Читать книгу Double Trouble: Pregnancy Surprise - Caroline Anderson - Страница 14

HE SLEPT until nine the following morning, the only time she’d ever known him to sleep late.

Even jet-lagged, he’d never slept for so long, so she crept into his room at eight to check that he was still breathing and found him lying spreadeagled on his front across the bed, snoring softly. The covers had slipped off one side, but the room was warm, so even though he was naked he wouldn’t be cold.

The urge to pull the covers up over him and creep in beside him and take him in her arms almost overwhelmed her, but instead she tiptoed out and went back downstairs and put the washing on, then let Murphy out into the garden for a romp. He brought her his ball on a rope, and she threw it for him a few times, but it was chilly out, and she didn’t like to leave the girls. They were getting so adventurous, and even in the playpen she didn’t trust them not to get up to mischief.

So she went back inside, and she put the radio on quietly and folded the washing that had aired overnight on the front of the Aga and made herself a coffee. Then, just when she was convincing herself he hadn’t been breathing at all and she’d imagined it, she heard the boards creak and the water running in the bathroom, and she gave a sigh of relief and relaxed.

They’d talked for hours last night. He’d told her all about it; about how he’d met Debbie, and how excited they’d been when they’d found out she was pregnant. And he talked about little Michael, and how he’d held him as he died, and how he’d vowed then never to put another woman at such risk.

‘So it wasn’t that you didn’t want children?’ she’d asked, pushing him, and he’d shaken his head emphatically.

‘Oh, no. I would have loved children, and the girls—Well, they’re just amazing. The most precious gift imaginable. I just can’t believe we’ve got them. But I don’t know if I could have coped with the pregnancy.’

‘So what would you have done if I’d told you?’ she’d asked, and he’d shrugged.

‘I don’t know. I don’t know if I could have gone through all those weeks of waiting, knowing it wasn’t going to be straightforward, watching you suffer, waiting for something awful to happen. I think it would have torn me apart.’

‘And if we were to have another?’

His eyes had been tortured. ‘I don’t know if I could take it. I’d rather not find out. We’ve been so lucky to have the girls. Let’s not push it.’

Not that it was really an issue. She didn’t really want to get pregnant again after the last time, and the doctors hadn’t seemed to think it would be a good idea, but in any case, until their relationship was a great deal more secure, there was no way she was going to risk it.

Even assuming she let him get that close.

But one thing she knew. She wasn’t going to let him sweep it all back under the carpet again. She was going to make him talk about it—about Debbie, and the baby, and how he felt about it—if it killed him. He owed it to them not to let them be forgotten, and so their memory would be treasured, and kept alive, and their girls would know one day that, a long time ago, they’d had a brother.

Oh, hell.

She scrubbed the tears from her eyes and looked up as he walked in, and he took one look at her and sighed gently.

‘Oh, Jules. Are you OK?’

‘Sorry. I was just thinking about when we tell the girls, when they’re older.’

He gave a strangled laugh. ‘Talk about crossing bridges before you get to them. Anyway, never mind that. What does a man have to do round here to get a cup of tea?’

‘Put the kettle on?’ she suggested, and he put it on the hob and crouched down and said hello to the babies, who sat happily in the playpen chewing on blocks.

‘I think they’re teething,’ he said in wonder, and she laughed and got up.

‘Of course they’re teething. They’ll do little else for the next umpteen weeks. Apart from try and escape from whatever means of restraint we put them in.’

‘We’ll have to try handcuffs,’ he said, and she put her hand over his mouth.

‘Shh,’ she said. ‘Not in front of the children.’

And he laughed, the first real, proper laugh she’d heard from him in years, and then the laughter faded and their eyes locked, and he stopped breathing.

She knew that, because she could see his chest freeze, and his heart was pounding, the pulse visible in the hollow of his throat, beating in time with hers. And then he seemed to come out of the trance and dragged in a breath and looked away. Somehow that freed her, too, so she made tea and put bread in the mesh toast-holder that went under the cover of the hotplate, and when the water was boiling she made a pot of tea and put the wire holder under the cover to toast the bread—and all the time all she could think about was the sound of his laugh, and how the tears last night seemed to have freed his emotions.

