Phantom Marriage. PENNY JORDAN

but in a man of twenty-seven… As always when she thought of James bitterness welled up inside her. The first time they met she hadn’t realised what was to come. He had simply been the father of a younger school friend.

      Memories suddenly threatened to come crowding back, and with the skill of long experience, she dammed them up, concentrating on her driving and the evening ahead.

      It wasn’t far from the studio to the kindergarten, which was one of the reasons she had chosen it.

      To her relief there were still other cars parked outside when she arrived; mothers waiting to collect their offspring, and she smiled in wry amusement, acknowledging the incongruity of her shabby Mini amongst so many luxuriously expensive boxes on wheels.

      An elegant blonde woman smiled at her as she eased herself from the Mini. Tara smiled back vaguely, eyes searching the playground for the twins’ familiar dark heads, and a small pent-up sigh escaped the full warmth of her lips when she spotted them playing on the slide.

      Outwardly neither twin bore the slightest resemblance to her; both had inherited their father’s darkly attractive looks, softened by baby chubbiness, and an undeniably coquettish femininity in the case of Mandy.

      Tara grimaced a little as she thought of her pretty, wilful little daughter. Already the little girl seemed to exhibit a perverse delight in thwarting her mother, and Tara recognised unwillingly in the little girl’s behaviour a need for the firm and loving hand of a father. Mandy was all female and had been from the moment of her birth, just as Simon was a sturdy miniature replica of his father. Like Mandy he too suffered the lack of a father, although in Simon it showed more in the pensive seriousness of his eyes and his tendency to cling a little too much to the protection afforded by Tara.

      Simon as always saw her first and came running over to her, flinging his arms round her jean-clad knees, while Mandy followed in his wake, dark curls flying.

      ‘You’re late,’ Simon accused when she had kissed them both.

      Tara sighed. ‘I know, darling.’

      ‘Is Uncle Chas coming round tonight?’ Mandy demanded. Chas occasionally popped round in the evening to discuss work, and Mandy tended to disapprove of his visits.

      As Tara was explaining to them that it was unlikely, the blonde woman who had smiled so tentatively at her before suddenly approached with a toddler, her smile deepening to recognition as she came closer.

      ‘Tara!’ she exclaimed in pleased accents. ‘I thought it was you.’

      She mustn’t have looked at her properly the first time, Tara decided, suddenly feeling ill, otherwise she would have recognised her instantly, despite the sophistication that seven years and the apparent addition of a wealthy husband had given.

      ‘Susan.’

      Did her voice sound as weak as she felt?

      ‘What a fantastic coincidence,’ the other girl chattered on blithely, obviously unaware that Tara wasn’t sharing her pleasure. ‘It must be at least seven years since I last saw you. You never even told me that you were leaving Hillingdon,’ she added reproachfully. ‘Are these your children?’

      ‘Yes.’

      Tara was desperate to escape, but it was impossible while Susan admired the twins, and picked up her own toddler, who, she informed Tara, was just three and was called Piers.

      ‘After his grandfather,’ she added, pulling a slight face. ‘Do you know, I just can’t get over meeting you like this. Of course the chauffeur normally collects Piers from school. What are you doing with yourself…’ Her eyes slid to the betrayingly ancient state of Tara’s Mini in comparison to her own elegant BMW. ‘You married, of course… Your husband…’

      ‘John died before the twins were born,’ Tara lied huskily, bending down to check the fastening on Simon’s shoes, glad of the excuse to hide her expression from the girl who had once been one of her closest friends. Dear God, why did this have to happen? Why did she have to run into Susan of all people like this?

      Susan was instantly sympathetic.

      ‘Oh, you poor thing!’ she exclaimed, glancing significantly at the twins as she added, ‘No problems there, I hope? I can still remember what the lack of a father did to me, although it wasn’t the same thing. Mother divorced my real father when I was four. I don’t suppose I ever mentioned that to you before—I hated people knowing. She’s remarried again, you know,’ she added conversationally, patently unaware of the sudden tensing of Tara’s body. ‘The older she gets the younger her husbands get. She’s living in the States now. I think of all the fathers she provided me with James was my favourite. In the old days I never used to admit he wasn’t my father. He was wonderful fun, do you remember…?’

      Did she? Tara forced a smile from a face that felt as though it would crack apart and expose her anguish to the world and managed to croak, ‘Yes…’

      ‘Look, we must get together,’ Susan announced enthusiastically. ‘We’ve so much to catch up on. We’ve just bought a house in the country—for Piers mainly. At the moment we can only use it at weekends, although his father is hoping to transfer his business down there eventually. We’re going down this weekend, why not come with us? The twins would love it, I’m sure.’

      ‘I…’

      ‘Don’t refuse,’ Susan begged. ‘Think about it. Here’s my phone number.’ She scribbled it down on a piece of paper and handed it to Tara. ‘I couldn’t believe it when you left Hillingdon like that, although I suppose at fourteen I was really too young for you to take me into your confidence. But you’d been so marvellous to me at school; like the sister I’d never had. Do you remember? You seemed to know instinctively how I felt about the problems I was having with Mother. I suppose that was something we shared, although for different reasons. Do you, like me, want to give your two all the love and affection we never had?’ She broke off as she realised that her car was blocking an exit, hurrying Piers towards it, calling over her shoulder to Tara, ‘Now don’t forget—you’re spending next weekend with us!’

      All the way back to the house Tara felt completely numb. Susan of all people! She had spoken the truth when she said that they had had much in common. Susan had been one of the juniors at school when Tara was a prefect. She was always in trouble; stubborn, rebellious, undisciplined, but beneath her outward brashness, her seeming precocity, Tara had recognised the same inner despair and vulnerability she felt herself. It hadn’t been an easy task breaking down the barriers of years to discover the real Susan. The supposed sexual exploits which had so shocked one of her form teachers had, as Tara had suspected, been no more than fabrication; but there had been a great danger that Susan would fall into the trap of promiscuity in the intensity of her search for someone to give her the love and security she craved. To nullify the effect of a mother who was too distant and wrapped up in her own needs and desires to see what was happening to her child.

      They had grown very close; as close as sisters, as Susan had claimed. When she had discovered that Susan was often left completely alone in the huge barn of a house which was only one of Mrs Harvey’s homes, Tara had taken to spending the occasional weekend with her. She herself had been studying for A-levels then, and following her example Susan had started to take a much keener interest in her own work. ‘A miniature do-gooder,’ had been one of the less cruel tags Susan’s mother had applied to her, because despite her lack of interest in her child, Mrs Harvey had been bitterly resentful of Susan’s friendship with her.

      In those days she had known very little about Susan’s background. Her mother and father were seldom at home; in fact the first time she had met Susan’s father she hadn’t realised who he was. It had been during one of the weekends she had spent at Susan’s home. She had woken in the night and wanted a drink. Downstairs in the kitchen she had been on the point of opening the fridge when she realised she wasn’t alone. Fear had been quickly followed by curiosity when she had realised that the tired, gaunt- looking man slumped over the kitchen table was the fabled father Susan adored, and an oddly maternal wave had swamped her when he raised