The Heiress's Secret Baby Read online

  She reached over and took his hand, her fingers soft in his. He curled his hand round hers, holding them tight and she raised his hand to her lips, dropping a kiss onto his knuckles. ‘My mother didn’t put us first. Or second or anywhere. Her need for love came before anything else. I guess I overcompensated, desperate to show the world that I didn’t need anyone. That I wasn’t like her. Now I wonder if maybe I took it too far. But now isn’t the time to worry about that. I can’t put myself first, not any more.’

  ‘No.’ What else was there to say?

  ‘I do believe that there’s someone out there who’ll show you that life isn’t a challenge or a goal, it’s a blessing.’ She closed her eyes, blinking back a tear. ‘I have to admit I’m a little jealous of that someone.’ Her voice was so low he hardly heard the words. ‘Maybe you’ll do it on your own. You’re strong enough, goodness knows. The burdens you bear. The misplaced guilt.’

  ‘I’m happy for you, really I am. But I’m fine.’ He tried to smile. ‘I don’t need fixing.’

  So much for honesty. He was utterly broken and they both knew it.

  * * *

  Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. It wasn’t easy training for an Alpine triathlon in a busy, flat city like London. It was a particularly gruelling trial, a lake swim followed by a ninety-kilometre cycle-ride and a full marathon run. Although the trails didn’t go too high up into the Tyrolean mountains it was a hilly course.

  Just finishing wasn’t an option. He wanted a winning time.

  There was nothing better than pushing his body to its limits. Proving he was no longer at its mercy, that his mind was in control at all times.

  Control. He’d lost it the past few weeks. It was time to regain it.

  Gabe stopped, leaning against a tree, and took a swig of water. It didn’t take long for fitness levels to drop. For an easy ten-kilometre jog to become a challenge.

  He just needed to get his rhythm back, to regain that blissful state where all he knew was the thud of his feet, the beating of his heart.

  Instead he ran to a soundtrack of Polly’s voice, sad, resigned, defeated. I like you.

  And he’d said? He’d said nothing. Because what could he say?

  I wish I could have helped you, the way you’ve helped me.

  Of course she did. She was an achiever. Polly Rafferty didn’t like to leave tasks unfinished, a list unticked. She’d wanted to see him reconciled with his family, the past dealt with.

  She was getting her happy ever after, she just wanted the same for him.

  It was a shame life just wasn’t that tidy.

  Gabe set off again, wiping the perspiration off his forehead as he increased the tempo. He didn’t need a happy ever after. He didn’t deserve one.

  But she did.

  She deserved the whole damn fairy tale. Paris at her feet.

  He just hoped that she would meet someone who recognised that.

  The thought reverberated around his head, the echo getting louder and louder.

  Someone else.

  His stomach clenched and Gabe skidded to a stop, bending forward to alleviate the cramp, hand on his side.

  No, he didn’t want that for her at all.

  Oh, how he wished he could be that altruistic, that selfless, that he could put her needs first. But he didn’t think he could survive watching her laugh with another man, talking cars with another man, showing off vintage designs to another man, fired up as she planned business and strategy with another man.

  Kissing another man.

  Raising her child with another man.

  And there would be someone else. For all her brave talk about going it alone, there would be. She might not have fallen in love in the past but she’d had partners whenever she needed them. How long before the new, softer Polly was snapped up? Opened up her heart to some lucky man?

  They’d be queuing around the block.

  And he was just going to let them?

  Gabe straightened up, oblivious to the people walking around him, the sighs and tuts from commuters unwilling to step around a human being in their well-trodden path.

  Of course he wasn’t going to let them!

  I like you, she had said. More than once. What must it have taken for the proud Polly Rafferty to say those words? And he hadn’t reacted. Hadn’t told her.

  That he liked her too.

  It was time he did.

  If Polly wanted to have the whole white-picket-fence dream while running the world’s most famous department store then she was going to need the best by her side.

  And Gabe had always liked a challenge.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  ‘GOOD MORNING, RACHEL.’

  Polly smiled at her assistant. Rachel had done her job beautifully. Unable to bear some big announcement of her pregnancy, Polly had, instead, confided in her PA. The news had spread around the store in less than a day, just as Polly had known it would.

  At some point she would have to have a word with the gossip-loving woman about confidentiality and discretion. But not yet, not when she had just used Rachel to her advantage.

  ‘Good morning, Miss Rafferty. There is a mint tea on your desk and Chef says that he has a summer fruit compote and a breakfast omelette for you this morning.’

  It was surprising—and rather sweet—how many of her staff had taken the news of her pregnancy and turned it into a project. The kitchen sent up nutritious meals three times a day and were hopefully awaiting outlandish cravings so that they could rise to whatever challenge she set.

  The make-up department manager had put together an entire basket of pre-natal oils, creams and bath salts and was sourcing and testing the very best in post-natal and baby unguents. As for the personal shoppers, not only were they putting aside more clothes than triplets could easily get through, they were also ensuring she would be the chicest mother-to-be in London.

