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She dumped Jess on his lap, and for the first few seconds he looked dumbstruck and awkward.
‘She won’t break, you know,’ she told him, taking pity on him after a minute, and he shot her a slightly desperate smile.
‘Do I have to support her head?’ he asked. ‘It’s the only thing I can remember.’
‘No, she’s fine now. She can stand up if you hold her, and jump on your lap, but she shouldn’t do it for too long.’
‘How on earth do I know what’s too long?’ he asked with a thread of panic, and she laughed.
‘Don’t worry, she’s not made of glass. She’s just a baby. Don’t drop her on her head and she’ll be fine. They’re tough as old boots.’
She headed for the door, needing a moment to herself to let it all sink in, and his eyes tracked her like a laser.
‘Where are you going?’ he asked, his voice rising slightly with alarm.
‘The loo. You got a problem with that?’
He relaxed visibly. ‘Um—no. That’s fine. I just thought—’
‘I was going out? One step at a time, cowboy,’ she said with a smile, and left him to it.
‘Well, little Jess. So you’re Will’s baby,’ he said softly, staring into her solemn brown eyes. ‘And like the lady said, I’m your Uncle Patrick. What do you think of that?’
Not much, from the expression on her face. Her lip wobbled, and instinctively he jostled her gently on his knee and smiled at her.
‘Hey, hey, I’m not so bad. I may not know anything about babies, but we can learn together. I don’t suppose you know too much about architects or uncles, either, but you’ll learn, just like I will about babies. Oh, yes, you will.’
He nodded at her, and she blinked, so he did it again, his smile widening, and all of a sudden her face transformed. Her eyes creased up, her mouth opened to reveal one tiny white tooth in a gummy smile, and she giggled.
Patrick swallowed. There was a lump the size of a tennis ball lodged in his throat, and he had to blink hard to keep her in focus.
‘So you think I’m funny, do you?’ he said, his voice a little scratchy, and she giggled again, one arm flailing out to grab at his nose.
‘Ouch! Sharp nails!’ he chided gently, easing her surprisingly strong little fingers off while he still had skin. Instead of his nose, she fastened her hand on his finger and clung, pulling it to her mouth and gnawing it.
‘I’m not sure that’s clean enough to chew,’ he said doubtfully, but Claire came back into the room at that moment and stood right beside him—close enough for him to smell the new-mown grass that clung to her—and suddenly the germs didn’t seem to matter.
Instead, the sharp, sweet scent of grass teased his senses, heady as an aphrodisiac, and he had to force himself to concentrate on her words.
‘Don’t worry,’ she was saying, ‘children shouldn’t be brought up in a sterile environment, it’s bad for them. I’m sure your fingers aren’t that grubby.’
‘Doggy, probably,’ he said, struggling for common sense.
‘She’ll live. Did I hear her laughing?’
He looked up at her, suddenly self-conscious. Had she heard him making a fool of himself with her?
‘She giggled,’ he said, still slightly awestruck by that manifestation of personality in someone so very young, and Claire smiled.
‘Oh, she does. The sillier you make yourself, the more she likes it. I think it appeals to her sense of humour, watching adults turn themselves into fruit-cakes on her behalf.’
Fruitcakes, indeed! So she had heard. Oh, well, it might be a point in his favour, and he had a feeling he was going to need all the Brownie points he could get!
I’ll still want to be involved in her upbringing, to see her first steps, to hear her first words.
The words had been going round and round in Claire’s head since Patrick had spoken them, and, watching him with the baby now, she still had no clear idea what that implied. What did ‘involved’ mean, exactly? He wanted to see videos of her from time to time? Visit her occasionally?
Or go for custody?
As the thought popped into her mind, she felt the chill of fear run through her, and her heart started to pump.
Surely not. He couldn’t. Anyway, he wouldn’t win, he was a man.
And his DNA was an exact match with Will’s. What if he said it was him, after all? What if he claimed she was his baby, and not his brother’s?
Her eyes went to the photos, the only proof she had that the man who had fathered her sister’s baby had been the one with the appendix scar. There were no negatives, and no other copies. If the photos were to fall into the wrong hands…
‘Claire, what’s wrong?’
She jumped, swivelling her eyes from the photos to him, and met his clear, steady green-grey gaze.
