The Lost Wife (10 page)

Jake’s natural instinct was to haul her into his arms and hold her for the longest time. She looked ridiculously young and vulnerable with her chestnut hair framing the perfect pale oval of her face … like a child. But her raw admission of how she had felt at the time of their baby’s death and then afterwards, when she’d believed that their love had died too, was like a small but devastating tsunami crashing inside him.

When the dust began to clear a little he had the peculiar sense of having missed something important … something
vital.
The realisation hit that he’d perhaps not been as aware of his good fortune as he should have been when they were married. Instead he had blithely greeted each day imagining that the comfortable existence they’d enjoyed could go on for ever, without anything too serious ever endangering it. Even the fact that he’d become a workaholic like his father. Foolishly, perhaps even
arrogantly,
he had cocooned himself from the remote and terrible possibility that everything he loved could be ripped from his arms in less than a blink of an eye …
He’d never even considered it.

But then why should he have? His friends and colleagues had always told him that he had the Midas touch—that everything remotely associated with him effortlessly turned to gold. Jake had it all, they said—supportive parents, a fabulous career, wealth beyond most people’s wildest dreams and then, if that wasn’t enough, he had a beautiful wife and daughter as well. Up until that horrific day when that drunken driver had ploughed into his car he had seen no reason to dispute that gilt-edged belief. The very notion of such a cataclysmic event had truly been the stuff of nightmares …

His agitated gaze came to rest on the moist bronze-gold of Ailsa’s bewitching eyes. ‘I was like a sleepwalker,’ he began. ‘Not just after the accident, when life became a living nightmare, but before it too. I didn’t notice enough of the things that were important to me. I was so fixated on the business that I missed the fact that I was lucky to have you in my life at all. It’s a terrible thing to admit, but maybe I even took you for granted. My focus was all on my work—on wanting to prove to my father that I could be everything he wanted me to be and more. My great desire was to show him that when the time came for me to take over the business I could make it even more successful. I became so fixated on that goal that I didn’t pay proper attention to my life … to
our
lives together. In the split second before that car hit us I didn’t see my life flash before me, as people sometimes say they do. What I saw instead was that I was about to lose everything I loved
more
than life itself.’

Pausing to inhale a steadying breath, Jake absently touched his fingertips to the ridged contours of his scar. Noticing with a jolt that the tears in Ailsa’s eyes were spilling over and sliding in an unchecked stream down her face, he pulled his hand away and, still agitated, tunnelled his
fingers through his hair. It was perhaps the hardest thing he had ever done—to talk candidly like this. While the instinct to stop—to hide behind his defences as he had so often done in the past—surfaced again and again, he forced himself to stay strong and, as Ailsa had asked, to speak his truth.

‘It brought me to my knees, losing our son. I could hardly believe that such a thing could happen to me … to
us.
And because I was hurting so bad I took it out on you, Ailsa. I meant to be a support to you, a comfort, but instead I effected an even greater distance between us than the one we’d been struggling with already. It was probably far crueller than the bitter words I sometimes threw at you. You were bitter with me too. The truth is it was our emotional
neglect
of each other that finally drove us apart, wasn’t it? And, because
finally
I couldn’t bear what was happening to our relationship, I knew I had to be the one to bring the misery to an end. The act was a double-edged sword. Yes, it freed us a little from our pain as a couple, but individually … it simply left us to endure it alone. Was that any better?’ He stared hard at Ailsa. ‘It certainly didn’t feel like it to me. You asked me to tell you how I feel now? Well … to be honest, I’m still trying to figure that out. In the meantime, I’m simply grateful that we’re talking again.’

‘Thank you.’

Her words were so soft—softer than the delicate brush of a summer breeze against a voile curtain. Jake wondered if he’d imagined hearing them at all. But when he studied her face, she was scrubbing her tears away and smiling. Not comprehending, he stared at her. ‘What for?’

‘For telling me your truth.’

The doubt and fear inside him eased a little. ‘You’re welcome.’ Closing his fist, he glanced it lightly against the smooth granite worktop beside him. ‘Are we done now?’

