For Our Children's Sake

Dominic held open the gate for Lucy to pass through before him, thinking once again how remarkable a woman she was. How did you reach the point where you could be glad for the little time you’d had? Every time he caught sight of an article celebrating someone’s diamond wedding anniversary he felt angry. Every time he saw a mother with her child he remembered Eloise hadn’t had that chance. Was it possible Lucy didn’t share his anger—and guilt?

He waited until they were seated at one of the tables overlooking the canal before he spoke again. ‘Have you ever been on the canal?’

Lucy tucked her handbag beneath her seat and looked up to see a burgundy-and-blue narrow boat passing, small crochet circles hanging in the round windows. ‘Absolutely. I grew up near here. My mum and dad owned a narrow boat for most of my childhood. They had a seventy-two foot boat which they called Little Beauty.’

‘An odd choice for a big boat.’

Lucy smiled and his breath caught in his throat. Her skin seemed to glow with pure life, even her hair crackled with energy. The first time he’d seen her, outside the hospital, he’d recognised she was a beautiful woman but he hadn’t anticipated his reaction to her smile. He’d no business thinking about her that way. Even so, when she smiled she took on a luminosity that was quite staggering. Her expressive eyes sparkled and her soft full mouth…What? He caught himself up on the thought.

‘Little Beauty is such a ridiculous name. I was always embarrassed by it until I read H E Bates.’

He frowned, trying to pick up the threads of her conversation.

‘Darling Buds of May. Little Beauty is the boat owned by Pop Larkin. Once I knew that, I loved it. The biggest mystery is my dad going along with it. He wasn’t that kind of man.’

‘Wasn’t?’ Dominic prompted.

‘He died when I was twenty-three. He was a very careful man. Little Beauty was his only extravagance. He believed life was too difficult to be reckless with it. He was so worried when I went to art college.’

So there was the answer to one of the questions he’d wanted to ask her. She was an artist. That fitted her image perfectly. With her dark hair pulled up on the top of her head in a haphazard manner, long wispy tendrils curling around her face, she looked slightly bohemian. Messy.

‘What about you? What do you do, Dr Grayling? What are you a doctor of?’

He smiled. He’d suspected she’d no idea who he was. It was refreshing. It was difficult to live down the description of being the ‘thinking woman’s crumpet’, and London was full of women who liked the idea of being with a man who made intellectual television programmes. It had led to hours of spurious conversations with people who’d no idea what they were talking about but who hoped to impress him with their knowledge.

‘History.’

‘Revolting. A truly horrible subject. There were far too many essays to write in History—and almost all of them were about war, I seem to remember.’

His smile broadened. ‘You obviously had some appalling teachers.’

‘So what does a doctor of History actually do?’

‘I’m more of a writer now, but history is still an overwhelming passion,’ he answered evasively, not really understanding his strange reluctance to tell her what he actually did. ‘I see myself as an educator.’ He broke off as the waitress arrived at their table. ‘Are you ready to order? Have you had time to decide what you’d like?’

‘No debate. Scampi and chips,’ she answered with determined cheerfulness. ‘I’ll worry about the calories tomorrow.’

That made a change, Dominic thought. Both his wife and his mother would never have let a sentiment like that enter their heads, let alone passed their lips. Rigid control at all times. He’d even come to believe they actually preferred lettuce and steamed broccoli.

‘If it comes that highly recommended I’ll have the same. What would you like to drink?’

‘I’ll have a glass of dry white wine, please.’

The waitress scribbled frantically. ‘House white?’

‘Will be lovely,’ Lucy replied with a wide smile.

Without it being a conscious decision, Dominic was watching her closely. Searching for a fault, some reason why he shouldn’t go through with the idea that had been sitting in his brain since the first day they’d met.

Lucy seemed to be oblivious.

‘Have you lived in London for long?’

Dominic sat back in his chair. ‘Since I finished my PhD. Yes.’

‘And before then?’

‘Oxford—and before that I was at boarding school.’

Lucy smiled. ‘Oxford! Now I know where Chloe gets her brains from.’

The waitress returned with their drinks. Lucy shifted slightly to make it easier for her to put the glass down.

‘Is she bright?’

‘Very. Top of her class in practically everything. She’s just been selected for a gifted and able programme. She’s going to work with older children on a computer project.’

The feeling of satisfaction spread through him.

‘What’s Abby like?’

Dominic picked up his beer and took a small sip. ‘She’s bright. Top sets. But her passion is for art. She really loves that. 3D art, though, more than drawing.’

As he said it he realised he’d done very little to encourage that in Abby. Her evenings were so full of activities, and yet none of them really addressed what she loved to do. He’d allowed his in-laws to take far too much responsibility in Abby’s upbringing and they were reproducing what they’d done for Eloise. It would have suited her, but Abby was different. She’d love to be given a lump of clay, or just be encouraged to make a mess with papier-mâché.

‘Art? I don’t believe it!’

Lucy’s face shone with a radiance he was coming to expect. She was so easy to read. When she was pleased everything of it showed on her face. She couldn’t hide anything. ‘So much for nature versus nurture, then.’

