Forget Me Not (Escape Contemporary Romance) (18 page)

Claire felt her shoulders stiffen, her muscles seizing up. She opened her mouth to speak but it was too late.

Dear God, no. Not this.

The band began to play and, on the screen, Stefan started crooning the words to The Beatles’
Oh Darling
into the microphone. The camera followed him as he made his way over to the table where she was sitting.

Claire remembered the moment, everyone looking at her, all that attention she hadn’t wanted. Remembered how that discomfort had melted away as Stefan had come closer. Remembered the overwhelming sensation that every woman in the room wanted to be her, that every woman envied her and wanted to have a man who loved her that way.

Stefan’s voice became more guttural as he threw himself into the song.

He’d loved her, Claire thought, loved her so much he couldn’t hide it, didn’t care if a room full of people saw it. She heard it in the passion of his words, saw it in the abandon of his actions, felt it through the reverberation of his voice, felt it in every cell of her body.

But the words of the song weren’t true. She’d never told him she didn’t need him, had never told Stefan she didn’t love him anymore. It hadn’t worked that way. No matter how much she’d needed and loved him.

It hadn’t stopped him from leaving.

Through the television speakers, Stefan’s voice turned to gravel: deeper, throatier, and more emotional, as he sang that he’d never make it alone.

That wasn’t true. It was a lie, a horrible lie. Stefan would turn out to be fine without her, living in his own apartment, going to work, spending weekends alone or with friends, or however he spent them.

Damn it, he hadn’t even wanted to keep in phone contact with her, hadn’t wanted to listen to anything that Claire had to say. He’d said he needed time. Without her. The old cliché. He’d made it clear that they’d had nothing to say to each other, not anymore.

Stefan had made it alone just fine.

He hadn’t cried himself to sleep every night, hadn’t forced himself to get out of bed in the mornings, hadn’t felt a weight in his gut every minute of the day.

She watched as young Stefan dropped to his knees. He adlibbed. The words were spoken, not sung, in that deep masculine voice of his.

Darlin’, you gotta believe me.

The women in the audience swooned out loud, and as clearly as she remembered what it was like to be loved, Claire remembered what it was like to be despised.

She was older now.

Knew what it was like both ways.

And she didn’t have to take this anymore.

Claire had been fooling herself.

What had she been thinking? How had she let this happen?

She knew the answer, knew exactly how and why, but that didn’t make what she’d done any less a mistake.

Hell, she finally understood what her mother had meant when she said she regretted not having kicked their father out sooner. She was right. If Claire had finished with Stefan earlier she wouldn’t be going through this now. She wouldn’t have reached rock bottom.

Standing, her eyes down, she walked away.

‘Claire.’

She heard her name but kept walking.

‘Claire,’ Stefan called more loudly this time.

She didn’t stop until she reached the bedroom and closed the door behind her.

Stunned, Stefan sat on the sofa, exactly where she’d left him, wondering what the hell was going on. He thought she’d been enjoying showing him this fun moment from when he was young.

He knew what he’d seen on the screen—a young fellow with a bit of knowledge and a lot of gall. He could also see what was on the television now—a man serenading the woman he loved.

But Stefan didn’t know who that man was or what had happened to him.

He’d heard the song on the Abbey Road album just that afternoon and knew the lyrics, knew what was to come before hearing the words from his own mouth. On screen, he’d said he wouldn’t do anything to harm her.

Well, someone had harmed Claire and worse than that; whatever had happened, she hadn’t recovered from it.

He’d seen the pain in her downcast eyes as she’d walked away. She’d tried but hadn’t been able to hide that from him.

Taking to his feet, Stefan strode to her bedroom door and found it closed, just as he’d expected. He lifted his hand to rap on the door and stopped in mid-air. What would he achieve by intruding? Claire had made it clear to him that her bedroom was her sanctuary, and though he’d made his way there uninvited last night, the circumstances had been different.

Last night, Claire had wanted him.

Tonight, she didn’t.

Walking back into the living room, Stefan switched off the television and slumped onto the sofa. He looked at his coffee cup, his upper lip curling in distaste.