‘If you mean am I going to raise the topic again while we’re together, then, no. I’m not. I’ve realised that to keep going over the pain of the past can make for a very sad existence. Well, I don’t just want to
exist,
Jake. I want to live … properly and fully. Today is a new day … a clean page that has yet to be written on. From now on I want to treat every day like that. I want to believe in the possibility of being happy again.’

‘So … will this new affirmation have any bearing on your decision to come to Copenhagen with me?’ he asked, his lips wrestling with the surprising desire to smile too.

‘I think it will … yes.’ She hugged her arms over the black sweater that Jake was suddenly jealous of, because of its intimate proximity to her lovely body.

‘And your decision is …?’

‘I think I
will
take the opportunity to go back with you—to see Saskia and to meet up with your mother again. I’d like to tell her personally how sorry I was to hear about your dad’s passing, and that I’ll always remember him. But, Jake …?’

‘Yes?’

‘Just because we’ve been honest with each other at last it doesn’t mean that we’re making any promises about the future, does it?’

Feeling his heart miss a beat, like a hurdler who had miscalculated the distance to the next hurdle, knowing his mistake had cost him the race, he forced another smile to his lips. ‘No. It doesn’t. Like you, all I want to do now is to take one day at a time.’

‘Okay. I suppose I’d better cook us some breakfast and then tidy up the house a bit, in case we have to leave soon.’

‘It might be a good idea if you packed too.’

‘I was just coming round to that, but—Oh! I’ve just thought of another thing.’

Watching her tap her fingers against her adorable chin, Jake smiled benevolently. ‘What’s that?’

‘Saskia’s Christmas presents. I mean, I still have some to get, but I’ve got quite a few that are already wrapped. Can I bring them with us?’

‘Maybe a couple of small things—but you’re going to have ample opportunity to visit the Christmas markets and get some more. At any rate, she won’t lack for gifts on Christmas Eve … not if her grandmother has anything to do with it!’

Ailsa’s animated face told Jake she’d just remembered something else. ‘Didn’t you say that she’d given you a letter to bring with you that had a list of things she might like in it?’

With a stab of guilt, he remembered the envelope he’d hastily thrown into his overnight bag when he’d left Copenhagen. ‘She did. Why don’t we read it when we get home? We’re not going to be able to shop here if we want to leave today.’

‘You’re right. Well, I suppose before I do anything else I’d better go and pack … just in case. Do you think we
can
get a flight today?’

‘If the planes are flying out of Heathrow I don’t doubt it. I’ll make some calls in a minute.’

‘What about the roads? Do you think they’ll be clear enough for us to get to the airport?’

‘I’d forgotten how much you worry. Trust me, sweetheart … If I say we’ll get there and everything will be all right, then it will.’

Colouring, she tucked a long strand of silky chestnut hair behind her ear and shrugged. ‘Okay, I believe you. One more thing … Where will I be staying? At your mother’s with Saskia? Or—or …?’ She coloured again, this time a deep shade of russet-pink.

‘I thought that you could stay with me.’ Unable to help it, Jake inserted a hint of steel into his tone. ‘I’ll probably have to work up until Christmas Eve, but I’ll make sure that Alain is at your disposal for whenever you want to visit Saskia at my mother’s or go shopping. I imagine we’ll all spend Christmas Day with my mother. How do you feel about that?’ His gut felt as if it was clamped in a steel vice as he waited apprehensively for her answer.

‘That sounds fine. Will you ring Saskia and let her know that we’re coming?’

‘I’ll ring as soon as I’ve booked our flight.’

‘Good.’

Ailsa left him alone then. For a long time Jake just stood staring out of the window at the melting snow, the lingering scent of her perfume tying his insides into knots as he fought to get his churning emotions under control …

W
ITH
the usual commanding ease with which he was able to make most things happen, Jake got them an afternoon flight out of Heathrow that day. By the time Alain had picked them up from Kastrup Copenhagen airport at the other end and driven them to Jake’s five-storey house at one of the wealthiest addresses in the city it was getting on towards eleven in the evening.

