The Unexpected Holiday Gift (2 page)

And they were all counting on him. Even if they didn't actually know about his plan just yet.

But he needed help. Clara's help, to be specific. So he couldn't turn and walk away.

He just had to make it clear that this was business, not pleasure. He wasn't there to win her back, or remind her how good they'd been together. He was there to ask for her professional help, that was all.

He took another deep breath and steeled himself to open the door.

She'd listen, at least, he hoped. Hear him out. She had to.

She was still his wife, after all.

* * *

Clara brushed the hair back from her face and peered at the screen again. ‘I'm still not sure it's going to be big enough.'

Sitting at the desk beside her, Merry sighed. ‘It's the biggest I've been able to find, so it might just have to do.'

‘
Have to do
doesn't sound very Perfect London,' Clara admonished. ‘If it's not right—'

‘We keep looking,' Merry finished for her. ‘I know. But can I keep looking tomorrow? Only I've got that thing tonight.'

‘Thing?' Clara searched her memory for the details. Best friends and business partners were supposed to know this stuff, she was sure. ‘Oh! The thing at the art gallery! Yes! Get out of here now!'

Merry pushed her chair back from the desk, obviously wasting no time. ‘Thanks. Don't you need to pick Ivy up?'

Clara checked her watch. ‘I've got another twenty minutes or so. She's having dinner round at Francesca's tonight, so I might as well use the time to finish things up here.'

‘Okay.' Grabbing her bag and coat, Merry started layering up to face the winter chill outside. ‘But don't work too late tonight, right?'

‘I told you; I've got to leave in twenty minutes. I'll be out of here in no time.'

‘I meant once you get home, and Ivy's in bed.' Merry leant over and gave Clara a swift kiss on the cheek. ‘I mean it. Take a night off for once.'

Clara blushed, just a little. She hadn't thought her friend knew about all the extra hours she put in during the long, dark evenings. It was just that, once Ivy was asleep, what else was there to do, really, but work? She didn't have dates or any real desire to go out and meet people, even if her childminder was available to babysit for Ivy. It made more sense to get on top of the work, so that when she did have time with her daughter at weekends she didn't have to be tied to her computer. That was all.

‘I was just going to finish up the accounts,' she admitted.

‘Leave it,' Merry instructed. ‘I'll do it tomorrow. You can take over finding the biggest Christmas tree in existence!'

‘Somehow, I think I've been played,' Clara said drily. ‘Go on, get gone. You don't want to be late.'

Merry flashed her a grin and reached for the door but before she could grab the handle it opened, revealing a dark shadow of a man in the doorway. Clara stared at the shape. It was too dark to make out any particulars, certainly not a face or any recognisable features. And yet, somehow, that shadow was very, very familiar...

‘I'm very sorry,' Merry said politely. ‘We're just closing up, actually.'

‘I only need to talk to Clara,' the man in the doorway said, and Clara's heart dropped like a stone through her body.

‘Jacob.' The word was barely a whisper but Merry's head swung round to look at her anyway, her eyes wide.

‘Maybe you could come back—' Merry began, already pushing the door closed, but Clara stopped her.

‘No. No, it's okay.' She swallowed, wishing the lump that had taken up residence in her throat would lessen. ‘Come in, Jacob. What can I do for you?'

Maybe he'd met somebody else at last and was here to finalise the divorce. That would make sense. For a brief moment, relief lapped against the edges of her panic—until a far worse idea filled her mind.

Maybe he's found out about Ivy.

But no. That was impossible. She'd covered her tracks too well for that; even Merry believed that Ivy was the result of a one-night stand shortly after her marriage broke down. There was no one in the world except Clara herself who knew the truth about Ivy's conception.

And she had no plans to share that information.

‘Want me to stay?' Merry asked as Jacob brushed past her. When he stepped into the light, it was hard to imagine that she hadn't known who he was, even for a second. He was exactly the same man she'd walked out on five Christmases ago. Same dark hair, with maybe just a hint of grey now at the temples. Same broad shoulders and even the same style of classic dark wool coat stretched across them. Same suit underneath, she was sure. Still all business, all the time.

