Читать книгу The Package Deal: Nine Months to Change His Life / From Neighbours...to Newlyweds? / The Bonus Mum - Jennifer Greene, Brenda Harlen - Страница 13

CHAPTER EIGHT

HE DIDN’T GET his face right fast enough.

He didn’t know how to.

Mary had stepped back so she was standing against the closed doors. She was pressing herself hard against the doors, her chin tilted, almost defiant.

That was an appalling suit she was wearing, he thought irrelevantly. She’d looked better in torn jeans.

Pregnant.

The word seemed to echo round and round the massive office. Deals were done in this room that affected the finances of the world. Yet nothing had ever been said in this office that seemed more important than this.

Pregnant.

‘It’s okay,’ she said, hurriedly now as if she needed to clear whatever it was she saw on his face. ‘I’m not here to sue you for half you own. I don’t even want acknowledgement if you’d rather not. I just thought...I needed to tell you.’

‘But I thought...’ He was having trouble getting his voice to work. ‘I thought...’ But he hadn’t thought. That was how it had happened—thought had been shelved. Their mating had been born of primeval need, with no thought of consequences.

The consequences now were blowing his mind.

‘Maybe you thought there are morning-after options,’ she said. ‘There are. I just...didn’t think of them until it was way after the morning after.’

And it was all there on her face. This wasn’t a discussion about whether or not to go ahead with a pregnancy.

This woman was having his child.

He should walk forward, take her in his arms, hold her close and tell her this was joyful news.

He couldn’t.

A baby.

Family.

His mother... The mess that was their family... He’d even messed it up with Jake. He couldn’t hold anything together. Could a baby be tough and self-reliant? Not in a million years. But for him to be needed... For a child to rely on him...

‘It’s okay,’ Mary said again, her tone gentling. ‘This was a shock to me, too, believe it or not. Sense was blown away with the storm. But now I’ve decided that I want this baby and, Ben, what you’ve done for me makes it possible. Thanks to your lawyer I have the cheque from my family and I have my job back. My baby and I will be fine. It’s just...I came here because I thought I owed you this much.’

‘You owe me?’

‘This is not a trap, Ben. I’m not here to ask you for anything. But for me, somehow this pregnancy seems right. I never imagined it but now it’s happened it’s wondrous. It seems amazing that something like this could come from...from what we had. So the more I thought about it, the more I decided I needed to tell you, face to face, in case for you this baby might help...’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘I mean this baby is bringing me joy, Ben,’ she said gently. ‘I know there’ll be problems. I know it’ll be tough, but the moment I realised I was pregnant all I felt was happiness. That something so wonderful could come from such a...’

‘Chance coupling?’ He said it harshly, cruelly even. She should flinch. Maybe she did, inside, but if she did she hid it well.

‘It might have been a chance coupling for you,’ she said, the chin tilting again, ‘but for me it was like a dividing line. Before and after. I know that doesn’t make sense to you but for me it’s huge. I went to the island feeling defeated. I came home thinking I could cope with anything the world threw at me. I have the strength and happiness to raise this baby alone. Ben, you have no need to do anything. If you like, I won’t even put your name on my baby’s birth certificate. But I thought...I just had to tell you.’

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

‘I’ll go now,’ she said gently. ‘Ben, there’ll be no repercussions. For you it was a chance coupling, but for me it was magic. I believe our baby was conceived in love, and I’ll remember that forever. Thank you, Ben. Thank you for my baby. Thank you for everything.’

And she turned and walked out the door.

* * *

She’d sounded sure, but her certainty faded the moment she closed the door behind her. Why had she come?

Back in New Zealand it had seemed like the only honourable thing to do. She’d meet him face to face. She’d explain that he was going to be a father.

Okay, a tiny part of her had been hoping for joy, but that was a tiny part. A dumb part.

Mostly she’d thought the conversation would be brief and businesslike, with her assuring him she didn’t expect support. He needed to know he had a child but she didn’t want more help.

What she hadn’t expected was horror.

Maybe he had assumed she was here for a share in the Logan billions, but she didn’t think so. The look on Ben’s face had said this wasn’t about money.

Why wouldn’t the elevator come? She shoved the button again and thought maybe she’d hit the fire stairs.

She was a long way up.

