Sarah's Secret

‘You’ve changed your tune since last night,’ said Margaret tartly. ‘Although you should be grateful to this Mr Hogan for making you miss the play.’ She looked down her nose. ‘The ex-soap star may have drawn the crowds in, but Oscar Wilde was probably spinning in his Paris grave at her interpretation of Lady Windermere.’

‘Oh, dear. You think Brian disapproved?’

‘Her costumes displayed so much cleavage I’m sure the male half of the audience were very happy.’

Sarah chuckled. ‘Brian’s not that sort.’

Margaret’s mouth tightened. ‘All men are that sort. As you very well know.’

Sarah took a while to get to sleep that night, trying to remember exactly what she’d read about Pentiles. She knew that Jacob Hogan had taken over the family business when quite young, and eventually turned it into its present success story. But to her annoyance she couldn’t remember if a wife had been mentioned in the article.

She sighed despondently. Not that it mattered. Men tended to lose interest in her once they found she came as a package with Davy. One look at her child’s photograph had probably killed all personal interest on Jake Hogan’s part. Brian, to his credit, had insisted that Sarah’s responsibilities as a single parent made no difference to their relationship. And in principle, she conceded, they probably hadn’t. Not that this had ever worried Sarah much because she had known from the beginning that, no matter how much her grandmother stressed Brian’s eligibility, there was no future in the relationship. Quite apart from the problem with Davy, he just didn’t appeal to Sarah in the normal male-female way.

Jake Hogan, on the other hand, appealed to her a lot. In every way. A fright and a graze or two were a small price to pay for meeting the most attractive man to enter her life to date, even if it was just a one-off experience.

Next morning Sarah drove out of town for a couple of miles to make for the Rogers home, where screams of laughter could be heard coming from the depths of its vast, wild garden when she arrived. Alison Rogers welcomed her into the house and took her straight to a big, comfortably untidy kitchen, where it was pleasant to sit for a while and chat over coffee while Don Rogers went to collect Polly and Davina.

‘Thank you so much for having Davy,’ Sarah said gratefully. ‘This was quite a big step for her. She’s never wanted a sleepover before, let alone a whole extra day away from home.’

‘She told me that,’ said Alison, pleased. ‘We’re flattered. And as far as we’re concerned Davy can make a return visit any time. It was far less trouble for us than keeping Polly entertained on her own. Now she’s a weekly boarder our daughter demands our undivided attention every minute of the day at weekends. I expect it’s the same with Davy.’

‘Absolutely!’

‘But you have to cope on your own, which must be hard.’ Alison bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I didn’t mean to get personal. But Davy told us she’s never had a daddy.’

‘That’s right,’ said Sarah cheerfully. ‘Men don’t feature in Davy’s life, so I hope your husband didn’t find her too much of a nuisance.’

‘Don took to her on sight—as you can see.’ Alison got up to point through the window, where her large husband was tearing towards the house in mock terror, with two little girls chasing after him, screaming in delight.

Sarah laughed as she watched Don Rogers capture a little girl under each arm and run with them into the house.

‘Right,’ he panted as he set them down. ‘Which one would you like, Sarah?’

‘Mummy!’ Davy launched herself at Sarah to hug her, looking flushed and grubby and thoroughly pleased with herself. ‘We went bowling and had pizzas and we talked all night.’

‘Most of it, anyway,’ said Alison indulgently.

‘You’ve obviously had a marvellous time,’ said Sarah, ruffling Davy’s hair.

‘Mummy says Davy can come every weekend,’ said Polly hopefully.

Her father chuckled. ‘We might like that, but I think Sarah would miss her.’

‘How about coming to stay with Davy and me some time, instead, Polly?’ suggested Sarah. ‘Our garden’s not as big as yours, but we could go swimming, and to the cinema, maybe.’

Polly clamoured at once for permission, a date was set for two weeks later, and Alison suggested Sarah drove Polly back afterwards. ‘Join us for Sunday lunch that day. Davy too, of course. We’ll invite some of the neighbours in, make it a party.’

Sarah made no attempt to hide her pleasure. This was the kind of invitation which never came her way. ‘That’s so kind of you, I’d love to.’

On the way home Davy chattered incessantly, giving Sarah every detail of her stay with Polly. ‘Mr Rogers is lovely,’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘Mrs Rogers, too,’ she added hastily, ‘but she couldn’t play with us all the time, because she had to do cooking and stuff.’

