The Pregnant Tycoon

‘And hello yourself,’ she said, settling down in her chair with her feet propped on the edge of her desk, crossed at the ankles. A smile played at the corners of her mouth. She picked a little bit of fluff off her trousers and smoothed the fabric absently. ‘I’m sorry, I really was in a meeting, and I’d said no calls. I didn’t realise I’d given you my office number.’

‘You didn’t, but I didn’t want to leave it too late, so I got my secretary to do a bit of sleuthing. How are you?’

‘I’m fine. Great. How are you? And Emma? Three kids now! I’m impressed.’

He laughed. ‘Don’t be. They were the easy bit. We’re all fine—really good, but nothing like as spectacular as you! Talk about a meteoric rise in the world.’

Izzy shrugged, then realised he couldn’t see her. ‘It’s only money,’ she said dismissively, realising that it was true. What was her success when measured against Rob and Emma’s happiness and the birth of their three children? She swallowed a lump of what had to be self-pity, and put her feet back on the floor.

‘Look, Rob, I really am rather tied up this morning, but I’d love to see you all. Is there any way we can meet up?’

‘Actually, that’s why I’m phoning you. Emma and I are having a party to celebrate our tenth wedding anniversary and our thirtieth birthdays, and we want you to come. The trouble is, it’s tomorrow night. Not very much notice, I’m afraid, and I expect you’re so busy you won’t be able to make it, but loads of us will be there and it would be really great to see you.’

Something big and awkward was swelling in her chest, making it hard for her to breathe, and there was a silly smile plastered to her face that she couldn’t seem to shift.

‘That would be fantastic. Of course I’ll come—I wouldn’t miss it for the world. I’ll hand you back to my secretary and you can give her all the details, and I’ll see you on Friday. Thanks, Rob.’

She spoke briefly to Kate and asked her to get all the relevant information from Rob and book her a hotel room nearby, and then, ruthlessly suppressing a twinge of guilt, she also asked her to contact Steve and cancel the dinner engagement he’d talked her into at her party. Then, forcing herself to concentrate, she went back into the meeting and smiled brightly at the assembled company.

‘Sorry about that, everybody. Now, where were we?’

Izzy was a mass of nerves. It was quite ridiculous. She did very much more scary things than this every day of her life, and yet, for some reason, this whole event had taken on the most enormous significance.

Because of Will? What if he was there? And Julia? Oh, Lord.

She checked the address and eyed the house warily, reluctant to go in there yet. Twelve years was a long time, and a lot had happened. Too much? They always said you should never go back, but maybe it was time. Maybe this was just what she needed to get closure.

She checked her appearance one last time in the little rearview mirror of her car, and then with a mental shrug she abandoned any further prevarication, got out of the car and strode purposefully towards the open front door, the flowers she’d brought clutched just a little tightly in her hand.

As she drew nearer she could hear the sounds of a party in full swing—loud voices, shouts of laughter, the insistent rhythm of music that invaded her blood. It would be pointless to ring the doorbell, she realised, and so, her heart pounding in time to the beat, she walked down the hall and through the open door at the end, a smile plastered to her face.

For a moment no one noticed her, then a sudden silence fell, and everyone seemed to turn towards her. Her smile was slipping, brittle, and she stared at the room full of strangers and wondered what on earth she was doing there.

Then a man detached himself from the crowd, shorter than she remembered, his body more solid, his hair thinner, but the sparkling green eyes and the smile that encompassed the world were just the same, and he strode towards her, arms outstretched.

‘Izzy!’

‘Rob,’ she said with relief, and went into his arms with a sense of homecoming that took her by surprise.

He released her, holding her at arm’s length and studying her, then dragging her back into his arms for another bear hug. ‘Emma!’ he called. ‘Look who it is!’

Emma hadn’t changed at all. She was still the friendly, lovely girl she’d always been, and she hugged Izzy, took the flowers with an exclamation of delight and dragged her off to meet all the others.

Well, most of them. There was no sign of Will, and Izzy suppressed the strange sense of disappointment that prickled at her. She’d had no reason to suppose he would be there, so it was ludicrous to feel so bereft at his absence.

Anyway, if he’d been there, Julia would have been, as well, and she wasn’t sure that she was ready to meet her again, even all those years later.

