The doorbell had rung three times before its shrill tones penetrated the consciousness of Maggie Thomas, happily immersed in her work. With a sigh of resignation she threaded her needle carefully in the fabric before placing it lovingly on the sofa. Standing stiffly, she took a moment to stretch her tired arms over her head arching backwards as the doorbell rang again. A long, loud, insistent ring that indicated the caller knew she was home and was prepared to stand there indefinitely with their finger on the bell.

Glancing at the carriage clock on the mantelpiece Maggie saw with surprise that the afternoon was later than she’d expected, eaten away by her absorption with her work. Hemming yards and yards of silk taffeta curtains, which would soon hang in one of the guest rooms in a baronial castle on the Scottish border.

Four o’clock. That would mean it was one of two people wearing out her doorbell. Either elderly Mrs Staples, on making her ritual afternoon cup of tea had run out of milk or young Stella Peters from next door had forgotten her key again. The cheeky monkey would want to leap over their shared fence and gain entry to her home through the window with the broken latch. Maggie smiled at the eccentricities of her neighbours. She might not live in the trendiest of areas but at least the people were real and with no sense of foreboding she flung open her door in a wide and welcoming way.

Her friendly smile froze as the realisation of who stood on her welcome mat hit her along with a sharp blast of the icy north wind. For her welcome was for friends, acquaintances and family. The tall, dark man standing before her fitted into none of these categories unless prefixed by the word ex. Ex-friend, ex-lover, ex-husband. For a second their eyes met. Hers green, full of raw emotion, his dark blue, shuttered and guarded but then he’d known who he’d be seeing on the other side of the door. Shock and disbelief held her immobile in their clutches before her brain lurched out of its stupor to send urgent messages to the rest of her body.

Maggie was quick but he was quicker, placing his foot in the doorway and not so much as wincing at the pain she must have caused as she swung the door shut with all her strength, powered by panic and fear. But then Clayton Williams had made the practice of hiding his feelings into an art form. He pushed back on the door, forcing it to give way beneath his superior strength and accepting the futility of her actions Maggie allowed the door to open as she looked up into the face that still haunted her dreams.

Five long years had enhanced rather than dimmed his looks. The long, dark lashes that fringed his blue eyes glistened with melting snowflakes but did nothing to soften the hardness of his expression. Endless business lunches and expensive dinners had not put an ounce of flesh on his face. No saggy jowls or double chins for this man. Maggie’s eyes focused on the line of his lips, straight and unsmiling, but she knew they were able to soften and curve into a smile that had her turning herself inside out for this man. His lips moved and his words cut through Maggie’s jumbled thoughts bringing her back to the present.

‘Aren’t you going to ask me in out of the cold?’ Maggie’s whole body shivered, but not from the drop in temperature of a bitter, winter afternoon, when the sun’s weak feeble rays barely took the chill off the air before disappearing behind the horizon. She shivered with the memories that had risen, unbidden into her mind the second she saw who stood on her doorstep. How a glance from those blues eyes smoky with desire would have her… She dragged herself back to the winter’s afternoon and his question.

‘No!’ The word exploded from her lips, surprising her as it did him. Two straight, dark eyebrows snapped together over his aquiline nose and his eyes narrowed but she refused to be intimidated, refused to think again. This was her home. Bought by her, furnished by her, lived in by her. There were no memories or reminders of their short marriage and that was the way it was going to stay.

In a fair world, he would have nodded and left. In a world with justice he would have walked under a truck but Maggie had long accepted that fair and world were seldom used in the same sentence. But what the universe lacked in fairness it seemed to compensate with humour so Maggie mumbled a curse to herself when her elderly neighbour Mrs Staples popped her head out of her door, then slowly approached them clutching in her arthritic hands one of her precious milk jugs, bought for her with more love than taste by her doting grand children on their annual holidays.

‘Hello dear, is everything all right?’ Mrs Staples looked uncertainly from Clayton to Maggie. ‘Only I’m sorry to bother you but…’ as was her habit she left the sentence unfinished and let her faded, wistful blue eyes and empty milk jug do the talking for her.

Maggie sighed and opened the door some more, at the same time moving to the centre to bar Clayton’s entrance and racked her brain for a way out of this no-win situation. She couldn’t get the milk for her neighbour and shut the door in her face, but the moment she turned her back and walked back along the narrow hallway Clayton would have no hesitation in following, after of course, inviting Mrs Staples to precede him. And there was no way he was setting foot in her home for his presence would linger there forever and she was not moving again. She was tired of running.

The jingle of a few loose coins in her pocket came to her rescue as she grabbed her keys off a hook and pulled the front door shut.

‘I was just popping to the shop to get some milk Mrs Staples I’ll buy some for you too,’ Maggie lied, ‘just you go back in the warmth. I won’t be long.’

‘Oh, thank you dear. If it’s not too much trouble,’ said her neighbour glancing again at Maggie and the tall, dark and silent stranger beside her.

‘No, none at all,’ she gave a false tinkering laugh, ‘now you get back inside and I’ll drop it off in a minute.’ Maggie walked away, without a backwards glance, telling herself she didn’t care what her ex-husband was doing. Hopefully Mrs Staples was entering into a lengthy, rambling conversation that would hold him to her, for whatever other faults the man had, being rude to the elderly was not one of them. He prided himself on his manners and would engage the lowliest member of his staff in conversation, especially if it furthered his needs. Maggie pushed that unwelcome thought to a corner of her mind, along with all the other memories that had breached the floodgates the moment she’d opened her front door and come face to face with her past. A past that had now caught up with her and was matching her rapid walk stride by stride.

‘I don’t have time for this,’ Clayton informed her, his breath hanging in the air, a swirling mist that quickly dissipated, like their marriage. Maggie’s answer was to quicken her pace, for her stubbourness in refusing him entry to her home meant she was walking to the corner shop through freezing slush and a sprinkling of snow in nothing more than jeans and a woollen jumper. She wrapped her arms around herself tucking her hands under her armpits. Would Clayton do what he had done on past occasions and insist on her taking his coat? It would seem not, confirming to her yet again that all the acts of kindness, acts of caring, had been just that, acts to twist her around his little finger. Tie her in knots. Bring her to her knees and hadn’t he been successful?

‘I don’t know why you’re here. And I don’t want to.’ Maggie snarled as the water penetrated the slippers she was wearing, soon her feet would be as frozen as her heart and caused by the same person. Clayton Williams.

‘I’m not here from any choice of my own. Susannah sent me.’ He added quickly before she could throw back a caustic reply.

She kept her eyes firmly fixed ahead refusing to sneak so much as a look at her ex-husband in the street light for she knew by the sharp tug of attraction she felt on seeing him again that she was not as immune to him as she would like to believe but then she’d only had five years, two hundred and sixty weeks, nearly two thousand days to erase his looks, habits, smile from her memory. And now she was going to have to start the slow, painful process again. For he was by her side once more, looking as grim as when she last saw him, as if at no time in the last five years he had smiled. Their arms bumped together and Maggie jumped away as if she’d experienced a sudden electric shock, nearly tripping and falling on the gutter and into the path of a passing car. Two strong hands grabbed her arms painfully, steadied her, and those same arms that had once held her in tender adoration pulled her savagely back onto the pavement and to safety.

