Читать книгу Having His Babies - Lindsay Armstrong, Lindsay Armstrong - Страница 7

CHAPTER TWO

AT SEVEN-FIFTEEN the following evening, Clare was ready—or as ready as she’d ever be, she thought.

The table was set on the veranda of her first-floor apartment; it was a beautiful evening and the sun was setting. The beach at Lennox Head curved in a seven mile arc towards Broken Head to the north, and the setting sun bathed it in a transitory, golden pink and whitened the surf as it rolled in to a luminous radiance.

In front of her two-storey apartment block, built tastefully like a cluster of town houses with pale grey walls and shingled roofs, thick lush grass grew to the rocks that fringed the water’s edge. Immediately to the south, Lennox Head itself rose, clad in emerald-green, to its rocky lip. It was a favourite hang-gliding spot and on weekends provided a colourful, at times heart-stopping spectacle.

The bay formed by Lennox Head and Broken Head was a fisherman’s paradise—of the human variety, who fished off the rocks and launched small boats from the beach, and the dolphin variety. It was common to see them in the morning and late afternoons as they curved through the water, flashing their fins.

The village itself was within walking distance, small but colourful with pavement cafés and a holiday atmosphere.

None of this was on Clare’s mind as she stood before her bedroom mirror and studied herself anxiously.

She wore a long, cool dress in a soft watermelon-pink, gold sandals, and her dark hair was tucked behind her ears to reveal gold hoop earrings studded with tiny pearls.

The dress was loose and cut on a bias so it flowed around her as she moved, and it was perfect for a warm January evening, but she’d actually chosen it for its unrevealing nature.

Not that she could see anything to reveal, she mused. She hadn’t popped out in any direction and hadn’t put on an ounce of weight.

Then the doorbell rang.

She opened the door—to a dark-suited stranger.

‘Ms Montrose?’

‘Yes.’

‘May I come in?’

‘But I don’t think I know you,’ she said slowly.

‘I’d like to remedy that,’ he replied expressionlessly.

‘Do I have an option?’

‘Actually—no.’

‘I see.’ Clare took an unsteady little breath. ‘Then you had better come in.’

He stepped across the threshold and waited while she closed and bolted the door. Then he took her in his arms and murmured, ‘It’s almost as if you’ve been waiting for me, Ms Montrose.’

‘Not you, someone else,’ she whispered.

‘I hope I’m able to take his place.’ And he trailed his long fingers down the side of her throat.

She shivered slightly. He looked into her eyes then lowered his mouth to hers.

When they broke apart, she was breathing raggedly and he took her hand and turned to lead her into the main bedroom.

She followed after a slight hesitation. The sun had set and a blue dusk was starting to fall beyond her wide windows.

She stood unresisting although she was tense and she kept her eyes veiled as he started to undress her. The zip at the back of her dress went down to her hips and the silky watermelon-pink material slipped off her shoulders. She glanced at him briefly but he only looked narrowly intent as he watched the dress slip farther down. She stepped out of it.

Her underwear appeared to hold his interest for some moments, a beautiful, dusky pink bra with elaborate silver embroidery and a matching pair of high-cut bikini briefs with a tiny silver ribbon bow.

He looked into her eyes again. ‘I wonder if they realize, when you’re in court and being so very professional, Ms Montrose, how seductive your underwear is?’

Clare licked her lips. ‘I don’t...always wear... these.’

He smiled briefly. ‘Good old Bonds Cottontails for work? Does that mean you wore these especially for the man you were expecting tonight?’

‘Yes...’ It was the bare echo of the word.

‘So he likes you to be sexy and seductive?’ He raised an eyebrow.

She didn’t answer.

‘Or do you like to be that way for him, Ms Montrose?’

Again she didn’t answer but looked at him proudly.

‘Spoken like a true feminist,’ he drawled. ‘But, on his behalf, I don’t believe I should allow this moment to go unrequited.’ And he pulled off his jacket and loosened his tie.

But he undressed no further. He took her into his arms first and kissed her thoroughly again before he went to release her bra.

Clare resisted and said huskily, ‘Do I have the right of reply, at least?’

‘Be my guest,’ he invited.

She smiled briefly and undid the knot of his tie and threw it on the bed, and started to unbutton his shirt.

‘Ah, that kind of reply,’ he murmured.

