A Spanish Affair

Alejandro frowned. ‘And what would that achieve?’ he derided.

‘Well, by then we would know if such an extraordinary arrangement was sustainable and I would still have a life to return to in the village if it wasn’t working,’ she argued vehemently. ‘I’m not saying I will do it, but you would also have to give me a legal undertaking that you would not try to claim custody of Alfie while he was still in Spain because that would give you an unfair advantage.’

‘The exact same advantage that you would have as an Englishwoman applying for custody in an English court,’ Alejandro traded drily.

Her eyes fell before his at that response. ‘But we just couldn’t do it…live together again,’ she protested in an enervated rush, folding her arms and walking round the room in a restive circle.

‘There has never been a divorce in my family!’

‘That’s nothing to boast about. We’re not living in the Dark Ages any more. People don’t have to live with a mistake for ever.’

‘But you think it’s all right for our son to suffer all the disadvantages of coming from a broken home?’

Jemima groaned out loud in frustration, all shaken up at the very idea of reliving any part of their brief marriage. ‘We can’t make everything perfect for Alfie.’

‘No, but it is our responsibility to give him the best of ourselves, even if that means making personal sacrifices. I respect that,’ Alejandro intoned with insistent bite.

‘You’re always so superior. I want the best for Alfie too.’

‘Yet you didn’t see a problem bringing him up without a father,’ Alejandro lashed back soft and low.

Her face flamed.

‘If you truly do want the best for our son, come back to Spain.’

It was blackmail whichever way she looked at it: emotional blackmail, moral blackmail. He knew which buttons to push. He knew how to make her conscience writhe. He was too clever for her, she thought worriedly. If her best hadn’t been good enough two years back, how much worse would she fare now with him? But had she ever really given him her best? a little voice asked her doggedly and the abstracted look in her gaze deepened. She was older and wiser and more confident, she reminded herself fiercely. Would it do her so much harm to give their marriage another shot? Of course it went without saying that it wouldn’t work out and that both the trial and the subsequent break-up would hurt her again, but wouldn’t agreeing give her the satisfaction of knowing that she had tried every option and made the best effort she could?

In the heat of that last inspiring thought, Jemima turned back to focus on her tall, darkly handsome husband. ‘All right. I’ll come back to Spain but initially I’m only agreeing to stay for three months,’ she extended, nervous tension rippling through her in a quivering wave as she realised what she was giving her consent to.

Alejandro stared back at her with brooding dark eyes, revealing neither satisfaction nor surprise at her surrender. ‘I will accept that.’

Jemima gazed back at him, suddenly horrified at what she had allowed herself to be persuaded into. He had the silver tongue of the devil, she decided wildly. He had made her feel that any decent mother would have another go at being married for her child’s sake. He had studied her with those smouldering dark golden eyes and told her that he still wanted her. Not only had she liked that news very much but her body had burned and her brain had shrivelled while she’d thought that truth through to its natural conclusion.

‘Have you had lunch?’ Alejandro asked.

Jemima backed away a step like a drug addict being offered a banned substance. ‘No, but I’m not hungry. I think I should get back to the shop.’

‘Of course, you’ll have a lot of arrangements to put in place. I’ll instruct a recruitment agency to find you a manager,’ Alejandro imparted smooth as ice, gleaming dark golden eyes raking over her with a subdued heat that she felt as deep as the marrow of her bones. ‘I don’t want this to take too long. I also want to see Alfie.’

‘Will you still be here over the weekend?’ At his nod of assent, Jemima added breathlessly, ‘Then come down and see him tomorrow.’

‘How soon will you come to Spain?’ he prompted.

‘Just as soon as I can get it organised.’

‘I should take you home,’ Alejandro murmured before she got as far as the hall.

‘No. I’m used to getting the train…’

‘I’ll take you to the station, mi dulzura.’

The immediate change in his attitude to her made a big impression on Jemima. All of a sudden he believed it was his job to look after her again and it felt seriously strange to have someone expressing concern on her behalf. She accompanied him down to the basement car park and climbed into his shiny car. As she clasped the seat belt Alejandro reached for her, a lean hand tugging up her chin so that his beautiful mouth could crash down on hers without anything getting in the way. It was like plugging her fingers into an electric socket or walking out unprepared into a hurricane. As he plundered her readily parted lips her hand rose and her fingers speared into his luxuriant black hair, holding him to her. The passionate pressure of his mouth on hers was a glorious invitation to feel things she hadn’t felt in too long and the plunge of his tongue stoked a hunger she had never managed to forget.

‘Dios mio! Te deseo.’ He told her he wanted her in a voice hoarse with desire and it sparked a flame at the heart of her and made her shiver with shock. That fast, he had contrived to turn the clock back.

As Jemima drew back from him, breathless with longing and self-loathing, his brilliant gaze scanned her flushed face. ‘If you stayed, I would give you so much pleasure.’

Jemima tore her stricken eyes from his, shame sitting inside her like a heavy rock because she was tempted. ‘I’ll see you on Saturday,’ she said tightly.

All the way home on the train she was picturing his lean, strong features inside her head and tearing herself apart over what she had agreed to do. He might as well have hypnotised her! Sandy picked her up in the shop van and dropped her at Flora’s cottage.

Twenty minutes later, Jemima was sitting at the island in her friend’s kitchen with Alfie cradled half asleep on her lap from his afternoon exertions. Flora was studying her with wide and incredulous green eyes. ‘Tell me you’re not serious…I thought you hated your ex.’

Jemima shifted her hands in an effort to explain a decision that felt almost inexplicable even to her. ‘What Alejandro said about giving our marriage another go for Alfie’s sake made sense to me,’ she confided ruefully. ‘When I walked out on him I didn’t know I was still pregnant and I’m not sure I would’ve gone if I’d known.’

Her friend’s face was troubled. ‘You were a bag of nerves when I first met you and you had no self-esteem. It’s not my place to criticise your husband but if that’s what being married to him did to you, something was badly wrong.’

‘Several things were badly wrong then, but not everything was his fault.’ Alfie snuggled into his mother’s shoulder with a little snuffle of contentment and she rearranged his solid little body for greater comfort. ‘Marco’s living in New York now and another…er…problem I had, well, it’s gone too,’ she continued, her expressive eyes veiled as she thought back reluctantly to those last stressful months in Spain, which had been, without a doubt, the most distressing and nerve-racking period of her life.

‘You want to give your marriage another chance,’ Flora registered in a tone of quiet comprehension. ‘If that’s what you really do want, I hope it works out the way you hope. But if it doesn’t, I’ll still be here to offer support…’

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