‘Thank you,’ her voice quivered at the near miss she’d had or was it because she was standing once again in the shelter of Clayton’s arms. Arms she was sure had tightened slightly around her body. ‘You can let me go now,’ she said softly.

Clayton released her quickly as if he had touched something loathsome and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. Mumbling furiously under her breath and throwing her red curls back from her face she pushed past him and crashed through the shop door as if being chased by the demons from hell.

‘Maggie, my love, you’ve come back to me.’ The baritone voice of the shopkeeper floated through the air of the overheated shop. A young man in his twenties greeted her with a wide smile and eyes brimming with mischief.

‘Hello John,’ Maggie replied wishing for the first time in her life that it was his surly mother behind the counter, ‘Mrs Staples is out of milk and I’m not in the mood for flirtatious banter today.’ John dramatically clutched his heart, a picture of rejected suitor,

‘That’s what you always say but really it’s my amazing good looks that keeps you coming back.’ Maggie smiled wanly as she placed some coins on the counter and saw John’s boyish grin fade from his face when he noticed the towering figure of Clayton Williams over her shoulder, but then he rallied ‘If you’d only agree to marry me we’d all live happily ever after.’

‘Your mother wouldn’t be happy,’ she reminded him kindly for he was very young and only a little in love with her. Maggie was too kind hearted to tell him she wouldn’t marry him if he was the last man on earth, before she remembered the brooding presence behind her and amended her thought to the second last man on earth.

‘If only I could meet the man who broke your heart and made you this cold.’ John persisted with youth’s disastrous lack of tact. Maggie picked up the milk and turned to go.

‘Oh that’s easy.’ She said looking Clayton straight in the eye. ‘He’s standing just here. So,’ she looked from one impassive face to John’s embarrassed one, ‘John, Clayton. Clayton, John,’ Maggie managed a cynical smile, ‘I’ll leave you to it, shall I?’ And nearly danced out of the shop feeling as if she’d won a major victory for womankind. Oh, it was the little triumphs that were so sweet. She hurried back to Mrs Staples but she had no chance of getting home and battering down the hatches before Clayton caught up with her. Maggie delivered the milk, staying to chat and taking malicious enjoyment in the knowledge that Clayton would be waiting in the freezing cold. Maybe he’d take the hint and drive away into the dark night. Oh she hoped so. She honestly hoped so.

However he was standing on her doorstep, arms crossed over his powerful frame, which was hidden under a woollen overcoat designed to keep out the January cold. There was no way into her home but through him and she knew that now he’d found her he would not go away until he’d said or done what he’d set out to do. It had taken a cold walk to the corner shop to make her remember this. What Clayton Williams wanted, he got and he had wanted her.

Now she had to decide whether to allow him into her home, her safe haven or have the inevitable argument on her doorstep to entertain the neighbours. For when she allowed herself to think back over their time together they’d either been arguing or… No, it was best not to go there. Best not to allow one chink to penetrate the amour protecting her from her memories. The evocative scent of his aftershave. The way he murmured her name. Not if she wanted to remain the sensible, mature, sedate woman she’d moulded herself into. She pursed her lips and nodded her head as she made up her mind. She may be freezing without a coat, she may be the subject of gossip and speculation for months to come but she would not allow him to disturb her peace, she would not allow him to have power over her ever again.

He would avoid a public argument and outside there was no possible way she would allow herself to be seduced by his deep, beautiful voice or the memories that were determined to float through her mind like the snowflakes before her eyes. In less than half an hour, five years resolve was unravelling with every second she was in his company. Maggie risked a glance up to the emotionless mask that was his face.

Once she would have smiled and teased him over his grim, tight mouth. She would have smoothed away the bad humour with her fingers or better still her lips. She would have helped him shed his work clothes and massaged the knots in his neck until the tension in his face relaxed and another part of his body became tight and hard with a need that only she seemed to be able to satiate.

So under the street lamp she crossed her arms for protection as well as warmth and her breath hung in silver threads as she spoke.

‘All right, say what you’ve come to say and then go’

‘For God’s sake stop this silly nonsense and let’s get inside,’ Clayton ordered and seeing Maggie stiffen at his command added a reluctant ‘Please.’

‘I’ve said no, and when I gave Mrs Staples her milk I asked her to watch out of her window.’ Maggie turned to wave at her neighbour who was peering out of the curtains. ‘I asked her to call the Police if she saw you go into my house.’

‘You did what?’ Clayton swung around and caught a glimpse of Maggie’s neighbour ducking out of sight.

‘I took measures to protect myself. I don’t want you in my home so if you don’t want to freeze to death you’d better say what’s on your mind.’

He looked at her, his blue eyes boring into the depths of what used to be her soul before he took it. For a moment he hesitated then resigned to the inevitable. All his carefully reasoned arguments fled from his brain. All his weapons of coercion and playing upon her guilt and kind heart dried to dust in his mouth as he looked down at her under the streetlight, her red hair tumbling around her face as she moved from foot to foot in an effort to keep warm.

He’d wanted her for an afternoon, no more, no less to see his dying stepmother. He’d pushed himself to come instead of phoning or sending a messenger. She was the last person he wanted to see, the last person he wanted back in his life. The last person to who he thought he’d say,

‘Maggie I need you.’

For Maggie everything stopped. The world, her breathing, her heart and for one incredible joyous moment she thought he’d meant it and then she saw the look that passed across his face. If she was surprised by his words then he was absolutely horrified. The world started to turn, her treacherous heart pumped blood though her veins, pounding in her ears and she drew in a cold, ragged breath.

‘Look, will you condescend to sit in the car with me?’ Clayton asked indicating a dark vehicle parked in front of her house. ‘I’m not prepared to freeze anymore so can we please get out of this weather.’ Still speechless she nodded her head and allowed him to open the door for her. It was warmer out of the wind and soon the car would seem as cold as outside but if she took him into her home he would never leave. She would always see him sitting in the large, armchair by the fire or standing at the kitchen bench. He would go but his memory wouldn’t leave and she hadn’t spent those years erasing him from her life to have that effort wrecked by a cold freezing night and the need to be warm. She clasped her hands together and blew into the space between but there was nothing she could do about her freezing, wet feet.

In the chilled car their warm breaths quickly misted the windows and Maggie drew warmth and comfort that she had the strength to win this small victory and refuse him access to her home. If they went indoors she would be physically warm but her heart and soul would begin to freeze up again and she didn’t want that. Not when she was starting to live again. To feel again. And maybe to learn to love again.

He was sitting next to her, staring through the opaque windscreen into the darkness and his voice was as bleak as the weather,

‘Susannah’s dying. She wants to see you.’ If Maggie thought she was cold before then his words had her plummeting to absolute zero.

‘She can’t be. I don’t believe you.’ She turned angry, contemptuous eyes to his before reaching for the door handle. His hand clamped down on her wrist, hard and merciless and his voice was laced with scorn.

‘You think I’d lie about something like that?’

She couldn’t see him properly in the dark but felt the tension in his body, saw the flash in his eyes and knew that he spoke the truth.

