The Secretary's Secret

‘No.’

She didn’t yel , but the word echoed in his ears as if she had.

‘If you don’t mean to hang around for ever then you needn’t think you can hang around for another week or two.’

But there was stil so much to do! He couldn’t leave her house in this state.

‘In fact I never want to see you again. End of story,’ she added when he opened his mouth.

‘But—’

‘Do you mean to stay for ever?’

He couldn’t!

Kit gathered up her handbag. ‘I’m going out. You have two hours. I want you gone by the time I get back.’

‘Kit!’ He surged forward as she made for the door. ‘Wil you let me know if you need anything or

—?’

‘No.’ Her face had shuttered closed, al her golden goodness shut off from him. ‘If you want to make things as easy as you can for me, you wil go and not come back.’ She paused at the door. ‘Go home, Alex.’ And then she walked through it.

His world split apart then and there. He turned and stumbled for the hal way and the spare bedroom.

‘Alex?’

He turned to find her framed in the doorway again.

He turned to find her framed in the doorway again.

‘Knowing al that you know now, would you give up those two years with Chad?’

He stared at her and didn’t know how to answer.

‘Understand that when you walk away from me and our child, that your answer is yes.’

With that she closed the door. And it was as if the sunshine had been bled out of his life.

CHAPTER TWELVE

WHEN Kit let herself into her house three hours later, she found that Alex hadn’t left behind a single item, not one sign that he’d ever stayed here, ever been here.

She’d given him an extra hour to pack up, just in case.

She’d given herself an extra hour, just because.

Sitting on her rock for two hours, she’d stared out at the sea and had tried to make her mind blank. The cries of the seagul s, the shushing of the waves and the sight of the dolphins frolicking in the channel, none of it had been able to make her smile or had succeeded in unhitching the knot that tangled in her chest.

She dropped her handbag to the floor, lowered herself to the nearer of the two sofas, rested her head on its arm. When her watch had told her it was time to go home, she’d found she couldn’t. She’d gone to a coffee shop and had sat over a pot of ginger and lemongrass tea. But the smel of coffee and cake and the chattering of the clientele, none of that had lifted her spirits or helped her feel connected again.

And now, back home and in the absence of the banging of hammers and the whirring and buzzing of power tools, the enormity of what she’d done sank in. She’d sent Alex away. And although none of his things remained in her house, although his absence was evident in the very stil ness of the air, his presence was alive in every corner. His handiwork, evident in the freshly plastered and primed wal s, mocked her.

And the deep malt scent of the man… She’d take that to her grave.

With a growl, she flew up and flung open every door and window. She seized a cushion and a throw rug and stormed out into the back garden to huddle down in one of the Cape Cod chairs—that Alex had sanded and painted. The day was warm but she was chil ed to the bone. She wrapped the blanket about her and tried to stop her teeth from chattering.

A gulf opened up inside her, too big even for tears. Alex didn’t want their baby. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, rubbing one hand back and forth over her tummy. ‘I’m so sorry.’

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wooden slats behind. The sun stil shone but it felt as if night had descended around her. Alex didn’t want her. She’d always known that his rejection would hurt. She hadn’t known it would devastate her.

She wrapped the blanket about her more tightly, knotted her hands in it as if it were the only thing anchoring her to this world.

Alex didn’t leave town, he didn’t return to Sydney like Kit had ordered him to. He’d meant to, because he hadn’t known what else to do. Go home, Alex.

Funny, but somewhere in the last few weeks Tuncurry had come to represent home in a way his apartment in Sydney never had.

When he’d reached the sign that said, ‘Thank you for visiting our tidy town’, he’d slammed on the brakes and pul ed over to the verge, rhythmical y pounding the palm of his left hand against the steering wheel.

There was stil the matter of the shower unit. It stil hadn’t arrived. How on earth would Kit be able to pay for it?

He’d turned the car around and had driven back into town, booked into a hotel. Not one of the gorgeous plush ones with glorious ocean or lake views. He didn’t deserve one of those. His hotel was spare and spartan. His room was spare and spartan. His view… Who cared? He didn’t bother looking out of the window.

Without kicking off even his shoes, he’d fal en back onto the bed to stare up at the ceiling.