Читать книгу Loren's Baby - Anne Mather, Anne Mather - Страница 7

SHE saw the colour leave his face as he looked at her. Even his tan took on a jaundiced appearance, and she realised what a tremendous shock this must have been for him.

‘My—son?’ he echoed faintly. ‘You mean—there’s a child?’

‘Y—yes. A boy. He’s—three months old.’

‘Three months!’

Close to her like this, his eyes had a curious magnetic quality, the pupils dilated so that the tawny irises were almost extinguished. His lashes were thick and straight, gold-tipped she saw, like the sun-bleached texture of his hair. Impatience and confusion twisted the firm contours of his mouth, depriving it of its normally sensual curve. She wondered fleetingly if the child would be like him, and then squashed the thought as being unworthy of speculation.

The silence between them was beginning to get to her, and she shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, suddenly aware of the pulse jerking at his jawline, the strong column of his throat rising above the opened neck of his shirt. In the warm room, redolent with the salty tang of the estuary, a hangover from opened windows on the sun-filled afternoon, she could still smell the faint heat of his body mingling with less personal scents of soap and after-shave. It made her aware of her own vulnerability, and she realised what a temptation he must have been to an impressionable girl like Loren.

‘Three months,’ he said again at last. Sarcasm curled his lips. ‘Why wait so long?’

‘Before coming here, you mean?’ she asked jerkily.

‘That’s exactly what I do mean.’ His fingers inserted themselves into the minute pockets of his waistcoat. ‘Or was I last on the list?’

‘You—’

Her instinctive response was to hit him once more, but he backed off mockingly, raising one hand to defend himself. ‘Oh, no,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Not again. We played that little scene ten minutes ago. Melodrama was never my strong point.’

‘What is your strong point, Mr Ross?’ she demanded hotly. ‘Seducing teenagers?’

The bones of his cheeks were clearly visible as his breath was sucked in. Then, in cold denigrating tones, he said: ‘Are you aware of the laws governing slander? If you would care to repeat those words in the presence of the other members of this household, I think I can promise you you’ll find out.’

Caryn’s lips trembled, but she had to go on. ‘Do you deny seducing my sister, Mr Ross?’

He heaved a sigh. ‘Would you believe me if I did?’

‘No.’

‘Then that’s rather a pointless question, don’t you think?’

Caryn sniffed. ‘I might have known what kind of man you’d turn out to be.’

‘So why did you come here?’

‘Because that child is yours, and he’s your responsibility!’

‘Ah, I see.’ He gave a harsh laugh. ‘It’s money you want.’

‘No!’ Caryn was horrified. ‘You—you don’t think I’ve come here to—to blackmail you, do you?’

‘You used that word, not me.’

‘But you—implied it.’ She made a grimace of distaste. ‘Oh, you’re twisting all my words. You’re making it so—so sordid!’

‘And isn’t it?’ he snapped. ‘Coming here, telling me some crazy story about your sister dying and insinuating that it was my fault—’

‘It was!’

‘Oh, no.’ He shook his head. ‘If your sister’s dead, it has nothing to do with me.’

Caryn forced herself to meet his eyes. ‘How can you say that? You must have known there was a risk—’

‘What risk?’ he grated. ‘For God’s sake, I didn’t know she was pregnant!’

Caryn tried to be calm. ‘You must have known she might be,’ she insisted. ‘You left her to tell her family—’

‘Her family!’ He raised his eyes heavenward for a moment as if seeking patience. ‘I didn’t even know she had a family, until you came here purporting to be her sister.’

‘I am her sister.’

‘Very well. And I was her employer. Her employer! Do you understand? I seldom discuss personal matters with employees unless they impinge in some way upon the working capacity of the employee concerned. Is that clear enough for you?’

Caryn tried again: ‘But your relationship with Loren was more than that of employer-employee.’

‘Was it?’

‘Well, wasn’t it?’

‘Did she tell you that it was?’

‘I didn’t need to be told,’ Caryn declared tremulously. ‘She was made about you.’

‘Really?’ He was unmoved. ‘And I was mad about her, too I suppose.’

‘For a while …’

‘For a while!’ He brought his balled fist hard into the palm of his hand. ‘My God, I can’t believe anyone could be that—that—’

‘Gullible?’ she supplied coldly, but he snapped: ‘No! Stupid!’