Having spoken to her daughter a couple of times before and after the first-class flight from Heathrow, Ailsa could hardly wait to see her again. Even though their reunion would have to wait until tomorrow, because they had arrived so late, she didn’t forget that it was thanks to her ex-husband that they would be meeting up much sooner than she’d expected. It was a precious gift she wouldn’t take for granted.

Throughout the seamless journey, Jake had been unusually quiet. Ailsa was hardly surprised when she recalled the depth and frankness of his reflections about the tragedy that had driven them apart. That would be apt to leave the strongest person emotionally drained. And, because she was mindful of the deeply emotional places they had both visited over the past few days, she’d chosen not to disturb his reverie by talking. In fact, apart from eating lunch, she had slept for most of the flight. When she’d woken,
she hadn’t told him that she’d been dreaming about him … dreaming about the exotic honeymoon they’d shared in the Caribbean island of St. Kitts after their wedding.

Although they’d been in one of the most beautiful locations for a honeymoon in the world, surrounded by tropical forest and a sapphire-blue sea, they had hardly ventured out from their luxurious villa. Apart from a welcome dip or two in the jewel-like warm sea, and enjoying first-class cuisine prepared by their chef out on the patio, their long hot days had mostly been languorously viewed from their opulent bed through the open French doors. The erotic memory of that time still had the power to flood her body with heat and make her tingle.

‘Home sweet home,’ Jake drawled now, bringing Ailsa sharply back to the present.

Just as her ex-husband had only set eyes on her traditional English country cottage for the first time a short while ago, it was now Ailsa’s turn to reciprocate and experience for the first time the opulent modernity of his own elite abode. For a girl who had been raised in a very basically furnished children’s home with minimal creature comforts the sense of wealth and exclusivity that reached out to embrace her as she stepped into the white marble hallway quickly reminded her of the stark differences in her and Jake’s backgrounds. Even though she was well acquainted with the rich trappings of the Larsen family’s wealth, it still took her aback to experience it first-hand. Her gaze sweeping the ‘winter palace’ furnishings, and the very contemporary modern art that Jake had always had a strong preference for on the walls, she suddenly had the sense of being ridiculously shy and ill-prepared here on his home turf.

‘It’s very beautiful,’ she murmured quietly, slipping off her leather gloves.

‘I say home, but you understand that I use the term loosely?’ With a wry smile, he stepped towards her. ‘Are you hungry?’

‘I had a meal on the plane, remember?’

‘That was hours ago.’

‘Are
you
hungry, Jake?’ Unthinkingly, Ailsa batted the question back at him. It was only when she saw his arresting eyes darken to a sultry navy blue that she realised how it had affected him.

‘For food? No. But if you’re asking if I’m hungry for you, Ailsa, then the answer will always be yes.’

Lightly touching her hair, he gave her a smile that was tender rather than passionate, but it still had the effect of quickening her pulse and warming her heart as if she’d just imbibed the most intoxicating brandy.

‘Would you mind if I freshened up? You know what it’s like after making a journey … even a first-class one … you can feel quite washed out.’ Awkwardly, hardly even knowing if the words that spilled out of her mouth made any sense at all because of Jake’s disturbing proximity, she smoothed her hand down over the lapels of her long camel-coloured coat and moved towards the familiar tote Alain had left standing alongside her suitcase on the marble floor.

‘I asked my housekeeper Magdalena to prepare a room for you,’ he declared, stopping her in her tracks. ‘I’ll show you where it is.’

Why did he appear to be deliberately avoiding her gaze as he made this statement? Ailsa wondered. A pang
of disquiet coiled in the pit of her stomach.

As if intuiting her confusion, he exhaled a deep sigh. ‘I didn’t want to presume that you’d want to share my room … plus, I thought you’d like a little privacy to gather your thoughts. Anyway, let me take that for you.’

Carrying her tote as well as her suitcase, Jake led her up the gracefully curving staircase, and as she followed him, silently admiring the impressive width of his shoulders beneath his coat and the straight dark gold hair that grazed his collar, she hoped he was being honest about the reason he was giving her a room of her own. Her insides boomeranged at the idea it might be because some other woman had recently shared his bed and perhaps had left some of her belongings there.
After the intimacy they had shared at the cottage, just the thought of such a possibility made her feel ill.