Did that mean he’d be able to play?

She hoped so. She’d always known there was another side of him, one he kept shut down, and she couldn’t wait to meet the other Max.

‘So what are we going to do today?’ she asked.

‘What’s it like outside?’

‘Cold. Bright and sunny, but cold. The wind’s chilly.’

‘So—something indoors? How about going to find a better stairgate?’

‘That’s a good idea. And they could do with some more clothes, if we’re going to one of the big shops. They’re growing like weeds.’

‘That’ll be chewing the loo brush,’ he said drily, and she stared at him in horror.

‘What?’

‘Ava,’ he told her, and she looked down at her elder daughter in the playpen, happily gumming away on a plastic toy, and felt sick.

‘When?’

‘The other day in the bathroom. Don’t worry, she didn’t actually get it in her mouth,’ he said, and she realised he’d been joking and felt her shoulders sag.

‘Is that how it ended up on the window sill?’

‘Yup.’

‘Oh, the little horror. She’s never done that before.’

‘Probably because you’re more efficient with them than I am. She was at a loose end for rather too long while I prevaricated about the temperature of the water. So—shopping?’

She stared at him. He sounded—good grief—almost enthusiastic. He’d never sounded enthusiastic about shopping before. He’d hardly ever gone shopping before. Except for clothes, and that was more a case of visiting his tailor for suits and shirts. She’d always bought anything less critical for him, and always in a stolen moment from the office during a meeting that he was attending without her.

Quite simply, there had never been time for shopping in their old life, and, if he was looking forward to it now, well, she wasn’t going to waste the experience.

‘Let’s go to Lakeside,’ she suggested. ‘There are all sorts of shops there, and it’s all under cover, so we don’t have to worry about the babies getting cold. We can make a day of it.’

She hadn’t been joking.

He hadn’t really believed that there could be so many shops all selling similar things lined up row after row after row. Well, he’d known they existed, of course he did, but that they should be so heaving with people on a February week-day stunned him.

But they found a stairgate for the babies, and lots of clothes, nappies and toys—so many, in fact, that he ended up making more than one trip back to the car to offload them. And there was a special baby zone, where they were able to feed and change the babies, and for once he managed not to get too messy.

Then it was back to the fray, and he caught Jules looking longingly at a clothes shop. For women.

‘When did you last buy anything new?’ he asked, and she smiled wryly.

‘What, apart from jeans and jumpers? I can’t remember. But I don’t need anything else.’

‘Yes, you do,’ he told her. ‘Of course you do.’

‘When for?’

He shrugged. ‘When I take you out for dinner?’

‘What, with the babies in tow?’

‘No. When we get a babysitter.’

‘I don’t know a babysitter—well, apart from Jane, and she won’t want to babysit for me in the evening. I usually take the girls round to her if I need to go somewhere where I can’t take them.’

‘My mother?’

‘Linda? She lives in London.’

‘She’d come up.’

‘What—just so you can take me out for dinner? That’s a bit of an ask.’

‘We could stay there.’

In their old room? The one where they’d stayed in the past? She was looking doubtful, and he realised why.

‘Sorry. I’m getting ahead of the game here, but—why not buy a dress? Something pretty. A top, maybe, if you don’t want a dress, or some new trousers. You can always dress up at home, if you want to.’

‘But I don’t,’ she said bluntly, and he blinked.

She was looking at him as if he’d suggested something wrong, and it dawned on him that she was taking it as a criticism of her clothes.

‘Oh, Jules, don’t get uppity. I wasn’t criticising. I just thought—if you wanted something pretty—’ He broke off. ‘It doesn’t matter. Forget it. I’m sorry.’

And, without waiting for her response, he walked away.

Damn.

Had she misread him? Because she’d love to buy some new clothes, something pretty that fitted her new, different body and made her feel like a woman again instead of a milk machine.

Underwear. Pretty, sexy underwear.

For Max?

