your mother, Guy’s eyes said as they slid in accusation to Hope.
Hope’s lips tightened. Did he imagine that she had any memories of him which she would willingly share with her child?
His eyes returned to Maxine as he said, ‘I’m sorry about your father.’
‘Thanks.’ Maxine took sympathy from him more readily than from her mother.
‘I know he hasn’t seen you much lately,’ he ran on, ‘but he’s spent most of the year performing in America.’
‘Is that where—where he died?’ Maxine asked, a catch in her voice, and, at Guy’s nod, added, ‘Will he be buried there?’
He shook his head. ‘No, we’re bringing him home to Cornwall. That’s why I’ve come…to tell you about the funeral arrangements.’
‘Do I have to go?’ Maxine looked slightly alarmed at the prospect.
Hope decided it was time for her to speak up. ‘No, of course not. Only if you want to…’
Maxine still looked uncertain. ‘I’ve never been to a funeral.’
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ Guy told her quietly. ‘It’s just…well, a way of saying goodbye.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ Maxine accepted his reassurance with a thoughtful nod.
Hope had to give him full marks. For a man without children, he certainly knew how to speak to them.
But perhaps he wasn’t—without children. She’d just assumed. Who knew? He might be married, with his own family, by now.
‘I can look after Maxine at the service, if that suits you,’ he directed at Hope, catching her deepening frown.
‘I…um…’ Hope looked to her daughter, who gave a nod. ‘Yes, OK, if that’s possible.’
Hope felt she’d been left with little choice. Maxine had a right to be there if she wanted, and it appeared she did. Her initial hostility towards her uncle had faded rapidly and Hope was left wondering how he’d managed it. She watched them exchanging smiles, acknowledging kinship, and her heart sank a mile.
‘Where’s Katie?’ Hope purposely changed the subject.
‘Working in the living-room,’ Maxine relayed. ‘I came for drinks.’
‘All right.’ Hope went to the fridge and found two cans of Coke, almost throwing them at her daughter in her hurry to be rid of her.
Thankfully Maxine took the hint.
‘See you later,’ she said to her uncle, then paused in the doorway to ask, ‘Are you staying for tea?’
Hope waited for Guy to give a firm denial. Instead he glanced at her. She didn’t have to mouth the word ‘no’. Her appalled expression said it all.
‘No, but I’ll be in touch.’ Guy returned Maxine’s smile before she disappeared. ‘She’s beautiful,’ he said to Hope, with disconcerting frankness.
Hope felt a moment’s pride, quickly followed by guilt, then anger. It hadn’t been all her fault. She’d had no choice, and there was no going back.
‘Have you any?’ she asked in an almost aggressive tone.
He raised a brow. ‘Any what?’
Was he being deliberately obtuse? ‘Children!’
‘No.’ He answered her question without giving away any more.
Was he married? Had they decided not to have children? What?
Hope told herself that it was none of her business. A decade had passed and they were strangers. Perhaps they always had been.
Hope was just deciding to steer off personal subjects, when Guy went on the attack, saying, ‘I suppose it was worth it—going back to Jack—however temporarily?’
‘What?’ Hope was taken aback.
‘Having Maxine,’ he went on relentlessly, his eyes as hard as glass. ‘I assume that was the reason for your remarkably brief reconciliation with my brother.’
‘How dare you—?’ Hope’s voice rose with her anger.
‘How dare I tell the truth?’ he cut across her, at the same time closing the distance between them once more. ‘Why not? It hardly matters now. I’m just curious. How long was it, that last time you were reunited? One month? Two?’
Hope was sure he already knew the answer, but she muttered back, ‘Five weeks,’ and prayed it would shut him up.
It didn’t. ‘Five weeks?’ he echoed, his voice a harsh, mocking sound. ‘Let’s see, now. Long enough to conceive, have a pregnancy confirmed and get the divorce papers drawn up. Fast going.’
‘That’s not the way it was!’ Hope was more hurt than angry that he could believe that of her. ‘I never intended going back to Jack. If you’d just listened to me—’
‘Listened to you?’ He grabbed her arm when she would have walked away. ‘So you could tell me more lies, make more promises you’d never keep?’
‘Well, that makes two of us!’ Hope remembered all the things he’d said, of love and their future together.
‘So maybe we deserved each other.’ His lips formed a thin, cruel smile at the idea. ‘Maybe you should have stuck with me…But then, you couldn’t be quite sure I could give you a baby, could you? Whereas my brother already had—’
‘Shut up!’ Hope cried at him. ‘You and your brotherI was sick of you both. All you ever wanted from me was—’ She bit off what she’d been about to say.
But he knew, saying for her, ‘Sex?’ and laughing his contempt. ‘Don’t kid yourself. You were never that good.’
‘Why, you—’ A decade of anger, stored but still festering, spilled over. She raised her hand and slapped him hard on the cheek.
Who was more surprised? Hope, who had never hit anyone in her life, or Guy, who had never been hit?
At any rate, it was Hope who was horrified, who backed away from him, from herself, from the violence of the emotion between them.
It was Guy who seemed almost to relish the situation, as he shot out an arm and dragged her close, forcing her to look up at him, to catch the curious triumph on his face for a moment, confusing her into inaction as he bent his head.
His mouth had covered hers even before she realised his intention. He kissed her hard, branding her as she had branded him, punishing her for daring to slap him.
One kiss and all breath, reason, sanity were knocked from Hope’s body. Even as she pushed at his shoulders, kicked at his legs, struggled for her freedom, the most terrible excitement spread through her body.
Guy knew it. He could feel it. That was why he kept kissing her, forcing her lips to open, her mouth, invading, tasting, remembering the sweetness of her, the softness, the smell of her, still the same.
It shocked Hope. Nothing had changed. Guy touched her and she lost all pride, all strength, all will. Guy held her, his hard male hands running over her back, relearning the shape of her as if he had the right. And all the time still kissing her, her cheek, her eyes, her temple, then back to her lips, biting, licking, thrusting into the warm recesses of her mouth until she had to stop herself moaning aloud. But she couldn’t stop the memories flooding back, the camera rolling in her head, of him and her, and the time they had loved. The briefest of times, but it was imprinted on her brain as if it had lasted a hundred years.
As were the words he had said afterwards. ‘It was nothing. Just sex. Proximity. Curiosity.’ And each word had been like a hammer-blow to her heart.
The same words saved her now, dredged up from memory to salvage her