  Polly had always felt respected rather than liked—she had encouraged it. This new two-way process was a little disconcerting. But she was rather enjoying the interest and attention. It didn’t feel as intrusive as she had feared, more warm and friendly.

  Only Gabe was nowhere to be seen. He seemed to be constantly in meetings although he sent detailed emails and was obviously working as hard as ever. It wasn’t hard to deduce that he was avoiding her.

  She shouldn’t have used words like love.

  But somehow Polly couldn’t bring herself to feel regret or embarrassment. She’d tried.

  A little at least.

  ‘Oh, Miss Rafferty, there’s been a change to your afternoon appointment. The one with the web developer?’

  ‘Has he postponed?’

  Up to now Polly had left all the details about the possible new website with Gabe, but she wanted to check some final budgets and meet the developer herself before making the final recommendation.

  Finding a mutually convenient date had been problematic—and now he couldn’t make it? She hoped this wasn’t a portent of his professional reliability.

  ‘He’s stuck in Paris and asked if you would mind going there instead?’

  ‘To Paris?’ Polly echoed. ‘That’s...’

  ‘Less time to get to than Edinburgh,’ Rachel said, putting a pile of papers onto the desk. ‘I’ve booked you onto the noon Eurostar so a taxi will be here to take you to St Pancras for eleven. A car will collect you at the other end.’

  Rachel looked a little anxious. ‘I have done the right thing, haven’t I? It’s just you told me to use my initiative more and I know you want to talk to him yourself before making a final decision...’

  ‘No, you did right. As you say it’s quicker than Edinburgh.’ Polly scooped up the pile of papers, including her passport, she kept it at work for just this reason, and retreated into her office. />
  Sorry, Mummy, looks like I won’t be keeping my word after all, she thought. But maybe this is a good thing. Demystify Paris as part of her new start.

  Baby steps.

  * * *

  It was so comfortable in Business Class that Polly realised with a jump that she had almost nodded off. I think I preferred the nausea to the tiredness, she thought as she jolted back to awareness when the train braked, the papers still unread on the table in front of her, her laptop reverted to sleep mode. There were times when she eyed the couch in her office longingly, desperate to stretch out and just close her eyes.

  Until she remembered Gabe sprawled out. The firm toned lines of his body, the tree spiralling up his back.

  The couch seemed a lot less safe then.

  Polly pulled her mind back to the present. She had enough to do without daydreaming and dwelling on the past, including finding her way around a totally strange city. Paris might be quicker to get to than Edinburgh but it felt a lot more alien.

  Luckily she didn’t have to think or organise herself at all; a driver was waiting for her as she stepped out of the bustling, light-filled Gare du Nord station with its imposing Gothic façade and, before she had a chance to take in the fact she was actually in Paris at last, he had pulled away into the heavy traffic.

  It was only then that Polly realised she had no idea where the meeting was being held. He could be taking her anywhere. She shuffled through the papers Rachel had handed her, looking for some kind of clue.

  Nothing. Budgets, technical specs, nothing of any use.

  She felt so helpless, the annoyance itched away at her. The tiredness was bad enough; the effort it was taking to function at her usual level was soul destroying. Clara’s reassurances that it wouldn’t last, that she would be back to full capacity in just a couple of weeks, were little comfort. She couldn’t afford to slack at any point.

  Nobody had said it would be easy—and ‘nobody’ was right—but she couldn’t let that derail her. Her grandfather might have apologised but she wasn’t going to give him the slightest opportunity to think she couldn’t cope.

  The car drew up outside an imposing-looking hotel built of the golden stone Polly had already noticed in abundance as they drove down the wide boulevards. Each floor was populated with quaint balconies while colourful flower baskets softened the rather regal effect.

  The driver had come around to open her door. ‘Mademoiselle?’

  ‘I’m meeting him here?’ she asked, puzzled. Polly knew a five-star hotel when she saw one and this looked top end. This kind of old-world luxury seemed a peculiar choice for a cutting-edge developer. Maybe it was a post-modern thing she wasn’t cool enough to understand.

  Either way she was here now—and the hotel certainly was Paris at its opulent best. The Eiffel Tower was clearly visible from the pavement and the foyer reminded her a little of Rafferty’s with its art-deco-inspired floor and grand pillars. Polly looked around. How was she supposed to work out which particular bar, restaurant or café she was meeting her contact in—and what was his name again?

  ‘Can I help you?’ The intimidatingly chic receptionist spoke in perfect English. How did she know? Did they have a nationality detector at the door?

  ‘Yes, I am Polly Rafferty and I am supposed...’

  ‘Ah, Mademoiselle Rafferty. I have your key here. There is nothing to sign. It is all taken care of.’

  ‘Key?’ Polly took it in her hand. It was a key too, a heavy gold one, not an anonymous card. ‘No, I’m not staying. I am meant to be meeting...’ She thought hard. Nope. Nothing. Had Rachel ever told her the name? ‘Someone,’ she finished lamely.

  ‘Yes, I know. Pierre will show you the way.’

  It was a bit like being in a Hitchcock plot. Polly fully expected Cary Grant to walk past as the dapper porter showed her to the lift, not betraying by one eyebrow how odd it was for her to be checking in without as much as an overnight bag.