Which made her wonder again what he was doing there, wasting time on her. Clara had no illusions about how her still-not-officially-ex-husband felt about her. He'd made it crystal-clear every single time he'd refused to sign the divorce papers, purely out of spite it seemed, sending his decision via his lawyers rather than talking to her in person. He'd made it clear how unimportant she, and what she wanted, was to him long before she'd ever left. He had never needed her before. What on earth could have made him start now?

Merry was still waiting for an answer, she realised. ‘I'll be fine,' she said, shaking her head. Her friend looked unconvinced but resigned.

‘I'll call you later,' she promised, and Clara nodded. ‘And don't forget—you need to leave in twenty minutes.'

The seconds stretched out as the door swung slowly shut behind Merry. And then, with the noise of the street blocked out, it was just them again. Just Clara, Jacob and the sense of impending dread that filled Clara's veins.

CHAPTER TWO

S
HE
DID
LOOK
DIFFERENT
.

Jacob hadn't been able to clock all the changes through the window, it dawned on him now. He'd thought she looked the same, but she didn't, not really. And it wasn't just that her hair was longer, or that slight extra curve to her body, or even that her wedding ring was missing.

It was just
her.

Her shoulders straightened, just an inch, and he realised that was part of it. An air of confidence he hadn't seen in her before. When they'd been married—properly married, living together and in love, not this strange limbo he'd been perpetuating—she'd been...what, exactly? Attentive, loving...undemanding, he supposed. She had just always been there, at home, happy to organise his business dinners or fly with him across the world at a moment's notice. She'd been the perfect hostess, the perfect businessman's wife, just like his mother had been for his father for so many years.

His father, he remembered, had been delighted in Jacob's choice of wife.
‘She won't let you down, that one,'
he'd said.

Until she'd walked out and left him, of course.

Perhaps he'd been underestimating Clara all along. So much for a five-minute job convincing her to help him. This was going to take work. This new Clara, he feared, would ask questions. Lots of them.

‘Jacob,' she said again, impatiently. ‘What can I do for you?'

‘You need to leave soon, your friend said?'

Clara gave a sharp nod. ‘I do. So if we could make this quick...'

Unlikely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met up later. For dinner, perhaps?' Somewhere he could ply her with wine, good food and charm and convince her that this was a good idea.

‘Sorry, I can't do that.' There was no debate, no maybe and no other offer. Even the apology at the start didn't sound much like one. This Clara knew her own mind and she was sticking to it.

It was kind of hot, actually. Or it would have been if he didn't sense it was going to make his life considerably more difficult.

Clara sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘You might as well start talking, Jacob,' she said, glancing down at her watch. ‘I'm leaving in...fifteen minutes, now. Whether you've said what you came here to say or not.'

What was so important, he wondered, that she still had to run out of here, even after the arrival of a husband she hadn't seen in five years? Another man? Probably.

Not that he cared, of course. All that mattered to him was her professional availability. Not her personal life.

‘I want to hire you. Your firm, I mean. But specifically you.' There, he'd said it. And, judging by the look on his wife's face, he'd managed to surprise her in the process. The shock in her expression gave him a measure of control back, which he appreciated.

‘Whatever for?' she asked eventually.

‘My father.' The words came out tight, the way they always did when he spoke about it. The unfairness of it all. ‘He's dying.'

And that was the only reason he was there. The only thing that could make him seek out his ex-in-all-but-paperwork-wife and ask for her help.

‘I'm so sorry, Jacob.' Clara's eyes softened instantly, but he didn't want to see that. He looked down at his hands and kept talking instead.

‘Cancer,' he said harshly, hating the very word. ‘The doctors haven't given him more than a couple of months. If he'd gone to them sooner...' He swallowed. ‘Anyway. This is going to be his last Christmas. I want to make it memorable.'

‘Of course you do,' Clara said, and he felt something inside him relax, just a little. He'd known that she would understand. And what he needed would require more than the sort of competence he could buy. He needed someone who would give
everything
to his project. Who would do what he needed, just like she always had before.

And, for some reason, Clara had always been very fond of his father.

