Читать книгу More Than A Dream - Emma Richmond, Emma Richmond - Страница 6

AFTER a really rather pointless conversation with her mother, and reassuring her that she felt fine, and yes, would let her know the results of her scan, Melly replaced the receiver. Poor mother, stuck over in England while her one remaining, and very pregnant, chick lived in France. She was still trying to persuade Melly to go to England to have the baby. She didn’t trust the French; didn’t think they had decent hospitals; thought the food was bad for her; and, as always, Melly soothed her, explained yet again that French hospitals were probably better than English ones; that the food was fine, didn’t upset her, knowing full well that her mother’s anti-French feelings were just an excuse. It was Charles she didn’t trust. She had also been angling for another invitation, and, naughtily, Melly had pretended not to notice. She had already been out twice, and Melly didn’t think Charles would be too pleased at another visit quite so soon. Neither, if she was honest, would she. Mother would fuss, organise, send her to bed; make her put her feet up; and would again comment on the fact that she and Charles didn’t share a room. And her poor father, who Mother always insisted accompany her, would wander round, looking lost and uncomfortable, fervently wishing he could go home and back to his small engineering workshop where he could hide from the world.

‘Mother?’ Charles queried humorously from behind her.

Turning in surprise, she smiled. ‘Yes. I didn’t hear you come in.’

‘When’s she coming?’ he asked with rueful acceptance.

‘She isn’t. Or, at least, not yet...’ Laughing, she added, ‘It’s all right, you can say it!’

‘Moi?’ he asked with a grin. ‘I’m much too polite. However...’

‘Quite.’ Still smiling, she queried, ‘Have any luck in finding a new stable?’

With a friendly arm round her shoulder, he steered her into the lounge and seated her on the sofa before collapsing beside her. ‘No, the owner and I had a long talk, and I decided, after much deliberation, to leave them where they are.’

‘Because?’ she asked lightly. She knew this husband of hers well enough to know that, if the owner had a problem, financial or otherwise, and unloaded it on to Charles, Charles would immediately set about finding a solution, and therefore wouldn’t dream of adding to his troubles by taking his horses away. Unless of course it was the owner’s mismanagement, or laziness, that had created the problem; then it would have been a very different story.

‘Oh,’ he dismissed, ‘he’s had one or two problems... Why are you laughing?’

‘No reason,’ she denied with a fond smile, ‘go on.’

‘Nothing to go on with. I just decided to leave them with him for the time being. Anyway, with the racing season finished, there’s no immediate hurry. So, want to go out for lunch before your hospital appointment?’

Knowing it was what he wanted, she nodded. ‘Love to. Where shall we go?’

‘Ciros?’

‘Great. Will we get in?’ She knew very well that, with the town still crammed to capacity after the film festival, restaurant bookings were like gold dust.

‘Of course.’

‘Of course,’ she laughed, and wondered not for the first time what levers he used in order to get a table when no one else could. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

They were welcomed as Charles was welcomed everywhere, with delight, with a grin and with excellent service. He explained to the head waiter that she was to have a scan that afternoon, and would therefore need to drink at least one and a half pints of liquid. Not an eyelid was batted, not a comment made, and she was smilingly presented with a large carafe of water, and one of orange juice. Charles watched her with smiling concern as she battled to drink the required amount without once going to the ladies’.

‘God, I’m glad I’m not a woman!’ he exclaimed fervently when they were ready to leave. ‘Is it really necessary to drink all that?’

‘So they say. Apparently the scan won’t work properly otherwise. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I did ask,’ she added comically, ‘but I didn’t understand the answer.’

Hugging her to his side, he kept his arm round her as he escorted her back to the car.

* * *

The scan itself went off without difficulty; it was when she returned to the reception desk for her card, after a hasty visit to the ladies’, that the troubles began.

