The Secret Sinclair (15 page)

‘Which is a blessing, judging from the quality of the furnishings.’ Raoul watched as she nervously took the chair facing his on the opposite side of the tiny sitting room. She had to wriggle the short skirt down so that it didn’t indecently expose her thighs and his lips thinned disapprovingly. The top was hardly better. A vest affair that contoured her generous breasts in a way that couldn’t fail to arouse interest.

Sarah couldn’t be bothered to react because she didn’t disagree.

‘It’s going to be weird leaving here,’ she thought out loud.

‘Oliver’s excited.’
Who had the short skirt and the tight top and the high heels been for?
‘He’s looking forward to having a bigger garden. Complete with the swing set I promised him. Did you enjoy your evening?’

Sarah, who had still been contemplating the prospect of being uprooted sooner than she had expected, looked at Raoul in sudden confusion.

‘You’re dressed like a tart,’ he expanded coolly, ‘and I don’t like it.’

Sarah gripped the arms of the chair while a slow burning anger rose inside her like red spreading mist.

‘How
dare
you think that you can tell me how I can dress?’

‘You never wore clothes like that when I was around. Yet the very first time you have a bit of free time without Oliver you’re dressed to the nines. I’m guessing that
you’ve used your time profitably by checking what’s out there for a single girl.’

‘I don’t have to … to …
dignify
that with a response!’

No, she didn’t, and her stubborn, glaring eyes were telling him that he was going to get nowhere when it came to dragging an explanation of her whereabouts out of her.

Hot on the heels of her rejection, her self-righteous proclamation that their sleeping together wasn’t going to be on the cards, her strident reminders to him that she wanted commitment, Raoul finally acknowledged what had been staring him in the face.

When it came to Sarah he was possessive, and he wanted exclusivity. He didn’t want her dipping her toe into the world of dating and other men. Seeing her in that revealing get-up, he realised that he didn’t even want her dressing in a way that could conceivably attract them. If she had to wear next to nothing, then he wanted it to be for his benefit and his benefit only.

He had never been possessive in his life before. Was it because she was more than just a woman to him? Because she was the mother of his child? Did he have some peculiar dinosaur streak of which he had hitherto been unaware? He just knew that the thought of her trawling the clubs made his blood run cold.

So he had never been moved by the notion of settling down with anyone? Well, life wasn’t a static business. Rules and guidelines made yesterday became null and void when situations changed. Wasn’t flexibility a sign of a creative mind?

He wondered that he could have been disingenuous enough to imagine his perfectly reasonable proposition that they take what they had and run with it might be met with enthusiasm. Sarah would never settle for anything less than a full-time relationship. And would that even be
with him? he wondered uneasily. It was true that the sexual chemistry between them was electrifying, but it certainly wouldn’t be the tipping point for her.

‘Let’s just talk about the practicalities,’ she continued firmly. ‘If you give me a definite date as to when we need to be out of here … I haven’t given notice to the landlord,’ she said suddenly. ‘I need to give three months’ notice …’

‘I’ll take care of that.’

‘And I suppose we should discuss what days suit you to come and see Oliver. Or should we wait until we’re settled in the new place? Then you can see how easy it is for you to get to where we are. Public transport can be a little unreliable. Oops, sorry—I forgot that you wouldn’t be taking public transport …’

Raoul was acidly wondering whether she was eager to get her diary in order, so that she knew in advance when she would be able to slot in her exciting single life. What the hell was going on here? He was
jealous
!

He stood up, and Sarah hastily followed suit, bemused by the fact that he seemed to be leaving pretty much as fast as he had arrived. Not only that, but he had somehow managed to make her feel like a cheap tart. Although she knew that he had no right to pass sweeping judgements on what she wore or where she went, she still had to fight the temptation to make peace by just telling him the truth.

‘The house will be ready by the middle of next week.’

‘But what about my things?’

‘I’ll arrange to have them brought over. If all this furniture is staying, then I can’t imagine that what’s left will amount to much.’