With no regard for their conversation, the scampi was brought to the table. The plates were steaming hot and generously full.

‘I’m so hungry,’ Lucy remarked, spearing a chip with her fork.

This place suited her, with its casual informality. At home he would have chosen a select little bistro, where everything would have been arranged in delectable morsels. Lucy was like a breath of fresh air. She sat in tight, hip-hugging black trousers and a white broderie anglaise top and looked as if someone had just ruffled her in a haystack. Effortlessly sexy. It made him remember sensations and feelings he’d tried hard to bury for the past few years.

‘Do you paint still?’

‘Occasionally. I found it difficult to do when Michael was ill. I couldn’t seem to concentrate enough. My mum’s a potter, and I’ve spent more time recently working with her. It’s nice to have company and have the feel of the clay between my fingers.’ She took a sip of wine. ‘Chloe’s done some lovely things. I ought to show you some time.’

He felt a sudden spear of guilt. Abby had never had the opportunity to do anything like that. He should have been more assertive. Whatever the outcome of this evening, he was going to make some changes.

‘I’d like that.’

Lucy bit into a piece of scampi before looking up at him. Her face was suddenly serious. ‘I’m sorry about earlier. It felt really strange, seeing you watching Chloe like that. It was just I wasn’t expecting to see you then. You know—wrong place, wrong time.’

‘Nothing about this situation is easy.’ Dominic played for time by picking up his pint glass. ‘Have you thought about what might happen when our case goes to court?’

Her eyes widened slightly in alarm. ‘I thought everyone was fairly confident. We’ll each have legal guardianship—’

‘Yes. And be recognised as the natural birth parent of each other’s children. But nothing like this has ever gone to court before.’

‘It has. I was told—’

Dominic cut her off again. ‘This case is slightly different. We had a direct swap of embryos.’

‘What do you think will happen?’ Lucy asked, putting down her fork carefully.

‘I don’t know—and I don’t like it. I hate having no control over what other people are deciding about my life.’

Her face was a picture of worry, her dark eyes clouded with anxiety, and her hand went up to pull nervously at her hair. He didn’t like to do this to her but she needed to know. He had to make sure she understood exactly what they were facing.

‘What do you hope happens?’

Dominic shook his head. ‘It’s an impossible question to answer. At first I just wanted to go on with Abby as before. Then I wanted to keep Abby but maybe hear about my natural daughter. Not too often. Just once in a while. Enough to know she was all right.’

‘And now?’

‘Now I want it all.’

Lucy shifted in her chair, her face uncharacteristically pale. ‘You want both girls?’

‘In a way. I—’

‘You can’t do that—’

‘Hear me out, Lucy. I’m not suggesting I sue for custody.’

She shook her head, obviously bemused. ‘Then what?’

This was it then. An irrevocable decision. Once made there could be no going back. Dominic leant forward. ‘I want you to marry me.’

The silence echoed around the table. For a moment Lucy wondered whether she’d heard him correctly. It wasn’t possible, was it? His eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for an answer. Colour flooded into her ashen face.

‘But I don’t know you!’

His voice remained steady. ‘I don’t know you either. Except through Abby. I want Abby to have everything—and that means you.’

For the girls. He wanted to marry her for the girls. Lucy held her bottom lip between her teeth, her stomach twisting and turning. What he was suggesting was outrageous. How could you marry someone you didn’t know and knew nothing about?

His voice continued inexorably. ‘When I think about a future hearing just snippets about Chloe I can’t bear it. I want it all.’ He paused. ‘And the obvious way to achieve that is a marriage of convenience.’

Lucy looked at him in complete horror. She felt as if the floor had just disappeared beneath her and she was falling down into an alternative reality. This couldn’t be happening.

He’d been her rock. Since she’d first discovered the mix-up Dominic had been what had kept her standing. He’d understood how she was feeling, understood the unmitigated agony of living with the secret knowledge that your child wasn’t really yours. She felt slightly betrayed. Angry.

‘Real people don’t do things like that.’

‘Think about it. We could be there for the girls. For as long as they need us. While the courts argue about how much contact the birth parents should have we can solve it all in one clean sweep. They can have us both.’

He made it sound so reasonable—and yet it wasn’t. It wasn’t. She wanted everything to be right for the girls. Wanted to make life perfect for Chloe. To know Abby was happy. But marriage? How could he suggest spending the rest of his life with someone he’d only met for the second time today?

Her fingers played nervously with the edge of the starched white tablecloth. What did he mean by a ‘marriage of convenience’ anyway? Did he imagine he’d share her bed?

‘Marriage?’

‘In name only.’

He could see the questions whizzing across her face. If it hadn’t been so serious he would have found it funny. He watched the moment arrive when she decided there was one question she really had to ask.

‘No sex?’

‘Absolutely. What I want is a mother for Abby, and I want to be a father for Chloe. This is about parenting.’

She went to pick up her wine glass and then stopped. ‘Why marriage?’

‘Because it’s a sign of commitment. Then I can formally adopt Chloe and you can adopt Abby. If the court allows it. Personally, I think they’re going to breathe a sigh of relief that everything’s worked out so smoothly.’