As she’d anticipated, the room he showed her into was furnished in a very clean, ‘no frills’ elegant Scandinavian style. The furnishings were all painted in antique white and had a very appealing faded charm—
shabby chic,
as some designers called it. The ambience was restful and inviting, and definitely peaceful. Ailsa loved it straight away. Although, when her glance came to rest on the double bed, with its curved headboard inlaid with delicate floral marquetry, her heart skipped a regretful beat. Yes, it looked inviting and restful, but without Jake beside her she knew it would be a lonely experience sleeping there on her own.

‘The bathroom is just through here.’ He opened another door to reveal a dazzling
en-suite,
giving Ailsa a glimpse of graceful pine and polished stainless steel.

She smiled, wishing she didn’t feel so deeply disappointed at not being invited to share
his
room. If he was always hungry for her, as he’d asserted, then why hadn’t he asked her?

Moving to the doorway that led back onto the hall landing, he glanced down at his watch. ‘It’s very late. I think I’ll turn in too. In the morning, over breakfast, we can discuss when we’re visiting Saskia.’

‘I’d like to go as early as possible, if that’s okay?’

>
‘That’s fine with me.’

‘Jake?’

‘What is it?’

‘We didn’t look at the letter she gave you—the one with her Christmas list in. I’d like us to glance over it together before we leave for your mother’s house.’

‘No problem.’

The smile he returned in answer to this request was brief and disappeared far too quickly—like a glimpse of sunlight that she wished would stay on a day that was grey and unpromising. One minute it gave her hope for better times to come, then in the next the clouds reappeared to cover it, leaving the day
and
the spirits gloomy again.

‘Goodnight, Ailsa. Sleep well, huh?’

The door clicked shut even as she murmured, ‘Goodnight. I hope you sleep well too.’

Going downstairs to find her way to the kitchen the next morning, Ailsa was greeted by Jake’s housekeeper, Magdalena. The woman was probably in her mid to late forties, had a crisply cut white-blond bob, and was tall and slim. Her eyes were as grey as an icy lake, but somehow managed to reflect genuine warmth despite their glacial hue. She was definitely a far cry from the plump and grandmotherly Rose, who had been their part-time housekeeper when Ailsa and Jake had lived in London.

‘God morgen.
You must be Ailsa. I am so pleased to meet you at last.’

The woman greeted her as if she truly
was
pleased, and Ailsa’s small hand was soon engulfed by the blonde’s slender larger one. ‘And you must be Magdalena. I’m very pleased to meet you too.’ She smiled back.

‘I can now see where your lovely daughter gets her
beauty from. What amazing hair you have, if you don’t mind my saying so.’

Alisa had sat in front of the dressing table mirror that morning and brushed out all the snags and tangles that had accumulated on her travels yesterday, as if psychologically she needed a bit of a boost to face the day. If she also wanted to look her best for the man who had once been her husband, then Ailsa kept that disturbing realisation to herself. Even though she’d slept surprisingly well, she was still smarting a little at Jake giving her a room of her own rather than inviting her to share his.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured in reply to the housekeeper’s compliment.

‘Why don’t you sit down at the breakfast table and I will get you a hot drink?’ Magdalena suggested.

‘A cup of tea would be great … thanks.’ Ailsa moved across to the rectangular pine table that was positioned opposite French windows overlooking a narrow but long garden. She shook her head with wry humour when she saw the light snowflakes that were tumbling from the skies. Already they were rendering the immaculate lawn lacy white.

Seeing the interested direction of her glance, the Danish housekeeper shrugged and smiled. ‘Most of the snow we have had over the last few days melted away yesterday. Today, when you and Mr Larsen are home, it returns! Little Saskia will be so pleased, yes?’

‘She’ll be overjoyed. I think she’s been praying for a white Christmas all year. By the way, do you know if Jake—if Mr Larsen is up yet?’

‘Goodness me, he got up hours ago! I made him a good breakfast and afterwards he went straight to his study to work. Your husband is a very early riser and he works so hard … He puts us all to shame.’