  If checking in she was. Maybe he was merely showing her to a meeting room?

  The lift went up. And up and up.

  ‘Penthouse?’ she queried. It was an odd place for a meeting room. Pierre merely motioned for her to follow and led her to a white door, the only one in a grand, formal-looking corridor richly papered in a gold and black oriental print.

  I’m being kidnapped and I am far too English and polite to scream for help, Polly thought as she put the key into the lock and turned it. The door swung open and she found herself looking at quite the most perfect hotel suite she had ever seen.

  The door opened into a large sitting room. Polly stepped in, her attention immediately captured by two floor-to-ceiling windows, both flung open and leading out onto one of the pretty balconies she had admired on the way in. Perfectly visible through both was a to-die-for view of the Eiffel Tower, majestically dominating the horizon.

  Polly turned slowly, taking in her luxurious surroundings. The suite was decorated in shades of lavender and silver, the cool colours perfectly setting off the rich mahogany tones in the woodwork. Two sofas, lavishly heaped with cushions, surrounded the dark wooden coffee table and lavender silk curtains framed that perfect city view.

  Polly stepped further in, looking back at Pierre for confirmation, but he had gone, closing the door behind him. She was alone.

  If this was a kidnap then it was a luxuriously comfortable kidnapping. Her gaze stopped on a plate on the coffee table. A kidnapping complete with a plate of delicately coloured macaroons.

  Polly had never stayed anywhere this beautiful. It wasn’t that she couldn’t afford to, but, her recent trip aside, she really only travelled for business and that was on Rafferty’s budget. She stayed in good hotels, in comfortable, spacious rooms fully outfitted for the business traveller, but she would never charge a suite like this to her expense account.

  And it had never occurred to her to book this kind of luxury for herself. What had she been thinking? From now on it was suites all the way.

  She wandered around taking in each lavish detail. All the accessories from the light switches to the lamps, the vases to the mirrors, had a nineteen twenties art deco vibe to them. In fact, Polly narrowed her eyes, she was no expert but that fruit bowl looked pretty genuine to her.

  If the bathroom had an enormous roll-top bath, vast, thick towels and an array of scented creams and bubbles then Polly had either died and entered her own personal heaven or was in some kind of weird reality show tailored to her every need.

  She tiptoed through the large bedroom, noting with approval the terrace off it, complete with sun loungers, and entered the bathroom.

  Oh! It was utterly perfect.

  Would it be very wrong to have a bath when she was supposed to be prepping for the oddest business meeting she had experienced in ten years of work?

  Reality asserted itself. A chill ran through her.

  What kind of meeting was this? She should go back into the sitting room and take advantage of her solitude to complete the prep work she had neglected on the way here. More importantly she should phone Rachel and find out what on earth was going on.

  Maybe, if this was all a mistake, she could book the suite anyway. After all, she was here now. She was finally in Paris. It would be a shame to just turn around and make her way tamely home now that her mother’s spell was broken.

  With a last longing glance at the bath Polly returned to the sitting room, resisting the urge to bounce on the bed as she passed it.

  It was all just as gorgeous when she walked back into the main room but it just didn’t have the same effect. The suite felt too big, too spacious. Too lonely.

  This was why she had never stayed anywhere like this. This was a suite made for two. For lovers. From the massive bed to the double tub, the twin sun loungers to the sumptuous robes, it was a place heavy with romantic possibilities.
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br />   Polly walked over to the window and out onto the balcony, looking at the Eiffel Tower more like a set from a film than an actual view. What would it be like to be here with someone else? Sipping champagne—or, for her, right now, some kind of fruit cordial—and watching the city below?

  What would it be like to stay here with Gabe?

  Polly tried to push the thought away but it stuck there, persistent. She had shared so much with him the last few weeks. If only she could share this too. Had she tried hard enough to get through to him? After all, she had pretty much told him that she was giving up and putting the baby first.

  Had that been the right thing to do? It had certainly been the sensible thing, the logical thing.

  But should she have fought harder?

  Her hands clenched. In her desperation to prove that she wasn’t her mother, had she thrown away her only chance at happiness?

  A soft knock at the door pulled her out of her introspection and she gave the view one last, longing look. It was time to work.

  She should have the meeting and then, maybe, she would think again. Make a final decision. Stick with it this time. She couldn’t keep second-guessing her choices.

  She didn’t usually. Maybe this was a sign that she had got it wrong...

  Another knock, a little louder this time.

  ‘Yes, I’m coming...’ If only she could remember his name!

  She was going to have to wing it. Polly walked over to the darkly panelled door and opened it, words of apologetic welcome on her lips.

  Only to falter back as she clocked the tall, dark-haired man on the threshold.

  ‘Gabe? Are you in this meeting as well? Thank goodness. I am woefully ill prepared. I can’t even remember the developer’s name. Although I will deny it if you quote me on that.’

  Gabe didn’t say anything and she continued, the words tumbling out. ‘Do you have any idea why he has arranged to meet us in such an odd place? Although it is completely beautiful. You should see it, it’s like a slice of heaven. With macaroons and views.’