Rags To Riches: At Home With The Boss. Elizabeth Lane

the thatched cottage with the roses and the apple trees might be a little troublesome to find in London …’

      Sarah blushed, unsettled by the fact that he had remembered her corny youthful notion of the perfect house. Which she recalled describing in tedious detail.

      ‘But I’ve got them working on the Aga in the kitchen, the garden overlooking water, and the fireplaces …’

      ‘I can’t believe you remember that conversation!’

      She gave a brittle laugh, and went an even brighter shade of red when he replied softly, ‘Oh, there’s a lot I remember, Sarah. You’d be surprised.’

      He didn’t miss the flare of curiosity in her eyes. She might have made bold statements about not wanting anything to do with him, about shoving that kiss they had shared into a box at the back of a cupboard in her head, where she wouldn’t have to confront it, but every time they were in each other’s company he could feel that undercurrent of electricity—a low, sizzling hum that vibrated just below the radar.

      ‘Well, I don’t actually remember all that much,’ Sarah responded carelessly.

      ‘Now, I wonder why I’m not believing you …’

      ‘I have no idea, and I don’t care. Now, if you wouldn’t mind getting to work on those onions, I’ll go and fetch Oliver.’

      She disappeared before he could continue the conversation. When he looked at her like that she would swear that he could see right down into the very depths of her. It was an uncomfortable, frightening sensation that left her feeling vulnerable and exposed. Once she had gladly opened up to him—had told him everything there was to know about herself. She had taken him at face value and turned a blind eye to the fact that while she had been falling deeper and deeper in love with him, he had pointedly refused to discuss anything that involved a future between them. He had taken everything she had so generously given and then politely jettisoned her when his time on the compound was up.

      Raoul was a taker, with little interest in giving back. When he looked at her with those lazy, brooding eyes she could sense his interest. Some of his remarks carried just that little hint of flirtation, of deliberately treading very close to the edge. He had possessed her once, much to her shame. Did he think that he could possess her again?

      She returned with Oliver to find him at the kitchen counter, dutifully chopping the onions as instructed.

      Oliver had brought in a handful of his blocks, and Sarah sat him on a chair and then called Raoul over. She made sure to keep her voice light and friendly, even though every nerve in her body tingled as he strolled towards them, a teatowel draped over one shoulder.

      ‘Blocks … my favourite.’

      She had sat at the table, next to Oliver, and now Raoul leaned over her, his strong arms trapping her as he rested his hands on the table on either side of her. Sarah could feel his breath whisper against her neck when he spoke.

      ‘Did you hear that, Oliver? Raoul loves building things! Wouldn’t it be fun for you two to build something for me? What about a tower? You love building towers! Do you remember how high your last tower was? Before it fell?’

      ‘Twelve blocks,’ Oliver said seriously, not looking at Raoul. ‘I can count to fifty.’

      ‘That’s quite an achievement!’ Raoul leaned a little closer to Sarah, so that the clean, minty smell of her shampoo filled his nostrils.

      She shifted, but had almost no room for manoeuvre. Her eyes drifted compulsively to his forearm, to the fine sprinkling of dark hairs that curled around the dull matt silver of his mega-expensive watch.

      ‘Why don’t you sit down, Raoul?’ she suggested stiltedly. ‘You can help Oliver with his tower.’

      ‘I don’t need any help, Mum.’

      ‘No, he really doesn’t. I sense that he’s more than capable of building the Empire State Building all on his own.’

      Oliver glanced very quickly at Raoul, and then returned to the task in hand.

      Sarah heard Raoul’s almost imperceptible indrawn breath as he abruptly stood back, and when she turned to look at him he had removed himself to the kitchen sink, his expression one of frustrated defeat.

      ‘Give it time,’ she said in a low voice, moving to stand in front of him.

      ‘How much time? I’m not a patient man.’

      ‘Well, I guess you’ll have to learn how to be. Good job with the onions, by the way.’

      But she could feel his simmering impatience with the situation for the rest of the evening. Oliver was not so much hostile as wary. He answered Raoul’s questions without meeting his eye and, dinner over, finally agreed to go outside with him to test drive the car which had been abandoned in the sitting room.

      Through the kitchen window, Sarah watched their awkward interaction with a sinking heart.

      She had planned on sitting Oliver down and explaining that Raoul was his father once a bond of trust between them had been accepted. To overload him with too much information would be bewildering for him. But how long was that going to take? she wondered. Raoul was obviously trying very hard.

      She watched as Oliver sent the oversized car bouncing crazily into the unkempt bushes at the back of the tiny garden, losing interest fast and walking away as Raoul stooped down to deliver a mini-lecture on mechanics.

      The consequences of him missing out, through no fault of his own, on those precious first four years hit her forcibly. Another man, with experience of growing up in a real family, might have had something to fall back on in a situation like this. Raoul had no such experience, and was struggling to find a way through his own shortcomings.

      She abandoned her plans to have him read something to Oliver before bed, which was their usual routine. Instead, she told him to wait for her in the kitchen while she settled Oliver.

      ‘You can help yourself to … um … whatever you can find in the fridge. I know dinner was probably not what you’re used to …’

      ‘Because I’m such a snob?’

      Sarah sighed heavily, ‘I’m just conscious that we’re … we’re miles apart. When we were working out in Africa there wasn’t this great big chasm separating us …’

      ‘You need to move on from the past.’

      ‘You haven’t moved on from yours!’

      ‘I’m not following you?’

      ‘You thought you could buy Oliver with lots of presents because that’s what your past has conditioned you to think! And then you got impatient when you discovered that it doesn’t work that way.’

      ‘And you can’t move on from the fact that—okay … yes—I dumped you!’ Raoul thundered. ‘You want to find something to argue about—anything at all—because you’ve wrapped yourself up in a little world comprised of just you and Oliver and you can’t deal with the fact that I’m around now! Dinner was disappointing because it was stressful! I didn’t know how to deal with him.’

      Hell, Oliver had played with his food, spread most of it on the table, and had received only the most indulgent scolding from Sarah! His childhood memories of mealtimes were of largely silent affairs, with rowdy behaviour at the table meriting instant punishment.

      ‘I don’t know how to deal with him.’

      Dumbfounded by that raw admission, Sarah was overcome with regret for her outburst. He was so clever, so all-knowing, that she hadn’t really stopped to consider that now he really was at a loss.

      ‘I’m … I’m sorry, Raoul. I shouldn’t have said that stuff about your past …’ she mumbled.

      ‘Look, we’ve found ourselves in this situation, and constantly sniping isn’t going to get either of us very