Maybe. God knows he wasn’t seeing her in her nursing bras.

And a pretty top, and some nice, well-cut trousers that didn’t cling to her lumpy thighs like glue. None of her old trousers fitted her any more. They were all too tight, but she’d been stick-thin when they’d been jetting all over the place, because there had quite simply never been time to eat.

But she had time now, and the inclination, to keep herself well, and so she had curves where she’d never had curves before.

She grabbed the hands of the baby buggy and ran after him. ‘Max? Max, stop! Please!’

He stopped, and she caught up with him and tried a smile. ‘I’m sorry. I misunderstood—and you’re right. I’d love to get some new things. I actually need to get some new things. Can you bear it?’

‘Only if I get to see them as you try them on.’

‘Oh. I was talking about underwear, really.’

His eyes flared, then darkened. ‘Even better,’ he murmured, and she felt a soft tide of colour sweep over her cheeks.

‘You can’t—’

‘Maybe not in the shop,’ he agreed. ‘But later.’

She swallowed. ‘OK, forget the underwear,’ she said hastily, and he pulled a face, but he laughed anyway.

‘So, what else?’

‘Just—tops, trousers. It won’t take long.’

He snorted. ‘I’m not that naïve. Why don’t I take the kids with me and leave you to it for an hour or so? You can ring me when you’re ready, and I’ll come and pay.’

‘You don’t have to pay!’ she protested, but he just raised an eyebrow.

‘Jules, you’re my wife,’ he said firmly. ‘And I will quite happily pay for your clothes. I’ve just paid several hundred thousand pounds for the sake of spending a little time with you. I don’t think the odd top or pair of trousers is going to make a whole lot of difference.’

Oh, lord. She’d thought the Yashimoto deal was a bit hasty. Now she was beginning to realise just how much he’d invested in their relationship, and she looked at him with new eyes.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to do that.’

‘Jules, it’s fine. I’m happy with it. It was a good decision. And we’re talking about a cut in profits, more than a deficit, so forget it. Now, my phone?’

‘Oh. Yes.’ She rummaged in her bag and found his phone, but, as she handed it over, there was a bit of her that wondered if he’d suggested this as a way of getting the phone off her.

‘No. Trust me.’

Had she said it out loud? ‘Sorry. Right, I’ll be as quick as I can. Don’t leave them.’

He gave her a look, then turned away and headed off into the crowd, leaving her feeling suddenly empty-handed and at a loss.

Come on, Julia, she told herself. Organisation. Underwear first, then a top, then trousers. And she headed into a large top-end department store, found the lingerie and started shopping.

‘How long can she take, girls?’ he asked, crouching down in front of the now-restless babies and trying to entertain them. ‘She said she wouldn’t be long.’

He gave a rueful little laugh, and Ava reached out her hand and gurgled at him. ‘Da-da,’ she said, and he felt his eyes fill.

‘Oh, you clever little girl,’ he said, struggling not to embarrass himself in public, but then she said, ‘Mama,’ and He realised she was just babbling.

Idiot him. Of course she was.

He straightened up and looked around. What could he do to entertain them? There was a book shop, so he headed in there, all ready to find books for them to suck and chew and hurl on the floor, but then he saw cookery books.

Books for idiots. Books for people who’d never lifted a spatula in their lives. People like him.

He’d cook for her. He’d find a book that seemed straightforward and comprehensive, he’d find a recipe, and they’d drop into the supermarket on the way home and he’d cook for her.

Fish. She loved fish. Fresh tuna? He thumbed through the recipe books, found one that looked promising, checked out tuna and discovered that it took seconds. Whap-whap on a hot griddle and it was done. Excellent. And he could serve it with salad and new potatoes. Even he couldn’t screw those up.

He bought the book, hung the bag on the back of the buggy and then reached for his phone.

She was engaged. Damn. Oh, well, he’d give her a minute. She might be trying to call him. He was about to slip it back into his pocket when it rang, and he answered it instantly.

‘You were on the phone!’ she said accusingly, and he sighed.