‘Even if I have to do this, I might as well make a statement of my own.’

‘Ma’am, I can’t take exception to that.’

‘Good. How sexy does this make you feel, sir?’ Her eyes glinted as she slipped her hands beneath his open shirt and ran them up and down his chest, curling her fingertips in the springy hairs then allowing them to wander down his hard, trim torso towards the waistband of his trousers.

He looked at her wryly but replied gravely. ‘More and more so, Ms Montrose.’

Tantalizingly, she let her hands roam up to his shoulders again and eased the crisp white cotton shirt away. The skin of his wide shoulders was smooth and tanned and she bent her dark head and kissed him lingeringly on the base of his throat at the same time as she freed his shirt from his trousers and once again rested her fingers on his waistband.

‘May I?’ he said, not quite so evenly.

‘Be my guest,’ she whispered, with the faintest gleam of victory in her aquamarine eyes.

They said no more as they dispensed with the rest of their clothing, although she trembled at each touch of his hands on her body—her breasts, the smooth curve of her hips, her inner thighs—and what the contact with his body did to her—igniting her senses and turning her slim, pale figure into an instrument of growing, sheer desire.

Then she was lying beneath him on the wide bed as they came together in a breathtakingly sensual rhythm and, finally, a union that left them both gasping with delight.

‘That was a cheap shot at my underwear in court, Mr Hewitt.’ She snuggled against him and laid her cheek on his chest.

She felt a jolt of laughter run through him as he combed his fingers through her hair. ‘I gathered that—if looks could kill! But you played your part perfectly, Slim. You even managed to turn the tables on me.’

She grimaced. ‘You did look like a stranger. I’ve never seen you so formally dressed before.’

‘I went straight to the airport in Sydney from a business conference, and came straight here from Ballina airport.’

‘Did you—?’ She stopped and bit her lip.

‘Tell me,’ he prompted gently.

She lifted her head so she could see his eyes, leant her chin on her hands and said slowly, ‘Did you think that after six months we’d still have that kind of effect on each other?’

‘I ... had no way of knowing,‘ he said thoughtfully. ‘But I can’t complain. Can you?’

‘No ...’

‘You don’t sound too sure.’ He sat up and she followed suit so they were sitting side by side, and he took her hand.

Clare thought for a moment and discovered that her uppermost emotion now was a sense of disbelief. Here she was, a mother-to-be, but indulging in lovely, sensual games—well, to be honest she could no more help herself than fly to the moon, but was it right? Shouldn’t she be feeling less sexy and more—what—responsible?

‘Clare?’

‘I suppose I had no way of knowing either and no, I’m not complaining,’ she said humorously. ‘In fact, I’m also going to be very traditional and unfeminist right now. Lie back and I’ll bring you a drink which you can enjoy at your leisure whilst I have a shower and rescue dinner.’

She went to get up but his fingers tightened on her hand. ‘We could have a shower together—we usually do—and I could help you to rescue dinner, Clare. Too much unfeminism could have a detrimental effect on you.’

‘What do you mean?’ She turned to him with a slight frown.

He grinned then said simply, ‘I like your brand of independence, Clare. It makes things quite electric between us, or hadn’t you noticed? As in—what happened right here not that long ago, for example,’ he added softly.

She thought swiftly. ‘Ah, but this is just my famed independence in a different form, Lachlan. In other words, do as you’re told.’ She raised their hands and kissed his knuckles briefly, shot him an impish look, and this time escaped.

But as she showered quickly and donned a cotton housecoat her emotions were different again. This time she felt guilty and a little shoddy because the only reason she’d suggested he relax with a drink was so that he wouldn’t shower with her and get the opportunity to study her body in adequate light, just in case there was some tell-tale sign.

He’d have to know sooner or later, she reminded herself. Why put it off? She was scared, that was why, she answered herself. She didn’t know how he’d react. She don’t know if he’d ever see her as anything other than a tantalizing sexual partner... And perhaps it was the distance they kept from each other, not to mention her famed independence, that kept their affair so fresh and electric.

She’d made curry and rice, one of his favourites, and gone to some trouble with the sambals. He thanked her appreciatively as he studied the feast laid out on the veranda table. He’d showered and changed into a T-shirt and shorts, retrieved from a bag in his car.