The room felt different—empty—without her. There was the expensive leather sofa, the high-tech audio-visual system, the harbour view through the sliding glass doors. But what was the point of any of it without Claire?

God, it was so hard to make sense of it all with no memory, and only the scraps of story he’d gathered so far; it was a huge jigsaw puzzle with too many missing pieces.

He’d hurt Claire so badly that she couldn’t face him now.

They’d been getting on so well, enjoying their time together, and getting to know each other again. He had liked the evenings best, had liked cooking and her reaction to the meals. He’d made Claire feel special and that gave him real pleasure. She deserved that and more.

Food, flirting and fun—he couldn’t ask for more.

Claire’s reaction tonight told him that wouldn’t be enough from now on; It wouldn’t be sufficient to cut through the pain.

Stefan had to find the answer, find a way of making it up to her. Their marriage had been good for many years, so that hadn’t the problem. Things had only gone wrong for a
year or two previous, a much shorter length of time.
That
was where the answer lay—in the reasons they’d drifted apart and become distant, perhaps even cruel to each other. There he’d find the answer he was seeking.

Stefan wanted to go into her room—it had been
their
room once — take her into his arms, and make all her pain go away, but that wouldn’t be the right thing to do.

No, he wasn’t going into Claire’s room tonight.

But he wasn’t giving up either.

Chapter Seventeen

Claire had barely spoken a word to him all morning, but she
had
spoken to him, though only just.

‘I’m going out’, she’d said. No doubt Claire wanted to get away from him, but she’d been home when the phone had rung, had answered it and passed it to him. She’d seen Stefan’s reluctance to talk when he’d heard his father was on the line, but had shoved the receiver into his hand anyway.

He’d been about to fob his father off with an excuse, but Claire had started mouthing words to him. ‘You should see him.’,

Perhaps she was keen to palm Stefan off onto someone else or maybe she genuinely believed he should build up a relationship with his parents. All Stefan could say for sure was that Claire was the only reason he’d agreed to see the man.

Stefan strode into the rooftop bar, immediately spying his father and put his arm out for a handshake. Wearing a relieved expression, James Porter stood up from his bar stool and shook his son’s hand.

‘I’m glad you could make it,’ the older man said.

Stefan raised his eyebrows. ‘You didn’t think I would?’

‘I wasn’t sure and, to be truthful, I can’t say I’d have blamed you if you didn’t.’

‘Claire told me I should come.’ His father’s mouth fell open and Stefan continued. ‘I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for her. She said I’d regret it if I didn’t see you. After all, you
are
my father.’

That wasn’t true. Claire had said nothing of the sort but Stefan wanted to let his father know he wouldn’t hear a word against her.

James looked confused. Leaning across, he picked up his scotch glass, asked Stefan what he’d like and ordered a beer for him.

‘Let’s go sit by the window,’ he said.

The view of the harbour, the Opera House and the bridge would have been perfect on a postcard. The water and sky were differing shades of blue, the structures rising up spectacularly, the weather wonderfully mild, and yet it all failed to make an impression on Stefan him.

‘Normally, I’d have let you choose the venue,’ his father said. ‘But my knowledge of Sydney is probably better than yours at the moment.’

The waiter deposited an ice cold glass of beer in front of him, and Stefan raised it. ‘This place is just fine.’

His father cleared his throat. ‘I wanted to meet on neutral ground.’

‘Where’s Barbara, my mother?’

Hell, Stefan didn’t even know what to call her, or him for that matter.

’This is just between us men. I thought we could talk about what happened over lunch. The bar food here is good, though nothing fancy I thought you’d prefer to keep it casual.

This was a step in the right direction. His father was actually starting to get to know his tastes, and Stefan did have to eat at some stage today.

‘Are you going to tell me what’s up?’ he asked.

James looked down, his brow furrowing, and then raised his gaze. ‘Come and live with us.’

Stefan shook his head. ‘I’m not going to New York.’

‘Then we’ll stay in Sydney, your mother and I. For a while, for as long as it takes. We’ll drop everything else. I’ve got a real estate agent looking for apartments. We can find something around Elizabeth Bay or Potts Point since that seems to be the area you’re comfortable with.’