‘No, I suppose not,’ she said in a small voice, perversely inclined to dither now that he was on his way out.

Raoul hesitated. ‘It’s going to be fine,’ he said roughly.

‘The house will be entirely in your name. You won’t have to be afraid that you could lose the roof over your head, and really, it’s just a change of location.’

‘It’ll be great!’ She tried a bright smile on for size. ‘I know Mum and Dad are really thrilled about it. They haven’t been too impressed with our rented house, what with the busy street so close to the front door and not much back garden for Oliver.’

‘Which brings me to something I haven’t yet mentioned. Your parents.’

‘What about them?’

‘I want to meet them.’

‘Whatever for?’ Sarah asked, dismayed. Try as she had, she couldn’t stop feeling deeply suspicious that neither of them had really believed her when she had told them that Raoul was back on the scene but that it was absolutely fine because she had discovered that she felt nothing for him.

‘Because Oliver’s my son and it makes sense for me to know his grandparents. There will be occasions when they visit us in London and vice versa.’

‘Yes, but …’

‘I also don’t want to spend the rest of my life with your parents harbouring misconceptions about the kind of man I am.’

‘They don’t have misconceptions,’ Sarah admitted grudgingly. ‘I told them how much time you’d spent with Oliver, and also about the house.’

‘I’d still like to meet them, so you’ll have to arrange that and give me a few days’ advance notice.’

‘Well, maybe when they’re next in London …’

‘No. Maybe within the next fortnight.’

With the house move a heartbeat away, and a date set in the diary for the three of them to visit her parents in
Devon, Sarah had never felt more like someone chucked onto a rollercoaster and managing to hang on only by the skin of her teeth.

Her possessions, once she had packed them all up, amounted to a few cardboard boxes, which seemed a sad indictment of the time she had spent in the rented house. Nor could she say, with her hand on her heart, that there was very much that she would miss about where she’d lived. The neighbours were pleasant enough, although she knew them only in passing, but the place was wrapped up in so many memories of hardship and trying to make ends meet that she found herself barely glancing back as the chauffeur-driven car that had been sent for them arrived to collect her promptly on Wednesday morning.

Oliver could barely contain his excitement. The back of the opulent car was strewn with his toys. Of course Raoul’s driver knew who they were, because from the start Raoul had flatly informed her that he couldn’t care less what other people thought of his private life, but she could see that the man was curious, and amused at Oliver’s high spirits. Sarah wondered whether he was trying to marry the image of his boss with that of a man who wouldn’t mind a four-year-old child treating his mega-expensive car with cavalier disrespect.

Sarah was charmed afresh at the peaceful, tree-lined road that led up to the house, which was in a large corner plot. Anyone could have been forgiven for thinking that London was a million miles away. It was as far removed from their small rented terraced house on the busy road as chalk was from cheese. Whatever her doubts and anxieties, she couldn’t deny that Raoul had rescued them both from a great deal of financial hardship and discomfort.

Hard on the heels of that private admission she felt a
lump in her throat at the thought of them being
friends
. She had been so offended by his suggestion that they become lovers for no other reason than they were still attracted to one another, and so hurt that he only wanted her in his bed as a way of exorcising old ghosts … She had positively done the right thing in telling him just where he could take that selfish, arrogant proposal, and yet …

Had she reacted too hastily?

Sarah hurriedly sidelined that sign of weakness and scooped Oliver’s toys onto her lap as the car finally slowed down and then swept up the picturesque drive to the house.

Raoul was waiting for her inside.

‘I would have brought you here,’ he said, picking up Oliver, who demanded to be put down so that he could explore, ‘but I’ve come straight from work.’

‘That’s okay.’ Sarah stepped inside and her mouth fell open—because it bore little resemblance to the house she had last seen.

Flagstone tiles made the hallway warm and colourful, and everywhere else rich, deep wood lent a rustic, cosy charm. She walked from room to room, taking in the décor which was exactly as she would have wanted it to be, from the velvet drapes in the sitting room to the restored Victorian tiles around the fireplace.