‘I'm planning a family Christmas up in the Highlands,' Jacob explained. ‘Just like one we had one year when I was a boy.'

‘I remember you all talking about it once. It sounds perfect,' Clara agreed. ‘And like you've got it all in hand, so I don't really see why—'

‘That's it,' Jacob interrupted her. ‘That idea. That's all I have.'

‘Oh.' Clara winced. ‘So you want to hire Perfect London to...?'

‘Do everything else. Organise it. Make it perfect.' That, she'd always been good at. She'd been the perfect businessman's wife, the perfect housewife, the perfect beauty on his arm at functions, even the perfect daughter-in-law. Up until the day she wasn't his perfect anything at all.

‘But...' Clara started, and he jumped in to stop whatever objection she was conjuring up.

‘I'll pay, of course. Double your normal rate.' He'd pay triple to make this happen but he'd keep that information in reserve in case he needed it later.

‘Why?' Bafflement covered Clara's expression.

‘Who else?' Jacob asked. ‘It's what you do, isn't it? It's right there in the name of your company.' The company she'd left him to build—and which, by the looks of things, seemed to be doing well enough. He'd never even imagined, when they were married, that she'd wanted this—her own business, her own life apart from him. How could he? She'd never told him.

Well. If she was determined to go off and be happy and successful without him, the least she could do was help him out now, when he needed it.

‘Perfect
London,
' Clara said, emphasising the second word. ‘We mostly work locally. Very locally.'

‘I imagine that most of the arrangements can be made from here,' Jacob conceded. ‘Although I would need you in Scotland for the final set-up.'

‘No.' Clara shook her head. ‘I can't do that. I have...obligations here. I can't just leave.'

Obligations. A whole new life, he imagined. A new man...but not her husband, though. That, at least, she couldn't have. Not unless he let her.

Jacob took a breath and prepared to use his final bargaining chip.

The only thing he had left to give her.

* * *

This made no sense. None at all. Why on earth would Jacob come to her, of all people, to organise this? There must be a hundred other party planners or concierge services he could have gone to. Unless this was a punishment of some sort, Clara could not imagine why her ex-husband would want to hire her for this task.

Except...she knew his family. She knew his father, and could already picture exactly the sort of Christmas he'd want.

Maybe Jacob wasn't so crazy after all. But that didn't mean she had to say yes.

She had her own family to think about this Christmas—her and Ivy, celebrating together in gingerbread-man pyjamas and drinking hot chocolate with Merry on Christmas Eve. That was how it had been for the last four years, and the way it would be this Christmas too, thank you very much. She wasn't going to abandon her daughter to go and arrange Christmas deep in the Highlands, however much Jacob was willing to pay. Especially not with the Harrisons' gala coming up so soon afterwards.

‘No,' she said again, just to make it doubly clear. ‘I'm sorry. It's impossible.'

Except...a small whisper in the back of her mind told her that this could be her chance. Her one opportunity to see if he'd really changed. If Jacob Foster was ready to be a father at last. If she could risk telling him about Ivy, introduce them even, without the fear that Jacob would treat his daughter the way Clara's own father had treated her.

Even twenty years later, the memory of her father walking out of the front door, without looking back to see Clara waving him goodbye, still made her heart contract. And Jacob had been a champion at forgetting all about his wife whenever work got too absorbing, walking out and forgetting to look back until a deal was signed or a project tied up.

She wouldn't put Ivy through that, not for anything. She wanted so much more than that for her daughter. Clara might work hard but she always,
always
had time for her child and always put her first. Ivy would never be an afterthought, never slip through the cracks when something more interesting came up. Even if that meant she only ever had one parent.

But Jacob had come here to organise a family Christmas. The Jacob she'd been married to wouldn't have even
thought
of that. Could he really have changed? And could she risk finding out?

‘This Christmas I'd like to have a dad, please.'
Ivy's whispered words floated through her mind.

She shook her head again, uncertain.

‘What if I promise you a divorce?' Jacob asked.

For a moment, it was as if the rain had stopped falling outside, as if the world had paused in its turning.

A divorce. She'd be completely free at last. No more imagining a life she no longer possessed. Her new life would truly be hers, clear and free.