‘Loren was not stupid,’ she protested, and his lips sneered:

‘Did I say Loren?’ he taunted, and her fists clenched.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you, Mr Ross?’

‘No.’ He shook his head irritably. ‘Not clever at all. I was stupid. I knew what she was the minute I saw her. I should never have taken her on.’

Caryn couldn’t permit this. ‘Loren was a good secretary—’

‘There are thousands of good secretaries.’

‘She was loyal. She worked hard.’

‘She made life impossible!’ he muttered.

‘You admit then that your relationship with her wasn’t as platonic as you would have me think—’

‘I admit nothing,’ he declared, turning his back on her and walking back to his desk. ‘Nothing!’

Caryn drew in a long breath and expelled it unsteadily. ‘So you deny that the child is yours?’

There was silence for a moment and then he turned and rested back against the side of his desk, one hand on either side of him supporting his body. ‘Tell me about the child,’ he said. ‘Tell me how she died.’

Caryn sought for words. ‘I—she—when you fired her—’ She waited for him to deny this, but when he didn’t, she went on: ‘When you fired her, she came back to London. To—to the flat.’

‘Your parents’ flat?’ he inquired.

‘No. Mine.’ Caryn hesitated, then she went on: ‘Our parents are dead. We were brought up in Maidstone by an elderly aunt, but when I was old enough, I left there to take a commercial course in London. Then when Loren was older, she did the same.’

‘And you shared the flat?’

‘Well, it was my flat really. Loren wasn’t there all the time. She had … friends …’

‘Friends?’

‘Yes, friends.’ Caryn saw no point in revealing that Loren had always preferred the company of men to women. ‘Anyway, later on she got this job, down here—living in. I—I advised her not to take it.’

‘Why not?’ He was curious.

‘Because of you. Because of your reputation,’ declared Caryn firmly.

‘What reputation?’ he pursued tautly.

Caryn was discomfited. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Yes, I think it does.’

She sighed. ‘You know what I mean as well as I do.’

‘You shouldn’t believe all you read in the papers, Miss Stevens,’ he retorted.

‘Obviously not,’ she flared. ‘They omitted to mention that you were married.’

‘My wife died when Angela was three. Does that absolve me from that particular crime?’

Caryn flushed. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘Is any of this?’

‘Yes. I—I was with Loren when she died.’

He hunched his shoulders. ‘Go on. When did she tell you she was pregnant?’

Caryn hesitated. ‘Not for some time. She—she was so thin, you see. It—hardly showed.’

He frowned. ‘Did she get another job?’

‘No.’ Caryn was reluctant to tell everything that happened those last few months, but perhaps she owed him that, at least. ‘She—as you know, there are not that many jobs around. And—and she was—listless, without enthusiasm. She said she had written to you and asked you to take her back again.’

‘She knew I was going to East Africa.’

‘Yes. She collected all the cuttings.’

‘My God!’ He sounded disgusted.

‘But she wrote to you after you got back. As I said before, you never replied.’

‘I told Mrs Forrest to ignore those letters. I knew what Loren was like. I knew she wouldn’t give up that easily.’

‘She depended on you …’

‘She was a leech!’

‘She was so happy here to begin with. She used to write such excited letters, telling me how you used to take her with you on certain assignments—’

‘I took her once,’ he declared heavily.

‘Nevertheless, you took advantage of her.’

‘I did what?’

‘She told me how—how you used to—to pester her—’

‘What?’ He stared at her incredulously.

‘—coming home drunk after parties. Forcing your attentions upon her—’

‘Is that what she told you?’

‘Of course.’

‘And you believed it?’

‘Why not? Loren didn’t lie about things like that.’

‘Didn’t she?’

‘I suppose you used to get her drunk, too,’ Caryn accused him. ‘Was that how you got into her bed?’

‘Oh, my God!’ His face twisted. ‘Do you think I’d have to do that to sleep with her?’ He shook his head.

‘I don’t believe you.’

He shrugged. ‘Unlike your sister, I cannot arouse your sympathy or your trust.’ He gave a bitter smile. ‘But we’re straying from the point, aren’t we? You still haven’t told me why you’re here.’

‘I should have thought that was obvious.’

‘Well, I’m sorry. It’s not.’

‘I’ve told you. The child is your responsibility now.’