‘You said you wanted to be involved in her upbringing,’ she said, her voice a little taut.
‘That’s right. I do.’
‘How involved? What exactly did you mean?’ she asked, unable to prevaricate. She’d always been direct, always gone for the jugular. If he planned to take the baby from her, she needed to know.
‘I don’t know,’ he said, and she could see the confusion and honesty in his eyes. ‘I suppose it means I want to see her as often as possible, but she lives here with you, and I live and work in London. That’s not really very straightforward.’
‘You can visit her whenever you want,’ she said, trying to make it easy so he wouldn’t try and take her from him. ‘You can stay here—there’s room. I won’t try and stop you seeing her.’
He cocked his head on one side and regarded her keenly. ‘You think I’m going to go for custody, don’t you?’ he said, his voice deceptively soft, and she swallowed and looked away.
‘I don’t know. I just know I can’t lose her. She’s all I’ve got of my sister.’
She broke off, the wound still too raw, and he tsked softly.
‘Silly girl, I’m not going to take her from you. How can I? I’m not married, I live in a flat at the top of my office block with a tiny roof garden and a hell of a long drop to the street below. You’re a woman, you’ve cared for her since she was born, you live in the country in a totally safe setting. What judge in their right mind would rule in my favour?’
She closed her eyes briefly and nodded. ‘I suppose so. I was just…’
‘Panicking?’ he finished for her, his voice gentle. ‘Don’t. On the other hand, don’t expect it all your own way. My parents will want to be involved in her life as well, and they’ll want to have her to stay—there’ll be birthdays and Christmases and all sorts.’
Claire nodded again. He was right, it wouldn’t be easy, but if they were able to work together, perhaps they could dream up a solution that would help them all.
‘First things first, though,’ he said, his mouth kicking up in a wry grin. ‘There’s a strange smell coming from this little bundle of laughs, and I think she needs her auntie.’
I want to be involved with her upbringing.
Claire smiled, some of the tension easing away. ‘Time for your first nappy-changing lesson, then,’ she said, and stood up. ‘Come on.’
‘But—I can’t!’
‘Oh, you can. You’ll be amazed what you can do. And once she’s washed and changed, it’ll be time for her next feed—and then, of course, there’ll be another nappy.’
The look on Patrick’s face was priceless, and it was all Claire could do to stop from laughing out loud.
‘I’ll make the feed up,’ he said, flailing for an excuse, but she was adamant.
‘They’re all made up,’ she assured him. ‘But you can do the next lot. I promise.’
Funny, he didn’t look in the least bit grateful…
CHAPTER THREE
AN HOUR later, Jess was back on his lap, sweet and fresh after her feed and second nappy change, and the dogs were hanging around looking hopeful.
At least, Pepper was looking hopeful, and Dog, head cocked on one side and those ridiculous ears at attention, was watching his master like a hawk. He’d clearly taken to his new playmate, but he wasn’t keen on Patrick being too far out of sight in this strange place, and he certainly wasn’t sure about that funny little thing on his lap.
Patrick looked down at the dog and gave his ears a gentle tug. ‘It’s all right, boy,’ he said softly, ‘she’s just a baby.’
Just a baby. Huh! The very idea of this cataclysmic development in his life being described as just anything was laughable, and his brother’s baby was about as complicated as it got.
The photos leapt into his mind again, the girl he’d seen once a few weeks ago with the man he’d never see again—he’d grown up with him, played with him, fought with him, loved and hated him alternately until, with maturity and understanding, love had won.
They were probably the last photographs taken of Will alive—certainly the last ones Patrick and his family would have access to—and he’d cut his throat before he’d let his parents near them.
Not that they were sordid—far from it. They were tender and touching, little intimate cameos, private thoughts and feelings captured, frozen in time. They were good photographs, which didn’t surprise him. Will had always been a keen photographer and he’d had a gift for somehow distilling the essence of a moment.
However, this time he’d used his skill to capture feelings that should have remained private between the two of them—which, of course, they would have done, had Amy not died. The photos of her revealed her vulnerability with painful clarity, and the naked emotion in some of the shots made Patrick’s heart contract.
Others, however, were more playful, and they’d made him want to smile. In one, Amy had obviously sneaked up on him with the camera and caught him sleeping. The next one showed him reaching out towards her, his eyes warm and laughing.
