She fell silent. But not before Jake glimpsed the anguish in her golden eyes.
‘Well,’ she said after a while, ‘I’d better get on with the cooking or we won’t have a meal tonight at all.’ Clearly discomfited by what he’d confessed, Ailsa returned to the counter to continue dicing onions. ‘Why don’t you go and make yourself comfortable in the living room and just relax?’
‘Maybe I’ll do just that,’ he murmured, glad of the opportunity to regroup his feelings and not blurt out anything else that might hurt her. Gratefully, he exited the room.
The charming dining room had terracotta walls, exposed beams on the ceiling, and a rustic oak floor. In the centre of the sturdy table—also oak—several different-sized white and scarlet candles burned, lending a warm and inviting glow to the room now that the day had turned seasonally dark. The window blinds were not yet pulled down, and outside snowflakes continued to float past the window in a never-ending stream. In the past, when they’d been married and in love, Jake might have considered the atmosphere intimate. But something told him it wasn’t his ex-wife’s intention to create such a potentially awkward impression. She ‘d always lit candles at dinner, whatever the season. She simply loved beauty in all its forms.
She’d once told him that the children’s home she’d grown up in had been bare of beauty of any kind and her soul had longed for it. Quickly he jettisoned the poignant memory, but not before berating himself for not encouraging her to talk more about her childhood experiences when they’d been married.
Now, at her invitation, he drew out a carved wooden chair, then tried to relax as she briefly disappeared to get their food. When she returned he watched interestedly as she carefully placed the aromatic meal she’d prepared in front of him, noting how appealing she’d made it look on the plate. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he’d scented the chilli, and he tucked into it with relish when Ailsa told him to, ‘Go ahead and eat … don’t wait for me.’
‘What do you think?’
The slight suggestion of anxiety in her tone made his gut clench. Touching his napkin to his lips, Jake grinned in a bid to help dispel it. Sitting opposite him, her long hair turning almost copper in the light of the gently flickering candle flames, she was quite utterly bewitching. A little buzz of sensual heat vibrated through him. ‘It’s delicious. I can’t begin to tell you how welcome it is after a long day’s travelling,’ he answered huskily.
‘That’s all right, then. Would you like some juice or some water?’ She was already reaching her hand towards the two jugs positioned on the raffia place-mat between them.
Jake nodded. ‘Water is fine … thanks.’
They seemed to have an unspoken agreement not to talk during the meal. But then, just as he finished every last scrap of the chilli she had prepared, Ailsa took a deep breath and brought an end to the silence.
‘Was it snowing in Copenhagen when you left?’ she asked conversationally.
‘We’ve had a few heavy snow showers over the past couple of days, but nothing like you’ve got here.’
‘Saskia must be pleased, then. She loves the snow. She’s been praying for a white Christmas.’
Leaning back in his chair, Jake met her gaze warily. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t bring her home today.’
Ailsa didn’t reply straight away and reassure him that she was okay with it. Behind her soft amber glance he sensed deep disappointment, and perhaps some residue of anger too. He blew out a breath to release the tension that had started to gather force in the pit of his stomach.
‘I know you don’t want to hear it, but I had so many plans for Christmas. I even told my customers to get their orders in early because I was taking an extra week off before Christmas Day to spend some time with my daughter. I’m really sorry that your mother lost your father, Jake, but she’s not the only one grieving.’ She was fighting hard to contain her emotion, and her beautiful eyes misted with tears.
‘Grieving?’ he echoed, not understanding.
‘Have you forgotten what day it is today?’ Her steady gaze unflinching now, she curled her fingers into the pristine white napkin now lying crumpled by her plate. ‘It’s the anniversary of our baby’s death … the day of the accident. That’s why I needed Saskia home today. If she was here I’d be focusing all my attention on her and wouldn’t let myself dwell on it so much.’
For the second time since setting eyes on Ailsa after so long Jake felt winded. Then a plethora of raw emotion gripped him mercilessly, almost making him want to crawl out of his own skin. An intense feeling of claustrophobia descended—just as if someone had shoved him inside a dark, windowless cell and then thrown away the key …
‘I’ve never noted the date,’ he admitted, his dry throat suddenly burning. ‘Probably because I don’t need some damned anniversary to remind me of what we lost that day!’ Pushing to his feet, he crossed to the window to stare blindly out at the curtain of white still drifting relentlessly down from the heavens. Vaguely he registered the scrape of Ailsa’s chair being pushed back behind him.
‘We haven’t talked about what happened in years … not since the divorce,’ she said quietly.
‘And you think now’s the right time?’ He spun round again, feeling like a pressure cooker about to blow. Ailsa was standing in front of him with her arms folded, her expression resolute. Yet he easily noted the giveaway tremor in her lower lip that revealed she was nervous too.
‘I’m not saying I want to dwell on what happened just because it’s the anniversary of Thomas’s death, but I—’
‘Don’t call him that … Our son wasn’t even born when he died!’
At the reminder that they’d given their baby a name, Jake felt his knees almost buckle. If he didn’t think of him as having a name then he couldn’t have been real, right? He couldn’t have had an identity other than that of an unborn foetus in the womb. It was the only way he’d been able to cope with the tragedy all these years.
The delicate oval face before him, with its perfectly neat dark brows, looked faintly horrified. ‘But we did give him a name, Jake … a name and a gravestone, remember? Before the snow got really bad yesterday I took a bouquet of lilac asters and white anemones to the graveyard where he’s buried. I do it every year at this time.’
The graveyard that housed the tiny remains of his son was situated in the grounds of a picturesque Norman church tucked away behind a narrow street not far from the Westminster offices of Larsen and Son. But Jake hadn’t visited it since the day of the funeral. That had been a bitter winter’s day, when icy winds had cleaved into his wounded face like hot knives, and it was a day that he wished he could blot from his memory for ever.
Pressing his fingers into his temples, he drove them irritably back into his hair. ‘And that helps, does it?’
‘Yes, it does, as a matter of fact. I know I was only seven months pregnant when he died, but he deserves to be remembered, don’t you think? Why do you seem so angry that I’ve brought the subject up? Did you really expect to stay here the night and not have me talk about it?’
Feeling utterly drained all of a sudden, as well as a million miles away from any remedy that could soothe the pain and distress he was experiencing at the memory of the longed-for son they’d lost so cruelly, Jake moved across to the dining room door that stood ajar.
‘I’m sorry … but I really don’t think there’s any point in discussing it. What can it possibly achieve? You have to let it go, Ailsa. The past is finished—over. We’re divorced, remember? We’ve made new lives for ourselves. Who would have thought the shy young girl I married would end up running her own business? That’s quite an achievement after all that’s happened. Not everything ended in disaster between us. We’ve still got our beautiful daughter to