It was quite dark by now but the night was starry and the rhythmic flash of the Byron Bay lighthouse could be seen in the sky.

A bottle of wine stood in a pottery cooler but when he started to pour her a glass she said suddenly, ‘No, thanks, Lachlan. I think I’ll have—just water.’

He looked at her for a moment then shrugged. She barely drank at the best of times but usually had one or two glasses of wine if they were having dinner together. Would he think something was amiss? she wondered apprehensively.

But all he said, as he poured his own glass, was, ‘Big day tomorrow?’

She relaxed. ‘They’re all big days these days.’

‘Ever thought of scaling down?’ he asked as they started to eat.

‘No,’ she said slowly, and then was suddenly conscious of feeling physically uncomfortable, oddly queasy and with sweating palms. ‘Uh—but I am thinking of taking on a qualified solicitor.’

‘If you did you might be able to spend some time away with me,’ he mused.

Her eyes widened. ‘Such as?’ she asked carefully.

‘Well, one of the reasons that I came back early was because I’ve decided to go to the States in a couple of days. There’s a macadamia conference I wasn’t going to attend but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve got one or two other business matters over there so I thought I’d kill all the birds with one stone. We could have gone together.’

“There’s no way, at the moment, anyway—’

‘There never is,’ he said.

She studied his expression by the light of the single fat candle between them, burning brightly in a candle glass, but it was entirely enigmatic.

‘All the same it doesn’t sound like much of a holiday,’ she murmured, and looked at her curry and rice with distaste.

‘Oh, I guess we would have found some time to—play.’

Clare blinked as she digested this, and drew no comfort from it, she discovered, as she visualized herself twiddling her thumbs whilst he attended to business matters, and visualized herself being dutifully grateful for the odd ‘times’ he found to play.

Moreover, she thought, with a tinge of bitterness, she didn’t know about this ‘playing’ any more, even if it was electric and devastatingly irresistible.

She said, with a little movement of her shoulders, ‘Unfortunately, even with a partner or an associate, I may only just get back to normal—normal hours, at least, which is not “tripping around the world” kind of time off.’

He finished his curry, pushed his plate away and joined his hands behind his head. ‘Oh, well, it was just a thought.’

‘How long will you be away?’

‘Three weeks.’

Her eyes widened again. They’d never spent that long apart without some kind of contact before. ‘A lot of birds to kill,’ she commented.

‘I’m thinking of diversifying—coffee is only a boutique crop around these parts at the moment but it has potential. I’d like to investigate it thoroughly before I go into it, though. If I go into it.’

‘Aren’t macadamias and avocados enough?’ she asked curiously.

‘Macadamias suffer fluctuations in world prices, especially since Hawaii started producing and took some of our US market. And avocados can always be tricky to grow. They all can for that matter. It’s a good idea to have a few strings to your bow.’

‘Well, I wish you luck!’ She stood up and began to clear the plates—hers only half-finished. Then she became conscious that he was watching her rather intently, although his smoky grey eyes were unreadable.

‘Is something wrong?’ she asked uncertainly.

‘No,’ he said, but after an odd little pause. ‘Talking of coffee—’

‘Just coming up, Mr Hewitt. Stay there.’

It was just as well that he did, because while she was making the coffee that insidiously unwell feeling gripped her seriously, so much so that she had to dash for the bathroom where she painfully lost what little of her dinner she had eaten.

It had to be morning sickness, she told herself incredulously as she rested her cheek against the cool of the bathroom mirror. But at night? And tonight of all nights—she couldn’t believe it.

She waited for a couple of minutes but the nausea seemed to have passed and she cautiously went back to the kitchen. But Lachlan was still on the veranda, gazing out over the sea.

‘This is Blue Mountain coffee,’ she murmured presently. ‘Who knows? I could shortly be serving you Rosemont Premium Blend.’

‘Not shortly. It would take a few years, at least.’

They sat in silence over their coffee for a few minutes, Clare sipping hers carefully in case it made her nauseous. Added to this she was in a bit of a whirl as she tried to get to grips with the suddenly tension-shot atmosphere that seemed to have developed between them.

Without stopping to think, she said abruptly, ‘Do you ever see Serena when you’re in Sydney?’

He looked at her. ‘Sometimes. Why?’

