your running and living expenses will be paid, all you have to do is live in it, not have any wild parties, and call the plumber if necessary. Oh, and feed and walk the dog. Are you OK with dogs?’
She nodded. ‘I love dogs. I’ve always wanted one.’
‘Brilliant. And Murph’s a sweetie. You’ll love him, and the house. It’s called Rose Cottage, it’s got an absolutely gorgeous garden, and the best thing is it’s only three miles from here, so we can see lots of each other. It’ll be fun.’
‘But what about the baby? Won’t he mind?’
‘John? Nah. He loves babies. Anyway, he’s hardly ever home. Come on, we’re going to see him now.’
‘I’VE found her.’
Max froze.
It was what he’d been waiting for since June, but now—now he was almost afraid to voice the question. His heart stalling, he leaned slowly back in his chair and scoured the investigator’s face for clues. ‘Where?’ he asked, and his voice sounded rough and unused, like a rusty hinge.
‘In Suffolk. She’s living in a cottage.’
Living. His heart crashed back to life, and he sucked in a long, slow breath. All these months he’d feared…
‘Is she well?’
‘Yes, she’s well.’
He had to force himself to ask the next question. ‘Alone?’
The man paused. ‘No. The cottage belongs to a man called John Blake. He’s working away at the moment, but he comes and goes.’
God. He felt sick. So sick he hardly registered the next few words, but then gradually they sank in. ‘She’s got what?’
‘Babies. Twin girls. They’re eight months old.’
‘Eight—?’ he echoed under his breath. ‘So he’s got children?’
He was thinking out loud, but the PI heard and corrected him.
‘Apparently not. I gather they’re hers. She’s been there since mid-January last year, and they were born during the summer—June, the woman in the post office thought. She was more than helpful. I think there’s been a certain amount of speculation about their relationship.’
He’d just bet there had. God, he was going to kill her. Or Blake. Maybe both of them.
‘Of course, looking at the dates, she was presumably pregnant when she left you, so they could be yours—or she could have been having an affair with this Blake character before.’
He glared at the unfortunate PI. ‘Just stick to your job. I can do the maths,’ he snapped, swallowing the unpalatable possibility that she’d been unfaithful to him before she’d left. ‘Where is she? I want the address.’
‘It’s all in here,’ the man said, sliding a large envelope across the desk to him. ‘With my invoice.’
‘I’ll get it seen to. Thank you.’
‘If there’s anything else you need, Mr Gallagher, any further information—’
‘I’ll be in touch.’
‘The woman in the post office told me Blake was away at the moment, if that helps,’ he added quietly, and opened the door.
Max stared down at the envelope, hardly daring to open it. But, when the door clicked softly shut behind the PI, he eased up the flap, tipped it and felt his breath jam in his throat as the photos spilled out over the desk.
Oh lord, she looked gorgeous. Different, though. It took him a moment to recognise her, because she’d grown her hair and it was tied back in a ponytail, making her look younger and somehow freer. The blonde highlights were gone, and it was back to its natural soft golden-brown, with a little curl in the end of the ponytail that he wanted to thread his finger through and tug, just gently, to draw her back to him.
Crazy. She’d put on a little weight, but it suited her. She looked well and happy and beautiful, but oddly, considering how desperate he’d been for news of her for the last year—one year, three weeks and two days, to be exact—it wasn’t Julia who held his attention after the initial shock. It was the babies sitting side by side in a supermarket trolley. Two identical and absolutely beautiful little girls.
His? It was a distinct possibility. He only had to look at the dark, spiky hair on their little heads, so like his own at that age. He could have been looking at a photo of himself.
Max stared down at it until the images swam in front of his eyes. He pressed the heels of his hands against them, struggling for breath, then lowered his hands and stared again.
She was alive—alive and well—and she had two beautiful children.
Children that common sense would dictate were his.
Children he’d never seen, children he’d not been told about, and suddenly he found he couldn’t breathe. Why hadn’t she told him? Would he ever have been told about them? Damn it, how dared she keep them a secret from him? Unless they weren’t his…
He felt anger building inside him, a terrible rage that filled his heart and made him want to destroy something the way she’d destroyed him.
The paperweight hit the window and shattered, the pieces bouncing off the glass and falling harmlessly to the floor, and he bowed his head and counted to ten.
‘Max?’
‘He’s found her—in Suffolk. I have to go.’
‘Of course you do,’ his PA said soothingly. ‘But take a minute, calm down, I’ll make you a cup of tea and get someone to pack for you.’
‘I’ve got a bag in the car. You’ll have to cancel New York. In fact, cancel everything for the next two days. I’m sorry, Andrea, I don’t want tea. I just want to see my—my wife.’
And the babies. His babies.
She blocked his path. ‘It’s been over a year, Max. Another ten minutes won’t make any difference. You can’t go tearing in there like this, you’ll frighten the life out of her. You have to take it slowly, work out what you want to say. Now sit down. That’s it. Did you have lunch?’
He sat obediently and stared at her, wondering what the hell she was talking about. ‘Lunch?’
‘I thought so. Tea and a sandwich—and then you can go.’
He stared after her—motherly, efficient, bossy, organising—and deeply, endlessly kind, he realised now—and felt his eyes prickle again.
He couldn’t just sit there. He crunched over the paperweight and placed his hands flat on the window, his forehead pressed to the cool, soothing glass. Why hadn’t he known? How could she
