Rosemary Gibson - Last Chance Marriage

Armed with gloves and a small hammer, Joshua Harrington was casually knocking out the glass in her open back door onto a plastic sheet. From the safety of the lawn, the twins, identically dressed today in the brown uniform of the village school, watched with expressions of utter longing on their small faces.

Clemency’s eyes dropped to the football at their feet and her eyes darkened reflectively. One hell of a kick for such small legs—over the hedge with still enough force to smash her window.

Pushing open the door, she stepped into the kitchen.

‘Good morning,’ she said breezily.

If she’d hoped to throw Joshua Harrington even marginally off-balance, she was disappointed.

‘I thought you’d be at work by now,’ he murmured mildly, the navy blue sweatshirt hugging the wide, powerful shoulders intensifying the brilliance of his eyes. Knocking out the last fragment of glass, he stooped to gather up the plastic sheeting.

Normally she would have been, Clemency conceded, but it wouldn’t have hurt him to ring the doorbell and check. ‘I’m on leave for a week.’

Waggling her fingers at the twins, who were waving to her enthusiastically from the garden, Clemency retrieved the strong refuse bag from the floor and held it open.

‘Thanks.’

As he deposited the plastic sheeting deftly into the bag, her eyes flicked over the strong contours of his face, absorbing the weariness etched into it. For a second her hard-won composure almost cracked completely, the muscles of her stomach coiling into a fierce knot. Had he endured an equally troubled night? Lain awake for hours, like her, eyes open, staring into the past?

‘Daddy’s going to put a lovely new window in your door,’ trebled a small voice. Evidently deciding that their temporary banishment had been lifted now the glass had been safely removed, the twins scampered across the grass.

‘That’s really kind of him, isn’t it?’ The second voice piped, with unconcealed hero-worship.

‘Yes, it certainly is,’ Clemency agreed solemnly, her muscles relaxing as the small boys bounded into the kitchen.

‘Especially as Daddy broke the damn window,’ Joshua Harrington murmured sotto voce, the corners of the firm, straight mouth twitching.

Unable to keep it straight any longer, Clemency’s face broke into a warm, wide grin, the wariness in her eyes of which she’d been quite unconscious clearing briefly.

‘Where’s your lunch box, Tommy?’ Joshua enquired, straightening up.

‘Left it in the garden.’

‘Go and fetch it, please.’

‘Yes, Daddy.’ The boys started for the door and then, as if some invisible hand had tapped them on the shoulder, turned back towards Clemency.

‘Bye, Clemency,’ they chorused dutifully.

‘An’ thank you for having us...’ one voice continued absently, parrot fashion.

‘You don’t have to say that...’ Its owner was instantly corrected.

‘Goodbye, Jamie,’ Clemency said formally, repressing her laughter, a little mystified at the expression of utter resignation on their small faces as they looked up at her. They were so adorable, she could hug them! ‘Goodbye, Tommy.’

For a second neither of them moved and then, faces lighting up with relief, they turned and bounded towards the door.

‘She didn’t kiss us...’ The clear, carrying voice floated jubilantly back through the open door.

‘Or hug us...’

‘I believe,’ Joshua Harrington murmured dryly, ‘that you’ve just passed the litmus test.’

Clemency couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She so very nearly hadn’t!

‘An’ she smelled nice...’

‘Even nicer than Anna.’

Anna again, Clemency mused, but on that tantalising note the small voices faded away.

‘Hmm.’ Joshua gathered up the refuse bag and headed for the door. ‘I think I might have a word with my sons and heirs about the importance of discretion,’ he murmured thoughtfully.

‘Do as I say, not as I do?’ Clemency enquired innocently before she could help herself.

‘How much of my diatribe did you overhear yesterday?’

‘You mean did I hear the “to hell with all women” soliloquy?

‘Or the reference to the inquisitive, frustrated spinster next door?’

‘I don’t think those were quite my words...’ he refuted, his mouth quirking.

‘No,’ she conceded, ‘but that was the inference,’ she continued lightly. ‘The implication that no woman could possibly feel fulfilled without the presence of a man in her life. An arrogant male assumption that isn’t true.’ She smiled back at him to take the sting out of her words, to show him she was half-teasing. Nevertheless, it suddenly seemed very important to assure him, however obliquely, that she had absolutely no designs on either him or the twins, wasn’t in the market for happy families.

She saw his eyes flicker, but their expression was as unreadable as his face.

‘The assumption works both ways,’ he drawled. ‘I’ve had my fill over the past few years of the manipulative attempts at matchmaking by the wives of various male acquaintances.’

His voice was as light and as casual as hers had been, but perversely the underlying tension between them seemed to intensify rather than ease. They were making ground rules, Clemency absorbed, warning each other off—though why it should be necessary to do so was something she didn’t care to analyse.

‘I’ll pick up a pane of glass after I’ve dropped the boys off at school.’ Glancing at his watch, he grimaced slightly, and hurried outside to herd up his sons, their small, bowed heads on a level just above his knees as they scampered by his side, trying to keep pace with his long, rapid strides.

