insisted on driving her—or rather, having his driver drive them—and she wondered why he bothered coming along if he was going to be so glum and morose, unless it was so he could be sure she was gone.
And then they were there. At her house she had until now affectionately referred to as the hovel and never would again, because it was a home, a real home and it was hers and Sam’s and filled with love and she was proud of it.
‘Let me help you out,’ Leo said and she wanted to tell him there was no need, that the driver would help unload and that she could manage, but there were bags and bags and a child seat and a sleeping Sam to carry inside, and it would have been churlish to refuse, and so she let him help.
Except what was she supposed to do with a billionaire in her house?
She had Sam on her hip, heavy with sleep, head lolling and clearly needing his cot while Leo deposited the last of her bags and her car seat, looking around him, looking like the world had suddenly been shrink wrapped and was too small for him. What on earth would he think of her tiny house and eclectic furniture after his posh hotels and private jet?
‘Thank you,’ she said, her heart heavy, not wanting to say goodbye but not wanting to delay the inevitable as clearly he looked for an exit. ‘For everything.’
‘It wouldn’t work,’ he offered, with a thumb to the place he knew he’d hurt her. ‘It couldn’t.’
She leaned into his touch, trying to hold it for as long as she possibly could, trying to imprint this very last touch on her memory. ‘You don’t know that,’ she said. ‘And now you’ll never know.’
‘There are things—’ he started, before shaking his head, his eyes sad. ‘It doesn’t matter. I know there is no way…’
‘You know nothing,’ she said, pulling away, stronger now for simply being home, by being back in her own environment, with her own bookshelves and ancient sofa and even her own faded rugs. ‘But I do. I know how you’ll end up if you walk out that door, if you turn your back on me and my love.
‘You’ll be like that old man in the picture in your suite, the old man sitting hunched and all alone on the park bench, staring out over the river and wondering whether he should have taken a chance, whether he should have taken that risk rather than playing it safe, rather than ending up all alone.
‘You will be that man, Leo.’
He looked at her, his eyes bleak, his jaw set. He lifted a hand, put it one last time to Sam’s head.
‘Goodbye, Evelyn.’
EARLY summer wasn’t one whole lot more reliable than spring, Eve reflected, as she looked up at the patchy blue sky, determined to risk the clothes line rather than using the dryer. Any savings on the electricity bill would be welcome. She’d picked up a couple of new clients recently, but things were still tight if she didnt want to dip into her savings.
Although of course, there was always the ring…
She’d taken it off in the plane, meaning to give it back to Leo but she’d forgotten in those gut wrenching final moments and he’d always said it was hers. Every day since then she checked her emails to see if he’d sent her some small message. Every time she found a recorded message, she punched the play button hoping, always hoping.
And after two weeks when he’d made no contact, out of spite or frustration or grief, she’d taken the ring to a jewellery shop to have it valued, staggered when she found out how much it was worth.
She wouldn’t have to scrimp if she sold it.
But that had been nearly a month back and she hadn’t been able to bring herself to do it.
Six weeks, she thought, as she pegged the first of her sheets to the line. Six weeks since that night in his suite, since that weekend in paradise. No wonder it seemed like a dream.
‘Nice day,’ called Mrs Willis, from over the fence. ‘Reckon it’ll rain later though.’
She glanced up at the sky, scowling at an approaching bank of cloud. ‘Probably. How’s Jack lately?’
‘Going okay since they changed his meds. Sister reckons he’s on the improve.’ Her neighbour looked around. ‘Where’s Sam?’
‘Just gone down for a nap,’ Eve said, pegging up another sheet. ‘Should be good for a couple of hours work.’
‘Oh,’ the older woman said. ‘Speaking of work, there’s someone out the front to see you. Some posh looking bloke in a suit. Fancy car. Says he tried your door, but no answer. I told him I thought you were home though. I told him—’
Something like a lightning bolt surged down her spine. ‘What did you say?’ But she was already on her way, the sheets snapping in the breeze behind her. She touched a hand to the hair she’d tied back in a rough ponytail, then told herself off for even thinking it. Why did she immediately think it could be him? For all she knew it could be a courier delivery from one of her clients, although since when did courier drivers dress in posh suits and drive flash cars? Her heart tripping at a million miles an hour, nerves flapping and snapping like the sheets on the line, she allowed herself one deep breath, and then she opened the door.
There he stood. Gloriously, absolutely Leo, right there on her doorstep. He looked just as breathtakingly beautiful, his shoulders as broad, his hair so rich and dark and his eyes, his dark eyes looked different, there was sorrow there and pain, and something else swirling in the mix—hope?
And her heart felt it must be ten times its normal size the way it was clamouring around in there. But she’d had hopes before, had thought she’d seen cracks develop in his stone heart, and those hopes had been dashed.
‘Leo,’ she said breathlessly.
‘Eve. You look good.’
She didn’t look good. She had circles under her eyes, her hair was a mess and Mrs Willis had been on at her about losing too much weight. ‘You look better.’ And she winced, because it sounded so lame.
He looked around her legs. ‘Where’s Sam?’
‘Nap time,’ she said, and he nodded.
‘Can I come in?’
‘Oh.’ She stood back, let him in. ‘Of course.’
He looked just as awkward in her living room. ‘I’ll make coffee,’ she suggested when he grabbed her hand, sending an electrical charge up her arm.
‘No. I have to explain something first, Eve, if you will listen. I need you to listen, to understand.’
She nodded, afraid to speak.
He took a deep breath once they were sitting on the sofa, his elbows using his knees for props as he held out his hands. ‘I was not happy when I left you. I went to London, threw myself into the contract negotiations there; then to Rome and New York, and nowhere, nowhere could I forget you, nothing I could do, nothing I could achieve could blot out the thoughts of you.
‘But I could not come back. I knew it could not work. But there was something I could do.’
She held her breath, her body tingling. Hoping.
‘I hadn’t seen my parents since I was twelve. I had to find them. It took—It took a little while to track them down, and then it was to discover my father was dead.’
She put a hand to his and he shook his head. ‘Don’t feel sorry. He was a sailor and a brutal, violent man. Everytime he was on leave he used my mother as a punching bag, calling her all sorts of vicious names, beating her senseless. I used to cower in fear behind my door, praying for it to stop. I was glad he was dead.’
He dragged in air. ‘And the