looked at Julie now, and she could tell that her daughter didn’t like this turn of events at all. It was so unexpected, for one thing, and, for another, Julie wasn’t used to being treated like a servant in her own home. It did not augur well for the remainder of the weekend, and Laura decided she wasn’t prepared to play pig-in-the-middle any longer.
‘No,’ she said clearly, gathering up the coffee-cups and saucers, and bundling them on to the drainer. ‘Really, Mr—er—I insist. You’re my guests. I invited you here, and I wouldn’t dream of allowing you to do my job.’ She couldn’t quite meet his gaze as she spoke, so she looked at Julie instead. ‘Go along,’ she continued. ‘Have your bath. The water’s nice and hot, and there’s plenty of it.’
‘Are you sure?’
Julie hesitated, looking doubtfully from Jake to her mother and back again, but Laura was adamant. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Heavens, there are only a few plates to wash, when all’s said and done. Hurry up. I’m sure your—er—friend would much prefer your company to mine.’
Julie frowned. It was obvious what she wanted to do, but Jake’s attitude had confused her. Still, her own basic belief, that she was not being selfish by allowing her mother to have her own way, won out, and, giving them both a grateful smile, she departed. Seconds later, Laura heard the sound of her daughter’s footsteps on the stairs, and, breathing a sigh of relief, she moved towards the sink.
‘You’re wrong, you know.’
She had almost forgotten Jake was still there, but now his quiet words caused her to glance round at him. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I said—you’re wrong,’ he responded. He had got up from the table when she had, and now he was leaning against the base unit behind her, his arms folded across his chest, his long legs crossed at the ankle.
‘About Julie?’ Laura turned her back on him again, and proceeded to fill the sink with soapy water. ‘Possibly.’
‘You spoil her,’ he went on. ‘She’s perfectly capable of washing a few dishes.’
‘Maybe.’ Laura didn’t like his assumption that he could discuss Julie with her, as if she were some racalcitrant child. ‘But—I choose to do them myself.’
‘No.’ Jake came to stand beside her as he spoke, and now she was forced to meet his dark gaze. ‘No, you don’t choose to do them yourself. You take the line of least resistance. Which just happens to coincide with what Julie wants to do, no?’
Laura took a deep breath. ‘I don’t think it’s any of your business, Mr—er—Lombardi—–’
‘Jake will do,’ he put in briefly. ‘And so long as Julie and I are together, I consider it is my business.’
Laura gasped. His arrogance was amazing, but at least it served to keep her own unwilling awareness of him at bay. ‘You don’t understand,’ she declared, depositing the newly washed glasses on the drainer. ‘Julie and I don’t see one another very often—–’
‘And whose fault is that?’
‘It’s nobody’s fault.’ But Laura couldn’t help wondering if he knew exactly how infrequently Julie made the journey north. Recently, Laura had had to travel to London if she wanted to see her daughter, and as she could only do so during school holidays, and they often coincided with Julie’s working trips abroad, these occasions were getting fewer.
‘So—you are quite happy with the situation, hmm?’ he enquired, picking up a tea-towel, and beginning to dry a glass.
‘Yes.’
Laura’s response was taut, and she hoped that that would be an end of it. It was bad enough being obliged to entertain him while Julie went to take her bath. A conversation of this kind tended to increase their familiarity with one another, and she would have preferred to keep their relationship on much more formal terms.
She finished the dishes in silence, but she was very much aware of him moving about the small kitchen, and the distinctive scent of his skin drifted irresistibly to her nostrils. It was a combination of the soap he used, some subtle aftershave, and the warmth of his body, and Laura had the feeling it was not something she would easily forget. It was so essentially masculine, and she resented the knowledge that he could influence her without any volition on her part.
As she was putting the dishes away, he spoke again, and as before his words commanded her attention. ‘I guess you’re angry with me now, aren’t you?’ he said, stepping into her path, as she was about to put the plates into the cupboard. It caused her to stop abruptly, to prevent herself from cannoning into him, and she pressed the plates against her chest, like some primitive form of self-protection.
‘I—don’t know what you mean,’ she protested, and although it was scarcely true she thought it sounded convincing enough.
‘Don’t you?’ Jake looked down at her, and, despite the fact that she had always considered herself a tall woman, he was still at least half a foot taller. ‘I think you know very well. You resented my remarks about your daughter. You don’t consider I have any right to criticise the way she treats you.’
Laura took a deep breath. ‘All right,’ she said, deciding there was no point in lying to him. It wasn’t as if she wanted them to be friends, after all. If Julie married him, the greater the distance there was between them the better. ‘I don’t think anyone who doesn’t have a child of their own can make any real assessment on how a parent ought, or ought not, to behave.’
‘Ah.’ Jake inclined his head, and Laura was intensely conscious of how she must appear to him. The Aran sweater was not flattering, and she was sure her face must be shining like a beacon. ‘But I do have a daughter. Not as old as yours,’ he conceded, after a moment. ‘She’s only eight years old. But a handful, none the less.’
Laura swallowed. ‘You—have a daughter?’
He could apparently tell what she was thinking, for his lean lips parted. ‘But no wife,’ he assured her gently. ‘Isabella—that was her name—she died when our daughter was only a few months old.’
‘Oh.’ Laura’s tongue appeared to moisten her lips. ‘I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’
‘How could you?’ Jake responded. ‘Until tonight, we had never even met.’
‘No.’
But Laura was embarrassed nevertheless. Julie should have told her, she thought impatiently. If she knew. But, of course, she must. She had the feeling it was not something Jake would try to hide.
She half stepped forward, eager to get past him now, and put the plates away, so that she could escape to the living-room. The kitchen was too small, too confining, and that awful panicky feeling she had felt in the hall earlier was attacking her nerves again. He was too close; too familiar. He might not be aware of it, but she most definitely was.
But Jake moved as she did, probably with the same thought in mind, she guessed later, and unfortunately he chose the same direction as Laura, so that they collided.
The shock jarred her, but her first instincts were to protect the plates. She clutched them to her, instead of trying to save herself, and it was left to Jake to prevent her, and her
