Divided Hearts Read Online Free PDF Page B

moment, Hannah snatched it from her and then settled onto the raised hearth. Opening the book on her lap, she rubbed her hand over the various textures, enraptured.
    “Would you like a drink?” Simon offered. “I’ve got a sippy cup for Hannah, and homogenized milk.”
    “Nothing for me, but I’m sure Hannah would love some milk,” Faye said, touched that he’d put so much thought into Hannah’s needs. No doubt he’d learned a thing or two from his sister.
    “She is beautiful,” Mary remarked, gazing down at Hannah as Simon disappeared into the kitchen. “To tell you the truth, I’d given up on the idea of Simon becoming a father.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “He seems to have an aversion to serious relationships. Not that he dates a lot of different women,” she added, mindful of the impression she was giving of her son. “He’s had a few long-term lady friends but he just won’t commit to them, and eventually they get tired of waiting for a proposal.”
    “Understandable,” Faye said.
    “Not Jenna, though,” Mary added. “She seemed in no hurry to settle down. She and Simon weren’t the right fit to begin with, anyhow, if you ask me. Don’t get me wrong, I rather liked her—before all this came about. But I’m speaking out of turn now.”
    Faye, who had unconsciously sat forward while Mary was speaking, interested in her impressions of Simon’s relationship with Jenna, now sagged back in disappointment—though she didn’t feel bold enough to ask for more details.
    When Simon returned with Hannah’s milk, the little girl was still absorbed in her new book and took no notice of him.
    “Would you come upstairs with me, Faye?” he said. “I have something to show you. Mum can watch Hannah.”
    “No problem at all,” Mary said, taking the cup from her son. “I’ll give her this when she’s ready.”
    Faye hesitated, for a moment imagining a nefarious kidnapping plot in which Mary was to abscond with Hannah to parts unknown the moment Simon lured Faye out of sight. While she realized it was a far-fetched notion, it was with reluctance that she left the little girl to follow Simon up the winding staircase to the second floor.
    The landing opened onto a cozy alcove occupied by a desk and computer by the window, and opposite that two chairs by a bookcase stuffed with books and stacks of papers. A single shelf above the desk held a neat row of paperback books, the spine of each emblazoned with the name Simon Blake below the title. Faye quickly counted them—fourteen in all.
    “I had no idea you’d written that many books,” she said, impressed.
    “Have you read any of them?” Simon inquired.
    “I’m afraid not,” she admitted.
    He glanced at her with a slow smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t take it personally.”
    “It’s just not the sort of thing I read, that’s all,” Faye explained. “What inspired you to write spy novels, anyhow?”
    “My father worked for the British government in foreign intelligence.”
    “You mean like James Bond?” she asked, half-facetious, while at the same time fascinated.
    “Hardly. His was mainly an administrative position. But he traveled a great deal, and he couldn’t talk about his work, even with his family. I was always intrigued by the enigmatic world of counterespionage and secret agents. When I started writing it seemed only natural to put my childhood fantasies to paper.” He quirked a playful eyebrow. “And they do pay the bills.”
    “I can imagine.” Faye scanned the titles on the spines, recognizing a few. “I’ve seen them all over the bestseller lists.”
    Simon tilted his head toward a corridor leading out of the alcove. “Follow me.”
    Around the corner they came to a spacious loft with a picture window overlooking the bay. As they approached the centerpiece of the room, a black grand piano, Faye drew a sharp breath.
    “This was my big indulgence when my second book went into its third printing.” Simon smiled with