‘I’m sorry, that was a stupid thing to say. Of course you wouldn’t.’ For his stepmother Susannah was the only person he loved, ‘but I don’t understand. I received a letter from her at Christmas time, she was full of news and plans.’ Maggie’s free hand crept to her throat and felt the flutter of the pulse beneath her chilled fingers. ‘Has there been an accident?’ For how else could an apparently fit, vibrant woman be brought to death’s door?

‘She had a fall, funnily enough, on the way back from posting a letter. She fractured her hip.’ Clayton kept his voice carefully modulated. Giving nothing away except the bare facts.

‘But that’s not…’ His hand tightened again on her wrist scorching the skin beneath it and forcing Maggie into silence.

‘Will you stop interrupting and listen,’ he snapped. ‘I’ve wasted enough time already with your silly games and this is hard enough without you challenging everything I say.’

‘I’m sorry.’ But she wanted to deny the truth of what he was saying. Deny that a beloved friend was about to leave her. ‘This isn’t easy for me either.’ She pulled her hand from beneath his and splayed her fingers before her. ‘Please go on.’

‘The x-rays showed suspicious shadows on her bones. Further tests revealed the break happened because she…’ he stopped, taking his time to find the words, but there were no words that could soften the blow of reality. ‘Her body is riddled with cancer. Secondary cancers. Even after many tests no one is completely sure where the primary tumour is. And now it no longer matters.’ Again he was silent, lost in his thoughts, ‘in no time she’s wasted away, but she wants to see you. And it will have to be soon. Tonight.’ He wasn’t going to ask her to come. He’d said all that needed. The rest was up to Maggie.

If she refused, would he try to get her to change her mind? By bullying, cajoling or begging? He didn’t know, he only knew that he’d wasted too much precious time already. He could start the car and drive away with her. Take her to Susannah whether she was willing or not.

‘Stay here, I’ll be less than ten minutes,’ directed Maggie, clambering from the car, she ran and skidded into her house. Throwing off her slippers she grabbed a towel to dry her feet, before pulling on odd socks that were nearest to hand on the drying rack. Her cold fingers fumbled with her clothes as she used the bathroom and then turned the heater to low. Maggie checked her gloves were in her pockets as she shrugged into her quilted jacket, wrapped a scarf around her neck and crammed a woolen bobble hat onto her unruly curls. After a final glance around her home to reassure herself that all was safe she grabbed her bag, checked her keys and thrust her feet into a pair of boots before slamming the front door behind her. Clayton started the engine and was moving before she’d buckled up her seat belt.

‘Your neighbour won’t be reporting a kidnapping will she?’ His teeth flashed in the lamplight, relieving the tension in the car a fraction.

‘No I was bluffing when I said that,’ admitted Maggie, settling herself into the leather seat and taking what she felt was like the first breath of air in the last ten minutes.

Clayton drove with care, for nature had turned the world into one of contrast. The blackness of the night and bare trees against the blinding whiteness of freshly fallen snow. And though it seemed there were no colours left in the world, only now did Maggie became aware of how her life had become shades of grey. Now with this man beside her, her senses had been reactivated and she truly saw, felt and smelt the world again. Saw, with clarity, the attraction of his profile in the streetlights and beyond that the beauty of an English village blanketed in snow. Felt the softness of the leather car seat and the tremor of her heart. For the last five years she had been alive but not really living, a shell of a woman just going through the motions. Clayton’s warm voice broke into their bubble of silence.

‘So what are you hiding from me?’ Maggie looked out into the darkness. It was none of his business why she wouldn’t allow him into her home but he would have a reason for asking. Clayton never bothered with idle chitchat. ‘A husband and kids?’

‘There is no reason for you to know about my life,’ Maggie replied, more briskly than she’d intended. ‘I’m sorry but the past is over, my life is off limits and we have no future so our topics of conversation are limited. We can we talk about Susannah, the price of your stocks or the state of the world? Where is Susannah? Hospital or home?’

‘Neither. She’s in a hospice that specialises in palliative care, on the outskirts of London. She’s well looked after. In fact she’s being thoroughly spoilt by the staff.’ He chuckled as he thought of his irrepressible stepmother.

‘Is she…?’ Maggie’s voice cracked and tears spitl over her lids but she let them flow, not ashamed of showing her emotions. ‘Is she suffering much?’

‘No, she sleeps most of the time now, knocked out by the high levels of morphine needed to control the pain. Sometimes her mind wanders and she thinks I’m my father or she talks about events that happened years ago, like our wedding. That’s when she asked why you hadn’t visited her and demanded that I bring you to visit tonight.’ Maggie’s further questions strangled on the lump in her throat and she no found she no longer wanted to talk. Her heart had been replaced by a block of ice in her chest and she knew that whatever they talked about, even the most trivial topic would lead somewhere painful or forbidden.

‘Actually would you mind if we don’t talk anymore. I’d like some time to think,’ Maggie asked. And time to prepare myself she thought. And time to get used to being with you again, by your side, if only for a few hours. And time to bury that small glimmer of hope that flickered when you said ‘I need you.’

‘Then put the seat back and close your eyes.’ He suggested and for a minute there was genuine warmth in his voice that melted her insides and made her want to reach for his hand and reassure him that no matter what happened tonight they would face it together.

‘No. I’m all right.’ She could never sleep as a passenger and many was the time she’d sat by him as they travelled the length and breadth of England staying awake to make sure he didn’t doze at the wheel. Once as a teenager she had fallen asleep in a car and her world had ended. Maggie would force herself to stay awake even if that meant pinching herself until she was black and blue.

‘Oh yes, I remember. Four eyes are better than two.’ He quoted words she’d often said to him as they’d journeyed together. Clayton would always do the driving, insisting it would relax him after hours in a boardroom or conference room but for Maggie the trips had always been a nightmare but she wouldn’t let him go alone. So already Clayton had trodden on forbidden territory. This evening was going to be harder than she could imagine. ‘You never did tell me why.’

‘Why what?’ She hoped her repressive tone would silence him and clasped her gloved hands firmly in her lap.

‘Why four eyes are better than two? Why you never take your eyes off the road? Why you never relax in a car?’

‘I fell asleep once and the car I was in was involved in an accident. It’s that simple.’ But it wasn’t that simple. On a wet dark night she had given into her younger sister’s pleading and allowed her to sit in the front seat of the car. Not because she was doing what all the other members of the family did and spoil Vanessa or because she had quarrelled with her older sister Claire but because she wanted to stretch out on the back seat and sleep. Maggie had woken to Vanessa’s screams and walked away from the mangled wreckage with nothing more than a few scratches and bruising. The real injury, her deepest and most painful, came from the expression in her mother’s eyes when she had looked at her only surviving child. Claire had been a brilliant student looking forward to going up to Cambridge and a promising career in anything she chose. Vanessa too excelled in music and singing. Both had been beautiful. What her mother had left was mediocre Maggie. Clumsy and freckled who against all odds caught herself a rich, handsome man but couldn’t hold him. To her relief Clayton didn’t ask any more questions.

‘I’ll put on some music. Is there anything you’d like?’ Clayton was at his most considerate, most caring like he always was when he needed or wanted something.

‘No, I like the quiet.’ And the purring of the engine, the sound of my heart and the gentle rhythm of your breathing. From the strange look he shot her she thought she might have spoken those words out loud.