In what way?’

‘You’re his father. You should support his upbringing.’

‘Financially? Or physically?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Are you asking for money or aren’t you, Miss Stevens?’

Caryn paused. ‘Loren—Loren told me to come to you. To bring the child to you. She said—she said you would know what to do.’

He stared at her disbelievingly. ‘And you accepted that?’

‘Why shouldn’t I?’

‘After what she had told you about me?’

Caryn shook her head. ‘That has nothing to do with it.’

‘I disagree. It has everything to do with it. What does a man like me want with an innocent child? A man who goes around seducing teenagers? A man, moreover, who you have just accused of introducing your sister to drink!’

He’s your son,’ insisted Caryn doggedly, refusing to be alarmed.

‘And your nephew. Or had you overlooked that?’

It’s nothing to do with me,’ Caryn exclaimed restlessly. ‘It’s not my child.’

His amber eyes narrowed. ‘You sound very vehement about it. Don’t you like children?’

‘It killed my sister, Mr Ross. Do you think I can forget that?’

‘Ah, I see.’ He sounded sardonic. ‘How convenient! Shift the blame—and the responsibility.’

‘I have to work for my living, Mr Ross. I don’t have time to take care of a baby.’

‘It may have slipped your notice, Miss Stevens, but I work for my living, too.’

‘That’s different.’

‘How different?’

‘You—you have money …’

‘I see. So it is money you want,’ he mocked coldly.

‘No!’

‘Why should I believe you? How do I know you’re not making the whole thing up? You’re Loren’s sister! Maybe you’re in this together!’

Her white face seemed to sober him, and he muttered a rough apology: ‘Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. You’re nothing like her, thank God!’

Caryn’s throat felt tight. ‘Loren is dead.’

‘Yes, yes, so you keep telling me.’

‘It’s true!’

‘I believe it.’ He expelled his breath on a long sigh. ‘So: where is the kid?’

‘In London. Spending the day with some friends who live in the adjoining flat to mine. Laura—that’s the girl’s name—she’s expecting a baby herself in three months.’

‘Really.’ He sounded uninterested, and she wished she hadn’t volunteered the information. She had only wanted to assure him that the child was in good hands. ‘How soon can I see him?’

‘You mean—you mean you’ll have him?’ Suddenly it all seemed totally unreal.

‘You’re prepared to give him away, aren’t you? To a complete stranger?’

‘You’re his father,’ she protested, but he shook his head.

‘You can’t prove that.’

‘You can’t prove you’re not.’

‘I wouldn’t be too sure of that, if I were you.’

‘Oh, please!’ Caryn’s cry was ragged. ‘Will you or won’t you take him?’

‘Let’s say I want to examine the goods first, hmm?’ He paused. ‘Does he have a name?’

‘Yes.’ Caryn was reluctant to admit it. ‘Loren called him Tristan, but I—I—’

‘You couldn’t bring yourself to use it, is that it?’ he questioned dryly.

‘Maybe.’

He began to pace again, measuring the room with his lean, pantherlike strides. ‘So—where do you live?’

‘I can drive back and fetch him—’

‘No.’ He halted once more. ‘No, don’t do that. I’ll come to London. You’d better give me your address.’

Caryn was loath to do so. ‘I can easily bring him here.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he agreed, ‘but I prefer to do it my way.’

‘You can’t pay me off!’ she burst out uncontrollably, and his lips curled.

‘I don’t intend to.’

A knock at the study door curtailed any response she might have made, and without waiting for his summons, Angela Ross appeared in the doorway. Her eyes flickered over Caryn without liking, and then she looked at her father.

‘Tris, how much longer are you going to be? Marcia’s made a pizza for your supper, and it’s going to be ruined if you don’t eat it soon.’

His features changed as he looked at his daughter. Watching him, Caryn felt a curious pang at the gentleness of his expression. Why couldn’t he have looked at Loren like that? she thought resentfully. Why should this girl feel herself so secure when he owed just as much allegiance to the woman who had borne his child, and to his son …

‘We’re almost through,’ he told Angela now. ‘Miss—er—Stevens is leaving.’

Caryn squared her shoulders. ‘If you’ll give me a sheet of paper, I’ll give you my address.’

