Caroline Anderson – A Special Kind of Woman (страница 2)

He shot her an understanding smile. His eyes crinkled and seemed to glow with warmth from their amber depths, and she felt herself melting again. She could still feel the imprint of his hand on hers, and something deep in her heart that had been in hibernation for ever seemed to flicker into life.

How long they stood there staring at each other she didn’t know, but Milly and Josh erupted into the room and broke the spell, and a girl opposite came out and introduced herself, and suddenly Cait felt redundant.

‘Time to make a move,’ Owen murmured, and she nodded distractedly.

‘Come on, Josh, come and see me off,’ he said, and his son’s face seemed to falter.

‘Oh. Right. See you, Milly.’

Milly nodded, and the girl from the next room looked from her to Cait and said she’d see Milly later, and went out, leaving them alone.

‘Want me to help you unpack?’ Cait asked, not knowing whether to prolong the agony or get the heck out of it before she made a fool of herself.

‘I can manage,’ Milly said. ‘It’ll give me something to do until teatime.’

‘Now, the phone in here should be working for me to ring in, they said, so I’ll call you when I’m home, and you’ve got your mobile if you need me—’

‘It’s OK, Mum. I’ll be fine.’ She hugged Cait, and Cait wrapped her arms around her and thought how slight Milly felt, how small and slender and fragile and much too little to be here, doing this all on her own.

‘Right, I’ll be off before I get a parking ticket,’ she said brightly, and kissed Milly on the cheek. ‘Remember, I’m there if you need me. Love you.’

She hugged her daughter again, a brief, hard hug, and then turned and made her way sightlessly through the corridors and out into the street. The Mercedes was gone, so she backed into the space, pulled out into the street and made her way out into the hum of the London traffic.

I won’t cry, she told herself firmly, and then again out loud, ‘I won’t cry! She’s doing what she wants to do. She’s happy! She’s made it. There’s nothing to cry about.’

But there was, of course, because her baby had grown up and flown the nest, and now Cait would be all alone.

‘You’ll be able to do what you’ve always wanted to do. You’ve enrolled for that course in Law, and you can read books and go to films and museums and art galleries, and do all the things you’ve never had time for.’

Intellectual things. Not family things. She’d be clever and better educated, but she’d be lonely.

She sniffed hard and scrubbed her cheeks on the back of her hand, then had to dig about in her pocket for a tissue. She wandered into the next lane and got a blast on a horn for her pains, and after that she turned on the radio and sang to it, very loudly and utterly off key, all the way out of London onto the A12.

Then finally her bravado fizzled out, and she turned off at a roadside restaurant, folded her arms on the steering wheel and laid her head down and howled.

‘Idiot,’ she told herself disparagingly a few minutes later. ‘You must look a total fright.’

She lifted her head, blew her nose vigorously and glared at herself in the rear-view mirror. Red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes glared back at her, and she sighed unsteadily. ‘Coffee,’ she said, and opened the car door, to find Owen Douglas standing there, immaculately clad legs crossed at the ankle, propping up a familiar Mercedes estate.

‘You OK?’ he said softly, and she closed her eyes in despair. Of all the times to bump into someone you didn’t know well enough to howl on.

‘I’ll live,’ she muttered, and forced herself to meet his eyes. They were gentle with understanding, and suddenly she was glad he was there because, know him or not, he was at least in the same boat.

‘You look like I feel,’ he said with a rueful smile. ‘How about a coffee?’

She nodded. ‘I was just going in. Have you only just arrived?’

He shook his head. ‘No, I was leaving. I’m in no hurry, though, and I’m sure I could force down another cup. You know what they say about misery loving company.’

Her laugh was a little strangled, and it ended on something suspiciously like a sob, but at least it was a laugh, and maybe she’d cried enough.

‘Coffee sounds good,’ she said, and for the first time in hours, she managed a genuine smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘My pleasure,’ he murmured, and his voice sent little fingers of anticipation shivering up and down her spine.

Don’t be a fool, he’s married, she told herself fiercely, but his eyes were smiling and her heart was clearly not listening at all…

CHAPTER TWO

SHE looks gutted, Owen thought as they headed towards the restaurant. Empty and hollow and a little lost, just how he felt. He held the door for Cait and caught a drift of scent—not really perfume, just a subtle trace of something tantalising mingled with the warmth of her skin.