The car sped through the night, eating up the miles as the windscreen wipers kept time with her heart. She didn’t know how far they needed to travel or where they were going. All she knew was it must be urgent and Susannah very near to death. After a while Clayton put on some music and as the wistful tones filled the air Maggie knew that she would never listen to Mozart’s Clarinet Concerto again.

At last Clayton swung the car off the road and the tyres crunched on a gravel driveway. Maggie straightened her spine and squared her shoulders in readiness for what she must face.

Clayton’s hand on her arm led her through the corridors that bustled with life. Nurses rushed back and forwards, attending to their patients and the kitchen staff clearing away the dinner trays. Visitors were coming or going, their arms filled with flowers or presents but each wearing the same expression of worry and whose smiles didn’t reach their haunted eyes. Clayton halted her before a door and looked at her with tired eyes.

‘Thank you for coming.’ His hand reached up and briefly touched her cheek. She smiled back, her mouth curled in a wry, almost wistful smile.

‘Thank you for coming to get me.’ For he could easily have made some excuse or reason for Maggie not coming to say goodbye. But that wasn’t his style. Clayton Williams would move mountains for those he loved.

‘Just one thing, sometimes Susannah quite lucid at others…well it’s possible she may think we’re still married. If that’s the case don’t say or do anything to disillusion her.’

‘How could you allow her to think that?’ For a moment anger replaced the sorrow pulling Maggie down. How could he deceive Susannah? It was not an act of compassion to lie to a loved one. But it was Clayton Williams’s way.

‘I just didn’t correct her,’ he explained. ‘She was so happy.’

‘It was wrong,’ Maggie grumbled and didn’t like the petulance she heard in her voice.

‘Then you tell her for it’s more than I could do.’ Maggie stepped back as if he’d slapped her, knowing that she too was a coward. At the expression on her face he nodded curtly and placed his hand on the door handle.

‘Are you ready?’ she took a deep breath and fixed a tremulous smile on her face. Briefly her eyes met his and she broke the contact first.

‘Yes, I’m ready.’ Clayton opened the door and they entered, Maggie urged forward by his warm hand on the small of her back and she was surprised at how comforting it felt and how grateful she was for this small gesture.

Susannah Williams slept upright, propped up by a mass of pillows, a serene smile on a face whose beauty was dimmed by lines of pain but not diminished. Surrounding the bed, on every flat surface were vases of flowers from elaborate professional arrangements to hand picked flowers from the winter gardens of loving friends. A testament to how cherished this woman was. The bright, happy flowers contrasted starkly with the whiteness of the bed linen and the pallor of the woman before them.

‘She’s asleep,’ whispered Maggie, backing away into the solid wall of Clayton’s body. Immediately Susannah’s eyes opened and she blinked dazedly for a few moments before focusing her eyes on Maggie and Clayton. Her face split into a wide smile and the pain in her eyes was replaced by joy.

‘Oh Clay, you’ve brought her.’ She held out her once strong hand to Maggie. ‘Come child. Come sit with me while Clay gets you both something hot to drink. I told the staff you’d be coming and asked that they keep something from the kitchen for you.’ She looked at Maggie’s jacket and Clayton’s coat, ‘Is it very awful outside?’ Maggie came forward and clasped the frail hand in her chilled ones.

‘It’s ghastly, but don’t worry we’re here now.’ And being so stiff upper lip and British that we’re talking about the weather Maggie thought. She perched on the bed and kissed Susannah’s sunken cheeks. She had met death before as two broken bodies in a cold city morgue when she’d stood with her parents as they’d formally identified her sisters and again when she lost her child but never before had she had to look death in the face and smile.

‘Don’t look so sad,’ the older woman pleaded, ‘I’ve had a wonderful life and this is harder for you and Clay than it is for me.’ She smiled a look of complete contentment, ‘that’s why I’m so glad he’s got you to help him through this time. I was too late for him when his mother died.’ Maggie sat in silence, her throat too full of emotion to say anything and unsure if Susannah’s mind was wandering. Or was she hoping that her death would result in Clayton and Maggie renewing their relationship. She was spared the necessity of answering as the door opened and Clayton entered holding a tray of food.

‘There’s some sandwiches. The bread’s a bit dry but the coffee’s from a percolator so it might be tolerable.’

He was gabbling. Maggie stopped her mouth from hanging open in amazement. Clayton Williams was actually so ill at ease he was rambling about the freshness of sandwiches and the quality of coffee. She looked at Susannah and saw the older woman’s eye drop in a slow wink.

‘Go and eat something. I’ll sit and watch you both.’ Maggie squeezed the birdlike hand and went to join Clayton at the small table.

‘Thank you,’ she said, taking the plate he offered. Now they were out of the dark car she had a chance to study him for the first time since she’d opened her door to find him before her. It was only a few hours ago but already it seemed days away.

Her heart skipped into triple time and she was dismayed the way her stomach flipped just because his hand brushed hers. Now she could clearly see the tired lines around his blue eyes and the anxiety that pulled his sensuous mouth into a tight, thin line. He was wearing his dark hair longer or needed a haircut, for his fringe hung boyishly over his high forehead and the back curled over his collar. She felt the tug of attraction and flare of desire and chided herself. She was in the room of a dying woman and while her mouth went through the motions of chewing an egg and cress sandwich, her mind was taking her along a path of erotic images and carnality.

Her green eyes met his and she felt the heat as a blush rose from the heart of her and crept up her chest, her neck, her cheeks. From the bed she heard a chuckle and knew Susannah had seen the telltale flush. Maggie’s hands trembled slightly as she raised the coffee cup to her lips and nearly gagged on the lukewarm coffee. It was stewed into non-existence and definitely not tolerable.

‘That bad?’ queried Clayton, a teasing light shinning out of his eyes. And something else. Something she did not want to see but feared was reflected in her own. Lust. Naked, raw, animal lust.

Remember, a little voice said, remember that betrayal and do not go there again. She pushed the plate of half eaten sandwiches away, noticing that Clayton had not eaten any of his. He stood, towering over her so she had to lean back to see his face.

‘I’ll leave the two of you alone. I want a word with the medical staff.’ He went to Susannah and kissed the top of her head, murmuring words Maggie couldn’t hear, then without looking back he was gone. Slowly Maggie approached the bed, for already in the short time they had been with her Susannah seemed to have deteriorated. Her eyes more sunken and she appeared frailer, her skin more translucent. Only the expressive, blazing eyes spoke of the woman that she had once been.

‘Promise me one thing.’ Maggie looked at her hands, afraid to look in Susannah’s eyes in case she found herself making a promise she couldn’t keep.

‘If I can,’ she hedged, not willing to commit herself to a deathbed promise even if it would help Susannah’s passing.

‘It should be easy,’ Susannah said, ‘Look after Clay when I’m gone.’ Maggie’s hands fluttered in distress, choking back the tears that threatened to overwhelm her.

‘That’s more than I can do,’ she answered, wanting to give this woman anything she asked for but needing to be true to herself.

‘Nonsense.’ Susannah countered, finding strength from some inner source. ‘If I can do it as an unwanted, evil step-mother, how much easier will it be for you?’

‘He doesn’t want looking after Susannah. You know that. All he wants is his work.’ The older woman’s face crumpled with sadness.