She was aware of his daughter’s raised eyebrows, but she didn’t care. Angela would have to know sooner or later, and why should she protect her? It was up to her father to explain, if he could.

Angela hung around as Caryn wrote her address on the pad he handed to her, adding her telephone number in case it was needed. Tristan barely glanced at it as he tossed it on to his desk, and she was aware that he was waiting for her to go.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ he assured her politely, his eyes glinting, with suppressed anger. She guessed he had not cared for her referring to some future association in front of his daughter, but that was just too bad, she thought half defensively.

Outside, the air had never smelt so sweet, and she walked up to where she had left the car on legs that threatened to give out on her. Well, she had done it, she thought defiantly, and wondered why she was suddenly so doubtful …

Caryn spent the night at the hotel in Carmarthen and travelled back to London the next morning. The journey seemed so much shorter going back, but perhaps that was because she had more enthusiasm towards her destination.

Her flat was on the second floor of a house in Bloomsbury. It was not the most fashionable area of London, but it was civilised, and the tall Victorian houses had an atmosphere that was missing from the stark concrete and glass sky-scrapers that had sprung up all around them. Mrs Theobald, who lived on the ground floor, had window boxes, and at this time of the year they were bright with geraniums, and gave a distinct individuality to Number II Faulkner Terrace. Caryn had rung her friends from the hotel that morning, and when she reached the second floor the door of the Westons’ flat opened and Laura appeared with the baby in her arms.

‘Hi,’ she said, smiling, her freckled face showing sympathy for Caryn’s aching legs. ‘Come in and have a cuppa. Bob’s already gone to the studio.’

Bob Weston was a commercial photographer, working for a small agency in Notting Hill. He photographed weddings and christenings, and occasionally did spreads for small magazines, but his ambition was to move into the more lucrative world of television.

‘Thanks.’ Caryn barely glanced at her nephew as she followed Laura into the flat, a facsimile of her own except that it was much tidier. She tried never to let herself feel any attachment for the child, knowing as she did that the authorities would not let her keep him much longer.

‘He’s been so good,’ Laura exclaimed, closing the door before walking to a folding pram standing in the comer. ‘He didn’t even wake during the night.’

‘No. He’s very good.’ Caryn sounded weary and indifferent, and Laura looked at her anxiously.

‘Well?’ she ventured. ‘What happened? You were very vague on the phone this morning.’

Caryn flung herself into an armchair. ‘I told you I saw—him.’

‘Yes.’ Laura padded through to the tiny kitchen to put on the kettle. ‘But you didn’t say what was going to happen.’

‘He wants to see him.’

‘Who?’ Laura came to the door of the kitchen. ‘Tristan Ross wants to see the baby?’

‘Yes.’

Laura grimaced. ‘So when are you taking him?’

‘I’m not. He wants to come here.’

Laura ran a hand over the swelling mound of her stomach and subsided into a chair with evident relief. ‘Heavens!’

Caryn forced a rueful smile. ‘Yes. I’d better see about tidying my place up.’

‘I didn’t mean that. And besides, it isn’t so bad.’

Caryn sighed. ‘It isn’t so good. But since Loren died … and having him …’ She tipped her head towards the pram from which direction a low gurgling sound could be heard.

Laura shook her head uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t know how you can consider giving him away,’ she burst out unwillingly. ‘He’s adorable. And so sweet …’

‘Oh, Laura!’ Caryn shifted restlessly. ‘How can I keep him? I don’t earn enough to support him, for one thing. And who would look after him while I was at work? You can’t much longer, and then …’

‘But don’t you love him?’

‘There’s not much point, is there?’ murmured Caryn bitterly, getting up and walking across the room, coming to a halt reluctantly beside the folding pram. Of course he was sweet, she thought impatiently, as she saw the quiff of feathery fair hair, the plump little hands curling and uncurling, the softly pursed lips oozing dribbles down his chin. Laura was right—he was a good baby. But she had no time for babies.

The kettle whistled and Laura got up to make the tea, and returning to her seat Caryn reflected what good friends the Westons had been to her. Without their assistance, she could never have kept the baby this long, but she had been determined not to let the social services people take him. Not after what Loren had begged her to do.

And yet it hadn’t been easy, making up her mind to go and see Tristan Ross. For one thing, she had had to find out where he lived and whether he was there at the moment. He spent quite a lot of his time travelling, but fortunately Bob had had connections in the television industry, and he had supplied the information that when Ross returned from his present trip to Canada he was scheduled to do a series of programmes for a London television company.