‘A woman’s lot,’ said Sarah with a dramatic sigh, and Davy giggled.

‘You don’t cook all the time.’

‘True. Grandma’s making Sunday lunch at this very moment.’

‘What are we having?’ said Davy, eyes sparkling.

‘I know about lots of vegetables, because I did them for her before I came out. And I’m sure Grandma’s rustling up something yummy to go with them.’

When they hurried upstairs in Campden Road, delicious scents of roast chicken came wafting from Margaret’s kitchen. She came down to meet them, smiling with a warmth she never showed Sarah as she opened her arms for Davy to fling herself into them and give a second account of her activities over the weekend.

‘Goodness, what an exciting time you’ve had,’ said Margaret fondly. ‘Now, go and wash in my bathroom, Davina Tracy. Lunch is nearly ready.’ She exchanged a look with Sarah as the little girl raced off. ‘She obviously enjoyed herself.’

‘She certainly did. But brace yourself, because we’ve got Polly on a return visit in a fortnight.’ Sarah’s lips twitched. ‘You could always take off on holiday a few days sooner than scheduled.’

‘Certainly not,’ said Margaret briskly. ‘I shall be here as usual. But the Rogers child will be your responsibility, Sarah, not mine.’

The rest of the day went by in a flash, with only time for the cake Margaret always made for Davy’s tea before Sarah drove the child back to school. This was a task she never looked forward to, though it was easier these days, now Davy had made friends. During her first term Davy had hated going back to school on Sunday evenings, and had been so tearful the journey had been purgatory for Sarah.

Given her own choice of education Sarah would have kept Davy at home and sent her to a local day school. But Margaret Parker had contributed to the money Sarah’s parents had put in trust for school fees at Davy’s birth, and had made sure that when the time came the child was sent to Roedale. And if Sarah suspected that Margaret had chosen the school for its social cachet, rather than its excellent academic record, she kept her thoughts to herself.

So, although Anne and David Tracy had died on holiday when Davina was only five, Sarah had kept her promise and eventually sent the child as a weekly boarder to the girls’ school Margaret Parker had persuaded them to choose. But Sarah had never imagined beforehand how painful it would be to part with Davy every term-time Sunday evening.

When Brian rang after the weekend, with a belated enquiry after Sarah’s health, she agreed readily when he suggested they had dinner together the following evening, glad of the opportunity to tell him it was over between them.

Over dinner at Brian’s favourite restaurant Sarah listened patiently while he gave her a detailed account of the play she’d missed.

‘The actress who played Lady Windermere was particularly good,’ he informed her. ‘Beautiful creature.’

‘So I’ve heard,’ murmured Sarah absently, her mind on the kindest way to tell him it was over between them. In the end Brian gave up on her, openly relieved when she refused pudding and coffee. He walked her back to the car at such a pace she assumed he was in a hurry to get home, then sat silent for a moment, making no move to switch on the ignition.

‘Sarah, there’s something I need to tell you,’ he informed her heavily.

Because he’d taken the exact words out of her mouth she eyed him in surprise. ‘Talk away, then, Brian.’

‘I’m sorry I was poor company tonight,’ he began, staring through the windscreen. ‘Because, well—oh, dammit, there’s no easy way to say this.’

‘Are you by any chance giving me the push, Brian?’ asked Sarah unsteadily, desperate to laugh.

‘I wouldn’t have put it quite like that,’ he protested, and shot a hunted look at her. ‘Look, my dear, I hate to do this to you in your particular situation.’

She stiffened. ‘My situation?’

‘Don’t be offended,’ he implored her. ‘I think you do a wonderful job as a single parent. But—well—the truth is, Sarah, I’m just not cut out to be a stepfather,’ he added in a rush.

Since Sarah, in her wildest dreams, had never cast him in the role, she agreed readily. ‘No, Brian, I don’t think you are.’

‘But I must be honest. That’s not the only reason,’ he went on doggedly, and took a deep breath. ‘It’s been obvious to me for some time that a physical relationship between us is never going to happen, Sarah. And, contrary to the impression I may give, I’m a pretty normal kind of man, with the usual male needs, you know.’

‘Oh, Brian, of course you are,’ said Sarah in remorse. ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t fulfil them for you. I never meant to hurt you.’

