His Reluctant Cinderella Read online

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN utter bliss, lying on a comfortable chaise, the sun blissfully melting into every one of her weary bones and muscles. She didn’t even have Summer to worry about; she was currently enjoying a playdate with an old friend of Clara’s, an afternoon of beaches, barbecues and rollerblades. She wouldn’t be missing Clara at all.

  But no matter how comfortable the chaise, how delicious the sun, how novel the lack of responsibility, Clara just couldn’t relax. With an exasperated groan she sat up and checked her phone again, hoping someone, somewhere needed her. No, there were no texts, voicemails, emails or any other type of message.

  She was utterly alone.

  Looking around the lavish poolside area, Clara tried to shake off the gloom. After all, look where she was! Sitting in a comfortable chair, an iced juice on the table beside her, views to die for spread out all around her; blue, blue water overshadowed by the wings of the famous opera house.

  She was living the dream, for a few days at least. She had decided to finish their holiday in luxurious style and you really didn’t get much more luxurious than her present location.

  If she didn’t want her admittedly extortionately expensive drink, then she could go for a swim in the rooftop pool just a few feet in front of her, or work out in the lavishly appointed gym, have a nap in the massive hotel room that Summer swore was bigger than their entire apartment or go for a walk. She was just steps from the Rocks Markets and she still had some gifts to buy. If nothing in the touristy stalls tempted her then there were plenty of shops in Sydney’s historic heart.

  Or she could go to the Botanic Gardens; after all, she told herself, she’d just be taking a walk. She wouldn’t be stressing about tomorrow. About the near miracle that was going to occur.

  No. Clara slumped back in her chair with a sigh, her eyes unfocused, barely noticing the spectacular scenery. All she could see was the exotic lush greenery of the gardens and the two people who would be strolling there tomorrow. Would they have anything to say to each other? What would be worse: awkward silences or an instant connection?

  This was what you wanted, she told herself, as if repeating the words over and over again would somehow make them true. Summer was finally going to meet her father. Clara just hadn’t expected to feel so terrified about it.

  If she was honest with herself then she might have to admit it wasn’t just today, this loneliness. It had been chilling her for weeks even as she had busied herself with preparations for this trip. They had spent the first ten days here in Sydney staying with old friends before heading out to the Blue Mountains, taking in the vineyard where they had lived when Summer was just a baby.

  After that they had undertaken the long, exhausting journey to the farm where one of Clara’s friends had moved to, completely in the middle of nowhere. Her daughter had immediately taken to the outdoor life; loving every minute of her first riding lessons, hanging onto a strap as she was bounced around in the back of the truck, swimming in the local watering hole. Don’t, Clara had wanted to cry out a hundred times. Look out for crocodiles, for snakes, for spiders, what if the horse bolts or the truck overturns?

  What if?

  But she had held her tongue even though it had physically hurt, even though she had been almost doubled up in fear and dread, and she had watched her daughter blossom.

  Meanwhile Clara herself found it harder and harder to work out just who she was any more.

  The trip had definitely healed some old wounds, but had also brought up new, troubling ones. Even after all the years away she had friends here, people who she could connect with straight away. There was no one outside her family who she had that connection with back in England. No one but Raff.

  Damn, she had said his name. If it weren’t bad enough torturing herself with images of Summer and Byron getting on so well she became totally redundant, she had to think of Raff. Again.

  Truth be told he was often on her mind. The more she tried to forget about him, the larger he loomed.

  Because as good a time as she was having, as much fun as it was showing Australia to her daughter, there was a little part of her that knew that having Raff with them would have made everything perfect. He’d have charmed her friends and adored the outback. And if he were here she would feel so much better about tomorrow, if he were distracting her, reassuring her that she was doing the right thing.

  She was, wasn’t she? Mechanically Clara reached for the bangle at her wrist, turning it round and round, the familiar feel of the silver slipping through her fingertips a reassurance, a grounding.