It was almost like a silly holiday snap, fun, less private than the others, and for a moment he considered doctoring it up for his parents and then dismissed it. No. They didn’t need to know about the photos. It would only provoke a barrage of questions, and they didn’t need the answers. He certainly hadn’t.
Will’s interlude with Amy was none of his business, and he heartily wished it had remained that way, but it hadn’t. Still, the time they’d spent together had brought Jess into the world, a fitting memorial to them both, a sweet, happy little thing who made his throat close with emotion every time she smiled at him.
For that alone, he could forgive her parents almost anything.
‘Patrick?’
He looked up, dragging himself back into reality, and met Claire’s worried grey eyes.
‘Are you OK?’
His smile was twisted, he could feel it, but too much had happened and he needed time to assemble his emotions.
‘Yeah. Yes, I’m fine. I’m just…’
‘How about a breath of fresh air? I usually take Pepper out about this time, and Dog looks as if he wouldn’t mind a run.’
Fresh air sounded good. ‘He’d love it—but what about the baby? Shouldn’t one of us stay here with her?’
Claire stared at him. ‘You think I’d leave her? She comes too. She loves our walks. I put her in the baby sling, although I must say she’s getting a bit heavy. When she’s bigger she can have a backpack, and then she can see where she’s going, but for now, it’s this.’
She reached down a padded blue canvas contraption, and Pepper leapt to her feet and ran to the door. Claire laughed softly. ‘She knows, don’t you, darling?’
Pepper gave one sharp bark and wagged furiously as Claire sorted out the straps and shrugged into the sling.
Patrick looked down at Jess happily gumming a plastic keyring on his knee, and suddenly didn’t want to hand her over. He realised he was enjoying her, to his enormous surprise, and even the nappies hadn’t been too grim.
‘I’ll take her,’ he offered.
Claire paused. ‘Are you sure? She’s heavy and she dribbles.’
‘I’m sure I can cope,’ he said drily, and the next minute Claire had let out the straps on the sling and clipped him into it. Then the baby was threaded in, clamped firmly against his chest, her little arms pressed against his ribs and her feet kicking—ah. Just about safe, but a fraction lower and she might be the only child he ever got to hold.
‘I’ve made the straps too long,’ Claire said, and hoisted the baby up a little. He gave a quiet sigh of relief and shrugged into his jacket, catching a smile on Claire’s face before she turned away.
‘What?’
She shrugged, still smiling. ‘Nothing—it’s just not exactly your average dog-walking coat.’
He looked down at his pale linen jacket, the sort of thing that passed for casual in the city, and one side of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile.
‘I have to give you that, but it’s the only one I’ve got with me and it’s a bit chilly outside for shirt-sleeves.’
‘Didn’t you bring a jumper?’
He had, of course, and it was in the bag in her dreadful car still, but now he had the baby all strapped on and the dogs were dancing about with excitement.
‘I’ll live,’ he said, and with a shrug she pulled on a fleece and headed through the door and off down the drive, abandoning him.
He closed the door behind them, looking for a key without success. ‘Aren’t you going to lock it?’ he asked, and she turned and stopped in her tracks, looking at him in amazement.
‘Lock it? Apart from the fact that there’s very little in there worth stealing, this is the country.’
‘And knowing that, don’t the thieves target it?’
She laughed. ‘If they can find me. Strugglers Lane isn’t called that for nothing, you know. Come on, the dogs are getting a head start.’
And heaven knows what Dog will be like if he sees a rabbit, Patrick thought. He forgot about the unlocked house and set off after Claire, quickly settling into a rhythm beside her.
The baby, snuggled against his chest, soon fell asleep, her little body surprisingly heavy after a while. Still, it was a good feeling—extraordinary, really.
A few days ago he’d been a single man with no commitments, walking his dog alone in the park. Now, suddenly, he was walking the same dog, but with a baby on his chest and another dog and a beautiful woman by his side.
That thought brought him up short, and he looked at Claire keenly. Yes, she was beautiful. Of course she was—he just hadn’t really registered it amongst all the other information. Desirable, yes. Feminine, undoubtedly. Her sense of humour he had discovered to his cost, but—beautiful?
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