‘I know that, my dear.’ He patted her hand. ‘So I’ll be straight with you, Sarah. I’ve met someone else. Amanda’s just joined the firm. I took her to the theatre when you cancelled, and we found we were—well—instantly compatible in that way. Highly compatible. In fact I spent most of the weekend with her. Something which was never possible with you, because of Davina. Amanda knows I’m with you tonight, of course,’ he added. ‘But she was very sporting about it.’

‘Good for her,’ managed Sarah, trying to get her head round the idea of Brian involved in a hot, passionate relationship.

‘I hope this isn’t too upsetting for you,’ he said, tugging at his tie. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world.’

Sarah took a deep, steadying breath. ‘Brian, I’m not upset and I’m not hurt. Truly. In fact I’m very happy for you. Now, drive me home.’

When she got in Sarah went straight upstairs to break the news she knew very well would annoy Margaret Parker. ‘Sorry to interrupt, Grandma, but I thought you should know right away that Brian doesn’t want to see me any more.’

Margaret stared in horror. ‘Why ever not?’ Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. ‘What did you do to offend him, you silly girl? Brian Collins is such a good catch. His father owns half of Pennington—’

‘It’s more a case of what I didn’t do,’ interrupted Sarah.

‘I don’t understand.’

Sarah met her grandmother’s eyes squarely. ‘Oh, I think you do. I know you dislike the word, but sex was to blame.’

Margaret stiffened. ‘Then you have only yourself to blame. You, of all people, know what happens when a woman drops into a man’s arms like a ripe plum!’

Sarah’s eyes flashed coldly. ‘You’ve got it all wrong, Grandma. Lack of sex was the problem. I never cared for Brian in that way. So he’s found someone who does. And good luck to him.’

Margaret Parker’s face was a study. ‘I—I see. I apologise,’ she added with difficulty.

‘Apology accepted.’ Sarah turned at the door for her parting shot. ‘And to top it all Brian came clean and admitted he couldn’t see himself as Davy’s stepfather.’

Feeling liberated after the departure of Brian from her life, Sarah rushed home from work the next afternoon to sit out in the garden and make the most of the heat wave. Not bothering to cook, she ate salad, and left the firm’s daily quota of mail until the evening, when it was cooler. Margaret Parker, in conciliatory mood after the misunderstanding over Brian, had added extra salad vegetables to the shopping she’d offered to undertake for Sarah, and never mentioned the subject again, adhering to the rule of non-interference kept to on both sides from the day Sarah had taken Davy to live in the house in Campden Road.

To achieve privacy and independence for both Sarah and herself, Margaret Parker had divided her home into two separate, self-contained apartments before they’d set up house together. Though she would have infinitely preferred a place of her own for herself and Davy, Sarah knew this wasn’t practical, and never forgot that she was a lot better off than many in her situation as a single parent. She had the huge advantage of a low-rent home, a steady, if not lavish, income from her job, and the knowledge that Davy’s education was financially secure at a reputable school. Even if it wasn’t the school of Sarah’s choice. And now Davy had started boarding Sarah enjoyed evenings out with friends made through her job—if she were honest, she enjoyed herself more with Esther and Maggie from the agency than dining out with Brian.

Although Sarah was happy enough with her life she was human enough to yearn sometimes for an extra dimension to it, a feeling which intensified the next morning, when she received a long-expected wedding invitation from Nick Morrell, her closest friend from college days. He enclosed a note, urging her to bring her current man with her and stay for the dance afterwards, and emphasised that the old crowd were all looking forward to seeing her again.

Sarah’s own standing within their group had been unique from the first. She had been afraid beforehand that her fatherless baby would be a handicap where friendships were concerned. But to her surprise and gratitude Davy’s existence had been accepted as part of life by the kindred spirits met at university, both male and female. Nick Morrell had been one of the friends close enough to invite home, to meet her parents and play with Davy, and they had kept in close touch ever since. But now Nick was acquiring a wife things would be a lot different.

Sarah mulled over the invitation as she walked to work, very much aware that if she went to the wedding she would be the only one of her group without a partner. Though even if they’d still been on that kind of footing Brian wouldn’t have served the purpose. Unless they’d undergone a sea change lately, her crowd were a flippant, wise-cracking bunch. Sober Brian, anything but, just wouldn’t have fitted in. But she had a new dress, she reminded herself. And the wedding was mid-week, so no problem with Davy. She was due some time off. All she needed were some shoes and a place to stay overnight. A wedding present was an essential expense whether she went or not. She decided to book a room right away at the hotel Nick had recommended. It could always be cancelled if she changed her mind.