  Typical Byron to leave his change of heart to the last minute, for the grand reconciliation to eat into their last days. But how could she deny him? Well, she would happily deny him anything and everything but this wasn’t about him.

  Unfortunately though it was about her, because, sitting here alone, she had to admit that once you took away her work and her daughter there was very little left.

  She had allowed her worry for Summer, her drive to provide for her daughter, to consume her. Which was laudable. But, there that word was again, it was a little lonely.

  Well, things would change. She would date and she would not compare every man to Raff, no matter how tempting. She would have hobbies and friends and relax and soon she wouldn’t even remember Raff’s name.

  Or think about him whenever she looked at the night sky and saw the Heavenly Twins. Thank goodness they had different stars here in the Southern Hemisphere.

  Clara eyed her phone again, her pulse speeding up. What harm would one little peek do? He hadn’t blogged for a couple of weeks now; she just wanted to know he was all right. It wasn’t stalking or being obsessive. It was caring about a friend.

  It was almost embarrassing how quickly her browser picked up the Doctors Everywhere website, how it immediately assumed she wanted to go to the section dedicated to field staff blogs. It was almost as if she had been reading it every day. Every evening. When she couldn’t sleep...

  Not just Raff’s blog, all of them. Trying to get an idea of the world he occupied, the people he worked with, his friends, the way he spent his days. The job that was so all consuming he walked away from his family, his heritage, to be part of it.

  That he walked away from her without a backwards look.

  Her breath caught as she saw the all-too-familiar photo. It was a couple of years old, she reckoned, the hair shorter, more preppy, his gaze wary. Her finger hovered and for one moment she fooled herself that she had a choice before she touched the screen and watched the blog load.

  Nothing new. It was the same short entry she had read far too many times detailing his impressions on arriving at the refugee camp. The same matter-of-fact tone as he described families crammed into tents, all their worldly goods reduced to what they could carry, how they were treating pregnant women who had walked for hundreds of miles, malnourished children, broken men.

  It was so vivid she could see it; every time the shock hit her anew. His work was so important, how could she compete? What if she asked him to come back and he regretted it, that regret poisoning whatever it was they had?

  Or maybe they had nothing and he wouldn’t come back at all.

  Or what if she risked it? Let him go and welcomed him home in between postings. Shared him with the job he loved so much. Could she do that? Could she be so selfless, live with the uncertainty and the danger and the long months when he was away?

  She turned the bangle round and round. That question had become more and more pressing as the weeks went by. She wanted to answer yes...

  ‘Excuse me, miss?’ The polite young waiter had returned, a tall glass on his tray.

  ‘I haven’t finished this one yet,’ she apologised with a guilty look at the still-full drink. It was her third. She dreaded seeing how much money she had wasted on
the freshly squeezed juices. But ordering them, sitting here with a drink and watching the world go by was better than sitting in her room and brooding. Just.

  ‘No, miss, this is a new drink. It’s a mudslide.’

  ‘A what?’ Clara stared at the drink. It looked like a coffee to her.

  ‘A mudslide,’ he repeated. ‘Vodka, coffee liqueur and Irish cream, mixed with crushed ice.’

  A latte with a kick. ‘But I didn’t order a drink. There must be some mistake.’

  ‘No, miss, the gentleman over there ordered it. He said you were a big fan of mud.’

  Clara stared at him. ‘He said I...’ Was this some strange Australian chat-up ritual? She had worked in a bar not that far from here throughout her pregnancy and for the first months of Summer’s life but that was nearly a decade ago. Maybe this was a cultural reference that was totally lost on her.

  The only mud she had been near in years was with Raff.

  Oh!

  Don’t be ridiculous, Clara told herself. Raff was in Jordan, but her heart was hammering so loud she was surprised the whole pool area wasn’t throbbing with the beat. She swallowed, her mouth dry.

  ‘The gentleman?’ She could barely get the words out, torn between embarrassment and a longing so deep, so intense it nearly floored her.