And then there was another sudden silence, and her eyes were drawn to the doorway.

A man filled it, his dark hair untidy and rumpled as if he’d just combed it with his fingers, although they were now rammed firmly in his pockets. He looked awkward and uncomfortable, ready for flight, but before he had the chance to make his escape the spell broke and the crowd surged round him, wrapping him in a welcome as warm as it was inescapable.

And then he looked up across the crowded room and met her eyes, and her heart jammed in her throat.

Dear God, after all these years. He hasn’t changed, she thought, then shook her head slowly. No, he has changed, but he’s still—Will. My Will.

No.

Yes!

Stop it. Never mind that. Look at him. Look at the changes. He’s bigger—taller, heavier, older. His eyes look tired. Beautiful, still staggeringly beautiful, but tired.

Why so tired?

She wanted to cry, to laugh, to hug him—and because she could do none of them, she retreated, through a door she found conveniently placed behind her, and fled into the sanctuary of another hallway.

She needed time—time to think. Time to get her ducks in a row and her heart back under control before she said or did something stupid.

Oh, Lord. Will…

CHAPTER TWO

WILL was stunned. He wouldn’t have imagined in a million years that Izzy would be here. Of all the places, all the ways he’d imagined meeting her again, this hadn’t even been on the list. Somebody was pressing a drink into his hand, somebody else was slapping him on the back, saying how good it was to see him again, but all he could think about was Izzy.

His Izzy.

No. Not now. Not any more. Not for years—not since he’d betrayed her trust—

Hell, why hadn’t Rob warned him? Would he still have come?

Fool. Of course he would have come. Wild horses wouldn’t have kept him away. He needed to speak to her, but first he had to greet all these people who were so pleased to see him—good people who’d supported them through the nightmare of the last few years. So he smiled and laughed and made what he hoped were sensible remarks, and when he looked up again, she was gone.

Inexplicably, panic filled him. ‘Excuse me,’ he muttered, and, squeezing his way through the crowd, he went through the doorway at the back of the room that led out to the side hall. It had been the door nearest to her, and the most likely one for her to have used to make her escape, but he couldn’t let her go until he’d spoken to her. He was suddenly afraid that she would have slipped out and gone away, that he wouldn’t have a chance to speak to her, and he had to speak to her.

There was so much to say—

She hadn’t gone anywhere. She was standing in the side hall looking lost, absently shredding a leaf on the plant beside her, her fabled composure scattered to the four winds. The powerful, dynamic woman of the glossy society magazines was nowhere to be seen, and in her face was an extraordinary and humbling vulnerability. His panic evaporated.

‘Hello, Izzy,’ he said softly. ‘Long time no see.’

Her smile wavered and then firmed with a visible effort. ‘Hello, Will,’ she replied, and her voice was just as warm and mellow and gentle as he’d remembered. ‘How are you?’

‘Oh, you know,’ he said with a wry smile. ‘Still farming.’ He ran his eyes over her elegant and sophisticated evening trousers and pretty little spangled top, and his gut tightened. ‘You’re looking as beautiful as ever—not the least bit like an assassin.’

‘Still the old sweet talker, then,’ she murmured, her lips kicking up in a smile that nearly took his legs out from under him. ‘Anyway, I’m surprised you remember. It’s been a long time—twelve years.’

‘Eleven since I saw you last—but I’ve got the newspapers and the glossies to remind me, lest I should forget,’ he told her, trying to keep his voice light and his hands to himself.

She rolled her eyes expressively, and a chuckle managed to find its way out of the constricted remains of his throat.

‘So—how’s Julia?’ she asked, and he felt his smile fade. Oh, hell. There was no easy way to do this.

‘She’s dead, Izzy,’ he said gently. ‘She’s been dead a little over two years. She had cancer.’

Even though his words were softly spoken, he felt their impact on her like a physical blow. Her eyes widened, her mouth opening in a little cry as her hand flew up to cover it. ‘Will, no—I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Oh, Will—’

If he’d had any sense he would have kept his distance, but he couldn’t. She looked so forlorn, so grief-stricken. He took one step towards her, and she covered the ground between them so fast he barely had time to open his arms. She hit his chest with a thud, her arms wrapping tightly round him in a gesture of comfort that was so typically Izzy it took his breath away.

