Modern Romance March 2019 5-8

‘For starters, we don’t know he’s ill and you’re not alone...or panicking...’ He shook his head. ‘Borderline at best.’

Not alone. She didn’t make the mistake of reading anything into that, although the wistful feeling his words had shaken loose remained.

‘It’s just his heart. I’m sure it’s nothing to do with that.’

‘You’ll feel a lot surer after the doctors have seen him. Leave it to me.’

Despite the fact she had told herself that morning that one thing she was not going to do was become too reliant on Ivo, she found herself sighing with relief.

‘Thank you.’

This time she turned her cheek into the hand that an instinct he couldn’t control had made him place on her shoulder, despite the earlier rejection. The reaction to feeling her soft cheek against his skin was just as strong and unexpected a reaction as her earlier rejection had been.

He let his hand fall away and stepped back.

‘I’ll organise it, then. You have the name of your GP and Jamie’s consultant?’

She nodded and gave them. ‘I don’t have any paper.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll remember them.’

* * *

When the doctor arrived, a mere thirty minutes later to Flora’s relief, she was dreading having to explain, especially if there was a language problem.

There wasn’t and he seemed to have a full grasp of Jamie’s medical history.

A very short time later, and after a thorough examination of the by now cranky baby, he confirmed that the baby did have a mild fever and diagnosed a virus...basically a cold.

‘And his heart?’

‘No problem there that I can detect. When is his next appointment?’

‘Six months’ time.’

‘Well, you are in good hands and this young man has a fine set of lungs. I knew Bruno, a good man, tragic, so tragic.’

Flora, her throat thick with emotion and unshed tears, nodded.

‘So the analgesic syrup four-to-six hourly, keep him cool and lots of fluids, any problems, you know where I am.’ He glanced towards the sitting room where Ivo, who had not accompanied him into the nursery, was waiting. ‘Or at least Ivo does. Those of us who know him were pleased to hear about his engagement and I am even more pleased now I have met you.’ His charring smirk faded as he added, ‘Ivo has few friends but those who are would die for him. He pretends he doesn’t care but he—well, I don’t have to tell you this, do I? Have you known him long?’

Blinking at this extraordinary endorsement and realising that nothing he’d said had surprised her, Flora shook her head. She already knew that Ivo’s mask of toughness, and coldness, hid deep feelings, but she also knew that he’d never share those feelings, or at least not with her. ‘No.’

‘Well, it doesn’t take long, does it, when you meet the right one?’

‘No, it doesn’t.’ Flora said the words quickly because she didn’t want to think about them too hard.

Quickly, but not quick enough to stop the flood, the relentless stream of images that began to flicker across her retina.

She blinked, her jaw tight as she struggled to halt the slide show. It felt as if a tug of war were going on in her head. She was pulling one way and...truth was pulling the other.

She couldn’t have fallen in love; she hadn’t put Ivo on a pedestal; she wasn’t blind to his faults. She didn’t even like him a lot of the time. She was just getting carried away by the great sex.

‘So, everything good?’

She started guiltily and swung around, the rope of plait that hung down her back whipping around a moment after she did, landing with a thump over one shoulder.

She saluted him with the bottle of baby medicine in her hand. ‘Yes.’ Jamie, lying in the crib, chose that moment to give a cranky cry. ‘He has a cold.’

‘Let me.’

She watched as he bent over the crib, lifting the sobbing baby with the sort of care normally reserved for an unexploded bomb, his expression fierce concentration as he arranged the baby against one broad shoulder and began to pat his back gently. The sight of Ivo cradling his tiny nephew made her smile despite the hand squeezing her heart.

One day he would have babies of his own; crazily the thought made her want to cry.

He glanced across, a look of self-conscious enquiry drifting over his face when he saw Flora standing there staring. ‘Am I doing it wrong or something?’

Flora swallowed the lump in her throat. How crazy to get choked up, but the sight of this big tough man being so gentle with the baby scored a direct hit on her tender heart.

‘No, you’re doing it perfectly,’ she said, grabbing the first thing to hand, which was a baby blanket. She began to fold it as though her life depended on perfectly aligned creases. ‘You know, you’re welcome in Skye any time. You should be part of Jamie’s life.’

Even before she heard his steely, ‘I intend to be,’ Flora sensed the change in the atmosphere. Maybe Jamie did too because he gave another whimper as Ivo laid him carefully down in the crib.

He watched Flora drag a chair over to the crib. They’d found mind-numbing passion together, and it was the thought of losing that and nothing else that had made him react to the idea of her vanishing back to Skye. That, after all, was the plan. Flora was to vanish out of his life, out of Jamie’s life.

Was he being fair to Jamie?

A child needed a female influence and not just one supplied by nannies. There was no doubt that Flora was utterly devoted to the baby. He shook his head; in some ways his grandfather’s plan was simpler.

Simple because Salvatore is losing his mind. The real question is: are you, Ivo?