After an even busier day than usual Sarah was glad to escape at last, and, hoisting her bulging briefcase, set off through the crowds thronging the pavements in the afternoon sunshine. Sarah rarely took the car into work in summer, relying on her walk to and from the town centre for her daily quota of exercise. She was hurrying for home, her thoughts on tea in the garden, when a car stopped a little way ahead and a familiar male figure leaned out, formal in a dark suit.

‘Hello, there. Can I give you a lift?’ Jake Hogan asked, smiling.

Oh, yes, please, thought Sarah, and returned the smile warmly as he reached over to open the passenger door for her. ‘How nice of you. Though I shouldn’t, really.’

‘You don’t accept lifts from strange men?’

‘Never!’ Her eyes danced. ‘Though I really meant that the walk is my daily gesture at keeping fit.’

He cast a comprehensive glance at her as they left the busiest part of town behind. ‘It won’t affect you much to skip it for once. You were hurrying,’ he added. ‘Do you need to get home urgently?’

‘Only for tea in the garden.’

‘Pleasant prospect,’ he sighed. ‘I’m on my way to a meeting.’

‘In this neighbourhood?’ she said, surprised.

‘No, not really.’ When he pulled up in Campden Road he switched off the ignition and turned to give her the smile she’d been thinking of rather a lot since the previous Saturday. ‘Actually, my meeting’s in town. But I spotted you hurrying down the street, so I did a quick U-turn to drive you home.’

Sarah felt a rush of secret pleasure. ‘I might not have been going home,’ she pointed out.

‘In which case I would have driven you wherever you wanted to go.’ His eyes crinkled. ‘Or you could have refused politely and waved me on before I got nicked for kerb-crawling.’

Sarah laughed. ‘I was very grateful for the ride. And now I’ll let you get to your meeting,’ she added, undoing the seatbelt.

‘Don’t go for a moment, Sarah,’ he said quickly, and fixed her with the familiar straight blue look. ‘I’m glad we met again, because this is the type of question I couldn’t ask over the phone. You’re not obliged to answer, of course, but there’s something I’d like to know.’

Sarah eyed him warily. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s personal,’ he warned.

‘Go on.’

‘Does your little girl’s father share your life?’

She shook her head. ‘No. He never has.’

His eyes lit with gratifying relief. ‘In that case, Sarah Tracy, will you have dinner with me?’

Oh, yes, please, she thought, for the second time in minutes, then gave him an equally straight look. ‘If you’ll answer a personal question yourself.’

‘As many as you like.’

‘Just one. Are you married?’

He shook his head, laughing. ‘No, Sarah, I’m not. So say yes.’

‘Yes, then,’ she said, and smiled. ‘When did you have in mind?’

‘Tonight?’

Sarah stared at him, surprised, and for a moment considered saying she had other plans, just to sound less eager. But only for a split second. ‘Yes. Tonight would be fine.’

‘Good. I’ll call for you at eight.’

Sarah waved as he drove off, then went indoors to find her grandmother coming downstairs, frowning.

‘I saw you getting out of a strange car, Sarah. Who brought you home?’

‘Jake Hogan.’ Sarah looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘He asked me out to dinner tonight.’

Margaret’s face hardened. ‘Are you going? You hardly know the man.’

‘I’m going out for a meal, Grandma, not a dirty weekend.’

‘Don’t be coarse!’ Margaret turned to go back upstairs, but Sarah called after her.

‘By the way, I had an invitation to Nick Morrell’s wedding this morning.’

‘Really? If it’s when I’m away in Italy I won’t be able to look after Davy for you,’ was the instant response.

‘Actually it’s mid-week, when she’s in school,’ said Sarah, swallowing the angry retort she longed to make. ‘I must go. I’ve got homework to do before I’m free to enjoy myself,’ she added deliberately, and gained the hollow victory of knowing her arrow had found its target, by the look on Margaret Parker’s face.

But Sarah refused to let the incident affect her buoyant mood as she hurried off to deal with the contents of her briefcase. She could sit in the garden tomorrow. Tonight she was dining out with Jake Hogan.

Work done in record time, Sarah went off to shower in the small bathroom lined with Jake Hogan’s Pentiles. After a prolonged session with a hotbrush and all the cosmetic aids at her disposal, she dressed, and, as a gesture of conciliation, went up to her grandmother’s sitting room to say she was about to leave. ‘Will I do?’