‘So were you. I was trying to call you. The babies are getting restless.’

‘Oh. Sorry. I’m done.’

She told him where she was, and he looked at the map, worked out where he was and then made his way there through the teaming throng of happy shoppers.

Well, he was happy, too—or he had been, till she’d bitten his head off for nothing. Oh, well. He supposed she had some justification for thinking he was using the phone for work purposes, because he had made one quick call to Andrea. But only the one, and it had lasted three minutes tops, and it had been important.

So he couldn’t get on his self-righteous high horse and rip her head off right back, because she’d been right. He had cheated, and she was probably right not to trust him.

He found her, standing near a till with an armful of clothes, waiting for him.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her first words, and he felt a little prickle of guilt.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘So—what did you buy?’

She didn’t know what to wear.

He’d called into the supermarket on the way home, left her and the babies in the car, and run in to do a shop. He’d been less than five minutes, so she had no idea what he’d bought, but he had a small carrier with him.

‘What’s that?’ she asked, and he grinned.

‘Supper. I’m cooking for you.’

‘Really?’ Oh, lord, that sounded dreadful, but she could still smell the garlic on her skin after the paella, and she had no idea what he would go for this time.

‘Don’t worry, there’s no garlic,’ he promised with a wry grin, and she laughed self-consciously.

‘Sorry. So what are we having?’

‘Aha,’ he said, tapping the side of his nose. ‘I’m cooking. All you have to do is put on something pretty and be entertained.’

So here she was, washed and spruced, wearing a light touch of make-up for the first time in months, and standing naked in her bedroom contemplating her purchases.

A jumper, she thought, being chicken, but she’d heard him light the fire in the sitting room, and when she’d popped down for something for the girls she’d noticed he’d laid the table in the kitchen rather than the chilly and more formal dining-room.

So she wouldn’t be cold.

So—one of the new tops? The lacy one with the tiny camisole underneath, perhaps? Or the silky one with the little collar and the fine embroidery?

Lacy, she decided, and that dictated the bra and pants set, because of the colour combination. She’d only bought one pair of trousers, but they fitted her so well she was delighted with them, and she put them on to complete the outfit, stood back to look at herself, and blinked.

Wow. That was a bit different.

Gone were the jeans with the slightly grubby knees from spending her life on the floor with the babies, and the jumper with a little stain on the front from some tomato-and-pasta baby food that didn’t seem to want to wash out.

Gone, too, the dark rims round her eyes and the tired, straggly hair.

Instead she looked feminine, elegant and—yes—pretty. And it made her feel a million dollars.

In a fit of wickedness, she squirted scent into the air and walked through it, then slipped on her high heels and went downstairs.

He was sitting at the table flicking through a magazine, and he looked up and his jaw sagged.

‘Wow,’ he breathed, and, standing up, he put the magazine on one side and walked over to her, his eyes never leaving her. ‘Turn round,’ he instructed, with an edge in his voice, and she turned, slowly, and then came back to face him and met his eyes. His smouldering, fire-blue eyes. How could blue ever be a cold colour? Not on Max. Oh, no.

‘Will I do?’ she asked a little self-consciously, and his mouth twitched into a lopsided grin.

‘Oh, I think you’ll do,’ he said, his voice slightly gruff and gravelly, the way it was when he was aroused, and the words stroked through her like fire, sensitising every spot they touched. He stood there for another few seconds, studying her, then with another crooked smile he stepped back and held out a chair for her. ‘Would you care to take a seat, madam?’

‘Thank you.’

She smiled up at him, laughing when he flicked a napkin across her lap with a flourish. It would have had more impact if it hadn’t been a tea towel, but his mouth just twitched and he went over to the stove, set the griddle on it and watched it until it was smoking, then dropped two dark steaks on it.

She sniffed the air. Tuna? Her stomach rumbled, and she looked for the plates. Ah. There they were, just coming out of the bottom oven with a bowl of new potatoes. He put a knob of butter on the potatoes, sprinkled them with chopped chives and set them on the table, dished up the tuna steaks and set her plate in front of her with another of those flourishes which she realised were becoming part of the meal.