He took a deep breath. He really needed to show her what an excellent life Jamie could have without her. It shouldn’t be that hard. He’d show her the glossy brochure of the really excellent school he’d picked out for Jamie, Ivo decided.

What’s the betting she disapproves of boarding schools?

‘He might take a while to settle.’

‘You planning on spending the night there?’ Ivo pointed to the lift doors at the end of the room, the ones that led to nannies on tap. ‘Or are you going to take some help?’

She pushed away a frivolous mental image of nannies lining up to slide down a pole like firemen, white frilly aprons fluttering, and started to shake her head.

‘Look, I know you have strong feelings on the subject.’ As she did on everything. ‘But there is help there ready and waiting if you change your mind. I know I’m probably wasting my breath, but you have nothing to prove. Everyone can see you put the baby above everything else.’ How many men would see that as a problem? An image of some future lover being jealous of Jamie drew his dark brows together in a frown.

‘But you can accept help. You don’t have to be a wonder woman or too tired and worn down to do fun things with the baby.’

Was he telling her that she looked worn down or she wasn’t fun, or both?

‘Or I could help?’ he heard himself say.

The offer made her smile. ‘Do you know one end of a nappy from the other?’ she asked, ignoring the fact that a few weeks back she hadn’t either. It was quite nice to feel superior for once. ‘Stick to what you’re good at.’

‘I’m good in bed, or so someone told me not so long ago.’

The blush on the outside was visible but it was the heat deep down inside that was more of a problem for Flora, who brought her lashes down in a protective shield, but not before Ivo had seen the aching longing reflected in the blue depths.

Inhaling through his flared nostrils, he fought to leash his libido. In another woman he might have imagined the look of silent yearning was a calculated seduction technique, but Flora didn’t have a clue what she was doing, or what power she was wielding.

It made her a very dangerous woman.

‘Do you really think this is an appropriate moment for that sort of...?’

The striking contrast between the silent sensual message of her eyes and the prim, prissy delivery drew a laugh from his throat. ‘Thing?’ he suggested. His shoulders lifted in an expressive shrug. ‘You could be right.’

She decided one concession deserved another. ‘Maybe another pair of hands would be useful. Ones who know what they’re doing, that is.’

* * *

The girl who delivered her meal gave a shy smile as she placed the tray down on the table on the balcony.

‘Nanny Emily says you need the calories, that you’re too stick thin. Me, I think you have a lovely figure,’ she added daringly, straying from the party line.

‘Thank you.’

Flora lifted the silver dome. Whatever was in the herby tomato sauce smelt good. She looked at the label on the wine bottle beside the single glass; presumably Nanny Emily saw nothing wrong in being drunk in charge of a baby.

And it would have taken a brave person to argue with the woman who radiated a reassuring sense of calm and spoke fluent Italian with a Yorkshire accent, which was fascinating to listen to.

She had made the day a lot easier but Flora had insisted that she take the night shift, rejecting the offer of a night nanny.

Finding it weird and a little worrying how quickly she had accepted the existence of night nannies and night nurseries, she had not objected when Nanny Emily had had a bed made up for her on the day-bed in the nursery.

She ate her lonely supper, picking at the food and allowing herself one glass of the really excellent red, which might have been a mistake because she found her thoughts veering towards self-pity. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t got plenty of practice eating alone, and Nanny Emily had offered to stay and keep her company.

Only it wasn’t Nanny Emily she was imagining sitting opposite her in the empty chair.

She shook her head, tossed back the dregs of the wine and wandered back to the bedroom. The whole place was wired for sound; she’d have heard Jamie if he’d cried, but she went to check on him anyway. He was fast asleep, his poor little nose bright red, but when she touched the back of his neck he seemed cooler.

She adjusted the speed on the cooling fan and went over to the neatly made up bed. She didn’t bother undressing, even though someone had brought night clothes from her room. Instead she lay on top of the covers intending to just rest her eyes.

* * *

Apparently, his grandfather hadn’t been sleeping. His valet, a sombre-faced little man who’d been with his grandfather for ever, had to know something was wrong and yet when he asked him what he was doing standing in the corridor at one o’clock in the morning, the man had replied with no expression at all that his master had locked him out, as though it was the most normal thing in the world—it probably was for him.

‘I’m just waiting to see if—’

Ivo shook his head. ‘You go to bed and I’ll check if he wants anything.’

‘I need to put his clothes out for tomorrow.’

‘Go to bed.’

The door was locked, but Ivo found his way in via a side door that led directly to the study. The study was empty but what seemed significant to Ivo was the debris of paper spread across the desk. He’d never seen that desk without neat piles and sharpened pencils in neat rows.

The TV was blaring in the drawing room but it too was empty. He eventually found his grandfather sitting on a stool in the bedroom, staring out into middle distance.

‘Not sleeping.’

Salvatore didn’t seem to find it strange to see his grandson standing there. ‘Can’t seem to these days. I think,’ he added in a conspiratorial tone, ‘they put something in the water. I’m seeing the baby tomorrow. Have they arrived?’

‘Yes, Grandfather, they have. The baby has a cold.’