It was tempting.

But then reality set in. That divorce would cut the final tie between them—the last link between Ivy and her father. How could she do that before she even told Jacob he had a daughter?

Clara bit the inside of her cheek as she acknowledged a truth she'd long held at bay. It hadn't just been Jacob holding up their divorce for five long years. If she'd wanted to push for it she could have, at any time. But she'd always known that she'd have to come clean about Ivy first...and she was terrified.

The risk was always, always there. Jacob might reject them both instantly and walk away, but she could cope with that, she hoped, as long as Ivy didn't know, didn't hurt. But what if he wanted to be involved? What if he wanted to meet her, to be a part of her life—and then ignored Ivy the same way he'd kept himself apart from Clara after they were married? What if he hurt Ivy with his distracted, even unintentional, neglect? Nothing had ever meant more to Jacob than his work—not even her. Why would Ivy be any different?

So even if he thought he wanted to be a father...could she really risk Ivy's heart that way?

No. She had to be sure. And the only way to be certain was to spend time with him, to learn who he was all over again. Then she could decide, either to divorce him freely, or to let him into Ivy's life, whichever was best for her daughter. That was all that mattered.

But to spend time with him she'd have to organise his perfect family Christmas. Could she really do that? With all her other clients, the Harrisons' Charity Gala—and her own Christmas with Ivy? It was too much. And she was still too scared.

‘I'm sorry, Jacob. Really I am.' She was; part of her heart hurt at the thought of James Foster suffering and her not being there to ease it. An even larger part, although she hated to admit it, stung at the idea of Jacob going through this without her too.

That's not my place any more. It's not my life.

She had to focus on the life she had, the one she'd built. Her new life for her and Ivy.

‘I can't help you,' she said, the words final and heavy.

Jacob gave her a slow, stiff nod. ‘Right. Of course.' He turned away but as he reached the door he looked back, his eyes so full of sorrow and pain that Clara could have wept. ‘Please. Just think about it.'

I can't. I can't. I won't. I...
She nodded. ‘I'll think about it,' she promised and instantly hated herself.

This was why she'd had to leave. She could never say no to him.

* * *

I'll think about it.

One year of marriage, five years of estrangement and now she was thinking. He supposed that was something.

Jacob paused briefly on the corner of the street, rain dripping down his collar, and watched from a distance as Clara locked up the offices of Perfect London and hurried off in the opposite direction. She was a woman on a mission; she clearly had somewhere far more important to be. Things that mattered much more in her life than her ex-husband.

Well. So did he, of course.

The office was deserted by the time he'd walked back across the river to it, but the security guard on duty didn't look surprised to see him. Given how rarely Jacob made it to the London office, he wondered what that said about the legend of his work ethic.

But once he had sat at his desk he found he couldn't settle. His eyes slid away from emails, and spreadsheets seemed to merge into one on the screen. Eventually, he closed the lid of his laptop, sat back in his chair and swung it around to take in the London skyline outside the window.

Was it just seeing Clara again that was distracting him? No. She didn't have that kind of power over him any more. It was everything else in his life right now, most likely. His father's illness more than anything.

His mobile phone vibrated on the glass desk, buzzing its way across the smooth surface. Jacob grabbed it and, seeing his younger sister's name on the screen, smiled.

‘Heather. Why aren't you out at some all-night rave or something? Isn't that what you students do?'

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes on the other end of the phone.

‘We're having a Christmas movie night at the flat,' Heather said. ‘Mulled wine, mince pies, soppy movies and lots of wrapping paper. I was halfway through wrapping my stack of presents when it occurred to me that there was still one person who hadn't got back to me about what they wanted...'

‘You don't have to buy me anything,' Jacob said automatically. It wasn't as if he couldn't buy whatever he wanted when he wanted it, anyway. And, besides, Heather, more than anyone, never owed him a gift. Her continued existence was plenty for him.

‘It's Christmas, Jacob.' She spoke slowly, as if to a slightly stupid dog. ‘Everyone gets a present. You know the rules. So tell me what you want or I'll buy you a surprise.'