Laura carried the tray of tea into the living room and set it down on a table near at hand. Caryn came to join her, and they each enjoyed the reviving flavour of the beverage.

Munching a biscuit, which she confessed she should not be eating, Laura asked when Tristan Ross intended to come to the flat.

‘I don’t know,’ Caryn admitted with a sigh. ‘But I gave him the phone number. I guess he’ll ring first and make an appointment. He’s used to doing that sort of thing.’

‘What was he like?’

Laura was intrigued, but Caryn just poured herself more tea and gave an offhand shrug of her shoulders. ‘You know what he’s like,’ she said. ‘You’ve seen him on television plenty of times.’

‘I know.’ Laura gave an embarrassed laugh. ‘But it’s different meeting someone, isn’t it?’

‘I’m not a fan,’ declared Caryn flatly, and her friend’s freckled face coloured unbecomingly.

‘I know that,’ she murmured uncomfortably. ‘I didn’t mean to suggest you were.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry, Laura.’ Caryn felt contrite. ‘Take no notice of me. I’m an ungrateful creature. And after all you’ve done for me …’ She made an effort to be objective. ‘He—well, he’s taller than you might imagine, and he’s certainly—well, sexy, I suppose.’

‘You could understand why Loren was so infatuated with him, then?’ asked Laura quietly.

‘Oh, yes.’ Caryn had to be honest, although it went against the grain to find excuses for him. ‘I should think she found him fascinating. Any—any impressionable woman would.’

‘But not you?’ suggested Laura dryly.

‘Me!’ Caryn looked affronted. ‘You must be joking!’

‘Why? That’s quite a solution to your problems, have you thought of that?’

‘What do you mean?’

Laura looked uncomfortable now. ‘Well, I—I just meant—him being the baby’s father, and you its aunt—perhaps you might—’

‘Get together, you mean?’ Caryn was horrified.

Laura’s colour came and went, but she stuck to her guns. ‘Well, why not? I mean, we all know—that is, you know Loren was prone to—exaggeration—’

‘Laura, what are you saying?’ Caryn stared at her. ‘Don’t you believe Tristan Ross is his—’ she indicated the pram, ‘——his father?’

‘Oh, yes.’ Laura was quick to protest. ‘I do, I do. Only—well, maybe it wasn’t as—maybe she—wanted it, too.’

Caryn heaved a heavy sigh. ‘I see.’ She moved her shoulders wearily. ‘Okay, I’ll accept that perhaps Loren did—encourage him.’ She lifted her head. ‘What girl wouldn’t, for heaven’s sake?’

‘You said you wouldn’t,’ Laura reminded her, and Caryn looked down into her teacup.

‘I know I did. And I meant it. But anyway, that still doesn’t change things. I think he sacked her when he suspected she was pregnant. Nothing can alter that. And when she wrote and told him, he ignored her letters.’

Laura nodded slowly. ‘I suppose you’re right.’ Then she looked at her friend. ‘I just can’t help thinking that you’re going to regret this.’

‘What?’

‘Giving—him away. Caryn, he is your nephew!’

‘He’s Tristan Ross’s son. He can do a lot more for him than I can.’

‘I can’t argue with that.’ Laura straightened her spine, wincing at her aching back. ‘I just wish that was our baby lying in the pram there. Without all the effort of having him.’

Caryn grinned, relaxing a little. ‘You don’t mean that. You’re loving every minute of it. I’ve never seen Bob so attentive.’

Laura smiled too. ‘No,’ she agreed happily. ‘He has been marvellous, hasn’t he? Do you know he went out the other night at half past eleven to get me some fish and chips?’

‘Fish and chips! At half past eleven!’ Caryn grimaced. ‘Oh, Laura, how could you?’

Laura giggled. ‘I don’t know. I was ravenous, that’s all. I had to eat fruit and crackers all the following day before I dared go to the clinic. I have to watch my blood pressure, you see.’

‘And having junior over there isn’t helping things, is it?’ remarked Caryn dryly. ‘Let’s hope his—daddy comes for him soon.’

Laura looked at her anxiously. ‘Let’s hope so,’ she sighed, but she didn’t sound convincing.