‘Don’t call the doctors, they’re damned quacks.’

Ivo’s knuckles turned white as he clasped them in front of himself. This was the man who had always seemed like a giant to him growing up, feared, but respected. To see him reduced to this was more than heartbreaking; it was tragic, it was cruel.

There were still people who clearly respected him, perhaps even loved him—what else but love would make someone carry on serving him with unquestioning loyalty?

The man they were loyal to was vanishing.

‘How about you go to bed?’

It was an hour and a half later before Ivo finally left; his grandfather was asleep and Ivo knew he couldn’t offload the responsibility that was his. He needed advice from people who knew about this evil disease.

He needed... He walked past the corridor that led directly to his own suite.

The lights in the nursery were turned down low when he entered. He walked over to the cot where the baby lay and then past it to the day-bed where Flora, fully clothed, lay sleeping.

He stood there for a while looking down at her, conscious of the ache located in his chest as he studied her sleeping face, the delicate contours and fine bones. Her beauty was compelling, the misleading fragility rousing protective instincts even though he knew she was a lot tougher than she looked.

Something inside him responded to her beauty the way it had from the first moment he’d seen her. He’d been as powerless to control it then as he was now, as he felt the swell of a nameless emotion build in his chest.

A shudder passed through him.

What the hell are you doing here, Ivo?

He was in no mood to analyse; emotionally drained dry by the encounter with his grandfather, he was operating on autopilot. Instinct had brought him here and the same instincts kicked in now.

The day-bed was narrow but he slipped into the narrow space beside the wall, slid a hand under her waist and pulled her back into him. Her soft body adjusted into his angles as she turned her head, her eyes opened and she saw him.

‘Ivo!’ Her voice, thick with sleep, was barely more than a husky whisper.

He put a finger to her lips and whispered, ‘Hush.’

The tension drained from her body as she closed her eyes, pushed her head against his shoulder, gave a sleepy murmur and went back to sleep.

Lying there with the scent of her hair in his nostrils, her body curved into his, he felt a strange sense of something close to peace drift over him.

He had no idea what had driven him here, or maybe pulled him here. The idea of losing himself in a woman’s body made sense, but this physical but non-sexual embrace was outside his experience. Before he could sort it out in his head he fell asleep to the sound of Flora’s soft, even breathing.

He slept deeply, before fighting his way through layers of sleep and into painful wakefulness; the arm she lay on was numb and heavy and there was a sour taste in his mouth.

He slid his arm from under Flora and slipped off the narrow bed. He looked down and felt the emotions inside him swell and begin to seep out, his jaw clenched as he tried to tap into his ability to turn his feelings on and off.

Nothing happened.

Instead he was forced to reel them in through sheer-minded willpower. The effort brought a sheen of sweat to his face but at least he had control again.

He’d been on the point of falling into the inevitability trap; ‘the heart wants what the heart wants’ nonsense was pretty much a version of crossing your fingers when you lied through your teeth.

A lie was still a lie, and a bad decision was still a bad decision. It all stemmed from the mawkish need for people to romanticise what was a basic primal drive.

He wanted, he needed sex. They had chemistry—strong chemistry. There was nothing wrong in wanting sex; the wrong came when you imagined it was going to last a lifetime.

A man had a choice, he reminded himself. He didn’t have to fall in love. There was strength in being alone, not relying on anyone else to make you happy. He was already complete. Love was a trap that he was not about to fall into.

He’d always been able to separate his emotions from basic needs, like sex, before. Then it came to him, so obvious that he didn’t understand why he’d not seen it earlier!

The only reason this felt different was the fact there was another factor between them. His eyes went to the cot. He felt a connection because there was a connection, not a deep, meaningful, heavenly choir-singing one, but a physical one. Jamie!

He let out a long hissing sigh of relief.

He didn’t look back because he didn’t want to. He wasn’t trying to prove anything to himself.

* * *

The cold morning light was seeping into the room through a window where the blind had not been drawn. She could hear the sound of the dawn chorus outside. She yawned and stretched, easing the kinks out of her spine.

Her eyes suddenly snapped open.

Had she dreamt it?

The memories drifted through her head like smoke, the impression of being held, of feeling warm and safe.

‘Good morning, my dear, did you sleep? How was he?’

‘Nanny...’ Flora pulled herself up into a sitting position and swung her legs over the side of the narrow metal bed. ‘He slept through, and so,’ she admitted, removing a sharp object that had been sticking into her arm from her top, ‘did I.’ She rubbed her arm, was about to toss the object into the waste-paper basket when a glitter caught her eye.

She opened her palm.

It hadn’t been a dream.

It hadn’t been a dream—the beaten copper cufflink she had first noticed gleam against the pristine cuff of Ivo’s shirt lay in her hand.

She slid it into the pocket of her jeans, got to her feet and went over to the cot. Her thoughts were racing. When had Ivo come and how long had he stayed?

‘You go and have a shower, dear, and take your breakfast. I’ll feed him for you and wait for the doctor.’

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