‘Ah, Madame Revington,’ the receptionist said, and then, presumably remembering that Melly was English, proudly displayed her talent in that direction. ‘Dr Lafage,’ she enunciated slowly, ‘he is wishing to see you. Oui?’ she asked triumphantly.

‘Oui, très bien,’ Melly complimented. ‘Where? And, more importantly, why?’ she asked lightly. ‘I didn’t have to see him before.’ Registering the woman’s total incomprehension, she gave a wry smile, and because she couldn’t be bothered to dredge up her shaky French she turned to Charles, and silently asked him to translate for her. Which he did with a fluency she envied. He would only intercede if she asked, because he said the only way for her to learn the language fluently was to practise on every conceivable occasion. Which was true, she thought wryly, but it made life very complicated sometimes.

‘She doesn’t know why,’ Charles informed her with a smile. ‘Probably just routine.’ Thanking the receptionist, he collected Melly’s notes and, with a hand solicitously beneath her elbow, escorted her down to the antenatal clinic.

Dr Lafage saw them straight away. Another one who spoke English, which only went to emphasise how lazy the English were at learning foreign languages.

‘Madame, m’sieu,’ he smiled, ‘please be seated. Now, we would like for you to go on the monitor. Yes? You have been on it before, I understand.’ Consulting the notes that Charles had given him, he nodded. ‘Yes, last month.’ Leaning back in his chair, he beamed at her. ‘Tell me how you are feeling. You have backache, perhaps? Headaches?’

‘No. Cramp sometimes, heartburn; other that that, I feel fine.’

‘No dizziness? Faintness?’

‘No.’

‘Bien. You are eating properly?’

‘Yes.’

‘Taking the tablets for the iron and vitamin?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed a little impatiently. ‘Is there some problem?’

‘Well, we hope not. Are almost sure not, but...’

Beginning to feel more and more alarmed, she sought Charles’s hand and then held it tight. ‘But?’

With a long sigh, he explained, ‘Your blood-pressure is a little high—nothing to get alarmed about, just a little higher than we would like. And it might be best if we had you in for a few days, just to be on the side of safe...’

‘But if it’s only a little bit high...’

‘It is true, it is not a matter for too much concern, but we would like for you to rest.’

‘I do rest! And, if I need to rest more, I will!’ she insisted. Her face reflecting her worry, she asked faintly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the baby, is there?’

‘Non! Non, the baby is fine...’

‘Then why? If the baby is fine...’

‘It is fine; please, you must not get distressed. It is only that we have the minor concern that it is small, not growing as fast as we would like. There is nothing to worry about, but we would like to put you on the monitor, just for safety’s sake for half of the hour, and then, if that is all right, which I’m sure it will be,’ he reassured hastily, ‘you may go home. But next week we would like you to come for another scan.’ Getting to his feet, he waited until they stood and then walked round the desk to escort them to the door. Smiling down at her, he patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, all will be well, I’m sure.’

Then why say anything at all? she wondered. Searching his face as he opened the door and beckoned to a passing nurse, trying to see if there was something he wasn’t telling her, she turned to her husband. ‘Charles?’ she asked helplessly.

Taking her face between his palms, he smiled down at her. ‘Stop worrying and do as the doctor says. You go with the nurse; I’ll have a chat with him, find out what I can. Go on, I’ll come along and find you in a minute.’

Nodding, she gave the nurse a worried smile, and accompanied her along to one of the cubicles. Obediently climbing on to the bed, she lay back. What did the doctor mean, small? How small? And what did he mean about not growing? The nurse, unfortunately, didn’t speak English, and all the French Melly had ever known had flown out of her head. All she could remember was how to ask for the pen of her aunt. The damned stupid things they taught you in school. She could conceive of no situation whatsoever when anyone might need to ask for the pen of their aunt! Why couldn’t they teach you useful things? Like how to ask about small babies? Giving an agitated little sigh, she tried to relax. Getting worked up might affect the baby’s heartbeat, which would be picked up by the monitor, and then they would keep her in.