‘I know but that’s because he’s afraid.’

‘Afraid of what?’ Maggie couldn’t keep the disbelief out of her voice,

‘Feeling. Feeling his emotions. He’s never had to deal with them before. He’ll need you Maggie.’ Susannah’s eyes filled with tears and she turned her head away, hiding her pain.

‘I don’t know what to do,’ Maggie whispered and waited, hoping for an answer to come to her from out of the silence of two women, each in their own way grieving for the same man.

‘Go back to him.’ Susannah said dispelling Maggie’s doubts that her mind was muddled with pain killing drugs. She turned her head back to Maggie, her eyes begging Maggie to agree to her request. ‘I showed him the love of a mother and now it’s time you showed him the love of a wife.’

‘I did that five years ago and look what it cost me,’ Maggie gently reminded Susannah. For it was on Susannah’s shoulders that Maggie had wept. It was Susannah who had held her when she cried for her child. Not Clayton, not the baby’s father who to this day did not know of its conception and loss.

‘No. I don’t think either of you knew what love was then but you do now. Maggie, I have no right to ask but please try again. You see,’ she shifted in her bed, a spasm of pain taking her breath away, ‘I know he loves you. Trust me.’

‘Susannah, how can you possibly know that?’ She badly wanted to believe those words, knew she would be a fool to do so.

‘Clayton’s like his father Ralph. Men who feel too much and too deeply. Sometimes the only way they can deal with their emotions is to cocoon themselves against the world. It’s how they survive. Ralph never got over losing Clay’s mother and although I loved him more than I can say I never seemed to have enough love for both of them. In the end I could only save one and I chose Clayton. He’s never spoken of his feelings but he’s never been the same since you left. He appears to be the same old Clayton. Hard working, a different woman every week but…’ she moaned again and Maggie jumped to her feet.

‘I’ll get the nurse.’ But a hand, more like a strong claw held her fast.

‘No, listen to me. The gaiety and humanity that you released in him during your marriage have gone. Every year he is becoming more remote, more uncaring.’ Her eyes, so remarkably like her stepson’s filled with tears, ‘don’t let him become hard. Please save him from himself.’ What could she say, could she tell this dying woman whom she sincerely loved that her beloved stepson could go to hell before she would step in and save him? Should she lie to help ease their parting?

‘I can’t Susannah. Not even for you.’ Tears trickled slowly down Maggie’s cheeks and she had to lean forward to hear the reply.

‘Not for me,’ whispered Susannah through her pain.

‘And not for Clayton either.’ Maggie spoke as gently as she could hoping Susannah would understand.

‘Not for me or Clay, Maggie.’ Susannah paused, ‘but for yourself.’ Maggie swept her tears away with one agitated hand but Susannah hadn’t finished with her yet. ‘Forgive yourself Maggie. Then you’ll be able to forgive others.’ The tears flowed again faster and unchecked and Maggie felt as if a giant hand was squeezing the heart in her chest. Finally she found the words to answer her friend.

‘I’ll try Susannah. That’s all I can say. I hope it is enough.’

‘It will have to be. Now I’m tired. Go and get Clay so I can say goodbye to you both.’ Maggie’s bottom lip trembled as she acknowledged the significance of these words.

She found Clayton pacing around the small sitting room like a caged beast raging against the chains that controlled him. He turned around quickly as she approached taking in her tear-ravaged face.

‘Susannah wants to say goodbye.’ Her voice dropped on the final word and another large tear spilled over her lid and ran slowly over her cheek. Clayton came and stood before her and gently brushed the tear away with his thumb. Maggie sucked in a deep shuddering breath knowing how close she was to falling apart and into his arms. She smiled her thanks but moved away from his body and wordlessly they returned to the bedside. Maggie half hoped and half expected that Susannah would be asleep but she was sitting there, waiting, two small boxes resting on her lap.

‘Why so glum?’ she chided. ‘I do not want your moping faces to be the last image of you both. So smile. Look, see. I have some gifts for you.’ She gave each a box and Maggie was dismayed to find hers contained an antique brooch.

‘That’s a dearest brooch,’ Susannah explained, finding a hidden reserve of strength from somewhere. ‘It belonged to my grandmother. Starting at the diamond and taking the first letter of each stone it will spell the word dearest. Look, diamond, emerald, amethyst, ruby, emerald, sapphire and tourmaline. It’s Victorian mawkish sentimentality but…’

‘I really couldn’t…’ Maggie started but stopped as Susannah held up a hand.

‘It’s not for you,’ Susannah said and Maggie flushed with confusion, embarrassed by her faux pas. ‘It’s for whichever one of your daughters would like it.’ And now Maggie was grateful for her red cheeks or else she would be blushing for an entirely different reason. As it was she struggled to look Susannah in the eyes. ‘And the other box contains my father’s gold cufflinks. They were a christening present to him from his grandparents. I doubt any of these will ever be back in fashion but they might want them as a novelty.’

Clayton reached out and took Susannah’s hand, ‘We’ll keep them in trust until the right time.’ And the tone of his voice made those words a promise not a statement. As he leant forward to kiss her forehead she seemed to shrink into the pillows as if she had saved her remaining strength for this final task. Susannah groped for Maggie’s hand and put it on top of Clayton’s and beneath her own.

‘And now my dears, you must go for you are keeping me from my rest.’

‘We’ll stay,’ whispered Maggie.

‘No,’ responded Susannah. ‘It will be easier for me to leave if you are not sitting with me willing me to stay. I wish to be alone now with my thoughts and memories.’ She chuckled, ‘perhaps say a few prayers if I can remember any. So please…. do not waste time grieving. I’ve had a good life but now my dears, it is time to part.’ And she closed her eyes as if putting a full stop to the sentence.

Maggie looked to Clayton for guidance. His handsome face was a mask denying her knowledge of the emotions that lay beneath.

‘Give me a few moments,’ he asked of Maggie who nodded and kissed Susannah for the last time before going into the dimly lit corridor. Clayton joined her several minutes later.

‘Can you face the drive home or do you want to book into a hotel?’ He asked as led her away.

‘You need to stay nearby in case they call.’

‘No I don’t. I’ve been told not to come back again. We nearly had an argument as our final conversation. Susannah said she doesn’t want to see my ugly face again. So I’ll get you home.’

‘But you must be worn out and will have to drive back to London after dropping me home. A hotel is the most sensible option but I didn’t think to pack an overnight bag.’ In fact she hadn’t thought at all except that Clayton needed her so she had dropped everything and come running. For a noble cause yes, but as before any needs of her own she had totally negated. As she would now, for she desperately needed to be in her own home, surrounded by the objects that gave her comfort and strength but she would arrive luggage-less at an impersonal hotel because that was what was best for Clayton. Her top teeth worried at her bottom lip as she considered the state of her bank balance. Clayton did not do cheap and Maggie had too much pride to allow him to pay for her. If necessary she would have to use what was left of her scant savings to cover the costs.

