her hair had been ruthlessly tamed and coiled back in a neat bun, not one curly tendril allowed to fall about her face. It made her eyes look even bigger, emphasised the catlike curve of her cheek; Raff thought she looked vulnerable, a child playing dress up.
She had dressed for battle too, sleek and purposeful in a grey suit.
But Raff could feel the faint tremors running through her body. Her lips were colourless under her lip gloss.
The Drewes were staying at one of the most exclusive hotels in London, an old Georgian town house discreetly tucked away in a square in Marylebone. It was an interesting choice. Not overtly glitzy but it suggested old money, power and taste.
Raff was looking forward to this. He knew all about old money, power and taste. Bring it on.
Clara was all purpose now, marching up the stone steps and through the double doors, turning with no hesitation towards the hotel’s sunny dining room.
‘Clara.’ Both men rose to their feet; although they both wore smiles the brown eyes were alike—cold and assessing.
‘Byron, Mr Drewe.’ She shook hands in turn, strangely formal considering one of these men was the father of her child. ‘This is Raff.’ She didn’t qualify their relationship. Good girl, Raff thought, keep them guessing. ‘Raff, this is Byron and his father, Archibald Drewe.’
Raff reached over to shake hands in his turn, unable to resist making his own handshake as strong and powerful as he could. So this was Summer’s father, this tall, handsome man, whose smile didn’t reach his eyes and who wore his privilege with ease.
‘Please, sit down.’ The elder Drewe looked very similar to his son, the dark hair almost fully grey and the tanned face more wrinkled but with a steely determination behind the affable façade.
Raff pulled out Clara’s chair for her, a statement of intent.
‘It’s been a while,’ she said to Byron. ‘You’ve
