Jack Meets Lila and Rachel
Jack
Three months later . . .
JACK SAW MOVEMENT OUT OF the corner of his eye.
He turned his head to see his assistant, Olive, and her short, squat body. She was wearing a heavy tweed skirt even though it was the middle of a very warm summer. One tail of her blouse had come untucked. And her short, naturally gray but dyed peach (for some reason unknown to him) hair was spiked as if she’d been running her hands through it with severe agitation.
Olive Mayfair could singlehandedly plan a successful war with multiple fronts but she wouldn’t be able to do it without displaying a great deal of tremendously disorganized, blatantly obvious stress.
She stood at the windows to the conference room where Jack was sitting in a meeting and she was gesticulating wildly, like she was guiding a plane in to land and didn’t quite know what signals to make so she was making it up as she went along.
Her eyes were wild.
With one look at her Jack knew either the world was coming to an end or there was a toilet backed up in the branch of his bank located in Iowa City, Iowa.
He looked back at the conference table at which he was sitting at the head.
The ten people in the room with him were all watching Olive.
“Excuse me,” Jack muttered, put his hands to the arms of his chair and pushed up. He grabbed his Mont Blanc pen, a present his father gave him when he graduated from Oxford, and his wildly expensive phone that could, if he’d take the time to program it, likely call Mars, a present from Yasmin.
He pushed through the door, Olive lunged forward immediately, grabbed his arm and dragged him away from the windows.
She tugged him to a stop, looked up at him and, with a grave expression on her face, declared, “We have a problem.”
“You don’t say,” Jack muttered dryly.
“This is Code One!” she announced on a whispered screech.
Jack crossed his arms on his chest and regarded her silently.
“Lila Cavendish and her daughter, Rachel Abbot, are here,” she told him.
Jack felt her words like a sharp, strong jab direct to the gut.
“Excuse me?” Jack asked, hoping he hadn’t heard what he thought he’d heard.
“Lila Cavendish and Rachel Abbot, grandmother and mother to Belle Abbot, are here. In your office. Right now.”
Jack’s eyes narrowed as his temper flared.
Why Belle’s mother and grandmother would be in his offices in London, he could not fathom.
He also didn’t care.
“Get rid of them,” he demanded and Olive threw her hands out at the sides.
“I knew you’d say that and I tried. They won’t go.”
This surprised him. “They won’t go?”
“No. I didn’t even let them into your office. They marched right in. Lila actually made herself a cappuccino with your espresso maker.” She paused. “And your milk! Straight from your fridge!” She said this last like it was a crime punishable by death.
“Why are they here?” Jack asked.
“I don’t know. They won’t tell me. They’re demanding to speak to you,” Olive replied.
“Tell them I’m in a meeting and they’ll need to make an appointment,” Jack said.
“I did that already. They don’t care. They said they’d wait ‘until the cows come home,’ whatever that means. We don’t have cows in London,” Olive noted unnecessarily.
Jack made a decision and turned toward his office. “I’ll take care of them. Go back to the meeting. Tell them I’ll be five minutes.”
He watched Olive nod and walked to his office trying, not entirely successfully, to control his anger.
The debacle with Belle at The Point had made the papers. How, Jack didn’t know. But considering the number of people who saw Miles prominently displaying Belle on his arm at the party then the next morning all the shouting, and finally they watched Belle fleeing the castle, it could be anyone.
Including Miles, a maneuver, which if his brother arranged it, backfired.
For an entire month, the media was in fits of glee. They picked every possibility of the Bennett brothers’ love triangle with an adopted national treasure apart, and Jack had to admit they did a splendid job of it.
The Bennett brothers’ rivalry wasn’t a secret and many people who only remotely knew Jack or Miles were more than happy to discuss it.
Jack and Miles had been depicted as lascivious libertines, targeting a media darling as the spoils of a heinous contest, playing with her affections and using her body for their immoral pleasure.
Belle had been depicted as a fragile, not entirely clever, lamb at the slaughter who fell headlong in love with Miles then Jack or both of them at the same time, depending on the story.