‘Then it’s back to your place we’ll go’ Maggie opened her mouth to protest but Clayton cut across any argument. ‘I won’t be getting any sleep tonight so I might as well be driving. It’s almost relaxing.’ He held the car door for her and she threw one shrewd glance at his ravaged face. Driving, especially in these dangerous conditions would take concentration. Concentration meant he would not think. He wasn’t taking her home because that was what she wanted, it was to stop him thinking about the pain and sorrow he was feeling. He hadn’t changed, she realised. A man like Clayton Williams would put himself first while at the same time denying any feelings. She had been a fool to hope for anything else.

Maggie let out a sigh of relief as Clayton pulled the car to a halt outside her small terrace house. Only now as she relaxed her shoulders and uncurled her tight fists did she notice just how tense she was. During the slow drive home on a black, moonless night Maggie had sat upright and alert, never taking her eyes off the road for one minute. As the fall of snow worsened she peered through the windscreen watching intently, part of her braced for the impact that never came. Their parting from Susannah had left her cold, numb and lifeless except for that part of her that hummed with the absolute, total awareness of the man beside her. She fixed a tired smile on her face and turned to him, wondering at his strength to keep going when lesser men would have thrown in the towel.

‘Well, thank you for bringing me home and I really am…’ her voice cracked and faded to a whisper, ‘about Susannah.’ His voice equally husky with emotion answered her,

‘I’ll see you inside.’ Clayton reached to open his door but Maggie laid a hand on his arm. Even with several layers of fabric between them she imagined she felt him tremble.

‘No, it’s alright,’ Maggie murmured, ‘but thank you.’

‘To the door and no further. I won’t stay to contaminate your personal space.’ She swung her head away, to watch the snowflakes swirl gracefully in the light of the street lamp.

‘That’s not what I meant,’ she said softly. ‘It’s more sensible for you to stay here in the warmth of the car. There’s no need for you to get cold.’ He answered her by opening his door and walking around the car to open hers.

‘Careful,’ he warned. ‘It’s more slippery than it looks.’ He offered her his hand and after a moment’s hesitation she slid her small one into his larger one. His were warm while hers were icy cold. His strong arms steadied and guided her preventing her from falling flat on her back where slush and ground had frozen into hard puddles of ice.

By the time they reached her front door and opened it the falling snow had worsened and Maggie could only vaguely make out the shape of the car in the darkness and snow. She turned on the hall light, illuminating the long, narrow hall that reached into the darkness of the house.

‘You can’t drive back in this,’ Maggie blurted out, ‘it’s too dangerous.’ She stopped and chewed her bottom lip, wondering what to do. Knowing what would be the right, kind and generous thing to say. ‘Look, don’t get the wrong idea but…’ she looked over his shoulder into the night, seeing what they’d shared in the past coming out of this storm to merge with what they had in the present-nothing. She’d be safe.

‘Stay the night.’ Maggie saw the flame in his eyes and rushed on, ‘the roads, the weather. It would be foolish to drive back to London now.’

‘You’ll allow me over your hallowed threshold.’ Clayton raised his eyebrows in inquiry and something like amusement.

Would she? Should she? Could she? Surely with all the animosity that lay between them and the shadow of Susannah’s final hours sex would be the last thing on their minds? They should be too numb with grief to succumb to the sexual attraction that hummed between them like high-tension electric cables. Or would they celebrate being alive with the most basic and carnal act known. She shivered and at the same time a flush of heat and desire coursed through her making her legs go weak and she swayed.

‘Maggie, are you all right?’ Clayton took a step towards her as she clutched the doorjamb.

‘Yes, a little tired maybe and I don’t know when I last ate.’ She steeled herself to look at him. ‘When did you last eat?’ The hunger she saw in his eyes both scared and thrilled her.

‘I last ate a long time ago.’ Maggie saw him swallow, mesmerised by the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple. ‘I think it would be better if I didn’t come in.’

‘No,’ she replied, ‘I think we can both be civilised enough not to keep harping back to the past. We’d better go in before you become covered in snow.’ And really become the cold, ice man that you are she finished mentally. ‘If you wouldn’t mind taking off your shoes.’ She preceded him into her home, throwing on light switches to chase away the dark. ‘And please be careful where you step.’ She requested, drawing his attention to the length of material running down the hallway.

‘Is this the welcome mat,’ he asked, his tone almost teasing and for that moment his face lost the strain and anxiety of the past hours and he was the Clayton she had first met. Carefree, confident and dangerously attractive, ‘because it’s very long and extremely ornate.’ She laughed with him grasping at this moment of normality,

‘No, it’s material for a job, and its cost is crushingly exorbitant. I was planning to cut it into drops this afternoon but lost my nerve and did other work instead. But I’ll be fine once I make the first cut.’ By now they had reached her small living, dining area, off which was a tiny kitchen. The cold air pinched her nose and cheeks and she hurried to turn up the heater and check the heavy curtains were pulled tight against malicious draughts.

‘I’m sorry; the place will take a while to get warmed up. Oh, let me.’ She hurried forward to stop him taking a pile of material off a chair and offered him the seat.

Now that he was here before her, in her small house that was once a workers cottage, dwarfing her and her small rooms she suddenly regretted her decision at offering him the bed for the night. After all Clayton must have stayed in hundreds, if not thousands of hotels in his life. One more tonight wouldn’t make any difference. Maybe it hadn’t been him she’d been concerned about at all. Maybe it was her. She was too much of a coward to be alone.

Maggie watched him looking around, taking in the mess, which to her was organised chaos but another would see as something else. Slovenly untidiness and she despised herself as she hurried to explain, the words tumbling out of her mouth.

‘I was working when you called. Usually I use my spare room but I needed the hall length to do the cutting.’ And this is the only area of the house that was heated. Heating cost money and money was something she never seemed to have enough of but she wasn’t going to tell Clayton that.

Her stomach gave a low rumble, breaking the silence that hung between them. If only he would stop looking at her, if only he would take off his coat, sit down in the chair and close his eyes, freeing her from his watchful gaze. She took off her padded jacket, slipping it on a coat hanger and reached up to hook it on the wooden rack that hung overhead in the kitchen. A drying rack that already held her morning’s washing, jeans, tops and items more intimate. A silk camisole, lacy bras with matching panties and one non-existent thong.

Why was it that everywhere she rested her eyes items reminded her of sex. No other man had ever had this effect on her, making her feel wanton and ridiculously shy at the same time. Instilling her with a desire to rip off her clothes while running to the nearest convent. She was stupid to be embarrassed by her mundane load of washing. Clayton in his amorous life had seen underwear like this before, chosen and bought plenty so he could have the fun of taking them off. Nevertheless she spoke to her laundry rather than face him until her cheeks had lost their rosy tinge.

‘May I take your coat or would you like to keep it on until the room warms up a bit?’

‘I’ll take it off. I feel like I’ve worn it for a lifetime.’ Maggie turned and took the proffered coat, a heavy garment that was warm from his body and smelt of wet wool and a musky, heady masculine scent that Maggie had missed and yearned for in her dreams and much of her waking moments.

Clayton could have hung up his coat himself but when Maggie had hung up her own coat he had been riveted by the sight of her slim body stretching and reaching over head so that she arched back a little, extending her neck and accentuating the curves of her breast. He couldn’t give up the chance to see her like that again and felt the familiar stirrings in his groin, chiding himself for a lustful fool. Before and after their marriage he’d been with women more beautiful, witty and intelligent than the one struggling with the weight of his coat, standing on tip toes to catch the wooden bar and too stubbourn to ask for help, but none had ever effected him like the freckled skin, green eyed titian before him.