‘I just wondered.’ She shrugged. ‘How is it going for her?’

He paused. ‘What brought this up?’

‘Nothing really. If you’d rather not talk about it that’s fine with me.’

‘Serena,’ he said deliberately, ‘is enjoying to the full the jet-setting life-style she believes I denied her.’

Clare blinked at him. ‘She didn’t enjoy...Rosemont? ’

‘No. She felt buried alive. So she said.’

‘That ... No.’ She looked away.

‘Say it, Clare.’

She took a breath and sat up straighter as a little flame of annoyance licked through her at his tone. If anyone had the right to be curious, surely she did, she thought. ‘It sounds to me as if a fuller investigation of your life-style preferences might have been a good idea before you got married,’ she murmured coolly.

‘How right you are,’ he drawled.

She just looked at him.

‘But if you’d ever met her you might have understood that at the time they didn’t seem to matter—particularly if you were a man.’

‘I ... I did see her once,’ she said involuntarily.

His eyes glinted with mockery—self-directed? she wondered. He said, ‘Then I may not have to spell it out for you.’

No, she thought, and coloured for some reason as she recalled sleek blonde hair, long-lashed cornflower-blue eyes, an aristocratic little nose and lots of smooth golden skin exposed in a mini-dress that did little to hide a sensational figure. Plus, she mused, a definite air of combined hauteur and come-hitherness that would be hard for most men to resist.

‘I see,’ she said at length.

He smiled unamusedly. ‘A very lawyerly comment.’

‘Lachlan—’ She stopped, and stopped herself from simply saying, I’m pregnant, Lachlan. That’s why I’m curious although I probably always have been. It’s my own fault that this happened but—what do you suggest we do?

‘Clare?’ he said after a moment.

‘I’m tired. I have got a big day tomorrow, that’s all.’

He looked at her ironically. ‘My marching orders in other words?’

‘I didn’t say so but if that’s how you want to take it, yes,’ she said bleakly. ‘We don’t seem to be...enjoying each other’s company much at the moment, do we?’

‘There’s an old saying about too much excitement and high spirits causing tears before bedtime.’

‘Don’t patronize me, Lachlan, I’m not in the same league as your seven-year-old son,’ she warned tightly. ‘Anyway, you started it.’

‘He’s eight now and you were more than happy to play along. However—’ he rose and kissed her lightly on the forehead ‘—before this gets out of hand and becomes a sordid little “domestic”, I’ll say goodnight, Ms Montrose.’

He stood over her for a long moment, staring down at her enigmatically. But Clare only gazed back at him mutinously. And he turned on his heel and walked out.

She lay on her bed, dry-eyed but distraught.

For once in her well-ordered life she had not so much as rinsed a dish or removed anything from the table on the veranda. The mere thought of anything to do with food, particularly leftover, cold food, was anathema to her. But the thought of how disastrously the evening had ended was worse.

A sordid little ‘domestic’, she thought bleakly. But what had really started it? Things had seemed to deteriorate before she’d mentioned Serena. So it went back to his trip to the States, she supposed. Yet he’d never before even suggested they go away together and he must have known a business trip for him wouldn’t particularly appeal to her—unless he’d decided he needed a more available, amenable mistress?

The thought shook her and chilled her to the bone.

But in line with his obvious distaste for any kind of domestic dispute as well as his clear reluctance to discuss his ex-wife with her, what else was she supposed to think? she asked herself sadly.

And just how would he react if he knew that what she really longed for at this moment was not some jaunt halfway around the world, but to be able to curl up next to him, feeling warm and safe, with no thought of work, no decisions to make other than what they were going to call this baby because he had everything else under control?

She sighed and, for the first time since she’d found out she was pregnant, let her mind wander...

A girl? Well, a girl would be ideal, seeing as he already had a boy, but then again Sean might prefer a brother. If she had to do this on her own, though, perhaps a girl would be easier—how crazy was that, Clare Montrose? she chided herself. She had no choice; the baby’s gender was decided. And, whatever happened, it was hers...

Valerie Martin popped in to see her a couple of mornings later, a Saturday. She had heard nothing from Lachlan in the interim and wasn’t even sure whether he was still in the country.

‘How’s it going, Clare?’

