He smiled slightly. ‘Let’s just say there are one or two things I know about that he’d like kept secret.’
Her jaw snapped shut, and she stood up, hugging her arms around her waist. ‘So—what are we going to take? Doesn’t he mind?’
‘I didn’t ask. As for what we’re taking, everything that’s yours or the children’s that you want. I’ve ordered a van and two packers, and it’ll be there at eleven tomorrow so you can go through the flat yourself and pick up anything you want to bring. You can decide what to do with everything once it’s here—throw it out, if you like.’
‘Or sell it. Loads of my clothes don’t fit any more. I could sell them in a second-hand shop. The money might come in handy.’
‘What about all the money you earned modelling?’ Ben asked, puzzled. ‘There must have been—well, I hate to think how much.’
She gave a bitter little laugh. ‘Didn’t you notice the flash cars and the furniture in the flat?’
‘I haven’t seen the flat. I went to the office.’
‘That’s even worse. He spent a fortune there “creating the right image”. Don’t worry, Ben, there’s nothing left of my modelling money. Oscar’s seen to that over the last four years.’
‘You gave it to him?’
She snorted wryly. ‘Not exactly gave. What do you think we lived on until it ran out? His business? I don’t think so. It’s been screeching and bumping along on the bottom for more years than I care to think about, but God forbid anyone should guess. I only found out by accident. We still had to project the right image, though. Some of my clothes were hideously expensive, but he thought it was justified—he saw me as the ultimate fashion accessory. I should be able to get quite a good price for them.’
But not enough to live on, Ben thought. Not by a country mile. Not ever. He found himself hating Oscar even more, and that galled him because it was such a waste of energy. He made himself concentrate on what mattered.
‘How about supper? Are you hungry?’ he asked.
She nodded. ‘Starving—I had more toast when I fed Missy, but I think it’s all I’ve had in the last twenty four hours.’
‘I’ll order something—Chinese? Indian?’
‘Can we have fish and chips?’ she asked wistfully. ‘I haven’t had fish and chips out of the wrapper for years.’
‘We’ll have to do something about that, then,’ he said with a smile. ‘We’ll get them locally tonight, and one day I’ll take you up the coast to Aldeburgh and we’ll get the best fish and chips you’ve ever tasted and eat them sitting on the sea wall.’
He went back out, drove to the nearest decent chippy and went home to enjoy the satisfying sight of Liv, cross-legged in one of the chairs, tucking into the impromptu meal with great concentration. Ben was fascinated. He’d never seen anyone before eat with such dedicated single-mindedness. She didn’t even pause for breath.
Then she screwed up the paper, licked her fingers one by one and grinned. ‘Wow. That was the best.’
He chuckled and relieved her of the wrapper, putting it with his into the bin. ‘I thought you models only ate raw tomatoes and lettuce leaves.’
She wrinkled her nose. ‘I know. Millions of calories, but I don’t care. I was so hungry. I can diet tomorrow.’
‘You don’t need to diet.’
‘Oh, I do,’ she corrected. ‘I’m much fatter than I used to be.’
She was. Personally, Ben thought it was a huge improvement. He didn’t like skinny, anorexic-looking women. He liked smooth curves and soft hollows and firm, substantial limbs. He liked a woman that didn’t feel as if she would break if he touched her.
He looked at Liv, pottering at the sink now, washing her hands and filling the kettle, and frowned thoughtfully. Had Oscar made her feel unhappy about her body? He thought it quite likely, from the odd remarks she’d made about breastfeeding.
He shook his head slowly. He’d had to restrain himself hard today to keep from punching the guy’s lights out. The last thing he needed was any more reasons to go back to London and satisfy that urge. Thankfully Oscar was going to be out of the way tomorrow—that was one of the conditions.
Ben thought he’d put the frighteners on him sufficiently that he wouldn’t be a problem. If not, he had a few other tricks up his sleeve. He’d been watching the sleaze ball for the last four years, ever since he’d latched on to Liv, and he’d acquired quite a body of information. The man had a respectable veneer about a millimetre thick, and under that he was all slime. Ben just hoped Liv never had to find out quite how bad he really was.
It was odd going back. They’d left the children in the care of Ben’s cleaning lady, a sweet and motherly sort whom Liv had trusted instantly. The journey to London had been uneventful in Ben’s Mercedes, and she’d had nothing to take her mind off Oscar and what he would say.
‘Are you sure he’s not going to be there?’ she asked for the hundredth time as they turned into the underground car park, and Ben shot her a patient and understanding smile.
‘Quite sure. Stop worrying, Liv, it’ll be all right.’
It was. There was no sign of Oscar, just an empty flat that echoed with memories, most of them unpleasant. The packers were quick and efficient, and within half an hour all trace of her life there had been removed. She had the baby photos, all her modelling memorabilia and the childhood bits and pieces that she’d brought from her parents’ house, and all the children’s things.
And her clothes, wonderful clothes that would never fit her again, extravagant designer originals and exquisitely tailored suits and dresses. She looked down at her jeans and jumper that she’d changed into, and sighed.
Her life was going to be very different from now on, but she had no regrets. Leaving Oscar was the best and most sensible thing she’d done in the last four years.
‘Right, I’m done,’ she said to Ben, and he nodded.
‘Right, that’s it, lads, thank you. See you in Suffolk.’
They went out, and she took one last look round.
‘Sad?’ Ben asked her, and she shook her head.
‘Absolutely not. I feel nothing. It’s actually quite scary.’
He put his arm round her and hugged her up against his solid, dependable warmth. ‘Come on, let’s go home,’ he said, and she really felt as if that was what she was doing.
Going home.
Missy was thrilled to see her toys again. Her little face lit up, and Liv was glad she’d gone back with Ben and collected everything. There were so many treasures, as well—things like Missy’s first haircut, and the baby photos. She wouldn’t have been able to bear losing the baby photos, and she didn’t imagine Oscar would miss them. She’d send him copies, but it was probably pointless.
He’d got photos of them on his desk, in silver frames—if they were still there. It was all for show, of course—all part of his ‘trust me’ image. The perfect father of the perfect children.
They were being less than perfect at that moment, Missy crying because she couldn’t make a piece of her jigsaw fit the wrong way round, and Kit because he’d woken up and was suddenly, furiously hungry.
She helped Missy with the errant bit of jigsaw, picked the baby up out of his crib and settled down into the chair to feed him. He was impatient and screamed again, but as soon as she pulled her jumper out of the way, unclipped her bra and settled him at her breast, there was a blissful silence broken only by the occasional slurp as he suckled.