As Maggie strained to reach a little higher the hanger was taken out of her hands and long arms either side of her effortlessly hung up the coat. She felt the heat radiating from his body and her heart accelerated, pounding the blood through her ears. She had only to turn around and she knew she would be in his arms and within minutes there would be nothing between their naked bodies, nothing but angry, bitter words and hurts unspoken. She could hear someone breathing, not heavily but more rapidly than normal and didn’t know if it was him or her but the rumble of hunger was definitely hers and Maggie drew a sigh of relief as Clayton took a step away from her.

‘You need feeding. Do you have anything in the pantry?’

‘Better,’ she trilled, pretending to herself that she had imagined the hardening of her nipples in her bra and the warm flush that had swept through her at their closeness.

‘Soup and bread, both home made this morning. They won’t take a moment to heat up. I’ll get them started and then make this room presentable.’

‘How can I help?’ Clayton asked with a smile that took her breath away.

‘By sitting down and keeping out of the way.’ She responded more sharply than she meant and immediately the smile was wiped from his face. ‘Sorry, I’m sorry,’ she stumbled with her apology, wanting him to understand there was nothing personal in her words. ‘It’s not you. Nobody and I mean nobody touches any of my curtain making equipment. Everything is so expensive and I can’t risk any marks on the fabric or damage to the braiding.’

‘I don’t see a sewing machine.’ Clayton remarked looking at the already finished curtain, yards in length, lying on the back of the sofa.

‘That’s because I don’t use one. Everyone is custom made, designed by me and made by hand.’ She held her hands up, ‘these hands.’ Her voice resonated with pride at her achievements.

‘These are no ordinary curtains though,’ Clayton remarked. ‘They’re far too big for a normal house.’ His eyes never missed a trick, Maggie thought and always his quick brain was trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

‘No, I make curtains for old houses whose owners are restoring or replacing their furnishings. I make them in the traditional manner, which was by hand. These are for Renshaw Castle on the Scottish border. My last job was a manor house in the Weald. I get to see and stay at some beautiful old homes.’

Her pale face lit up as she talked about her work. Work for which she had redirected all the passion she once had for him. Maggie covered the curtains with a protective dustsheet as lovingly as a mother tucking in a child at night. After all, these were her creations.

A sharp pain stabbed her heart as she remembered another creation that she should even now be tucking up in bed. One that would be tired from a busy day at school and play. She pushed away the thought, chiding herself for allowing it to upset her. Often, a day or two might go by without her thinking about her lost baby, so what had conjured it up now, at this time? The spectre of death again or the fact that the baby’s father was sitting before her, his face puzzled as he tried to work out the change in her mood and what had caused the sudden spasm of pain to cross her delicate features.

Clayton sat in enforced idleness in this doll’s house while Maggie gathered up the tools of her trade. All around her small home were touches of whimsy juxtaposed with the practical. An old armament casing decorated with folk art had new life as an umbrella stand. A matching pair of ornaments was being used to hold together a row of books. A watercolour of the ocean in a frame mosaiced with shells gave Maggie a view of the sea that she loved. The waves, the tides, the pull of the currents. Now between them there were so many undercurrents running that he felt like a man in unknown waters, not knowing where it was safe to tread. Of one thing he was certain, Maggie was his life raft for tonight.

The kitchen timer pinged and Maggie sprang into life, all shadows wiped away before the practical task of providing them with food.

‘I wish you’d give me something to do,’ he said lying back in the chair and stretching out his long legs towards the heater.

‘You could light the fire if you wish. It doesn’t give off much heat and is messy but the flames give the illusion of heat and adds atmosphere. Sometimes I just sit in the dark and watch them dancing until bed.’ She turned back to ladling out the soup, embarrassed by her words.

Heavens, why did she say that? Allowing him an intimate glimpse of her lonely evenings and finishing with the b-word, which resonated between them. The heat of her blush moved up her neck to her cheeks for it wasn’t only the word bed that reminded her of their satisfaction in each other. Many words had the same effect, floor, table, wall, chair, sauna, desk. It seemed that no flat surface had been spared in their quest to enjoy each other.

They ate their meal in silence, for Maggie was too tired to think or enter into conversation. Her mind a numb fog of weariness and grief. Clayton, too, seemed to find eating a burdensome task. All fear of being alone with him vanished for Maggie knew the moment she closed her eyes she would fall asleep and no man, not even Clayton Williams would be able to ignite sparks of passion from her wilting body.

‘Would you like a hot drink?’ She offered politely, hoping he’d refuse so she could get to bed sooner. ‘Some hot chocolate perhaps?’

‘No, but thanks anyway.’ He smiled and Maggie drew a sharp breath, knowing that from now on, whenever she looked at the seat opposite her she would still see him and his smile. Some women had a weakness for tight buttocks, others deep brown eyes. Maggie’s weakness was the smile and Clayton’s should have been banned as a dangerous weapon. As she stared at him his smile turned to quizzical and she forced herself to do a reality check. Ex-husband, broken heart, dying friend. If that didn’t bring her back to earth nothing would. She jumped to her feet.

‘I’ll make up the spare bed.’

‘I’ll help you.’ he said, already moving out of the chair.

‘No.’ she said too loudly, too forcefully. ‘No thank you, but it would be marvellous if you could clear the table and stack the dishes and plates.’ Without giving him time to answer she raced up the narrow stairs to the small second bedroom.

Working quickly in case he decided to join her she grabbed two sheets from the airing cupboard. At least his bed would be warm, unlike hers for there wasn’t any time to warm her bed with hot water bottles. She scorned electric blankets for in the dead of the night you couldn’t hold that pressed to your body and pretend the warmth it emitted was the heat of another body. But if there was one night that she’d need the comfort of a hot water bottle it was tonight so she filled them quickly and generously put one in Clayton’s bed.

When she rejoined him she discovered she wasn’t the only one who had worked swiftly. The table was cleaned and bare, the dishes in the dishwasher and Clayton was flopped in the large armchair by the open fire his head leaning against the chair wing and his eyes closed while the firelight danced over his still features. Maggie could tell by his slow, deep breathing that he’d given into his exhaustion and was asleep.

Maggie studied him sleep, mentally railing at the unfairness of it all. Awake, the man was a vibrant force of energy and sexual vitality. Nearly irresistible. Asleep in her chair, in her home looking just as handsome but vulnerable, Maggie felt the walls of protection she had built over her lonely years split wide open. Hot tears stung her eyes and she blinked them back, swallowing the hard lump of emotion in her throat. She couldn’t bring herself to wake him so she returned upstairs to get the quilt off the spare bed and laid it gently over him, resisting the impulse to touch his cheek with her hand or her lips.

Kneeling, she banked the fire and stilled at the touch of his foot against hers. Was he playing footsy with her? Slowly she turned to be confronted not by eyes twinkling with mischief but with a sleeping man who had merely stretched his legs. How on edge she must be to mistake a simple act to get more comfortable for a sexual overture.