  ‘Over at the bar.’ The young man nodded over towards the long pool bar the other side of the terrace.

  It wasn’t him; it couldn’t be him. She was setting herself up for a massive disappointment but all the admonishing thoughts in the world couldn’t quell the hope rising helium light inside her.

  Clara tugged at her skirt as she rose out of the chair, looking over in the direction the waiter had indicated. Be cool and say no, thank you, the sensible side of her was whispering. It’ll be some bored businessman seeing you sitting alone. He thinks he’ll liven his business trip up with a flirt. That’s all it is.

  And just because he has broad shoulders and a shock of dishevelled dirty blond hair and navy blue eyes, even darker with exhaustion, doesn’t mean it’s him. It can’t be him sauntering slowly towards you.

  ‘I thought it was apt.’ He nodded at the drink still sitting on the waiter’s tray. Raff lifted it off, discreetly passing the young man a folded note as he slunk gratefully back to the bar. ‘In lieu of the real thing.’

  Clara stood and stared, drinking him in. It was like the first time she had seen him: an old crumpled shirt, battered jeans, skin almost grey with weariness. Totally irresistible.

  ‘I thought you were in Jordan.’ Of all the things to say. But conversation had deserted her; she was stuck to the spot like an incredulous statue, unable to move or feel.

  ‘I was two days ago, or was it three? It may have been a week. It feels like I’ve been travelling for ever.’

  ‘But what are you doing here?’ It was a mirage, surely. She was like a traveller in a desert, Raff the welcome oasis. Which made her a truly pathetic human being but all she wanted to do was look at him, relearn every feature for posterity. Instead she stood, a foot between them, too scared to touch him in case he disappeared.

  ‘I wanted to see you.’ Clara gaped at him, a mute question in her eyes. ‘Maddie told me where you were. Nice surroundings, by the way. Is this how you backpacked as a teenager?’

  ‘Just like this, five star all the way.’ She fastened on his words. ‘You came to see me?’

  ‘I’m hoping to see a baby koala as well, it seems a shame to come all this way and not see one, but mainly I’ve come to see you.’

  Heat filled her, whooshing up from her toes and filling every atom, every nerve burning. ‘Me?’

  ‘And the baby koala...’ Raff gestured to the drink. ‘Are you going to drink that?’

  ‘Sorry.’ It was such a lovely gesture and she was spoiling it. ‘I’m not a huge fan of vodka. Or Irish cream.’

  He regarded the brown mixture with distaste. ‘It sounded better than it looks. Do you want to take a walk?’

  ‘A walk?’ For goodness’ sake, it was as if she were under a spell. Raff was here. In the swanky terrace bar. Half the way across the world from where she had seen him last, from where he was supposed to be. She should have squealed, thrown herself at him, made some indication that she was pleased to see him instead of standing here gaping.

  ‘I’ve not been to Sydney before. So far I have seen the airport, the inside of the taxi and this rather nice swimming pool. I have been reliably informed there is a rather impressive bridge and opera house I should take a look at. Where’s Summer?’

  ‘With a friend. Tomorrow she’s seeing Byron.’ It was such a relief to tell him, the burden instantly slipping off her shoulders.

  Raff raised his eyebrows in shock, letting out a low whistle of surprise.

  ‘I know, I told him we were coming and made sure he knew when we would be in Sydney and heard nothing, which wasn’t a surprise at all. Then he called last night. Which was a surprise but what could I say?’ It was nice to see him, to hear him, to be able to speak to someone who absolutely, intuitively understood.

  More than nice.

  He grimaced. ‘Anything you wanted but, knowing you, I guess you said that of course you could accommodate him at such short notice.’

  Clara shrugged, the warmth in his eyes almost too much for comfort. ‘For her sake.’

  He nodded. ‘I know. What time are you taking her?’

  She bit her lip. ‘He’s going to text.’

  ‘Do you want me to come with you?’