She wanted to go home. Fiercely, she wanted to be home.

She never wanted to see that look on Ben’s face again. She never wanted her child to see it.

‘Mary...’

He was right behind her.

She jabbed the button again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, but she didn’t turn around.

‘You don’t need to be sorry. I’ve said what I came to say. As far as you’re concerned, this is over.’

‘When did you arrive?’

‘Yesterday.’ Jab, jab.

‘And when are you going home?’

‘Monday.’ Jab, jab, jab.

He leaned forward and covered her hand with his, stopping her touching the buttons. His touch seemed to burn.

What was wrong with the stupid elevator? ‘You own this building,’ she snapped. ‘Put in more lifts.’

‘Let me take you to lunch.’

‘No.’

‘That’s not very gracious.’

‘No!’

‘Mary—’

‘I’ve said what I came to say. Let me go.’

‘Can I tell you why I reacted...as I did?’

And finally the elevator arrived. All she needed to do was step inside and head for the ground floor. Then catch a cab, collect her gear, head to the airport and go home.

‘There’s a reason,’ he said.

The elevator door closed again and it slid silently away. He put his hands on her shoulders and turned her so she was facing him.

‘Tell me.’ She felt weary beyond belief. Jet-lag? Early pregnancy? She’d been feeling the effects of both these things but the look on Ben’s face had made them ten times worse.

‘I can’t...’ he said.

‘Tell me,’ she repeated, and she thought tears weren’t far off. But why should she cry now? She’d had this sorted, or she’d thought she had.

Until she’d seen the fear.

‘I don’t do families,’ he said.

This was a dumb place to have such a conversation, she thought inconsequentially. Outside the elevators. Public.

And then she glanced over Ben’s shoulder and realised the palatial reception area was designed for one secretary and Elsbeth was nowhere to be seen. This whole floor was Ben’s.

This was Ben’s world and she had no place here. But...was this his refuge as Hideaway Island had been hers?

A storm had destroyed her refuge. Was she threatening his?

She wasn’t. He didn’t do families? She wasn’t asking that of him.

But it seemed he intended to tell.

‘Mary, my father, his father and his father before him practically owned Manhattan,’ he said. ‘My father was a womanising megalomaniac. My mother was a talented, beautiful, fragile screen star. Rita Marlene. You may have heard of her. She needed support and love and appreciation to thrive and with my father she got nothing.

‘After Jake and I were born she retreated into her stage world, where her only reality was her acting. It reached the point where even when she was upset, we never knew what was real or make-believe. Ophelia, Lady Macbeth, Anna Karenina, Jake and I had them all. Plus isolation and nannies. The only time Jake and I were noticed by our parents was when we did something outrageous and, believe me, we made outrageous a life skill.

‘I don’t think we realised...how much worse it made everything. That every time we hit trouble our father blamed Rita. Rita.’ He gave a harsh, short laugh. ‘She was always Rita. Stage Rita. Never Mom. And my father was Sir.’

‘Ben—’

‘I know, this is self-indulgent history,’ he said harshly. ‘But hear me out. When we were fourteen Jake and I stole a car. Not just any car either,’ he said, and once again there was an attempt at a smile. ‘My father was trying to stitch up a deal with a spoiled brat son-of-a-sheikh. An oil magnate. He had him to stay in our family mansion and pulled out all stops to impress.

‘You can imagine the scene. Servants everywhere, my mother dressed up in the most beautiful ballgown, almost ethereal, playing the subservient wife to a T. I believe...’ He hesitated. ‘I think now she was heavily into drugs. All the signs were there only, of course, no one wanted to see.’

‘Oh, Ben...’

But he wasn’t stopping. He knew she’d seen the horror, and maybe he had to explain.

‘And so my father was barking orders, desperate to impress, bullying the servants, bullying Rita. And Jake and I were ordered to dress in suits we hated and present ourselves in the drawing room to be introduced as his sons. It did his street cred good,’ he added. ‘To have fine sons who obeyed every order.’

She didn’t know where this was going. She thought she didn’t want to.

‘Only then my mother spilled her drink,’ he said. ‘She was sitting right beside the son-of-sheikh. He was looking at her in a way Jake and I hated, and she spilled it. And my father walked over, wrenched her to her feet and told her to get out. Apologies, apologies, apologies. And then I called him a....’ And he said a word that made her cringe.

