Free The Winter Children by Lulu Taylor Page B

on the hard work that would bring the kind of success he valued.
Money was part of it – what was success without it? – but making his mark in the world was just as important, and something in Francesca responded to his simple creed. There was nothing
pretentious about it. It made sense. And his love restored her. After he made love to her, she would cry happy tears because she could feel herself reawakening a little more each time.
    But she never could resist the dark addiction of her feelings for Dan. They came back to get her eventually: all that longing and need and desire. The bond between them that she felt was
unbreakable, the irrefutable sense that they were supposed to be together. All of it gradually killed off her love for Walt and pushed her further and further away from him.
    Walt looks over at her now. ‘I want us all to go over to England, once the kids are back for the holidays. We’ve gotta show them the house. It’ll be exciting.’
    Francesca remembers that place – the dust and dirt and lack of anything that might offer any comfort at all. ‘But . . .’ she says weakly, ‘there’s no
electricity.’
    ‘Not in the main part of the house. But there are parts of it where we can stay. We’ll be perfectly fine.’
    She can tell that he’s got his rose-coloured spectacles on. He’s used to five-star hotels, not roughing it in a caretaker’s cottage.
Well, he’ll learn.
    ‘Are you happy?’ he asks, an almost anxious look in his eyes. Her approval matters. She remembers that he has always looked up to her in that way. It helped rebuild her
confidence.
    ‘Of course. Very happy. You’re right. It will be exciting. You’ve always wanted a country house.’ She smiles and it fades on a sigh.
    Walt frowns. ‘You seem a bit low, Frankie. You’ve not been yourself since you got back from London.’
    ‘No, really, I’m fine.’
    ‘Are you sure you’re all right?’
    She nods. The house hardly seems to matter now. All that concerns her is what Dan told her when she was finally able to visit.
    The babies had been home well over a fortnight when she arrived in a whirl of largesse, with those stupid baby clothes. And there they were – two tiny creatures wrapped up in blankets,
asleep for almost the entire time. Only occasionally did they open their eyes, sleepy, limpid. They were so unformed, a fuzz of almost invisible hair on their soft skulls, their eyebrows only
faint shadows, no real shape to their plump faces, each with the same large turned-up nose, and pink, cupid-bowed mouth. Even so, she was astonished by their reality. It was more incredible than she’d expected to see them. In
fact, it was hard to take her eyes off them, and she held each one in turn until Olivia grew restless and put out her arms to take them back. All the while, she searched the tiny faces for signs
that they were a mixture of herself and Dan, absorbed in examining their features, hair colour, eyes, anything that might give a clue, but it was impossible to see anything. She remembered how
Frederick and Olympia had been the same as infants: little doughy bundles, beautiful to her but – now that she could look back at the photographs – really like any babies.
    But look at these little ones . . . they’re gorgeous. Special . . .
Her heart twanged as she held each one, something deep in her responding to them. She barely heard anything that Olivia said to her.
    Then Olivia took the babies away to nurse them and put them to bed. Francesca watched them go with a kind of hunger inside her she hadn’t felt for a long time. As soon as Olivia was gone,
she turned to Dan with a joyful expression, her eyes shining. ‘Oh, Dan, they’re amazing.’
    Immediately, she sensed a change in the atmosphere. Dan stood across the room, looking back at her impassively.
    She said softly, ‘They’re perfect.’
    ‘I know.’ His voice was low, emotionless, as though denying her any response that she could feed off.