suppose. And not before time. I spent the weekend shopping for new clothes too and not an image consultant in sight. The combination had a blissfully jaw-dropping effect when I walked into the studio at the crack of dawn this morning, an effect that was considerably enhanced when I announced that I wouldn’t be renewing my contract.
Ivo dropped by and nearly had a conniption when I told him I’d bought a car…
On the point of telling them about how she’d teased him, she stopped herself. She’d told Claire and Simone that they were separated. To use them to talk about him would be self-indulgence of the worst kind. She had to excise him from her thoughts. Difficult. Maybe impossible. But she could excise him from her emails…She continued:
But that’s just the cosmetic stuff.
My big news is that I’ve registered with the Adoption Register. If Daisy has done the same, I should be in contact very quickly. If not…
If not, tracking her down could take weeks, months, years…
Simone had urged her to ask Ivo for help.
She glanced automatically towards the door, as if half expecting to see him still there, waiting for an answer to his question.
‘If you need
A million things. Help her find Daisy. With his contacts he could probably do it in a second. But truly there was only one thing she wanted from him. His love. But that had never been on offer.
Turning back to the email, she deleted,
She would not, must not, allow herself to be sucked in by negative thoughts. Or transmit them to Claire and Simone, who had their own demons to face. Instead she asked how their own plans were going, prompting Claire, in whom she sensed hesitation, not to delay her own search, before signing off, with love.
Then she returned to the adoption website, obsessively reading the stories of people who had been adopted with both wonderful and tragic results. Mothers who had parted with their children. Children hunting for their roots. Stories full of loss, joy, experiences that covered the entire spectrum of emotion. Looking for something that would give her hope, using it to stuff her mind against thoughts of Ivo that, no matter how hard she tried to block them, would seep in and fill her head.
It was late when Ivo finally got home.
‘Your secretary rang,’ Manda said, her irritation driven, he knew, by anxiety. ‘You missed a meeting.’
‘I know. I sent my apologies.’
‘That’s not the point! No one knew where you were.’
‘Will I get detention?’ he asked.
‘Ivo…’
Belle would have laughed. She might have been angry with him, but she wouldn’t have been able to help herself. He’d tried so hard not to take more than she had signed up for-the sex and security deal-but she’d drained the tension from him with a smile, a touch.
‘You’ve been to see her, haven’t you?’ Adding, ‘Belle.’ As if she could have meant anyone else.
‘There were things we needed to talk about.’
Not that they had. Talked. At least not about anything that mattered. But it had been informative, nonetheless. Belle hadn’t wanted him looking at her laptop. Had twitched to close it. Hide what she was doing. And she had positively jumped when an email had dropped into her inbox. She was hiding something-not another man, she wouldn’t have been able to hide that. Wouldn’t have tried to.
He wished he’d taken more notice of what had been on the screen…
‘Ivo?’
He realised that his sister was waiting, expecting more, but he shook his head. ‘Belle will be in touch about picking up her things.’
‘Oh, right, and I’m supposed to snap to attention, I suppose, and run around organising one of the staff to help her pack. Sort out transport to shift it all.’
‘I thought you’d relish the moment. Isn’t it what you’ve been waiting for?’
‘I…I always knew this would happen.’
‘Yes, well, I’m sure you weren’t alone.’
‘Ivo…’
He turned away from her sympathy, cutting in sharply with, ‘If Belle chooses to call ahead as a matter of courtesy it’s because she has the instincts of a lady, even if she didn’t have the benefit of the most expensive education money can buy.’ Then, ‘She is my wife, Manda. This is her home.’
‘So where is she, hmm?’ She made a single sweeping gesture to indicate her absence. As if he needed reminding. ‘What is it about her?’ she demanded. ‘How does she do it? Reduce everyone to drooling mush. She floats about on a cloud of sweetness and light doing absolutely nothing except look glamorous and yet she has the entire world at her feet.’
‘If that’s all you see, Miranda, then you’re not nearly as clever as you think you are,’ he said, too angry to use her childhood name.
‘Even now, when she’s walked out on you, you’re defending her.’
‘She doesn’t need me to defend her.’
Didn’t need him for anything. Was that what she’d learned on the mountains? That she was strong enough to stand alone?
‘As for the sweetness and light thing,’ he added, ‘you could, with benefit, try it yourself once in a while.’
His sister flamed, then shrugged, an oddly awkward gesture. ‘It’s not my style, Ivo.’ She lifted her hands in an out of character gesture of helplessness. ‘I can’t…’ Then, ‘She makes me feel so…inadequate. As a woman,’ she added quickly, in case he thought she meant in any way that was really important. ‘The minute she walks into a room I feel as if I’ve suddenly become invisible…’
‘Manda…’
She shook off the moment of weakness, straightened. ‘I’ll do whatever I can to help,’ she said, making an effort to be helpful, ‘but wouldn’t it be more sensible for Belle to wait until she’s moved before collecting more than her basic needs?’
‘Moved?’
‘You’re not going to let her stay in that poky little flat in Camden?’
‘I don’t appear to have a say in the matter.’
‘Oh, I see. She’s going to stay put and play poverty to jack up the settlement she’ll wring out of you.’
He sighed. That hadn’t lasted long.
‘Belle will have trouble pleading poverty,’ he pointed out. The one thing he had been able to do for her was ensure that her considerable earnings had been well-managed. Maybe that had been his mistake. If her investments had been bungled she would still need the security she craved. That he could offer. ‘Wringing will not be necessary, however. Everything I have is hers for the asking.’
‘Including this house?’
Unlikely. The one possession of his that Belle would not want, he suspected, would be this house. But he wasn’t feeling kind. ‘Maybe you’d better start house-hunting yourself,’ he advised. ‘Just in case. I’m told Camden is going up in the world. Maybe Belle will do a swap. Her flat isn’t that poky.’
Not poky at all. It was small in comparison with this house-anything would be small in comparison with it-and shabby, but it had a welcoming warmth which, despite every imaginable luxury, was totally absent from the pile of masonry he called home whenever Belle was absent. And of course that was the point. It was Belle who made the difference.
‘Once it’s redecorated,’ he added, recalling the colour cards and fabric swatches he’d seen lying on the table