Raoul made a show of pointing out the bottle-green Aga which took pride of place in the kitchen, and the old-fashioned dresser which he had had specifically sourced from one of the house magazines which had littered her house.

‘You had a crease in the page,’ he informed her, ‘so I took it to mean that this was the kind of thing you liked.’

Oliver had positioned himself by the French doors that led from the small conservatory by the kitchen into the
garden, and was staring at the swing set outside with eyes as round as saucers.

‘Okay,’ Sarah said on a laugh, holding his hand, ‘let’s have a look outside, shall we?’

‘I don’t remember the garden being this well planted,’ she said, looking around her at the shrubs and foliage that framed the long lawn. There was even a rustic table and chairs on the paved patio, behind which a trellis promised a riot of colour when in season.

‘I had it landscaped. Feel free to change anything you want. Why don’t we have a look upstairs? I can get my driver to keep an eye on Oliver,’ he added drily. ‘We might have a fight on our hands if we try and prise him off the swing.’

Raoul had had considerable input with the furnishings. He had hired the very same mega-expensive interior designer who had done his own penthouse apartment, but instead of handing over an enormous cheque and giving her free rein he had actually been specific about what he wanted. He knew that Sarah hated anything modern and minimalist. He’d steered clear of anything involving leather and chrome. He had stopped short of buying artwork, although he had been tempted by some small landscapes that would have been a terrific investment, but he had done his utmost with a bewildering range of colour options and had insisted that everything be kept period.

‘I can’t believe this is going to be our new home,’ Sarah murmured yet again, as she ran her hands lovingly over the Victorian fireplace in what would be her bedroom. A dreamy four-poster bed dominated the space, and the leaded windows overlooked the pretty garden. She could see Oliver on the swing, being pushed by Raoul’s very patient driver, and she waved at him.

‘Did you choose all this stuff yourself?’

Raoul flushed. How cool was it to have a hand in choosing furnishings for a house? Not very. Especially when there had been a million and one other things clamouring for his attention at work. But he had been rattled by her rejection, and had realised that despite what he saw as an obvious way forward for them he could take nothing for granted.

‘I think I know what you like,’ he prevaricated, and received a warm smile in response.

Sarah squashed the temptation to hug him. He did things like this and was it any wonder that her will-power was all over the place? She had expected to find a house that was functioning and kitted out in a fairly basic way. Instead there was nothing that wasn’t one hundred percent perfect, from the mellow velvet curtains in the sitting room to the faded elegant wallpaper in the bedroom.

Oliver’s room, next to hers, was what any four-year-old boy would have dreamt of, with a bed in the shape of a racing car and wallpaper featuring all his favourite cartoon characters.

Yet again she had to remind herself that she had done the right thing in turning her back on what had been on offer. Yet again she forced herself back onto the straight and narrow by telling herself that, however good Raoul was at being charming, going the extra mile and throwing money at something with a generosity that would render most people speechless, he was still a man who walked alone and always would. He was still a man with an inbuilt loathing of any form of commitment, which in his head was the equivalent of a prison sentence.

Yet again she was forced to concede that his invitation to be his lover would have sounded the death knell for any ongoing amicable relationship they might foster, because she would have been the one to get hurt in the end. She
knew that if she got too close to him it would be impossible to hold any of herself back.

But the steps he had taken to ensure that she walked into a house that was brilliant in every way moved her.

‘We’ll have to sit down and talk about visiting.’ She strived to hit the right note of being convivial, appreciative but practical.

Raoul looked at her with veiled eyes. Had he hoped for a more favourable reaction, given the time and effort he had expended in doing this house up for her? Since when did
quid pro quo
play a part in human interaction? Was this the legacy that had been willed to him courtesy of his disadvantaged background?

He thrust aside that moment of introspection, but even so he knew that she was sliding further and further away from him.

‘I don’t want to have weekly visits,’ he told her, lounging on the ledge by the window and surveying her with his arms folded.