The flat below her was between tenants and her ground floor neighbours, if they had actually noticed her comings and goings, presumably thought she was just doing some work on her empty flat.
It was almost as if the idea of her leaving Ivo was so unbelievable that while the world, if it looked, must plainly see what had happened, it collectively refused to believe its own eyes.
‘Better make the most of the breathing space,’ she advised him. ‘It’ll happen soon enough.’ Then, because he had to find out sooner or later, ‘With luck my other news will save you from the worst of it.’
He stilled.
‘Other news?’
‘My departure from breakfast television.’
‘Welcome to the club.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘The “What?” club,’ she said, making little quote marks with her fingers, although he’d sounded surprised rather than shocked, which had been the standard response. As if he’d been anticipating something different, although if he really thought she was having an affair why would he be here today, helping her decorate? Presumably that would be the ‘lover’s’ prerogative. ‘So far the membership is pretty exclusive. The network executives. My agent. When the news breaks I imagine it’ll be standing room only.’
‘Undoubtedly. Breakfast will never be the same again. Have they got anyone else lined up?’
Was that it? Mild surprise and who’s taking over from you?
‘For the moment they’re refusing to believe it,’ she said. Rather like his response to the fact that she’d left him. ‘They think I’m angling for more money.’
‘And are they offering it?’
‘I’m getting the impression that I can pretty much fill in the blank, which is ridiculous. No one is irreplaceable.’
‘You think?’ For a moment she thought he was going to say more, but he let it go. ‘Do you have anything else lined up?’
‘I’m taking a break. It’s not for the want of offers,’ she added. Pride talking. ‘Including a six-figure advance for my biography.’ It would be ghost-written, Jace Sutton, her agent, had assured her, assuming that her horrified response was due to the thought of having to put pen to paper herself.
‘I’d save that one for the pension fund.’
‘Don’t panic; I have no intention of washing my dirty linen in public.’
‘What dirty linen would that be?’
‘Nothing,’ she said quickly. ‘It’s just an expression. Neither do I see myself as the host of a daytime game show.’
‘What about that project you’re working on?’
‘Project?’
‘Something about adoption?’ he prompted, regarding her with a look that left her floundering.
How did he know?
‘You were researching the subject the other day.’
‘Oh, right. Yes.’ She cleared her throat. ‘It’s in the very early stages.’
Actually not such a bad idea, she thought, recalling some of the stories she’d read. The desperate searches. The joyful reunions. The heartbreak of a second rejection. Maybe she could put together something that would really help people like her, like Daisy.
Realising that Ivo was expecting more, she said, ‘Perhaps I should make producing my own documentary a condition of staying on. That would really test the network’s resolve.’
He frowned. ‘You’re joking, surely?’
‘Well, yes, obviously…’
‘Unless they’re complete fools, they’d jump at it.’
He thought that? Really?
‘But why bother?’ he went on.
Obviously not.
‘If it’s something that you’re passionate about, you should set up your own production company.’
She stared at him.
‘My own company?’
‘If you’re moving on, it’s the next logical step. You could do what you wanted without the bean counters pulling the strings. If you’re interested I’m sure Jace would know who to approach for finance.’
‘No.’
She wasn’t one of those high-flying women with a first from Oxford.
‘Making television programmes is expensive,’ he said, misunderstanding her response.
‘I know, but who on earth would risk money on me?’
‘People trust you, Belle. The public love you. I…’
His voice faltered and in a second the atmosphere had slipped from a relaxed working relationship to something else as heat, like the opening of an oven door, flared between them.
‘You?’
‘I should be going.’
CHAPTER FIVE
HE’D nearly blown it. Ambushed by a four-letter word that he didn’t know the meaning of.
After her initial rejection of his help, he’d been so careful to keep it casual. Didn’t even know what was driving him to hang in there when he understood only too well why she’d left him. He had, after all, been waiting for the moment ever since he’d fled their honeymoon in an attempt to right the wrong he’d done her, intending to tell her the truth when he’d put it right. But there were some mistakes that were beyond repair.
Belle had been right to leave him.
It was just that he couldn’t let her go. Winning her back was never going to be easy. He knew her; it would have taken far more than a fit of pique to screw her to the point that she could walk away from a marriage that, by her own admission, had given her everything she’d ever wanted. Bar one.
Marriage should have been the last thing on their minds. Somehow it had been the only thing on his and her terms had made it so easy for him.
It had been that easy. Too easy…
He should have known that nothing good was ever won that lightly and now he was going to have to put in the hard work.
Easier said than done. He was so bad at the emotional stuff.
It was second nature to Belle. She could reach out, touch people. She’d done it to an entire country for heaven’s sake; he’d turned to look at her out of curiosity, never suspecting the danger. Certain that he was immune.
Ivo had always prided himself on total honesty in business, but obsessed with her, with the need to own her, keep her for himself, he’d behaved like the worst kind of corporate raider, taking advantage of her vulnerability, her insecurity, instead of digging for its cause. Sweeping her away on the promise, the one thing that he could offer her, that, as his wife, she’d be safe from the vagaries of an uncertain business.