‘I’m not sure,’ Clare said cautiously. ‘Come in and sit down for a moment. I think I may have started this morning sickness bit but—it was at night and I had had some curry so—’

Valerie laughed. ‘Millions of Indian women have curry as a staple diet and morning sickness at night is quite common. Welcome to the club!’

Clare grimaced. ‘It just came on out of the blue; it was a pretty lousy experience but once it was over I felt fine again, well—relatively fine. It was also two nights ago and I haven’t actually been sick since although...’ She gestured.

‘That sounds par for the course. By the way, I forgot to tell you that your first scan should be at about eighteen weeks—I can make all the arrangements but if you’d prefer to transfer to an obstetrician I can refer you to one.’

Clare gazed at Valerie Martin, who had four children herself, she knew, and who was assuming the proportions of a lifeline as someone she respected and liked as well as someone who knew some of the background of this pregnancy. ‘Do I have to?’ she said doubtfully. ‘I’d much rather stick with you.’

She paused and contemplated the sudden and alien thought of scans, hospitals, the sheer invasion of physical privacy that was about to descend on her, and paled slightly.

Valerie’s face softened as she watched this knowledge come to Clare Montrose, who, she had no doubt, was a very private woman.

She said, ‘Here‘s what we could do. In case, just in case of any complications, we could engage an obstetrician to be on standby. I would handle the bulk of your pregnancy—no pun intended,’ she said humorously, ‘and he would see you a couple of times as well as conducting the ultrasound scans, and be on call for the delivery. That covers all eventualities but it’s quite likely he won’t be needed.’

Clare relaxed. ‘Thanks. Most of this is such new territory for me, I, well—’

‘I know. At least, I guessed,’ Valerie said.

‘I suppose I’ve been so wrapped up in my career—but—’ Clare stopped and shrugged. ‘It’s not only that. I’m an only child, I don’t have any aunts and uncles or cousins—’

‘Both your parents were only children?’

‘Not really. My mother lost a brother at birth, but that counts as being an only child, I guess. Uh—so I’ve never been closely associated with anyone pregnant or had much to do with babies. I lost touch with most of my girlfriends before they had any. I—’ She stopped again, then said ruefully, ‘I was always a bit of a loner.’

‘Have you told him?’

They stared at each other.

Until Valerie said bluntly, ‘Forgive me, but if we’re going to be friends as well as patient and doctor—’

‘No,’ Clare said. ‘I mean, yes, I would very much appreciate your friendship, Valerie. But no, I haven’t told him. I have only seen him once, a couple of nights ago, and—I just couldn’t seem to say it.’

‘Probably best to just say it, Clare.’ Valerie shook her head and grimaced. ‘Very easy to give advice, however. What about your parents?’

‘My mother,’ Clare said slowly, ‘has always longed for me to marry and have children. So has my father, I guess, although for all the wrong reasons.’

‘Most grandparents fall in love with their grandchildren whatever the scenario,’ Valerie commented. ‘By the way—’ she smiled mischievously at Clare ‘—speaking as your doctor—and you may not like this but I genuinely recommend it—you need to have plenty of rest. I’m all in favour of some exercise but—’ she sobered ‘—the first trimester, Clare, needs some care taken of it.’

‘I...I’m going to put a full-time solicitor on.’

‘Good girl!’ Valerie rose and deposited a package on Clare’s desk. ‘All you need to know about the course of your life for the next seven-odd months—what you should do, what you shouldn’t, some information on antenatal classes in the area, et cetera, et cetera.’

‘Thanks.’ Clare grinned and rose. ‘I’ll make it my weekend project—well, one of them.’

She had intended to work through the weekend although the office closed at noon on Saturday, but as she locked up and stepped out to get herself some lunch, and stepped off the pavement deep in thought, a maroon Range Rover all but ran her over. It swerved wildly and screeched to a halt beside her and it was Lachlan who jumped out.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded, his grey eyes furious, his jaw hard as she tried to collect herself and still the pounding of her heart.

‘I...I wasn’t thinking,’ she stammered.

‘You could have been killed! Not to mention being instrumental in causing a head-on collision.’

‘I’m sorry. I ... really am sorry—what are you doing? ’

‘Kidnapping you,’ he said sardonically as he steered her towards the vehicle and gave her no . choice but to get in. ‘What do you think I’m doing?’