‘Salad, madam?’

‘Thank you. Murphy, in your bed, this isn’t for you. Max, sit down.’

‘I’m not sure that doesn’t put me in the same category as the dog,’ he said with irony, and she chuckled.

‘Of course not. Good boy.’

Giving a little snort, he sat opposite her, and then got up, lit the candle in the middle of the table and turned down the lights. ‘Better,’ he said, and handed her the potatoes. ‘No garlic, please note.’

‘Chilli?’

He shrugged. ‘Just a touch—sweet chilli and lime marinade. It shouldn’t be hot.’

It wasn’t. It was delicious, cooked to perfection and utterly gorgeous, and she was more than ready for it. The wine was a delicate rosé, not so chilled that the flavour was lost, and he followed it with little individual chocolate pots, ready made but wickedness itself, decorated with fresh strawberries and served with a dark, rich Cabernet that was the perfect complement.

‘Wow, Max, that was fabulous,’ she said, pushing her plate away and smiling at him in amazement.

To her surprise, he coloured slightly and gave a wry, selfconscious grin. ‘Thank you. I just—read the instructions.’

‘No, you did much more than that. You went to a lot of trouble to make it right, and it was wonderful. Thank you.’

His smile was warm and did funny things to her insides. ‘It’s a pleasure,’ he said, and she could tell he meant it. ‘Coffee in the sitting room?’

‘That would be lovely.’

‘Go on, then, go and sit down.’

‘What about this lot?’

He shrugged. ‘What about it? It won’t come to any harm. Come on, out of here. I’ll stack the dishwasher while the kettle boils, if that’ll make you happier. Now, shoo.’

She shooed, going into the sitting room with Murphy and putting another log on the fire, then sitting down on the sofa to wait for him. Murphy was sniffing the table, and she pushed him gently out of the way with her foot and looked at the little dish he’d been investigating.

Truffles? Yum. She had one, just to pass the time, and then Max arrived with the tray and gave Murphy a chew to eat by the fire. ‘I thought it might keep him out of the chocolates.’

‘It will. But only till he’s eaten it.’

‘Well, we’ll have to finish them first,’ he said, taking the seat beside her and handing her her coffee. ‘Here—open wide.’

And he put one of the wicked little truffles into her mouth.

‘Mmm. They’re gorgeous,’ she said. Well, she meant to say. It came out a little more garbled than that, and she got the giggles, and he shook his head and slung his arm casually around the back of the sofa behind her and grinned.

‘Oh, dear. Did you have two whole glasses of wine?’ he teased.

‘No, I did not,’ she retorted, recovering her composure and poking him in the ribs. ‘Cheeky.’

‘Two halves, anyway. What did you think of them?’

‘Lovely. They were really nice. I bet they didn’t come from the bargain bucket.’

He chuckled. ‘Not exactly. But I felt it was worth it.’ He trailed a finger down her cheek, and smiled a little wryly. ‘You know, I thought you looked gorgeous this morning, but now…’

His finger dipped, trailing round the neckline of her top, following the edge down towards her cleavage, and she felt the air jam in her lungs.

‘Max.’

His hand dropped away and he straightened up, lounging back in his corner of the sofa and reaching for his coffee. She leant over and picked up a chocolate, and he said, ‘My turn,’ and opened his mouth. Just slightly, just enough so that, when she put the truffle in between his teeth, his lips brushed her fingers, the slightly moist surface catching her skin so that when she took her hand away his lips clung softly to her fingertips.

Her eyes flew up to his, hot and dark and dangerous, and she felt need flow like molten lava through her veins.

His hand came up and caught hold of hers, easing it from his mouth and placing it against his heart, and she could feel the pounding beat beneath her palm, the taut muscles, the coiled tension in him.

And she wanted him.

Now. Tonight.

‘Max?’ she whispered.

He was staring at her mouth, his eyes slightly glazed, and she could see the pulse beating in his throat. His eyes flicked up to hers and locked.

‘Take me to bed.’