  Just eight words. Eight simple words. Words that made all the fear and the loneliness and the worry evaporate in the hot Sydney sun.

  ‘Yes, please.’ She glanced at him, almost shyly. ‘She’ll be so happy to see you. She talks about you all the time.’

  ‘I can’t wait to see her either. I’m counting on her to teach me all the Aussie slang. And I bet she knows all the best baby koalas.’

  ‘She knows it all.’ Clara rolled her eyes.

  The lift down was spacious and cool but to Clara it felt tiny, almost claustrophobic. She was sharing it with Raff. Every nerve tingled with the need, the want to touch him but she couldn’t, frightened he’d disappear like a genie back into the bottle of her imagination. The lift opened straight into the impressive marble foyer and she mutely led the way to the exit. As they reached the steps the sun hit them bright and hot, as different from an English sun as a daisy from an orchid. Clara automatically began to walk on the harbourside path, the sea sparkling beneath them.

  Raff took her hand, an easy, natural gesture. It felt like coming home. Clara allowed her fingers to curl up, to meet his, a lifeline she had thought she could manage without. ‘So Cinderella is all alone in the big city? It’s a good thing I’ve come to cheer you up.’

  ‘You’re the fairy godmother?’

  He squeezed her fingers. ‘Or Buttons, but I did have another role in mind.’

  The teasing voice had turned serious as he stopped and turned to face her, still holding her hand in his. ‘I walked away because it felt like the right thing to do. But it wasn’t. It was the cowardly thing to do.’ His fingers tightened, almost painfully but she didn’t resist, his firm grip anchoring her down. ‘I don’t really know how families work, how loving someone works. It seems so easy to get it wrong, to let people down so badly it’s worse than trying at all.’

  Clara clung onto him, her fingers laced tightly through his, her heart hammering. ‘I was afraid too,’ she said honestly. ‘I was losing my way. I spent so many years trying to keep things secure and safe and then you came along.’ She shook her head, trying to blink away the tears threatening to fall. ‘You made my life look so small. You made me feel small.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to.’ He stepped forward in alarm, one hand brushing her cheek, collecting her tears as they overspilt
. ‘I just wanted to see you smile. God, it was presumptuous, I know, but I admit I liked the idea of shaking you up a little. You were so sorted, it made me feel inadequate.’ He grimaced. ‘That was wrong, sorry.’

  ‘No, it was good,’ she protested, holding his hand to her cheek. ‘I needed it. If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here, moving on. I’d just work and look after Summer and kid myself that I was happy with such a narrow life. But I’m not. And if loving you means long absences and worry and sharing you with your work then I can manage. Because that’s a lot better than not having you in my life at all. And I do want you, I do love you.’

  She’d said it. She’d said it all. The four-letter word she hadn’t even admitted to herself on long, lonely, sleepless nights. The world might still be going on around them but here and now it had stopped as the word reverberated around her head.

  Love.

  She peeked up to see his reaction but Raff’s face was unreadable.

  ‘Would it ruin your plans too much if I was around a bit more than that?’ he asked. ‘If I was around pretty much full time? Thing is...’ he grinned ruefully ‘...and I am being presumptuous again so please bear with me, the thing is I don’t know much about being a good husband and father.’ Clara’s heart twisted at the words. ‘But I am pretty sure being away over half the year is not a good start.’

  ‘But you love your job.’ It was a half-hearted statement, as her mind raced at his words. Had he really said husband and father?

  ‘I love you more.’ Raff trailed his hand along her cheek; every nerve fired up at the light caress. ‘They offered me a job in London a few weeks ago and I said I needed time to think about it, but I was just scared. I defined myself through my job. I wasn’t sure who I would be without it. But if I’m honest, I’d been thinking about offering my services full time in London anyway. The ball made me realise just how much I can achieve with my friends and connections—it would be pretty selfish of me not to use them. It’s a very different kind of challenge but a good one, I think.