With her tummy exposed and the monitor strapped in place, Melly had nothing to do but listen to the sound of her baby’s heart and watch the numbers jump erratically on the crystal display. The nurse watched them for a moment, nodded as though satisfied, adjusted the paper strip that interpreted the numbers on to a print-out graph, gave Melly’s leg a reassuring pat and left.

Forcing herself to stay calm, she kept her eyes fixed on the numbers, willing them to stay normal. So long as the baby’s heart is beating, everything’s all right, she told herself firmly. So who cares if it’s a small baby? Small babies do fine, better sometimes than larger ones, but what did the doctor mean about its not growing as it should? Not forming properly? Is that what he meant?

Hearing Charles’s voice just outside the cubicle as he spoke to the nurse, she relaxed and sank back. Charles would make sure everything was all right.

‘You look like one of Frankenstein’s experiments,’ he commented with a grin as he pushed through the curtain.

‘It’s what I feel like. What did the doctor say?’

‘Not much more than he said to you.’ Walking to the side of the bed, he picked up her hand and held it comfortingly between his own. ‘I don’t think there’s any need to get worried,’ he said gently, ‘they’re just being careful.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed gratefully. ‘But you would tell me if it was anything—’

‘I promise. Now—’

‘But did you ask him what he meant by the baby’s not growing? Supposing it’s not—’

‘Melly!’ he interrupted. ‘Everything’s going to be fine! Now, tell me what all this gadgetry is for.’

‘You know what it’s for! You were here when they explained it all last time.’

‘I’ve forgotten,’ he said blandly.

She knew he hadn’t, but talking would take her mind off her worries, and if Charles wasn’t concerned... ‘The display on the left is the baby’s heartbeat, the one on the right is mine.’

‘And the print-out is confirmation that all is OK,’ he said confidently. Patting her hand, he released it and walked round to stare at the paper being spewed from the machine.

‘It looks very erratic,’ she ventured nervously.

‘So would you be if you were a tiny baby and that cold disc was plonked right on top of you,’ he said with a smile as he indicated the plate attached to her stomach. ‘Stop worrying!’

‘Yes. I just wish—’

‘That the doctor wouldn’t go around scaremongering!’ he said forcefully. ‘I know! Damned fool!’

Diverted, she asked curiously, ‘Did you tell him so?’

‘Of course,’ he retorted with an aloof certainty that he would always be listened to.

‘What did he say?’

Turning to look at her, he suddenly relaxed and smiled. Spreading his hands and shrugging his shoulders, presumably as the doctor had done, he parodied, “M’sieu, I am devastated. It was not my wish to concern your lovely wife! It is only that the most current policy is to explain all to the new mother-to-be! Women insist on it!” He then said something that sounded like “Pshaw”, and gave a long discourse on how things have changed and that everything was much better in the old days. And if he doesn’t very speedily revert to the “old ways”,’ he disparaged arrogantly, ‘and give you the care and attention I think you should have, he will very speedily find himself being replaced!’

And that, she knew, was not an idle threat, and she doubted the doctor would make the mistake of underestimating him again. Before their marriage, and from what she knew of him, she had always assumed that Charles didn’t get annoyed, or involved, not because he couldn’t, but because he didn’t want to. She had thought that he liked life to be smooth and without aggravation. And maybe he did, but that didn’t prevent him arrogantly overruling anyone if he thought the occasion demanded it. And such was his standing in the community, and the awe in which people seemed to hold him, that he invariably got his way. That had surprised her, perhaps because in Beckford he was generally regarded as a lightweight. Kind, charming, but without depth; but that was very far from the truth, as she had very speedily discovered. So, either he had changed radically over the years, or he had always been like it and she had just never seen it. From feeling youthful devotion, which she now knew had been based in fantasy, she had grown to love him with an intensity that frightened her. And if he had truly been a lightweight she doubted now that her love would have survived. Without her realising it, perhaps, she too had grown up.