She dimmed the lights, leaving them on to help Clayton quickly get his bearings if he woke suddenly and wondered where he was. She stood by the arm of the chair looking down at the man who had made her life an emotional wreck. Had he ever understood what he’d done? Did he know or care what he’d put her through?

‘Goodnight Clayton,’ she whispered softly and a little wistfully. His hand moved out from under the covers and lightly clasped her wrist, his eyes still closed.

‘Don’t go,’ he said and his other arm held the quilt open inviting her into his warm, comfortable world.

Maggie thought of her bed upstairs with its hot water bottle and knew that its ability to provide comfort paled into insignificance against what she was being offered now. And it wasn’t a night of unbridled passion. Maggie wasn’t entirely sure he was properly awake, but he was offering something he’d never offered before, physical closeness without sex. And possibly recognition that she needed support. For Maggie, starved of physical contact, the desire to be held overcame her common sense.

She sat on his lap carefully as he shifted in the seat making room for her then she was enveloped in a warm, soft quilt and held in strong arms. She snuggled against his chest and curled herself into a ball, keeping her hands tight to her centre for fear they might assert some independence and do something treacherous, like encircle Clayton and hold him close.

His breathing told her he was asleep again so she allowed herself the luxury of relaxing into his arms. Sitting there remembering the scent of him and hearing the beat of his heart beneath his gently rising and falling chest Maggie stifled a sob. This is what she had wanted from her marriage. Not wealth beyond her imagination or the false fame that went with the wealth. And not a husband that flew into her life to parade her in front of the world at some glitzy function before easing himself on her body and then flying off to another business deal or takeover. All she had ever dreamed about since her family life came to an abrupt end was having the man she loved, her man in their own home sharing the ups and downs of life. Laughing and crying together. Arguing or agreeing. Each doing their share in the giving and taking of their relationship. She wouldn’t cry, not yet. Later, tomorrow she would indulge in a healthy bout of crying, but alone where nobody would hear the pain of her loss. Her eyes stung with unshed tears and she was too tired, too goddamned tired to fight them.

Large tears streamed down her cheeks unbidden and unchecked from eyes that stared blindly into the dark, all thought of sleep having fled. She let them flow for wiping her eyes might disturb Clayton and if she tried to stifle them the stream may turn into a torrent and she would become a sobbing mess.

His hand fumbled for and found her face, his thumb wiped the tears off her cheek while his other arm tightened around her, pulling her closed. She felt the breath on the top of her head as he kissed it softly.

‘Ssh, it’s okay,’ he murmured, ‘it’s okay.’ But instead of her tears easing they flowed faster and she felt she was tricking him for she was still grieving for what they had lost and only a part of her tears were for Susannah.

He held and stroked her hair, while the fire died in the grate and the room’s only light was from the embers and dimmed globe. Maggie’s cheek lay against Clayton’s shirt wet with her tears and one of his hands held hers.

‘I think we’d be more comfortable upstairs,’ he murmured into her hair and felt the tension return to her body. ‘In separate beds.’ He added. She went to stand up but he held her still. ‘I’ll carry you to bed.’ She gave a watery chuckle,

‘Not up these stairs you won’t. They’re too narrow.’ He stood up, still holding her in his arms and somehow managed to keep the quilt around her.

‘A challenge. Now you know I can never resist a challenge.’

‘Be careful then. People have been known to get wedged on narrow stairs like these.’

‘Like Winnie the Pooh down the rabbit hole,’ he said and she was surprised and touched that he’d remembered her affection for the little bear.

‘Yes, they’re a constant reminder to me every time I reach for another chocolate biscuit.’ Maggie admitted. Clayton edged up the stairs causing Maggie to be rocked alarmingly in his arms and she had to restrain herself from throwing her arms around his neck. He placed her on her double bed. A queen or king sized bed was out of the question as worker’s houses were not designed for oversized beds. She glanced up at him standing over her, trying to read the thoughts going through his head because she certainly didn’t want to hear the thoughts that were going through hers. A voice that was encouraging her to seize this moment. Take him. Use him and then tomorrow move on and forget him.

His hand touched her lightly on the cheek,

‘Goodnight Maggie.’

‘Goodnight Clayton,’ she said softly. ‘Oh, your quilt.’ As she untangled her self from the bedding, the tension in the room was shattered by the ring tones of his mobile phone. It may be one o’clock in the morning but somewhere in the world the day was beginning and someone wanted to talk to Clayton Williams. Maggie realised she had been in his company for hours and this was the first call he’d had. How different from their time together when often he would take three, four calls an hour, day and night wherever, whatever they had been doing.

Maggie knew by the drooping of his shoulders and the terseness of his answers that this was not a business call and that Susannah had been released from the pain that had been her constant companion these last weeks. As she listened to him talking, her senses seemed to be super sensitised and she noticed things she might not have otherwise noticed. The chill of the bedroom’s air, the reflection of light off a few silver hairs at his temples or the fact that when he finished the call he switched off his phone.

They looked at each other across the bed, both knowing what he was struggling to say. Maggie went to him, her arms wide and open, offering to give back the comfort and support she had so recently drawn from him. They held each other tight and close until he was the first to pull away. She murmured in protest,

‘Stay.’

‘I don’t think that would be a good idea,’ he said still holding her close.

‘I don’t want to be alone Clayton,’ Maggie admitted, ‘Not tonight.’

‘Maggie, do you know what you’re saying?’ His voice deep with need caused a hot flush of desire to run through Maggie.

‘Yes I know.’ And she reached up her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth softly down on hers. His kiss was slow and sweet and with a gentleness that made Maggie want to weep.

The hot water bottles were ejected onto the floor and the room plunged into darkness when Maggie turned off the light. Fully dressed they got under the covers and rediscovered each other by touch alone.

His hands touched and traced her body as he relearned and remembered each part of her. Her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, as inept as a teenage virgin on her first time. Their legs became tangled in trouser legs and bedding as they eased each other out of their clothes. And all the time their lips remained touching as they kissed.

Maggie sighed as Clayton unclipped her bra, cupping her straining breasts with exquisite gentleness. Never had their lovemaking been so slow, so tender as if tonight they honoured each other and life itself. Maggie wanted the night to last a lifetime but something was growing in her. Something that once released would not have the patience with Clayton’s hands as they slowly worked their way down her body to the tops of her thighs.

Like the glow in the downstairs fireplace, the embers of Maggie’s passion for Clayton had only needed a gentle breeze to stir them into life again. The taste of his skin and the touch of his hands had provided the tinder but the feel of his erection against her thigh and his fingers working the moist center of her desire caused the sparks to flame and the flames to rage through her body, engulfing her in a passion and need she had never before experienced.

No longer were the kisses satisfying. She wanted more, demanded more as she wriggled under Clayton and opened herself to him. His tongue plunged into her mouth at the same time she received him into her body. He too was caught up in the inferno and they met each other thrust for thrust, kiss for kiss, sigh for sigh.

He took her to the edge, then let her go as she soared on the flight of release. She heard her own voice call his name. Pleading, sobbing, grateful. Then she heard her name called as he shuddered into her, hanging over her for a moment before collapsing at her side.

Maggie waited for her breathing to settle and her heart to steady before turning to him but she knew from the tone of his breath that he had already withdrawn from her and was embracing sleep.