This time she did take a sip of wine. He watched the nervous flutter of her hand as she replaced the glass carefully back on the table. At least she hadn’t said an outright no.

‘You want to be married until the girls are eighteen?’

He shook his head. ‘As long as they need us to be. It has to be as normal as we can make it. At some point in the future we’re going to have to tell them the complete truth, and I want them to be secure in having two parents who love them and are there for them.’

Again the questions flitted across her expressive face. Her hand went to her casually swept-up hair and fiddled with a strand hanging across her cheek. ‘What happens if you meet someone else? Or I do?’

‘It hasn’t happened to me in the last six years. I hardly think it’s likely to happen now. I don’t ever want to love anyone again. I can’t take the risk of anything hurting that much again.’ He had her attention now. It was in the way she leant forward and her hand stilled on her hair. ‘We have a common goal. It will be enough to build a good life for ourselves—and for the girls.’

‘And where will we live?’

Was that a yes? He’d shocked her, unquestionably, but she could obviously see the advantages of a marriage of convenience. ‘If we decide to go ahead with it, that’s all open for discussion. It’s handy for me to be based in London, and I’ve a big house there, so that’s an option, but it’s not a necessity. Are you fixed here?’

‘My family’s here. Friends.’

Memories, he realised, watching the way she bit on her bottom lip. ‘The details can be worked out later. In principle, what do you think? Will you marry me?’

Lucy didn’t know what to say. What to think, even. Could she do it? Marry a perfect stranger? To give Chloe security and get to know Abby? And then she gave a half smile. Perfect? Had she really thought that? He was perfect—almost. Tall, handsome—in a clever kind of way, rather than a chocolate box model kind of thing. Gorgeous hands, eyes you could trust, and a committed father as well. It was an impressive list. But he didn’t love her and she didn’t love him.

It was a big but. If she’d been young and impressionable he’d have been someone she might have dated—if it hadn’t been for Michael. There never had been anyone for her but Michael and never would be. People only had one great love in a lifetime and she’d already had hers. It had been fantastic—and now it was over.

All she had in her life were memories—and Chloe. Lucy looked out at a small family cruiser passing outside on the canal. A mum, a dad and two little girls. She bit her lip. She could do that for Chloe. For Abby. If there was no possibility of her falling in love again she could commit herself to this new family unit. The girls could have everything. She looked back at Dominic.

‘I’ll do it. Theoretically, if we can work it all out, I’ll do it. For the girls, I’ll marry you.’

She couldn’t believe she’d said the words that would commit her to a lifetime without love. It seemed a travesty of everything she’d shared with Michael. He wouldn’t have wanted her to spend the rest of her life alone in every way that mattered. Yet Michael couldn’t have known what would face her.

Dominic leant forward. ‘We can make this work, Lucy. I know we can.’

She could feel her eyes begin to fill up with tears and she blinked furiously. When she’d agreed to have dinner with Dominic to discuss the future she hadn’t dreamed the conversation would take this turn. It certainly wasn’t something that usually happened to a widowed mother of one who only wanted a peaceful life. ‘What do we do now?’

Watching Dominic, she noticed a change. The tension had left him and in its place was a sense of purpose. She had the strangest sensation of being in a bubble. Everything was muffled, it was slower, it was…inevitable.

‘Are you working at the moment? Apart from on a casual basis with your mother?’ She knew she’d shaken her head when she heard him say, ‘That simplifies things.’

Did it? Nothing seemed very simple to her. She could see every obstacle. She knew nothing about him. Not even what he did for a job, she recognised bleakly. Some kind of lecturer, perhaps? It hardly mattered.

‘We could start off in London and review it later. My house has room for some kind of a studio for you. I don’t know what you need for potting, but there’s an annexe on the ground floor that was intended for live-in help. It could be made into something quite useful. We could put in a wheel. A kiln? Is that what you need?’

Everything was moving too fast. He was answering questions she hadn’t even got around to thinking yet. Was he really asking whether she wanted her own studio? It was unbelievable. She couldn’t get her head round it at all. This just couldn’t be happening to her.

‘Mum mainly produces named mugs for the tourist market. I’d rather try and paint again.’ This was just surreal. ‘And I like to teach. I’ve been doing a bit at the local secondary school while their art teacher has been off on maternity leave. I could do more of that.’

‘There’s a desperate shortage of teachers in London, so I can’t see that as a problem.’ He filled up his fork and ate another mouthful. ‘What we ought to do now is get on with organising our wedding. There’s no point in hanging about now we’ve made the decision. I’m assuming we’ll go for a civil ceremony.’ He frowned. ‘I think the rules have changed since the last time I got married. I think there’s a month’s delay from visiting the register office to the wedding itself.’

‘Is there?’ Lucy heard herself ask.

‘Minimum. I suggest you move in with Abby and I as soon as possible and we’ll set everything in motion. If the wedding is, let’s say, eight weeks from now, it gives us some time to review it.’

‘Review it?’ she repeated weakly.

‘Once we’re married there can be no turning back. We’ll be in it for the long run. For better, for worse and all that.’

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