‘Ben...’

‘So that was it. We were propelled out, too. My father’s pride was to be protected at all costs. The last thing we heard was my father apologising for his stupid family, and the son-of-a-sheikh agreeing that women and children were an eternal problem.’

She could hardly breathe. She didn’t want to know, and yet... ‘And so?’ she managed.

‘So Jake and I went out and hot-wired the son-of-a-sheikh’s Lamborghini. Jake drove it all the way to Soho and then crashed it into the rear of a stationary bus. Jake swears the bus jumped out to greet us. Jake was concussed and taken to hospital and I spent the night in jail, not knowing if Jake was alive or dead. There was no way my father would bail me out that night. My father’s assistant finally came to get me. I returned home the next morning to find my father apoplectic and my mother with a black eye and hysterical.’

‘Oh, Ben...’

‘His pride had been hurt—of course it had—so he’d taken it out on her. And she kept crying and crying, and saying, “Sorry, Ben, sorry. My babies... Ben, you take care of Jake. He’s your responsibility now.” I thought she was talking about the crash, about Jake getting hurt. She was so melodramatic. To my never-ending regret I remember thinking, Who are you playing now?

‘The hysterics went on and on. It was so real it terrified me but finally there was silence. My father went out. Jake was still in hospital. I was scared for Rita, but I was still scared for Jake. I lay in bed that night and told myself of course she was acting. I was angry, too. Jail had been shocking. I’d been terrified. Why hadn’t Rita stood up to him? Why wasn’t she stronger? Why wouldn’t she tell me how Jake was? So I should have gone to her and I didn’t. But she wasn’t acting. She overdosed and was dead before morning.’

Mary didn’t move. She couldn’t. She thought of her own lonely childhood and she thought...how could it possibly compare? What had been placed on this man’s shoulders... His mother’s death.

‘You were fourteen,’ she said gently. ‘You didn’t know.’

‘I should have.’

‘And Jake...’

‘You think I told him any of this? The black eye? The blame? He thought Mom died of an accidental overdose. How could I lay any more on him?’

‘He still doesn’t know?’

‘The last minutes in the yacht,’ he said heavily, ‘I threw it at him. He was playing the martyr, telling me to go first. He has a weak leg, courtesy of the Afghanistan injury. I told him to get into the harness or he’d be suiciding, just like Rita. It shocked him enough to get into the harness, to get him to safety. But now...’

‘He’s holding it against you?’

‘Who knows what Jake’s thinking? He’s certainly talking to me in words of one syllable. “Yes.” “No.” “I can’t talk.” “Bye.”’

‘And you?’ she said gently. ‘Where does that leave you?’

‘Not with a family,’ he said bluntly. ‘Jake takes after Rita. He retreats into his acting world. Reality blurs. For me, though, try as I may, I’m my father’s son. I enjoy running this company. I enjoy control. But all my life...’ He took a deep breath. ‘Ever since my mother died I’ve avoided the personal. One night, one vicious outburst and my father destroyed our family. Rita told me I was responsible for Jake. After she died I swore I’d never be responsible for anyone else.’

And she got it. She could read it on his face. ‘You think you might end up like your father, too?’

‘I’ll never put myself in the position to find out.’

‘No one’s asking you to.’

‘You’re asking me to be a father.’

‘No. I’ve given you the opt-out clause, remember?’

‘How can I opt out?’

‘Easy,’ she said, and somehow she found the strength to drum up a smile. ‘You can smile at me, say congratulations, wish me all the best and say goodbye.’

There was a long silence. He looked at her, he simply looked, and when he nodded she knew that somehow he’d moved on.

‘I’ll give you lunch first.’

‘I’ll accept lunch,’ she said, still smiling determinedly. ‘But nothing else. I’m no risk to your world, Ben, and neither is our baby. You’re still free to be...as free as you wish. You’re not responsible for our baby.’

* * *

Our baby.

The two words stayed with him as they left the building, but they weren’t small. They echoed over and over in his head, like a drumbeat, like an off-rhythm metronome.

Like a nightmare.

He couldn’t be a father. How could he risk...?

It’d been his stupid idea to steal the Lamborghini. The consequences had stayed with him all his life. His mother had died because of his stupidity.