The waiter came up to him, looking puzzled. ‘Did you leave something behind, sir?’ he asked, and Owen shook his head.

‘No. I’ve just bumped into a friend and decided to come back,’ he said, and then wondered if it were rather overstating the case to call her a friend. Probably. A slight acquaintance was nearer the mark.

Very slight.

And yet he felt he knew her, because they were sharing the same very real and basic emotions at the moment and that gave them an instant connection.

He ushered her to a seat, his hand resting lightly on the smooth, supple curve of her spine, and as they sat down opposite each other she flashed him a small but potent smile that hit him right in the solar plexus.

‘Thank you for rescuing me,’ she said softly. ‘I hate coming into places like this alone, but I couldn’t go on any longer without…’

She trailed off, so he finished the sentence for her. ‘Letting go?’ he suggested. His grin felt crooked. ‘Been there, done that.’

Cait searched his face with her luminous grey eyes, and he wondered if the few renegade tears that had escaped his rigid control had left their mark. So what if they had? he decided. He loved his son. After all they’d been through together, Josh was worthy of his tears.

‘Are you OK?’ she asked gently, and he gave a soft grunt of laughter.

‘I’ll do,’ he said with a sigh, and she smiled back, tucking her long dark hair behind her ears and fiddling with her watchstrap.

‘Hell, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘I’ve spent years working towards this with her, and now it’s come I feel—oh, I don’t know what I feel.’

‘Oh, I do,’ he said with heartfelt sympathy. ‘I know exactly how you feel.’

Her smile was a bit wonky. ‘Oh, well. At least you didn’t make an ass of yourself in the car park,’ she told him drily, and he chuckled.

‘I wouldn’t bet on it.’

The waiter came up to them, pad in hand, and asked if they were ready to order.

‘Coffee?’ Owen suggested, and she nodded.

‘Please.’

‘Anything else? We could always eat if you’re hungry.’

He met her eyes, those lovely soft grey eyes with the dark line defining the iris. Her skin was clear, her lips soft and mobile, and he had an insane urge to kiss them. Just now they were moving, saying something, and he had to pull himself together almost physically. ‘Sorry, I didn’t catch that,’ he said, and she gave him an odd look.

Dear me, you’re losing it, Owen, old chum, he told himself, and felt heat crawl up his neck.

‘I said, I don’t want to hold you up,’ Cait repeated. ‘Won’t your wife be waiting for you?’

Jill. His embarrassment faded, replaced by the ache of an old, familiar sadness.

He shook his head. ‘No. No, she won’t be waiting,’ he said softly. ‘What about you? Will there be someone waiting for you?’

She shook her head. Something flickered briefly in her eyes that found an echo in his lonely soul. It was replaced by her slightly off-kilter smile. ‘No. No one’s waiting for me, except the cat, and she can cope.’

‘So—how about it?’

‘I tell you what, I’ll bring your coffee while you decide,’ the waiter said, giving up on them and handing them a menu each. Owen felt a twinge of guilt. He’d forgotten the man’s existence.

‘Thanks,’ he murmured, and raised a brow at Cait. ‘Well?’

She looked down at the menu, then up at him again. ‘Um—if you’ve got time, I wouldn’t mind something light.’

‘Have whatever. I’m going for a truly wicked fry-up.’

Her eyes widened, and then she laughed, a low, musical sound that played hell with his composure. ‘Comfort food?’ she said wryly, and he chuckled.

‘Something like that. Plus I don’t have Josh nagging me. He’s a health-food freak. How he’ll survive in halls I can’t imagine.’

‘Milly will be in clover. My cooking’s hit and miss at the best of times, and most of the time I’m too busy to worry. I can’t remember when I last cooked anything like a roast—well, apart from last night, but it was sort of the Last Supper and the Prodigal Son all rolled into one, if you get my drift.’

He did. He’d done just the same thing, only they’d gone out to a restaurant and then on to a pub and caught a taxi home, both a little the worse for wear and a bit subdued this morning.

The waiter brought their coffee, and Owen poured them both a cup and sat back, stirring his cream in absently and thinking about Josh and how odd it was going to be at home without him.