Maybe he’d met somebody else at last and was here to finalise the divorce. That would make sense. For a brief moment, relief lapped against the edges of her panic—until a far worse idea filled her mind.
Maybe he’s found out about Ivy.
But no. That was impossible. She’d covered her tracks too well for that; even Merry believed that Ivy was the result of a one-night stand shortly after her marriage broke down. There was no one in the world except Clara herself who knew the truth about Ivy’s conception.
And she had no plans to share that information.
‘Want me to stay?’ Merry asked as Jacob brushed past her. When he stepped into the light, it was hard to imagine that she hadn’t known who he was, even for a second. He was exactly the same man she’d walked out on five Christmases ago. Same dark hair, with maybe just a hint of grey now at the temples. Same broad shoulders and even the same style of classic dark wool coat stretched across them. Same suit underneath, she was sure. Still all business, all the time.
Which made her wonder again what he was doing there, wasting time on her. Clara had no illusions about how her still-not-officially-ex-husband felt about her. He’d made it crystal-clear every single time he’d refused to sign the divorce papers, purely out of spite it seemed, sending his decision via his lawyers rather than talking to her in person. He’d made it clear how unimportant she, and what she wanted, was to him long before she’d ever left. He had never needed her before. What on earth could have made him start now?
Merry was still waiting for an answer, she realised. ‘I’ll be fine,’ she said, shaking her head. Her friend looked unconvinced but resigned.
‘I’ll call you later,’ she promised, and Clara nodded. ‘And don’t forget—you need to leave in twenty minutes.’
The seconds stretched out as the door swung slowly shut behind Merry. And then, with the noise of the street blocked out, it was just them again. Just Clara, Jacob and the sense of impending dread that filled Clara’s veins.
SHE DID LOOK DIFFERENT.
Jacob hadn’t been able to clock all the changes through the window, it dawned on him now. He’d thought she looked the same, but she didn’t, not really. And it wasn’t just that her hair was longer, or that slight extra curve to her body, or even that her wedding ring was missing.
It was just her.
Her shoulders straightened, just an inch, and he realised that was part of it. An air of confidence he hadn’t seen in her before. When they’d been married—properly married, living together and in love, not this strange limbo he’d been perpetuating—she’d been...what, exactly? Attentive, loving...undemanding, he supposed. She had just always been there, at home, happy to organise his business dinners or fly with him across the world at a moment’s notice. She’d been the perfect hostess, the perfect businessman’s wife, just like his mother had been for his father for so many years.
His father, he remembered, had been delighted in Jacob’s choice of wife. ‘She won’t let you down, that one,’ he’d said.
Until she’d walked out and left him, of course.
Perhaps he’d been underestimating Clara all along. So much for a five-minute job convincing her to help him. This was going to take work. This new Clara, he feared, would ask questions. Lots of them.
‘Jacob,’ she said again, impatiently. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘You need to leave soon, your friend said?’
Clara gave a sharp nod. ‘I do. So if we could make this quick...’
Unlikely. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we met up later. For dinner, perhaps?’ Somewhere he could ply her with wine, good food and charm and convince her that this was a good idea.
‘Sorry, I can’t do that.’ There was no debate, no maybe and no other offer. Even the apology at the start didn’t sound much like one. This Clara knew her own mind and she was sticking to it.
It was kind of hot, actually. Or it would have been if he didn’t sense it was going to make his life considerably more difficult.
Clara sighed and perched on the edge of the desk. ‘You might as well start talking, Jacob,’ she said, glancing down at her watch. ‘I’m leaving in...fifteen minutes, now. Whether you’ve said what you came here to say or not.’
What was so important, he wondered, that she still had to run out of here, even after the arrival of a husband she hadn’t seen in five years? Another man? Probably.
Not that he cared, of course. All that mattered to him was her professional availability. Not her personal life.
‘I want to hire you. Your firm, I mean. But specifically you.’ There, he’d said it. And, judging by the look on his wife’s face, he’d managed to surprise her in the process. The shock in her expression gave him a measure of control back, which he appreciated.
‘Whatever for?’ she asked eventually.
‘My father.’ The words came out tight, the way they always did when he spoke about it. The unfairness of it all. ‘He’s dying.’
And that was the only reason he was there. The only thing that could make him seek out his ex-in-all-but-paperwork-wife and ask for her help.
‘I’m so sorry, Jacob.’ Clara’s eyes softened instantly, but he didn’t want to see that. He looked down at his hands and kept talking instead.
‘Cancer,’ he said harshly, hating the very word. ‘The doctors haven’t given him more than a couple of months. If he’d gone to them sooner...’ He swallowed. ‘Anyway. This is going to be his last Christmas. I want to make it memorable.’
‘Of course you do,’ Clara said, and he felt something inside him relax, just a little. He’d known that she would understand. And what he needed would require more than the sort of competence he could buy. He needed someone who would give everything to his project. Who would do what he needed, just like she always had before.
And, for some reason, Clara had always been very fond of his father.
‘I’m planning a family Christmas up in the Highlands,’ Jacob explained. ‘Just like one we had one year when I was a boy.’
‘I remember you all talking about it once. It sounds perfect,’ Clara agreed. ‘And like you’ve got it all in hand, so I don’t really see why—’
‘That’s it,’ Jacob interrupted her. ‘That idea. That’s all I have.’
‘Oh.’ Clara winced. ‘So you want to hire Perfect London to...?’
‘Do everything else. Organise it. Make it perfect.’ That, she’d always been good at. She’d been the perfect businessman’s wife, the perfect housewife, the perfect beauty on his arm at functions, even the perfect daughter-in-law. Up until the day she wasn’t his perfect anything at all.
‘But...’ Clara started, and he jumped in to stop whatever objection she was conjuring up.
‘I’ll pay, of course. Double your normal rate.’ He’d pay triple to make this happen but he’d keep that information in reserve in case he needed it later.
‘Why?’ Bafflement covered Clara’s expression.
‘Who else?’ Jacob asked. ‘It’s what you do, isn’t it? It’s right there in the name of your company.’ The company she’d left him to build—and which, by the looks of things, seemed to be doing well enough. He’d never even imagined, when they were married, that she’d wanted this—her own business, her own life apart from him. How could he? She’d never told him.
Well.