LITMIR.BIZ

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put on a suit but she knew full well that Archibald Drewe still thought of her a teenage hippy with long hair, tie-dye dresses and a happy-go-lucky attitude who had named her daughter accordingly.

      She had been that girl once, but it was a long time ago.

      ‘She’s good.’ Clara pulled out her tablet. ‘I have pictures.’

      ‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’

      Time stopped for a long moment, the blood freezing in her veins. How could he dismiss her daughter, his own flesh and blood, in that cold, cavalier way?

      ‘She has your hair, your eyes.’ She looked directly at Byron, willing him to stand up for her, for his daughter, for once in his pampered life. ‘If you ever look at the pictures I send you you’ll know that.’

      ‘I look.’ He had the grace to sound ashamed. ‘She’s beautiful.’

      ‘She is, but she is also smart and kind and very funny. You’d like her.’

      He shifted in his seat, evidently uncomfortable. Beside her Raff was leaning back, ostensibly totally at his ease, sipping a cup of coffee. But the set of his shoulders, the line of his jaw told her that he was utterly alert, following every word, every intonation.

      Every put-down.

      Her hands tightened on her cup; it had been like a game of chicken, leaving asking him along to the last possible moment, kidding herself that she might be able to do this alone. Afraid that his presence might make the whole, nasty situation even more humiliating. She’d thought she’d be ashamed, for him to see this side of her. The dismissed, ‘unwanted single mother’ side. But having him next to her filled her with the strength she needed to battle on. After all, he had his demons too.

      She reached over and laid her hand on his forearm, squeezing very slightly, letting his warmth fill her as she lifted her head and stared evenly at her daughter’s father.

      ‘I haven’t told her you’re here but I hope you have got time to meet her.’ She wanted to keep it businesslike but she couldn’t help babbling a little, trying to sell her daughter to the one person who shouldn’t need the pitch, the one person who should be in regardless.

      ‘She has a picture of you in her room and I tell her lots of stories about you and about Sydney. She helps me put the photos together every Christmas, chooses the pictures she wants to send you. She would love to meet you.’

      ‘Clara, I...’ Was that pity in his eyes or shame? Either way it wasn’t what she wanted to see.

      ‘It’s just, while you’re here...’

      ‘I’m getting married.’

      Clara stared at Byron blankly. This was why they wanted to see her? Did they think she’d be upset after ten years of silence and neglect, that she was so pathetic she still harboured hopes that they would be a family?

      The ego of him.

      Raff moved his arm so that his hand lay over hers, lacing his fingers through her fingers, a tacit show of support. She should be annoyed at this overt display of ownership but relief tingled through her instead. ‘That’s great,’ she said, injecting as much sincerity into her voice as she could. ‘Congratulations, I hope you’ll be very happy.’

      ‘He’s marrying Julia Greenwood.’

      Archibald Drewe obviously expected this to mean something.

      ‘Great!’

      ‘She’s heiress to a media empire,’ he told her, his voice oozing contempt for her obvious ignorance. ‘This is a brilliant match for Byron, and for our business.’

      Much better than a penniless English teenager. She’d known she was never good enough for Byron’s family. Once it would have hurt that he had allowed them to influence their future. Now she simply didn’t care.

      As long as it didn’t affect her daughter.

      ‘We want you to sign this.’ Archibald Drewe slid a sheaf of papers over the table. Aha, this was the real reason for the meeting. Business, the family way.

      ‘What is it?’ Clara made no move to take it.

      ‘Byron is about to join together two great businesses, and any children he and Julia will have...’ the emphasis here was intentional ‘...will inherit a very influential business indeed. We don’t want anything from Byron’s past to jeopardise his future.’

      Anything? They meant anyone.

      Beside her Raff was rigid, his hand heavy on hers, fingers digging in, almost painfully.

      ‘And what does this have to do with me?’

      ‘I want to make it quite clear...’ Archibald Drewe leant forward; obviously the kid gloves were off ‘...that your daughter has no claim on me, my son or our business. No claim at all. However...’ his smile was as insincere as his eyes were hard ‘...we are not unfeeling. It’s not the girl’s fault her beginnings were so unorthodox.’

      Raff’s arm twitched under hers, the only sign he was alive. Otherwise he was completely still. She couldn’t look at him, afraid of what might be in his face. She didn’t need his anger and she really couldn’t handle pity right now.

      The room seemed to have got very cold. She knew how Archibald Drewe felt about her; he had made it completely clear ten years ago. She hadn’t expected time to soften him; only money and influence could do that.

      But, fool that she was, she hadn’t expected him to try and wipe his granddaughter out of the family history books.

      ‘We will send no more annual cheques and you will stop with the photos and emails. Julia does not know of your daughter’s existence and neither Byron or I wish her to know. If you sign this contract, however, I will give you a one-off payment of one million pounds sterling in complete settlement of your daughter’s claim.’

      Raff had met people like the Drewes far too many times; with them it always came down to money. What a cold existence they must lead.

      ‘What does the contract say?’ Clara’s voice was completely still but she was gripping his hand as if he were the only thing anchoring her.

      ‘It says your daughter has no claim now or in the future on our money or any of our business interests. It also states clearly that she may make no attempts to contact Byron or any member of his family.’

      ‘I see.’

      ‘It’s a good offer, Clara.’ At least Byron didn’t try to meet her eye. Coward.

      He had promised himself that he wouldn’t intercede but it was no good. How dared they treat Clara like this? ‘I’ll get my lawyer to have a look at it. Clara isn’t signing anything today.’ Raff made no attempt to keep the contempt out of his voice.

      ‘That won’t be necessary.’ Clara pushed the contract away and rose to her feet. ‘I won’t sign away my daughter’s right to contact her father or siblings although don’t worry, Byron, I’ll do my best to talk her out of it. I would hate for her to be humiliated the way I have been today.’

      She was amazing. Calm, clear, holding her anger at bay. But it was costing her; he could hear the strain in her voice, see it in the tense way she stood. What if she hadn’t asked him to be there, had had to face these two men alone? It wasn’t that she couldn’t defend herself. She obviously could. No damsel in distress, this lady. But she shouldn’t have to.

      She should never have been put into this position. They thought their money and influence gave them the right to treat people like dirt. They were everything he despised.

      Raff stood up, taking Clara’s hand in his as she continued, her eyes as cold as her voice, but he could feel her hand shaking slightly as she held herself together. ‘I won’t promise not to send you yearly updates—you don’t have to open them but she is your daughter and the least you can do is acknowledge that she exists.

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