At first, it had been a feeding frenzy, all three of them caught in it. No matter where they went, there were cameras, microphones and prying, insulting questions hurled in their direction.
Jack, Belle and Miles had all kept silent. Jack, because if he let himself react, he’d likely do bodily harm. Belle, because she never spoke to the press. Miles, because he’d drawn the short straw. The press, latching on to his loss in the “competition” for Belle, rubbed his face in it constantly, something he detested.
Miles had finally lost his patience and disappeared, not telling anyone, not even Joy, where he’d gone.
Belle, Jack noted with vague concern he would not allow to form fully, seemed to get paler and thinner by the day, and she too eventually disappeared, which was a mistake as that led to a week of the media speculating that she was with Miles.
Jack didn’t change his behavior in any way.
Miles had returned six weeks ago when the story was well and truly dead.
Belle, Jack noted distantly (but the press noted it far more assertively), emerged two weeks ago looking paler, thinner and far more fragile.
Jack would not allow himself to care.
Whatever romantic idiocy that had him in its clutches and led him to behave like a besotted fool at her merest smile, her softest giggle, the depth he’d convinced himself was in her eyes, was gone.
Completely.
Time, distance, absence and Belle herself had swept it away.
If his mind turned to his behavior that night or her unshakable belief that he would abuse her so monstrously, especially after what he thought they’d shared, or her refusal to allow him to explain, or the memory of her walking away from him without even glancing back, the fury would begin.
But he’d learned to control it like everything else in his life.
And he did control it. To the point where he barely thought of her anymore unless she was thrust into his consciousness.
Like now.
He arrived at his outer office, his gaze slicing to his secretary, Gillie, who stared at him wide eyed and opened her mouth to speak.
Jack cut her off before she could utter a word. “Don’t. It’s not your fault.”
“Do you want me to call security?” Gillie asked as Jack strode to the door of his office.
“No. This is not going to make the papers. Leave it,” Jack ordered and pushed open the door.
Two women were in his office. One he could imagine was Belle’s mother. The other looked more like her older sister.
The elder woman was dressed all in dove gray, a flowing, light, ankle-length skirt, silk woven tunic and stylish flats. Her hair was a shining mixture of both blonde and white, as if the white that would declare her age to the world was trying to win but the blonde of her youth refused to let go.
She had very unhappy, stormy gray eyes.
The other one was also blonde, with Belle’s thick, long hair untethered and falling in a wild mass of waves down her back. She also had gray eyes, which, turned to him, weren’t stormy but surprised and a little curious. She was wearing jeans, cowboy boots, so much silver at her fingers, wrists, neck and all along the curves of her ears it was a minor miracle she could hold herself upright and a purple T-shirt that asked, bizarrely Mummy, where’s Fluffy? across the chest in glittery, green script.
Jack closed the door behind him, put his shoulders to it, crossed his arms on his chest and regarded both women.
“You’ve got five minutes,” he announced.
Lila, who he assumed was the older one unless Belle did have a sister, which could well be as Jack knew her about as far as he could throw her, said with grave affront, “Well, that’s a fine how-do-you-do.”
“Mom . . .” the younger one mumbled softly, her voice, Jack noted even on that one word, was the same as Belle’s, sweet and musical.
At the sound of it, Jack clenched his teeth.
“Ladies, I’m busy,” he told them. “You’re losing time.”
Lila’s back straightened, her eyes shot daggers at him and she opened her mouth to speak but Rachel got there before her.
“We agreed I’d do the talking,” Rachel said to Lila.
Lila turned her murderous glare to her daughter and announced, “I’ve changed my mind.”
“Mom, seriously, let me do the talking.”
“No, I’ve got a few things to say to this . . . this . . .” Lila stuttered but was so caught up in anger she couldn’t find an appropriate word.
“Say them,” Jack clipped his invitation. “Then go. I have things to do.”
“All right then . . .” Lila started, leaning forward, clearly ready to let loose a stream of invective, but it was what Rachel said at the same time that caused Jack’s body to go rock solid.
“Belle’s pregnant.”
Jack stood motionless at the door, his mind completely blank as the two women ignored his stunned reaction and bickered in front of him.
