woman blinking at her in bemusement as she stepped onto the sidewalk in her sweatpants and trainers, swamped by a big old anorak she’d brought with her from Dublin. But it was great to be outside, despite the stationary traffic and ever-hooting cars. As Lucas fell into a steady walk beside her, she thought how well he seemed to know the streets and when she remarked on this, he shrugged.
‘I grew up near here.’
‘Whereabouts?’
‘It doesn’t matter.’
‘I think it does.’ She came to a sudden halt and a speed-walking man who was holding a cup of coffee above his head had to swerve to avoid her. ‘I’d like to see where you lived, please.’
Lucas bit back an exasperated retort, but he altered his steps accordingly, making no attempt to hide his displeasure. If it had been any other woman than Tara he would have refused point-blank. He would have delivered a rebuke which suggested that unless she started behaving as he wanted her to behave, their relationship would be over. But it wasn’t any other woman. It was Tara and she was pregnant and therefore he could never completely finish a relationship with her because, one way or another, they would be tied through their child for the rest of their lives. He wondered if she had any idea how much that terrified him or if she’d begun to guess at the self-doubts which flooded through him. Was that why there had been a subtle shift in her mood lately? Why she’d become unpredictable and emotional. Had it just dawned on her that he could never be the man she probably wanted him to be? Why, only yesterday when he’d arrived home, her eyes had been red-rimmed from crying and she’d been unwilling to provide an explanation of what had upset her. It was only later that she’d blurted out about hearing a radio request show playing ‘Danny Boy’, after which she’d been overcome by a wave of temporary homesickness.
Deep down, he knew their situation was untenable in its current form. That in just over six months’ time she would give birth to his child and everything would change. He realised that she wanted reassurance he would be there for her, and in the important ways he would. Providing for her financially was always going to be simple—but giving her the emotional support he suspected she needed was not. Why promise to be the man he could never be? Why bolster her hopes, only to smash them and let her down? Surely it would be kinder to let her know where she stood right from the start.
His footsteps slowed as he reached Upper East Side, his heart clenching as he came to a halt outside an opulent mansion which was edged by elegant railings and neatly trimmed greenery. Outwardly, it seemed that very little had changed. There were still those two old-fashioned-looking streetlights he’d used to stare down on from within the echoing loneliness of his childhood bedroom.
‘This is it,’ he said reluctantly, his gaze lifting upwards to the four-storeyed building.
‘Gosh,’ breathed Tara, loosening her long scarf as she craned her neck to look up at it. ‘It’s massive. You must have rattled around in it like peas inside a tin can.’
He gave a bitter smile. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Furniture and objects can occupy an astonishing amount of space and it’s amazing what you can do with nineteen rooms and an unlimited budget. Especially when someone else is paying for it.’
‘Nineteen rooms?’ she verified incredulously. ‘In New York?’
He nodded. ‘The dining room was modelled on the one at the Palace of Versailles and there’s a hand-painted ballroom with a pure gold ceiling—not to mention a corridor wide enough to ride a bicycle down.’
‘Is that what you used to do?’
‘Only once,’ he said flatly. That had been the first time his ‘father’ had hit him. His nanny—one in a long line of indifferent women in whose care he’d spent most of his time—had spotted the bruise when he was getting ready for bed, readily accepting his explanation that he’d acquired it after falling over. Later he’d discovered that the nanny in question had been sleeping with Diego. He’d overheard an indiscreet maid exclaiming that the woman had been discovered naked with him on the floor of the library, a litter of used condoms beside them. All he could remember about that particular incident had been his mother screaming. And then sobbing as she had dramatically stabbed at her wrists with a blunt blade which had refused to cut.
Tara stared at him. ‘You must have felt very isolated there. My own...’ she ventured hesitantly, before plucking up the courage to say it. To reassure him that her own life hadn’t been all roses around the cottage door. Well, it had—but there had been very sharp thorns on those roses. ‘My own childhood was pretty isolated. In fact, my grandmother—’
‘Look, I really don’t have time for this,’ he said, with an impatient narrowing of his eyes as he glanced at his watch. ‘And I have an imminent meeting. The city tour is over and so is the glimpse into my past. Come on, let’s get you to Bloomingdale’s—it’s only ten minutes’ walk away.’
His dismissive attitude hurt. It hurt far more than it should have done, but that was a result of her own stubbornness—not something he had done. Because Lucas was just behaving in the way he’d always behaved. How many times did he need to say it for her to finally get the message that he wasn’t interested in deepening their relationship? He didn’t want to know about her past. What had made her the person she was. What had made her happy and what had given her pain. She was someone he was forced to spend time with because of the baby and someone he liked having sex with, but that was as far as it went.
So put up or shut up, she told herself fiercely as Bloomingdale’s came into view—with all the different flags fluttering in the autumn breeze and a quirkily dressed brunette called Jessica waiting for them. After initial introductions, she gave Tara a thorough once-over before fixing her with a warm smile and turning to Lucas.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Conway. She’s in good hands.’
Lucas gave a brief nod. ‘Thanks. Just do what it takes. I’ll be back tomorrow night in time for dinner, Tara. Okay?’
Tara nodded and thought how crazy the whole situation was. Right up until they’d left the apartment that morning they’d been hungrily exploring each other’s bodies—yet now, in the cold and clear light of day, she was expected to give him a cool farewell, as if she meant nothing to him.
Because she didn’t.
‘Right,’ said Jessica, turning towards Tara as Lucas’s car pulled away from the kerb. ‘Let’s get this fairy dust working.’
It was an experience Tara had never thought could happen to someone like her. Pushing all her troubled thoughts resolutely from her mind, she felt positively Cinderella-like as Jessica led her through all the plush and beautifully lit departments, which were perfumed with all manner of delicious scents. She’d been planning to purchase only a modest wardrobe but it seemed Lucas had forewarned the personal shopper this might be the case because she was overruled in pretty much everything.
‘I’ve never owned a shirt like this before,’ she observed wonderingly, running her fingertips over the delicate fabric. ‘I’ll save it for best.’
‘Ah, but you’ll need more than one,’ responded Jessica, with a smile. ‘Which means you won’t have to.’
In the space of a couple of hours, Tara went from being someone who’d never owned a single silk shirt, to someone who now had several. For the snowy New York winter she snuggled into an oversized metallic anorak, its hood lined with shaggy faux fur, which Jessica told her was fresh off the runway, while for more formal occasions came a mid-length coat in midnight blue, the warmest coat Tara had ever worn. An accompanying cobalt scarf was plucked from a rainbow selection and Jessica’s gaze travelled ruefully to the overly long home-knit, which lay abandoned on a nearby chair like a large and neglected woollen snake. ‘You might want to find that another home,’ she suggested gently.
Tara felt a momentary pang before being persuaded into the first of many dresses—slinky shirtwaisters and soft knits which Jessica said emphasised her slim frame. Next came boots—long boots and ankle boots—plus a pair of trendy