The Lost Wife - Maggie Cox Mills & Boon Modern

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And underneath her frustration her heart constricted at the thought that Jake’s father was gone. The senior Jacob Larsen had been imposing, and even a little intimidating, but he had always treated her with the utmost respect. When Saskia had arrived in the world he hadn’t stinted on his praise, proclaiming his new granddaughter to be the most beautiful baby in the world.

      How sad for his son that he was gone. Their relationship had had its challenges, but there was no doubt in her mind that Jake had loved his father.

      The swirling snow that was rapidly turning into a blizzard added to her misery and distress. ‘I’m sorry you lost your dad … he was a good man. But I’ve already endured Saskia not being here for too long. Can’t you understand why I’d want her back with me when it’s so close to Christmas? I’d made plans …’

      ‘I’m sorry about that, but sometimes whether we like it or not plans are hostage to change. The fact is that our daughter is safe with my mother in Copenhagen and you don’t need to worry.’ Sucking in a breath, Jake blew it out again onto the frosted air. He thumbed towards the bank of snow-covered cedars edging the road at the end of the drive behind him. ‘There was a police roadblock on the way here, warning drivers not to go any further unless they absolutely had to. They only let me through because I told them you’d go crazy if I didn’t make it to the house to let you know about Saskia. I only just made it—even in the SUV. I’d be mad to try and make it back to the airport tonight in these conditions.’

      As if waking from a dream, Ailsa realised he looked half frozen standing there. Another few minutes and those sculpted lips would surely turn blue. As difficult as the prospect of spending time with her estranged husband promised to be, what could she do but invite him in, make him a hot drink and agree to give him a bed for the night?

      ‘Well, you’d better come in, then.’

      ‘Thanks for making me feel so welcome,’ he answered sardonically as he stepped towards her.

      His brittle reply cut her to the bone. Their divorce hadn’t exactly been acrimonious, but coming less than a year after they’d suffered the terrible car accident that had robbed them of their longed-for second child, it hadn’t been amicable either. Words had been flung … corrosive, bitter words that had eaten into their souls. But even now thinking of that horrendous time, of how their marriage had shockingly unraveled, was almost a blur to her because her senses had been so frozen by pain and sadness … like a delicate scallop sealed inside its shell after being relentlessly battered against the rocks.

      Four long, hard years she’d lived without Jake. Saskia had been just five when they’d parted. Her daughter’s poignant question, ‘Why did Daddy leave, Mummy?’ replayed itself over and over again in her mind most nights, disturbing her sleep and haunting her dreams …

      ‘I didn’t mean to be rude.’ She grimaced apologetically. ‘I’m just a little upset, that’s all. Come in out of the cold and I’ll get you a drink.’

      He passed her into the hallway and the familiar woody scent of his expensive cologne arrowed straight into Ailsa’s womb and made it contract. Inhaling a deep breath to steady herself, she hurriedly shut the door on the arctic weather outside.

      The sixteenth-century beamed cottage that Jake had never been inside before was utterly charming, he mused as his senses soaked up the cosy ambience that greeted him. The lilac-painted walls of the narrow hallway were covered in a colourful array of delicate floral prints, intermingled with delightful framed photographs of Saskia as a baby, then a toddler, and a couple of more recent shots of her as a nine-year-old, already showing signs of the beauty she was becoming. And on the wall by the polished oak staircase the French long-case clock with its floral marquetry, its steady ticking peacefully punctuating the stillness … the stillness and peace that constantly seemed to elude him.

      The snug little house felt so much more like a real home to Jake than the luxurious Westminster penthouse he rattled around in alone when he was in London, and even the smart townhouse he lived in when he was in Copenhagen. Only his mother’s white-painted turn-of-the-century house just outside the city, which backed onto magical woodland, could match Ailsa’s home for cosiness and charm.

      When she had bought the cottage not long after they’d separated Jake had been seriously disgruntled by her refusal to let him purchase something far more spacious and grand for her and Saskia. I don’t want something grand,’ she’d replied, her amber-coloured eyes making her look as though she despaired of him ever understanding. ‘I want something that feels like home …’ The house in Primrose Hill that they’d bought when they’d married had no longer felt like home for either of them, Jake remembered, his heart heavy. Not when the love they’d once so passionately shared had been ripped away by a cruel and senseless accident …

      ‘Give me your coat.’

      His icy fingers thawing in the warmth that enveloped him, Jake did as she asked. As he handed over the damp wool coat he couldn’t help letting his gaze linger on the golden light of her extraordinary eyes. He’d always been mesmerised by them, and it was no different now. She glanced away quickly, he noticed.

      ‘I’ll take off my shoes.’ He did just that, and left them by the door. He’d already noticed that Ailsa’s tiny feet were encased in black velvet slippers with a black and gold bow.

      ‘Let’s go into the front room. There’s a wood-burner in there. You’ll soon get warm.’

      Fielding his turbulent emotions, Jake said nothing and followed her. His fingers itched to reach out and touch the long chestnut tresses that flowed down her slim back, he shoved his hand into his trouser pocket to stem the renegade urge.

      The compact front room was a haven of warmth and comfort, with a substantial iron wood-burner at the centre throwing out its embracing heat, its funnel reaching high into the oak-beamed rafters of the roof. There were two red velvet couches laden with bright woollen throws and cushions, and the wooden pine floor was generously covered with a rich red and gold rug. Just one Victorian armchair was positioned by the fire. Two sets of pine shelves either side of the burner were packed with books, and in one corner—its roots embedded in a silver bucket—sat an abundant widespread Christmas tree waiting to be decorated. Jake’s insides lurched guiltily.

      ‘Sit down. I’ll make us a hot drink … that is unless you’d prefer a brandy?’

      ‘I don’t touch alcohol any more. Coffee will be fine … thanks.’ Now it was his turn to glance quickly away. But not before he’d glimpsed the slightly bewildered furrowing of Ailsa’s flawless brow.

      ‘Coffee it is, then.’ She left the room.

      Lowering his tall, fit frame onto a couch, Jake breathed out at last. For a while he watched the increasingly heavy snow tumbling from the skies outside the window, then fell into a daydream about his daughter playing on that sumptuous red and gold rug with her dolls. She’d be chatting away non-stop to them, he mused, her vivid imagination taking her far away from this world—a world that until she was five had promised a safe and secure day-to-day existence as she grew up, a comforting life that had abruptly changed beyond all recognition when her mother and father had separated.

      He didn’t realise Ailsa had returned until she stood in front of him, holding out a steaming mug of aromatic black coffee. Gratefully Jake took it. ‘Just what the doctor ordered.’ He tried for a smile but knew it was a poor effort.

      ‘How is your mother coping since she lost your dad?’

      He watched his pretty ex-wife walk across the room in that graceful, mesmerising way she had that made her look as if she glided. She’d always had that balletic quality about her, and the blue denim jeans she was wearing highlighted her slender thighs and tiny waist—especially with the broad leather belt she wore around her sweater. As she sat down on the other couch he tried to curtail his irrational disappointment that she’d chosen not to sit beside him. Her slender ringless fingers wrapped themselves around a mug of tea. From memory, Jake knew it was rare that Ailsa drank coffee. But he didn’t dwell long on that. Inside he was reeling

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