Moving across to the window, Clemency watched the tall, lean, assured figure disappear around the side of the house, her grey eyes thoughtful. She had nothing but admiration for those courageous women who had attempted to interfere in his private life. And she very much doubted that Joshua Harrington had ever been manipulated by anyone in his entire existence.

Breakfast! Turning away from the window, Clemency moved across the tiled floor, extracted a loaf of bread from the fridge and, changing her mind, replaced it. She’d skip her usual tea and toast this morning, settle for a cup of instant coffee instead. Her mouth twitched. Live dangerously, change her routine!

Switching on the kettle, she picked up the newspaper while she waited for the water to boil, her gaze darting immediately to the cartoon at the bottom of the front page. Josh. The distinctive, decisive signature was oddly redolent of its owner, instantly conjuring up an image of the dark, rugged face.

Abruptly she tossed the paper to one side, the cartoon for some reason failing to amuse her this morning, and armed with a mug of coffee sat down at the breakfast bar. She glanced up at the wall clock. How long would it take him to drop the twins off and buy a new pane of glass?

Determinedly she turned her attention to her post. Mostly junk mail. An exceedingly rude postcard from David Mason. Idiot. She smiled, thinking affectionately of the russet-haired man who had somehow managed the difficult task of maintaining his friendship with both herself and Simon.

Her smile faded. Had David known about Simon’s feelings for Lisa all those years ago? Let himself be used as an alibi on occasions? Had those games of squash with Simon been fictitious? She winced. Oh, blast Joshua Harrington. He was the one indirectly responsible for reviving those painful questions, questions she had resolutely dismissed years ago.

Slipping off her stool, she carried her mug of coffee through to the sitting room at the front of the house. Was that the sound of his car now? Tensing, she gazed out of the window into the lane. No, just a tractor en route to the farm. Restlessly she wandered back to the kitchen, had just sat down again when the doorbell chimed.

Trying to ignore the rush of adrenalin spurting through her, she jumped to her feet and went to answer it. Joshua had evidently decided to announce his arrival more formally this time.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door expectantly, perturbed by the immediate sense of anticlimax as she saw the grey-haired man standing in front of her. Recovering quickly, her mouth curved in a warm, welcoming smile.

‘Hello, William.’

His gnarled, weather-beaten face creased in a beam. ‘Brought you something for your supper tonight,’ he said laconically and without preamble. Digging into the pocket of the voluminous waxed jacket that he wore both summer and winter, and, Clemency sometimes suspected, even to bed, he drew out a brown paper parcel and thrust it into her hands. ‘Fresh this morning.’

‘Oh, how lovely!’ Clemency exclaimed enthusiastically, her heart dropping as she felt the clammy contents through the paper. ‘I shall look forward to them.’ Stooping down, she petted the black and white collie sitting obediently by the gum-booted feet. ‘Thank you very much.’ She smiled, straightening up, only then noticing the lean figure coming up the drive towards them.

‘Come on, Jesse.’ Nodding his head with satisfaction at Clemency’s evident pleasure with his gift, the elderly countryman made his way back down the drive, returning Joshua’s courteous greeting as they passed with a monosyllabic grunt.

‘A man of few words,’ Joshua commented as, a tool box in one hand, a pane of glass in the other, he reached Clemency’s side.

‘William doesn’t say a lot,’ Clemency conceded, trying to ignore the way the sun’s rays were flickering over the thick, rich dark hair, caressing the hard contours of his face. ‘But he and his wife are very sweet,’ she added over her shoulder, leading Joshua down the hall and into the kitchen. She was unsuccessful in camouflaging her slight shudder as she deposited the package on the sink unit, and sighed resignedly as she met the quizzical blue gaze.

‘They don’t have a car any more so I give them the occasional lift into Bournemouth,’ she said vaguely. She didn’t mention the fortnight last winter when she’d faithfully driven William over to the hospital every evening to visit his wife who’d been recovering after a fall.

‘And William and his wife express their appreciation with mysterious brown parcels?’ Depositing his tool box and the pane of glass on the floor, Joshua’s eyes dropped thoughtfully back to the sink unit.

‘William was a gamekeeper until he retired.’ Clemency’s own eyes returned to the package. Oh, heavens, it hadn’t moved had it? No, that was definitely her imagination. ‘And I suppose he still has, um, contacts in that line.’ She had never enquired too closely about the source of her presents. ‘It’s usually fish, like today. But sometimes it’s a rabbit or even a pheasant.’ Her large, expressive eyes darkened unhappily. ‘William just assumes that I can...prepare them.’ She paused and confessed in a guilty rush, ‘I know it’s dreadful but I bury them at the bottom of the garden.’

‘In the dead of night so no one can see you?’ The corners of his mouth twitching, Joshua turned his attention to the back door.

‘It’s not funny,’ Clemency reproved, but she grinned back at him and then sighed. ‘I should have been honest with William right from the start.’ Leaning back against the sink unit, she watched as Joshua deftly inserted the new pane of glass into the door, fascinated by his dexterity. ‘And told him I was just a feeble, squeamish townie.’ She’d held one of those strong, capable hands, felt the warmth of those long, supple fingers against hers. She swallowed hard. ‘Or claimed to be a strict vegetarian, but...’