Clare had to hitch up her slim straight skirt to negotiate the high step, and while he gave her no help he penned her in so that there was no chance of escape. Then he slammed the door on her and strode round to get in himself.

She said coldly, although she clutched her hands in her lap to stop them from shaking, ‘Considering that I had assumed you’d left the country—I have no idea what you’re doing or planning to do.’

‘Then I’ll tell you.’ He shoved the gear lever forward and drove off, spinning the tyres. ‘I don’t—as you put it with such criminal connotations—leave the country until tomorrow. So I’m taking you up to Rosemont for lunch and if you dare say anything about how you’d planned to work this afternoon, Clare Montrose, I shall be even more annoyed.’

She bit her lip, not only at his words but the plain warning in his eyes.

He also said, ‘I’m all for being industrious and so on but when it’s taken to the heights you do, when it ousts every other damn thing from your mind, then it’s about time someone told you enough was enough. It is also Saturday afternoon—and my last day here for a while.’

Clare swallowed. ‘I wasn’t sure whether...you wanted to see me again.’

He was silent for a moment as he turned onto the Byron Bay Ballina Road. Then he said abruptly, ‘Do you want to see me again, Clare?’

Her voice seemed to stick in her throat. But finally she heard herself say, ‘I’ve been thoroughly miserable since... then. And not sure what went wrong. So I didn’t really know how to—’ she laced her fingers together ‘—approach you.’

She said it all staring straight ahead as he swung into Ross Lane which would take them up from the flat, coastal plain to the gently undulating countryside around Tintenbar and Alstonville.

Then, to her surprise, she heard him laugh softly, and her aquamarine eyes were puzzled and questioning as she turned to him.

‘Approach me?’ he said softly, and put his hand over hers. ‘Clare, all you had to do was click your fingers and I’d have come running.’

She gasped. ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t!’

‘Ah, well, perhaps not.’ His eyes were amused. ‘But I’d have come all the same. The thing is, I don’t know how things went so awry the other night either but there’s obviously some worm of discontent niggling between us and I’d like to get to the root of it before I go.’

It shot through her mind that the problem between them would not be susceptible to solving in one afternoon, did he but know it.

She said quietly, ‘Perhaps we were foolish to think we could live in some sort of time capsule, so—’ she hesitated ‘—untouched by anyone or anything else, for ever.’

‘You’ve always seemed perfectly happy with the status quo, Clare.’

‘So have you. And yes, I was. It suited everything about my life so well. But it’s not, well, it’s not what I imagined could ever happen to me. So I’ve had moments of—unease.’

‘Tell me.’

She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘Will it last? Can a relationship so physically orientated and so determinedly detached in every other respect last? Am I a stepping stone while you get over Serena? Those kinds of thoughts.’

They crossed the Pacific Highway and the Range Rover swept down a winding road then up again towards the lovely, camphor laurel country that was home to Rosemont.

‘That’s what was upsetting you the other night?’ he said at last with a slight frown.

Clare took a breath. ‘Actually, I was wondering whether you’d decided you needed a more available and amenable mistress. To take away with you on business trips, for example?’

A smile touched his mouth but it was faintly grim. ‘Would your unease with our relationship make you into that kind of mistress, Clare?’

‘No,’ she said definitely.

‘Then I think we have to acknowledge that for whatever reason—and there are plenty—and despite the odd bit of dissatisfaction, this is what suits us best. Yes,’ he said as she made a sudden movement beside him, ‘I did suddenly think that I would be lonely without you on this trip. I did, I don’t deny, think, Why the hell does she have to work so damned hard anyway?’

‘Go on,’ she said barely audibly.

He looked at her ironically. ‘My next thought was, I’m sure she’d hate me for thinking along those lines—and I wasn’t wrong, was I, Clare?’

A week ago he wouldn’t have been, she mused sadly. Now? Now, of course, everything had changed.

‘Which is why,’ he said at length when she didn’t answer, ‘I don’t think we should tamper with the order of things as they stand between us, Clare.’

‘I...I was going to say—I see,’ she responded as some inner resource came to her rescue. What she really felt like doing was bursting into tears, because the distortions and half truths had established what she’d always feared—that he wouldn’t want to marry her. ‘But I won’t be lawyerly,’ she soldiered on with a false smile. ‘You’re probably right.’