He didn’t like being used, and he’d always hated bad manners.
Sure, Ben, you’re getting worked up after nearly three years over bad manners...what did you want from her, a thank-you note?
Ben’s ego was not fragile and there had been occasions in his life when he would have liked to fast-forward past the morning-after scene. Yet when he had reached across, anticipating contact with warm womanly skin, and found nothing but a cold indent his anger had almost, but not completely, masked that initial gut reaction...loss.
It was no use pretending otherwise—the timing had been bad. He’d known it but he’d still done it. He’d known that his personal life, in the immediate future, was going to be subjected to public scrutiny. His on-off engagement when it came out was going to sell papers, but if it had got out that he’d fallen straight into another relationship, or at least into another bed...was it fair to expose Lily to that sort of smutty tabloid speculation?
You had to laugh at the irony—not that he had. But then what man wouldn’t feel a little raw if he’d woken up and found that the woman who had awoken dormant chivalrous instincts—and who just happened to be the best sex he’d ever had—had walked out? But then life was a learning curve and he’d moved on.
He’d rationalised the event. Lily had been what he’d needed, when he’d needed it. He’d just been surprised really—she’d always seemed so...sweet. Well, good for her. Clearly she had her mind firmly focused on her career and sex was strictly recreational. He’d met any number of women with that pragmatic attitude; he’d dated more than a few.
‘Lara?’ Elizabeth, blowing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes, looked up, appearing surprised by the comment. ‘Lara doesn’t have children. This is Lily’s little girl.’
‘Lily is married?’ Ben, who had never been one to wrap up unpalatable truths in pretty packaging, found himself not analysing too deeply his powerful gut response to this news.
‘No, she isn’t married. Lily is a single parent. I’m very proud of her,’ she added defensively, explaining, ‘She moved back to the village. She works part-time at the college and I help out when I can.’
Ben struggled to take on board all the information and the surprisingly strong emotions it shook loose.
So no big acting career, no glamorous red carpets, no name in lights, just... He looked at the child, who had stopped crying. Tears trembled on the ends of her sooty lashes as she returned his look with one of deep suspicion through eyes that were a deep blue.
Cobalt blue.
He stiffened as somewhere in the back of his mind the seeds of a crazy suspicion sent out tentative roots.
‘That must be a struggle.’ His sympathy elicited a nod.
‘Oh, I love helping... Just hold still a moment for Granny. Emmy is a total sweetheart but Lily...’
‘M...Mummy...’ Ben watched the child’s lower lip tremble ominously before she gave another sniff, her small rounded chin jutting pugnaciously as she yelled, ‘Want Mummy now!’
‘A child who knows her own mind.’
Elizabeth laughed. ‘She certainly does, not at all like Lily. She was always the easy one. Lara, now that was another story. Mummy will be home soon, darling, five more sleeps. Hard to explain time to children.’ Elizabeth gave a grunt as she successfully taped down a sticking plaster to the child’s forehead. ‘All done.’ She clapped her hands.
Ben watched as the kid followed suit, clapping her chubby little hands. His brain was working but his thoughts kept coming up against a big brick wall. He couldn’t see past it because there was nothing to see. He was making the classic mistake of trying to make the facts fit a theory. In this case a totally crazy theory!
The tension that had climbed into his shoulders eased a notch as he recognised the trap he had almost fallen into. His mouth twisted into an ironic self-mocking smile. A lot of people in this world had blue eyes; presumably the kid’s father had been one of them.
A moment later his smile vanished. As the child continued to squirm in his arms he caught a glimpse of something. A nerve beside his mouth jumped. Blue eyes were not unique, but how many people beside his own mother had that distinctive birthmark? he asked himself, fighting the urge to lift the child’s hair to examine the pigmented crescent closer.
‘M...M...Mama...’ The kid caught hold of his tie and shoved the silk into her mouth.
Who did she call dada?
‘Don’t do that, Emmy, you’ll choke.’ Her grandmother prised the soggy cloth from her mouth and directed an apologetic smile at him. A look of concern crossed her face. ‘Sorry about... Are you all right?’