knew the moment he entered the kitchen that there had been another scene.
Justine, who like him had inherited the strong family profile and thick dark hair, was standing belligerently by the table, the silence thick and taut with angry resentment.
‘I’ve sent the boys upstairs,’ she told him without preamble. ‘I had to bring them back early. They tied Peter up in the garden and built a bonfire under him. They told me they were playing at Guy Fawkes.’ Her eyes darkened as she said unsteadily, ‘Dear God, Lyle, if I hadn’t caught them in time …’
She had no need to go on. He himself felt physically ill at the thought of what could have happened.
‘I can’t look after them for you any more, Lyle,’ she told him bluntly. ‘I know their problems aren’t necessarily their own fault, but I’ve tried everything, and nothing works. They need someone of their own.’
She watched sympathetically as her brother sat down; a big lean man, with a shock of thick dark hair, and eyes of a vividly intense blue, who at this moment in time looked older than his thirty-five years.
She loved him and she sympathised with him, but she could not risk the safety of her own dearly loved eight-year-old any longer with a pair of children whom she frankly considered to be beyond her ability to help.
‘God, Justine, what the hell am I going to do?’ He looked so tired and depressed that she was tempted to retract, but she hardened her heart against him.
‘Well, for one thing, this,’ she told him firmly, placing a folded newspaper down on the table in front of him. ‘Go on, read it,’ she demanded, waiting until he raised his eyes to hers in incredulous disbelief, finely mixed with anger.
‘You’re seriously suggesting what I think you’re suggesting, are you? That I reply to this ad from some crazy woman who wants a husband, sell myself?’
‘Why not? Other people do it all the time,’ she interrupted evenly. ‘Only they call it self-sacrifice. You’re a doctor, Lyle,’ she reminded him, hoping he wouldn’t guess how much she hated doing this to him. ‘But how long can you go on calling yourself that? How long will it be before all the problems you’ve got here occupy so much of your mind that you make a mistake? A mistake that could cost someone’s life?’
She was only echoing his own inner thoughts, but to do what she was suggesting! He put his hand to his forehead and found that he was sweating slightly.
‘I just can’t look after them any more,’ Justine pressed on. ‘I’ve got Peter to think of. They need someone of their own,’ she added more gently, ‘someone who can give them what you and I can’t.’
‘And you think this … this stranger, a woman who needs a man so desperately she’s forced to advertise for one, will do that?’ he demanded harshly, expelling the pent-up breath from his lungs so tensely that it hurt.
Justine lowered her eyelids so that he wouldn’t see the sympathy and pain in her eyes.
‘I know that after Heather you said you’d never marry again, Lyle, but the children need a mother, even if you don’t need a wife. Of course, you could always marry one of your patients. Sylvia Hastings, for example.’
She saw the grimace and understood why. Sylvia was a pretty divorcee with a tendency to develop minor ailments, and an avid look in her eyes whenever they rested on the doctor.
‘She’s not capable of looking after herself, never mind two kids.’
‘No, and she would demand something from you that you’re no longer capable of giving, wouldn’t she, Lyle?’
She said it quietly, hating herself for delivering the blow but knowing she had to. After Heather’s death, he had told her that his guilt had affected him so strongly that he felt completely unable to touch any other woman. Physically he was as capable of being aroused as the next man, but mentally there was something there, stronger than that physical need, which had destroyed his desire for sex.
‘A marriage with someone with whom you can make a proper business arrangement would solve all your problems,’ she told him quietly. ‘I’m not saying that you marry the woman in this particular advertisement. But its one way of looking for someone. And to help you make a start, I’ve replied to this on your behalf.’
For a moment she thought he might actually hit her, but then the angry colour died out of his face, leaving it white, a muscle beating sporadically against his jaw.
‘By God, Justine, you push your luck,’ he told her thickly. ‘I don’t want or need your interference in my life.’
Her own anger beat up inside her, reminders of how they had quarrelled as children filling her mind. He had been so stubborn, a trait both his sons had inherited.
‘Maybe not, but you do need my help, and it is my right to decide what form that help will take,’ she told him evenly, adding for good measure, ‘I’ve replied to the advertisement suggesting that the woman calls here to see you.’ She saw his look of incredulous fury and held up her hand. ‘I had to do it, Lyle. I know you, if I hadn’t you’d find a way of wriggling out of it. I’m not asking you to marry the woman, not at this stage. I’m simply telling you that your children need someone in their lives that they can trust and relate to, and it seems that neither you nor I can fulfil that role. They are your children, Lyle.’
‘Yes.’
He said it wryly, his voice heavy with acceptance, and Justine felt herself relax just a little. Knowing of his decision never to marry again she had realised what she had taken on in adopting such a high-handed course of action, but she was convinced that it was the only way to help Stuart and James. Lyle might not need or want a wife, but they both needed and wanted a mother. It was after all no worse than the arranged marriages organised by many Eastern parents for their children, and on balance these worked.
‘Good.’ She smiled briefly and glanced at her watch, squashing her guilt. ‘I’ll have to go. The boys had something to eat. I think it’s best from now on that they don’t come to me. It just isn’t working out, so instead I’ve arranged for my daily, Mrs Davies, to come here and look after them, but it can only be a temporary arrangement,’ she warned him.
Watching her drive off, Lyle stuck bunched hands into his trouser pockets. Damn her for her interference! He scowled blackly, unaware of how much he looked like his recalcitrant sons. What kind of woman would advertise for a husband, for God’s sake? But he supposed he would have to see her now, otherwise Justine would raise merry hell and he depended too much on his sister to risk antagonising her.
He turned away from the window and looked at the door. Now he would have to go upstairs and tackle the boys. Cravenly he found himself longing for a restorative whisky and soda before doing so, but he refused to give in to the urge.
Justine had been right about one thing. They were his children … his responsibility and one that he was not tackling very well at all. It was all very well to know in theory what to do, but in practice two sulky and silently condemning children seemed to be able to frazzle his nerves far faster than the most awkward patient
He found them in the room linking their bedrooms, which was designated as a study. Both of them were sitting down, so close together that their bodies were touching.
They looked