Dear God, he thought wildly. She felt the same—she even smelt the same. It was almost as if the last twelve years had never happened—his marriage to Julia, the two children, her slow, lingering death, the long fight back to normality—all that swept away with just one touch.

Her body trembled in his arms, and he tightened them reflexively around her. ‘Shh—it’s all right,’ he murmured softly, and gradually her trembling body steadied and she eased away from him. Reluctantly, yet knowing it was common sense, he let her go and stepped back.

Her hand came up and caught a tendril of hair, tucking it back behind her ear, and her smile was sad. ‘I’m sorry. I really had no idea, Will. It must have been dreadful for you all. Why didn’t Rob tell me? I can’t believe it—I’m so sorry I brought it up like that, spoiling the party.’

He laughed, a rough, scratchy sound even to his ears, and met her anguished eyes with a smile. ‘You haven’t spoilt the party. I hate parties anyway, and besides, mentioning Julia doesn’t change anything. We talk about her all the time. Her death is just a fact of life.’

He wanted to talk to her, to share the huge number of things that had happened for both of them in that time, but people were coming through the hall, heading for the cloakroom or the kitchen, and they all paused for a chat.

He felt the evening ebbing away, and panic rose again in his chest. He couldn’t let her go again without talking to her, properly, without constant interruptions. There was so much to say—too much, and most of it best left unsaid, but still—

‘Look, it would be really nice to catch up with you—I don’t suppose you’ve got any time tomorrow, have you?’ he suggested, wondering as he said the words whether he himself could find any time in the middle of what was bound to be a ridiculously hectic schedule.

‘I’m staying at the White Hart for the night,’ she said. ‘I was going to head back some time tomorrow, but I don’t have any definite plans. What did you have in mind?’

He crossed his fingers behind his back and hoped his father could help out with the children. ‘Come for lunch,’ he suggested. ‘You’ll know how to find the farmhouse—it hasn’t moved.’

His smile was wry, and she answered with a soft laugh. ‘That would be lovely. I’ll look forward to it.’

They fell silent, the sounds of the party scarcely able to intrude on the tension between them, but then the door opened behind him yet again and Rob came out, punching him lightly on the arm.

‘Here you both are! Come and circulate—you can’t hog each other, it’s not on. Everyone wants to talk to you both.’

And without ceremony he dragged them back into the party and forced them to mingle. They were separated from each other within moments, and when Will’s phone rang to call him back to a difficult lambing, she was nowhere to be found. Still, he’d see her in the morning.

He shrugged his coat on, said goodbye to Rob and Emma and went back to the farm. It was only later, as he crawled into bed at three o’clock with the lambs safely delivered, that he realised they hadn’t discussed a time.

Izzy pulled up outside the farmhouse and stared around her in astonishment.

Well, it was certainly different! The house looked pretty much the same, and the barns behind it, but beyond the mellow old brick wall dividing the house from the other side of the farmyard there had been some huge changes.

The weatherboarding on the old farm buildings was all new and freshly stained black, sharp against the soft red of the tiled roofs, and on the front of one was a sign saying, ‘The Old Crock’s Café’. There was a low fence around an area of tables and chairs, and though it was still only April, there were people sitting outside enjoying the glorious sunshine.

There were other changes, too, beyond the café. The farm shop beside it seemed to be doing a brisk trade, and on the other side of what was now a car park the big building that she was sure had once been the milking parlour now housed an enterprise called Valley Timber Products. She could see chunky wooden playground toys and what looked like garden furniture in a small lawned area beside it.

There was a basket shop, as well, selling all sorts of things like willow wreaths and planters and wigwams for runner beans, as well as the more traditional baskets, and she could see that, at a quarter to eleven on a Saturday morning, the whole place was buzzing.

A thriving cottage industry, she thought, and wondered who ran all the various bits and pieces of this little complex and how much of it was down to Will. He probably let all the units to enterprising individuals, she reasoned. There wouldn’t be enough hours in the day to do anything else.

She turned back to the house, conscious of the fact that it was still not eleven o’clock and she was probably rather early for lunch, but she’d been asked to vacate her room by ten, and after driving somewhat aimlessly around for half an hour, she’d decided to get it over with and come straight here.