“I can’t believe you just blurted it out like that!” Lila snapped.
“Well, it’s not news you can easily cushion,” Rachel returned.
“He doesn’t deserve cushioning but you didn’t have to just . . . blurt it out,” Lila fired back.
Rachel put her hands to her hips. “How would you have done it?”
Lila put her hands to her hips as well. “I don’t know but I wouldn’t have blurted it out.”
“You’re just mad you didn’t get to tell him and be all,” she raised her be-ringed hands to either side of her head and shook them, “drama.”
Before Lila could respond, Jack’s voice hit the room and they both jumped when he said, “Excuse me.”
They turned to him and stared as if they were surprised he was even there.
Yes, he thought, they were both very like Belle.
“Let’s go back to Belle being pregnant,” Jack suggested in a deceptively soft voice.
His mind, unusually slow, still not wrapped around this fact, however, he did recognize one of the feelings he was feeling.
It was anger.
“Well, she’s pregnant. That’s it. That’s what we came to say,” Rachel told him as if she did this every day, forced her way into men’s offices and informed them the one night stand they’d had months ago was pregnant.
“And you’re saying you think it’s mine,” Jack stated, and the air in the room changed drastically.
It was not friendly before, but after he uttered his words, words he knew were unnecessary, words he also knew were a serious insult, the air became sluggish and suffocating.
Rachel, the more pleasant one, lost all vestiges of pleasant. Her eyes narrowed and her cheeks went pink.
As becoming as this was (the same as when her daughter blushed), Jack’s gaze moved to Lila and he saw she stood straight and still, hands clenched into fists at her sides, the daggers in her eyes had turned to deadly spears.
“We shouldn’t have come here,” Rachel muttered furiously. “Belle told us but did we listen? No, we did . . . not . . . listen. Do we ever listen to Belle? No, we never . . . listen . . . to Belle. Do we always get in trouble? Yes! We do!”
Jack, instinctively knowing Lila was the more worthy opponent, didn’t take his eyes from her as Rachel ranted. Therefore he saw immediately when her expression cleared, the anger cooled and she looked at her daughter.
“This is good,” Lila told Rachel.
“How is this good?” Rachel returned sharply.
“Belle didn’t want him to have anything to do with the baby. He doesn’t think it’s his. Belle gets what she wants.” Lila clapped her hands together like she was wiping away dust and declared, “Fin.”
Jack watched Lila walk to his couch and pick up a sleek, expensive purse.
Then her gaze went to the painting over the couch. A painting that had been moved from his old office to this office three years ago upon his father’s death. A painting Jack had owned for twelve years. It was the first painting Jack had ever invested that kind of significant money in. His own money. Money that he’d earned.
Her painting.
“You know, Belle told me you owned one of my pieces and I gotta say, it goads me you have it but I’ll let it be,” she said to the painting and then looked at him, eyes unfriendly, face unhappy. “We walk out of this room, you cease to exist. And good riddance,” she finished as her daughter walked up beside her and grabbed a square, battered, woven, tan leather handbag with a long strap from the couch.
They both walked toward him but he didn’t move.
When they were forced to stop in front of him, he still didn’t move.
“We’re leaving now,” Lila announced.
“I’ll want to speak to Belle,” Jack returned and he watched with some surprise as both women grew pale.
Therefore he knew without asking that not only had Belle told them not to come there, she didn’t know they were there.
Lila rallied first. “That’s not going to happen.”
“She’s carrying my child. I’ll want to speak to her,” Jack retorted.
“Well, since we don’t know if it’s your child, that’s unnecessary,” Lila shot back.
“It’s mine,” Jack said with soft meaning and watched the women exchange nervous glances.
“We thought,” Rachel started, but when Jack’s eyes cut to her, she stopped. He watched her swallow then she pressed on, “We thought it was only fair you knew. Belle doesn’t want anything, not your money or anything. She didn’t even want you to know she was carrying your child. But she’s keeping it and it’s yours too and we thought it was only fair,” she finished, but when Jack didn’t speak she continued. “Please don’t make us regret this gesture.”
Belle, Jack noted, was very like her mother.