‘You can stay if you like,’ Stefan said. ‘What you do is up to you. It’s really none of my business.’

‘You’re my business. You’re my son, and I’m your father.’

But it doesn’t mean anything to me
.
You mean no more to me than some stranger on the street
.

Stefan stopped himself before saying the words. They’d be too hurtful, no matter how truthful.

‘I can see you’re going to take some convincing,’ James said.

‘You’re on the wrong track.’

‘I confess, at first I wasn’t thinking about you, but about what was easier for me and your mother. That’s different now. It’s hard but I’m trying to put myself in your shoes and think about how you feel.’

Stefan let out a laugh. ‘
You
think it’s hard?’

‘I’m trying, Son. It’s a start. Obviously you need your own space as well so we’re looking for neighbouring apartments.’

‘I’ve already got two apartments—the one I share with Claire and the one I lived in when we separated.’

‘Then perhaps if you moved in there, your mother and I can look for somewhere close.’

That was the last thing he wanted. Stefan didn’t want to live there himself and he didn’t want his parents around the corner. He wanted to stay with Claire and nothing was going to stand in his way, with the possible exception of Claire herself.

‘What about Barbara?’ Stefan asked.

‘I’ll take care of her.’

Then Stefan realised. ‘She doesn’t know you’re here. She doesn’t even know you’re planning on staying in Sydney.’

‘I’m offering you a lifeline, Son. We’re your parents and we love you.’

Yes, he believed that in their own way they did. Claire’s mother had been right.

Stefan knew he should feel something for these people. At least Claire’s family made him feel something on the inside. Wrong or right, that was the reality and he couldn’t argue with his feelings.

‘You had someone else sticking up for you, though I’m sure you don’t know it,’ Stefan said.

James’ brow furrowed. ‘Really, who?’

’Claire’s mother. She insisted that you and Barbara both love me.’

‘Of course we do.’

‘Claire and her mother aren’t such terrible people, you know.’

‘I didn’t say they were.’

As James held his son’s gaze, Stefan stared into his eyes and saw pale eyes too similar to his own, the irises rimmed in a darker blue so there was no mistaking the resemblance. He felt like he was looking into a mirror of the future. The choice was his. Would he choose arrogance or compassion? Which way would he go?

Stefan waited a few moments. ‘You can stay in Sydney if you like. We can get to know each other a bit better, but don’t plan your life around me. That won’t work.’

‘It’ll require some effort. I realise that.’

‘We’re never going to be close.’ Stefan leaned forward. ‘But we can start small. With lunch. Burgers and fries, perhaps.’

‘We’ll pay for the best care.’

‘This isn’t about money.’

James reached across the table, covering Stefan’s hand with his. ‘We love you, Son’

Stefan didn’t say anything else. There was nothing to say, but he could feel something moving deep in his gut, something that made him feel uncomfortable.

James loved his son, but Stefan wasn’t sure how a father’s love was supposed to feel.

He’d never had a son. He’d never experienced that love.

‘No, not Sophie,’ Claire said into the phone. ‘Is she okay?’

She’d had just walked back in the door, knowing Stefan would be out having lunch his father.

But she hadn’t been expecting to come home to this. Sophie’s husband Jeff had called, as Sophie was being wheeled into emergency. She’d spent a long time on the phone with their mother and then had given Jeff explicit instructions to call Claire himself after the doctors had told her to get off the phone.

Typical Sophie. Even in the face of a medical emergency, she was calm and orderly. Claire should’ve found that reassuring.

‘Sophie’s not in any immediate danger,’ Jeff said. ‘She’s not the one I’m worried about.’

Dear God, not the baby. Sophie was eight months pregnant. Their little boy—and the scans had confirmed it—would be fully-formed by now, though perhaps not yet at his full size. This tiny person now had arms and legs and all the right other bits. He had a little face and a personality waiting to break out, waiting for Sophie and Jeff to discover. They loved their baby.

‘What did the doctors say?’ Claire asked.

‘At first, they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Once they had, it was irregular and so the baby must be under some kind of distress. They say they’re either going to have to do an emergency caesarean or induce labour, but Sophie’s blood pressure has shot up and they now have to wait for it to settle.’