His father had been a gross bully. He’d battered his wife but he hadn’t killed her. He had done that by ignoring her, by not reading the difference between real and fantasy.

He’d spent his life trying not to tell Jake, trying to pretend it had never happened, being responsible. But one revelation from a slip of a girl and he’d told her everything.

Why? She wasn’t asking him to commit to any part of this baby’s life. There’d been no reason to spill his guts, and yet...the look on her face... To turn away from her was like slapping her.

He could do financial support. He decided that as they reached the ground floor. He’d be in the States. She’d be in New Zealand. There was no reason for him ever needing to see his...the child.

When...it...turned eighteen...it...might want to meet him. That could be okay.

‘You’re putting a note in your mental diary to have dinner when he turns twenty-one,’ Mary said, and he turned and stared down at her. They were in the foyer. His colleagues, his staff were casting curious looks at the woman by his side.

The mother of his baby?

What was it with this woman? How could she read his mind?

‘How did you know what I was thinking?’

‘You’re like an open book.’

‘I’m not. And I wasn’t thinking his twenty-first. It was his eighteenth.’ Deep breath. ‘Do we know if it’s a he?’

‘I don’t have a clue,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Does it matter?’

‘Of course not.

But then he thought, A son.

And then he thought, A daughter.

‘You’re getting that hunted look again,’ she told him. ‘You needn’t worry. If you turn into your father, I’ll be between you and our child with a blunderbuss.’

‘I believe that,’ he said. ‘I’ve watched you playing roller derby.’

It was her turn to stare. ‘Where?’

‘YouTube.’

‘You watched me?’

‘Last year’s finals. A woman who plays like that...who looks like that... I wouldn’t get in her way for the world.’

‘There you are, then. You don’t have to worry about being like your father. I’ll put on full make-up and intervene.’

‘Don’t,’ he said, suddenly savage.

‘Don’t?’

‘Put on make-up. Pretend. Jake does it all the time. My mother did it. They move into their acting world and disappear.’

‘Is that what Jake’s done now? Is that why you’re hurting?’

‘Can we quit it with the inquisition?’ It was a savage demand but she didn’t flinch.

‘Sorry.’ She sounded almost cheerful. They’d negotiated the revolving doors and were out in the weak spring sunshine. New York was doing its best to impress.

Where to take her for lunch?

Clive’s was his normal business option, with comfortable seating, discreet booths, excellent food and an air of muted elegance. Clive himself always greeted him and no matter how busy, a booth was always assured.

He took Mary’s arm and steered her Clive-wards, but she dug in her heels.

‘The park’s thataway, right?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘And it’s Central Park. That’s where the Imagine garden is. Strawberry Fields Forever. I loved John Lennon. Can we buy a sandwich and go there?’

‘It’ll be full of—’

‘Kids and dogs,’ she finished for him. ‘Exactly. My kind of place.’

‘I guess it will be if you have this baby.’

‘It is anyway,’ she said, her voice gentling, as if she needed to reassure him. ‘I’m a district nurse. Kids and mums and oldies are what I do. Along with grass under my feet. Ben, I’m still jet-lagged. Fresh air will do me good.’

Now that she mentioned it, she was looking pale. He should have noticed before, but she was wearing drab clothes, she looked incredibly different from the last time he’d seen her and the news she’d brought had been shocking. Now he took the time to look more closely.

‘You’ve been ill.’

‘Morning sickness,’ she said darkly. ‘Only they lie. Morning... Ha!’

‘But you decided to fly to New York, morning sickness and all.’

‘It didn’t seem right not to tell you.’

‘Telephone?’

‘I wanted to watch your face when I said it.’

‘So you’ve said it. And I’ve been found wanting.’

‘You haven’t,’ she said, and tucked her arm into his. ‘You’ve explained why you’re afraid of being a father. If I’d telephoned I’d never have got that. I’d have raised Gertrude or Archibald to think Dad doesn’t care, rather than Dad cares too much. Where can we get a sandwich?’

Dad. The word did his head in.

‘If we’re having a sandwich we’re having the very best sandwich,’ he growled, fighting an emotion he didn’t know how to handle.

‘Excellent. Lead the way. We’re right beside you.’

We.

Discombobulated didn’t begin to describe how he felt.