This did not make him waver mainly because Belle was pregnant with his child and fully intended to keep it from him.
And that was not going to happen.
“I’ll want to speak to her,” he repeated.
“Damn it, man!” Lila burst out.
“Either you arrange it or my solicitors will,” Jack warned. “And I don’t think you want solicitors involved.”
Lila made an angry noise but it was again Rachel who captured Jack’s attention.
“Why?” Rachel asked softly, her voice trembling with an emotion he couldn’t quite read. Hurt or anger, he wasn’t sure. “She doesn’t want to see you. Why put her through this?”
“It’s my child,” was all Jack said to explain, which he thought was quite enough.
“I beg to differ. It’s Belle’s child too, not just yours,” Lila snapped.
“Then Belle and I, as the child’s mother and father, will speak like civilized people about what will happen during its gestation, birth and continued existence.”
“Oh lordy,” Rachel muttered.
“It’s gestation?” Lila breathed in a furious whisper.
“I’ll choose the obstetrician, the best, who will see to Belle’s care while the baby’s developing. I’ll choose the hospital, the best, so I can be assured of a successful outcome during delivery. And Belle and I’ll discuss what arrangements will be made after its birth.”
“Belle’s already got an obstetrician,” Rachel noted.
Jack’s eyes cut to Rachel. “Unless he’s the best, Belle will have another one.”
“She is lovely and Belle likes her,” Lila informed him.
Jack moved from the door and walked to his desk while saying, “This isn’t something we’re discussing. It’s something I’ll discuss with Belle.” He paused, put his phone and pen on the desk and turned, leaning a thigh against the side, his hand on the top. “Or my solicitors will discuss it with hers.”
“I knew by the way you and your brother behaved you were a bastard but nobody is this much of a bastard,” Lila snapped then clamped her mouth shut when Jack’s lethal gaze sliced to her.
“This conversation is over,” Jack announced.
“Please don’t do this,” Rachel begged and Lila shot her a furious look but Rachel ignored it. “Belle’s under enough stress as it is.”
“Then I suggest you encourage her to speak with me,” Jack replied instantly regardless of the fact that he felt more than a vague sense of disquiet at Rachel’s earnest words. “Tell her Saturday afternoon, three o’clock at The Point.”
“If she decides to come, and that’s a big ‘if,’” Lila proclaimed, “then we’ll be with her.”
Jack extended his head and murmured, “By all means.”
Rachel and Lila glanced at each other before Lila declared, “I do not have a good feeling about this and usually my feelings are spot on.”
Jack didn’t comment.
Neither did Rachel.
The two women stood staring at him, perhaps hoping he’d relent.
He didn’t.
Lila put her hand to the doorknob saying, “We’ve done enough damage to Bellerina. Let’s go, Rachel, before we do any more.”
“This wasn’t my idea,” Rachel replied.
“Well, it wasn’t mine,” Lila retorted.
“If I remember correctly, it was,” Rachel said.
They kept squabbling as Lila led the way out but Jack saw Rachel turn at the door and call, “We’ll see you Saturday.”
Then Rachel closed the door behind them.
Jack stared at it.
Belle Abbot was pregnant with his child.
One of the three indisputably magnificent times he’d fucked her (Jack knew he couldn’t put that down to romantic idiocy), he’d made her pregnant.
Belle, thin and wan, if the pictures in the paper were anything to go by, had been pregnant with his child for three months.
And she wasn’t going to tell him.
She was going to keep his child from him.
If her mother and grandmother hadn’t intervened, he might never have learned not only that he was going to be a father but that his child existed on the planet.
On this thought, it took an extreme effort of will not to pick up the expensive phone Yasmin had given him and throw it across the room.
Instead, he picked up the desk phone and dialed Olive’s extension.
He put it to his ear, and when she answered, he said, “Get me everything you can on Belle Abbot. I want her home address, phone numbers, e-mail and work address by the end of the day. You have two weeks to compile a complete history.”
“What’s going on?” Olive asked in his ear but he didn’t reply.
He put the phone down, put Belle and her family out of his mind and went back to his meeting.