Get it over with, she thought. Like going to the dentist. How strange, to be so nervous with Will, of all people, but her heart was pounding and her palms were damp and she hadn’t been so edgy since she’d held her first board meeting.

At least then she’d had an agenda. Now she was meeting the widowed husband of her old schoolfriend, father of the child whose conception had been the kiss of death for their relationship.

Bizarre.

‘If you’re looking for Will, he’s in with the lambs,’ a woman called, pointing round the back of the house, and with a smile of thanks, she headed round towards the barns.

‘Will?’ she called. ‘Are you there?’

A dog came running up, a black and white collie, grinning from ear to ear and wagging at her hopefully, then it ran back again, hopping over a gate and heading into a barn.

She eyed the mud thoughtfully, glanced down at her Gucci boots with regret and picked her way over to the gate.

‘Will?’

‘In here,’ a disembodied voice yelled, and she wrestled with the gate—why did farm gates never swing true on their hinges?—and went through into the barn. It took her eyes a moment to adjust, and when they had, she spotted him crouched down on the far side of the little barn with a sheep. It was bleating pitifully, and as she picked her way across the straw bedding, Will grunted and glanced up, then rolled his eyes and gave a wry smile.

‘Hi,’ he said softly. ‘Sorry, didn’t realise it was you. Welcome to the mad house. You’re early.’

‘I know. I’m sorry—do you want me to go away?’

He shook his head. ‘No. Can you give me a minute? I’m a little tied up.’

She suddenly realised what he was doing, and for a moment considered escaping back to the café to give him time to finish, but then the ewe tried to struggle to her feet, and with his other hand—the one that wasn’t buried up to the elbow in her back end—he grabbed her and wrestled her back down to the straw.

‘Anything I can do to help?’ she found herself asking, and he gave her a slightly incredulous look and ran his eyes over her assessingly.

‘If you really mean that, you could kneel on her neck,’ he said, and she could tell he expected her to turn tail.

She did, too, but then, to her own amazement as much as his, she gave a little shrug, dropped her Louis Vuitton bag into the soiled straw and knelt down in her Versace jeans and Gucci boots and put her knee gently on the ewe’s neck.

‘By the way, good morning,’ she said, and smiled.

Will was stunned.

If the paparazzi who hounded her for the glossy society mags could see her now, he thought with an inward chuckle, they’d never believe it.

‘Morning,’ he said, and then grunted with pain as the ewe contracted down on his hand and crushed a sharp little hoof into his fingers. Well, at least he knew where one leg was, he thought philosophically, and the moment the contraction eased, he grabbed the offending hoof, traced it up to the shoulder, found the other leg, tugged them both straight and then persuaded the little nose to follow suit.

Moments later, with another heave from Mum and a firm, solid tug from Will, twin number one was born, followed moments later by the second.

And the third.

‘Triplets?’ she said, her voice soft and awed, and he shot her a grin and sat back on his heels, using a handful of straw to scrub at the soggy little morsels with their tight yellow perms and wriggling tails.

‘Apparently so.’ They struggled to their feet, knees wobbling, and made their way to their mother, on her feet by now, and Will got up and looked ruefully at his hands.

‘I’d help you up, but—’

She grinned up at him, her soft green eyes alight with joy, and his heart lurched, taking him by surprise. She stood easily, brushing down her knees with a careless hand. ‘That was wonderful,’ she said, the joy showing in her voice as well as her eyes, and he wanted to hug her.

Instead he took a step back, gathered up his bucket of hot water and soap and towel, and quickly made a pen around the little family.

‘We’ll leave them to it. They’ve got all they need for now.’

‘Why isn’t that one feeding?’ Izzy asked, staring worriedly at the lambs as one of them stood by bleating forlornly and butting its mother without success.

‘They’ve only got two teats, but she’s had triplets before. They’ll take turns and she’ll sort them out. She’s a good mother. Come, Banjo.’

He ushered her towards the back door, the dog at his heels, and, kicking the door shut behind them, he stripped off his padded shirt and scrubbed his arms in the sink.

‘Don’t mind me,’ she said dryly, and he looked up, suddenly self-conscious, to find her laughing softly at him across the kitchen.