Margaret eyed the linen trousers and amber sleeveless top with surprise. ‘You wear that to work.’

‘I’m keeping the new dress for Nick’s wedding.’

‘So you’re definitely going, then?’

‘Of course I am. You know I’m fond of Nick. I booked a room this morning. Anyway, I haven’t a clue where I’m being taken tonight so I thought this rig would do for most places.’ She looked her grandmother in the eye. ‘And in case you’re worried about the expanse of bare flesh I shall wear my jacket all evening even if I fry.’

Although Margaret Parker had been too offended by Sarah’s parting shot to wish her a good time, from the moment Sarah opened the door to Jake Hogan she knew the evening would be a success. His fawn linen jacket was creased just enough to look good, and his smile filled her with an anticipation she had never felt before sharing a meal with Brian.

‘You look wonderful, Sarah,’ Jake informed her.

So did he, but she kept that to herself in case he took it as a come-on. ‘Thank you.’

‘In this heat I thought you might like a meal in a pub garden tonight,’ he said, handing her into his car. ‘But if not we could eat at that place near the Pump Rooms in town.’

‘I’ve been there just recently,’ she said quickly. For the farewell meal with Brian. ‘Eating al fresco sounds wonderful.’

And it was. Jake drove her deep into the Gloucestershire countryside to the Trout Inn, a pretty, unpretentious pub with a stream actually flowing through the garden.

‘This is so lovely,’ said Sarah, looking round her with pleasure as he led her to the table he’d reserved. ‘You knew how I’d choose, then.’

He gave her an outrageously smug smile. ‘I booked at the other restaurant, too. I’m a belt and braces kind of guy.’

She laughed. ‘What happens when you don’t turn up there?’

‘I told them to free the table if we hadn’t made it by eight-thirty.’ He shrugged. ‘They were happy. I’m a good customer.’

‘You dine there a lot?’ she asked, picturing a succession of glamorous companions.

‘Lunch mainly, with clients.’

Sarah sat back in her chair while Jake went off to get drinks, putting on mental brakes. She’d only just met the man. Who Jake Hogan entertained to lunch, dinner or breakfast—especially breakfast—was none of her business. Nevertheless, she liked the idea of business clients better than other women. She grinned at her own absurdity, the smile still in her eyes when Jake came back with drinks and a menu.

‘You look happy. I’m glad you like it here.’

‘It’s the kind of place Davy would love, too,’ she said, deliberately bringing her child into the conversation.

Jake gave her a questioning look over his glass of beer. ‘Did you have to pay someone to stay with her this evening?’

Well done, thought Sarah. Some men changed the subject the moment she mentioned Davy. ‘No. She’s a weekly boarder at Roedale.’

‘Your old school?’

She shook her head. ‘At her age I went to the school in the village where I was born. How about you?’

‘Liam and I are also products of state education.’ He smiled wryly. ‘But with differing results. Liam’s were uniformly spectacular, mine less so. I joined the family business straight after fairly respectable A-levels. But Liam can boast an Oxford degree, plus an MBA from that high-powered place in France.’

‘Impressive,’ said Sarah, not sure she liked the sound of Liam Hogan and his credentials.

‘Would you mind if I took my jacket off?’ Jake asked.

‘Not in the least. I’m too warm in mine, too,’ she said, ignoring her promise to Margaret.

Jake helped her out of her jacket, eyeing her bare brown shoulders with appreciation. ‘You’ve obviously been on holiday recently.’

She shook her head, smiling. ‘Part of it is natural skin tone, the rest fresh air. We’ve had a heatwave, and I finish work at three. A short session in the garden after work every day is a lot cheaper than a foreign holiday.’

‘You obviously never burn.’

‘I keep under an umbrella and use sunscreen. After my day in the office I yearn for fresh air.’ She leaned back in her chair, relaxed. ‘Where do you get your tan? Golf?’

‘No, genetics. My mother’s Italian. We get our skin tone from her.’

‘Unusual with fair hair.’ And very, very appealing to Sarah.

Jake waved a menu at her. ‘What do you fancy? Obviously the trout’s good.’

‘I’ll pass on that,’ she said hastily. ‘My father used to fish for trout when I was young. With far too much success for my liking.’

He laughed. ‘Does he still do it?’