‘He’s not my hus—’

Ailsa’s pained admission that she and Jake weren’t married any more was prevented by Magdalena’s cheery, ‘My own husband Kaleb admires him greatly. Even though Kaleb is not as experienced as some of Larsen’s staff, he would work day and night for your husband—I know it.’ The cheery smile suddenly vanished, to be replaced by a soft, thoughtful frown. ‘He gave him a chance when no one else would even think of it. Kaleb was an alcoholic, you see,’ she explained. ‘He lost his brother after he’d helped take care of him through a long and crippling illness and it went downhill from there. He just lost the belief that anything mattered any more and started to drink. We—we had parted, and he was sleeping rough, living on the streets. Mr Larsen stopped to talk to him one evening, outside a conference centre where the company had been holding a meeting, and spoke to him for a long time. Yes … Mr Larsen helped him believe in himself again. When Kaleb and I got back together, he offered me this job as his housekeeper. I was working for a hotel chain before this, but I wasn’t happy there. Forgive me—I am talking far too much and you are probably longing for your cup of tea and some breakfast, yes?’

‘Please don’t apologise.’ Moved that this woman had shared her personal story of hardship and sadness with her, Ailsa felt her spirits lift at hearing of Jake’s great kindness to her and her husband. ‘I’m very glad that you shared this with me, Magdalena. Thank you.’

‘And I am glad that you do not mind me telling you about Kaleb and me. Now I will get you that cup of tea!’

‘Thank you.’

‘And, after I make the tea, what would you like for breakfast?’

The woman was already at the streamlined stainless
steel cooker, placing a copper kettle onto a burner to boil. For a few uncertain moments Ailsa stared at the back of her precision-cut bob and neatly dressed figure, in an un-fussy ecru sweater and slim black skirt, and wondered how someone so obviously efficient and in such clear admiration of her boss’s work ethic and personal kindness would receive a request for just a slice of toast. She definitely got the feeling that ‘a good breakfast’ round here meant something a bit more substantial than that.

A much more appealing if
risky
idea slid into her mind. Already having located the state-of-the-art coffee machine, she moved towards it, reaching up to the pine shelving above, where the pristine white crockery was uniformly displayed, for a single cup and saucer. ‘I’d like to take a cup of coffee to Mr Larsen. Can you show me how this machine works, Magdalena?’

‘Of course.’ The older woman smiled approvingly. ‘It will be my pleasure.’

Finishing his umpteenth call to the office that morning, Jake threw his mobile phone down onto the satinwood desk, then leaned wearily back in his chair. Several thoughts jockeyed for precedence in his brain all at once. One fact was indisputable. He desperately needed some air to clear his head.

Glancing through the panoramic window in front of him, to see the flurry of snowflakes that were drifting down, he hoped the snow wouldn’t settle too deep—at least not until they had driven safely to his mother’s house in the country. Was Ailsa up yet? Had she slept at all last night?
God knows, he hadn’t!
He’d swear he’d barely shut his eyes for even a minute. How was he supposed to sleep when his body was gripped with a fever of need to hold
her, to make love to her, to hear her whimper and moan his name out loud when she came?

He loosed a heartfelt curse under his breath. Had he imagined that her beautiful amber eyes had reflected disappointment when he’d shown her into her room last night? A room that she would sleep in
alone?
Still privately stunned that she’d agreed to come back to Denmark with him, Jake hadn’t wanted to push his luck by assuming she would continue to want to sleep with him. Common sense told him to tread carefully, even when his heart ached for him to risk everything. If he was too eager, too desperate, he reasoned it might just as likely drive Ailsa away. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel trapped.

Head in his hands, he let another groan escape him. It was a double-edged sword, he knew, but he could really use some more coffee to clear his thumping head and help him think straight!

Right on cue, there was a knock at the door. ‘Magdalena, you must be a mind-reader.’ He sat up straight, then swivelled round in the leather office chair that was on casters. At the unexpected sight of his svelte ex-wife in slim black cords and a pink V-necked sweater, her glorious chestnut hair flowing down over her shoulders to her hips, Jake stared in mute surprise. She was bearing a small tray with a single cup of coffee on it.