He felt his mouth quirk into a grin, and he shook his head. ‘Sorry. Didn’t think. Actually, I could do with a shower. Can you give me five minutes?’

‘Of course.’

‘Make yourself at home,’ he told her, and then, as he ran up the stairs, he remembered the photos of Julia and the children all over the piano in the corner.

He shrugged. What could he do? She’d been his wife, the mother of his children. She deserved to be remembered, and he couldn’t protect Izzy from that reality any more than he could have prevented Julia’s death.

She looked around the kitchen, so much as it had been all those years ago, and felt as if she was caught in a time warp.

Any minute now Rob and Emma and Julia, and maybe Sam or Lucy, would come through that door from the farmyard, laughing and chattering like magpies, and Mrs Thompson would put the kettle on the hob and pull a tray of buns out of the oven.

She’d always been baking, the kitchen heady with the scent of golden Madeira cake and fragrant apple pies and soft, floury rolls still hot in the middle. She’d fed everybody who came over her threshold, Izzy remembered, and nobody was ever made to feel unwelcome.

And at Christmas they’d always come here carol-singing last, and gather round the piano to sing carols and eat mince pies hot from the oven.

With a tender, reminiscent smile still on her lips, Izzy turned towards the piano—and stopped dead, her heart crashing against her ribs. Slowly, as if she had no right to be there but couldn’t help herself, she crossed the room on reluctant feet and stood there, rooted to the spot, studying the pictures.

Julia and Will, laughing together on the swing under the apple tree. Julia with a baby in her arms and a toddler leaning against her knee. Will on the swing again, with the toddler on his lap, laughing, and another one with the baby, nose to nose, his expression so tender it brought tears to her eyes.

What am I doing here? I don’t belong! This is her house—her husband.

She turned, stumbling blindly towards the door, and Will caught her and folded her into his arms, cradling her against his chest as the sobs fought free and racked her body.

‘Shh. I’m sorry. I should have realised it would upset you. I’d forgotten how much you loved her.’

Loved you, Izzy corrected silently, but she couldn’t speak, and anyway, it didn’t seem like the smartest thing to say under the circumstances.

Her sobs faded as quickly as they’d come, the shock of her reaction receding in the security of his arms, and gently he released her and stood back, looking down at her with worried eyes.

‘OK now?’

She nodded, scrubbing her nose with the back of her hands, and he passed her a handful of kitchen roll and waited while she blew her nose and mopped her eyes and dragged out that smile.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘Too many memories.’

He nodded and turned away, his face tight, and she could have kicked herself. If she had too many memories, what on earth did he have?

‘Tea?’

‘Please.’

He put the kettle on, then turned and propped himself against the front rail of the Aga and studied her thoughtfully. Uncomfortable with his scrutiny, she studied him back and fired off the first salvo.

‘You’ve changed,’ she said, her voice almost accusing.

He snorted softly. ‘I should hope so. I was a puny kid of nineteen the last time you saw me. I’ve grown two, maybe three inches and put on a couple of stone. I work hard—physical stuff. That builds muscle.’

It did, and she’d seen the evidence for herself just a few moments ago when he’d stripped off at the sink. Putting the disturbing memory away, she shook her head, studying the lines on his face, the lingering trace of sadness in his eyes. ‘I didn’t mean that,’ she said, and then gave a short, hollow laugh. ‘I’m sorry, I’m being a real idiot here. Of course you’ve changed, after all you’ve been through. Who wouldn’t?’

His smile was wry. ‘Who indeed? Still—it’s all over now, and we’re moving on.’ He cocked his head on one side and his smile softened. ‘You don’t look any different,’ he said, his voice a trifle gruff, and she rolled her eyes.

‘All that money, all that sophistication, and I don’t look any different?’ She’d meant to sound a light note, but instead she sounded like a petulant little toddler. How silly, to feel hurt. After all, she probably hadn’t changed that much. Nothing had touched her as it had touched him.

Not since he’d gone away.

But Will was looking embarrassed, and she wanted to kick herself again. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and gave an impatient sigh. ‘I meant—oh, hell, I don’t know what I meant, except it wasn’t an insult—or not intended to be. I’m sorry if it came over like that.’