With a thoughtful frown she lay back again and watched as he prowled round the small room, picking up literature, glancing through it, grimacing comically and replacing it in the rack. Always fearful of his becoming bored, or irritated, and therefore marring the smooth life she was trying to build for them both, she persuaded softly, ‘Why don’t you go and get a cup of coffee?’

‘Hm?’ Glancing round at her, he only slowly registered what she had said, and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. Walking across to her, he reproved gently, ‘It’s from a machine, Melly. And if you had ever tasted it you would not wish it on your worst enemy, let alone me!’

Laughing, she held her hand out to him. ‘Thank you for coming with me today.’

‘And what else should I do?’ he asked gently as he came to sit on the edge of the bed. ‘You’re my wife, and,’ placing one large palm gently on the part of her stomach that wasn’t covered by the monitor, he continued, ‘this is my baby. Of course I would come. I wonder what it is? Lauren, or Laurent?’

She had asked, when they were first married, if he would like the baby to be named after his friend who had died. Lauren if it was a girl, and Laurent if it was a boy. He had seemed almost overwhelmed. Smiling at him, she teased, ‘So long as it isn’t one of each.’

‘Oh, hell. No, it would have shown up on the scan—wouldn’t it?’

‘Probably,’ she comforted. She didn’t care what it was, or how many it was, so long as everything was all right.

Turning back to watch the monitor, he continued thoughtfully, ‘I read somewhere that, if the heartbeat stays under forty, it’s a boy. Over, it’s a girl.’ With a wide smile he watched the monitor jump from thirty-eight to fifty and then back down to thirty-six. ‘Perhaps it hasn’t made up its mind yet,’ he commented humorously. ‘It doesn’t seem to stay either above or below.’

‘It had better—’ Breaking off as the nurse came in, Melly carefully watched her face as she stopped the machine and tore off the graph.

Turning, she gave Melly a wide smile. ‘Is OK,’ she said triumphantly. Whether for her English, or the graph, Melly wasn’t sure, but she didn’t miss the flirtatious glance she gave Charles.

He asked her something in French, and the nurse replied, and, to Melly’s heightened imagination, seemed to linger over what she wanted to say. It was Charles who broke the contact by standing and saying something very softly to the young nurse. She blushed scarlet and hastily unstrapped Melly from the machine.

Charles rearranged her maternity dress over her bulge and helped her to her feet. ‘We can go home. All, as the nurse said, is OK. You are to come back next Wednesday.’

Hitching her dress into a more comfortable position and collecting her bag, she asked quietly, ‘What did you say to make the nurse blush?’

Bending his head to drop a light kiss on her hair, he said softly, ‘I told her to behave herself, that I was a happily married man.’

And are you? she wanted to ask as they walked out to his car. Are you happy? Or are you just acting out a role? That of a devoted husband and father-to-be? You were the one who settled for the crumbs, she told herself with an inward sigh; don’t complain now that they aren’t enough.

* * *

‘Come on, upstairs,’ he insisted when they got home, ‘the doctor said you were to rest. And we’ll stay in this evening,’ he added as he helped her on to the bed.

‘No,’ she put in softly. ‘We’ll go out, as planned. It’s only a dinner party, not standing around or anything, and it will help take my mind off things. if I stay in I’ll only lie and worry.’

Staring down at her for a moment, he frowned, then finally nodded. ‘All right, but only for a little while. We won’t stay late.’ Slipping off her shoes, he pulled the quilt across her and tucked it warmly at her side. Perching on the edge of the bed, he smoothed her unruly hair back with a gentle hand. ‘Get some sleep. I’ll give you a knock about seven.’

‘All right—and Charles?’ she called softly as he got up and walked to the door. ‘Thank you.’

‘Nothing to thank me for, Melly,’ he denied rather sombrely. ‘Nothing at all.’