Читать книгу By Request Collection April-June 2016 - Оливия Гейтс - Страница 30

IT WAS the middle of November. A mild November, thus far, with none of the heavy frosts and icy temperatures that could make working outside difficult. But Melanie wasn’t thinking of the weather as she left the doctor’s surgery. She walked over to her pickup truck in the car park, but once she was sitting inside she didn’t start the engine, staring blindly out of the windscreen.

She hadn’t seen Forde since the day she had begun working for Isabelle, although he had phoned her several times, ostensibly with questions about his mother’s garden. On learning from her solicitor that they’d been waiting for some time for Forde to sign and return certain documents appertaining to the divorce, she’d called him at home two nights ago.

She leant back in the truck’s old, tattered seat and shut her eyes. Forde had been cheerfully apologetic about the delay, making some excuse about pressure of work, but what had really got under her skin was the woman’s voice she’d heard in the background when she’d been talking to him. She hadn’t asked him who he was with, she had no right whatsoever to question him after the way she’d walked out of their home and the marriage, but it had hurt her more than she would have thought possible to think of another woman in their home.

Stupid. Opening her eyes, she inhaled deeply. Forde was at liberty to see whomever he wished. Nevertheless, she hadn’t been able to sleep that night. She had arrived at work the next morning feeling ill, and when she’d fainted clean away as she and James had been preparing a gravelled area for a number of architectural and structural plants her assistant had been scared to death.

Poor James. If she weren’t so shocked and dazed at what the doctor had found she could have smiled. He’d been beside himself, saying she hadn’t been well for weeks and what if she fainted again when she was driving or using some of the equipment they’d hired for the job? She could badly injure herself or worse. In the end, just to appease him, she had promised to call her doctor’s surgery and as it happened they’d had a cancellation this morning. She had walked into Dr Chisholm’s room explaining she knew she was suffering from stress and all her symptoms could be put down to that, and if she could just have some pills to take the edge off she would be fine. He’d gently reminded her that he was the doctor and he’d prefer to give her a thorough examination after asking her a few questions.

Her hands trembling, she forced herself to start the engine. She had to get back to work. There was still plenty to do at Hillview and each day the mild weather continued was a bonus. The old-timers were predicting that a mild October and November meant the country would suffer for it come December and January. They were on target to finish the job mid-December and if any bad weather could hold off till then, it would be a huge benefit.

But she found she couldn’t drive. She was shaking too much. She sat huddled in her seat as reality began to dawn on her stunned mind. She was expecting a baby. Forde’s baby. That one night in August had had repercussions the like of which she hadn’t imagined in her wildest dreams. With hindsight, it was ridiculous she hadn’t suspected the non-appearance of her monthlies, the tiredness and queasiness that had developed into bouts of nausea and sickness could be something other than stress. But she hadn’t. She really hadn’t. Perhaps she’d blanked her mind to the possibility she could be pregnant, but there was no mistaking it now. She was thirteen weeks pregnant.

She had fainted a couple of times in the early days when she was carrying Matthew. Matthew. Oh, Matthew, Matthew… She began to cry, her mind in turmoil. ‘I’m sorry, my precious baby,’ she murmured helplessly. ‘I never meant for this to happen. I love you, I’ll always love you. You know that, don’t you?’

How long she sat there she didn’t know. She only came to herself when her driver’s door was suddenly yanked open and Forde crouched down beside her, his voice agonised as he said, ‘Nell? Nell, what is it? What’s the matter?’

He was the only person she wanted to see and yet the last person, and she couldn’t explain that even to herself. Desperately trying to control herself, she stammered, ‘Wh-what are you—you doing here?’

He had closed her door and walked round the bonnet, sliding into the passenger seat and taking her into his arms—in spite of the gear stick—before she knew what was happening. ‘My mother realised you weren’t with James this morning and asked where you were,’ he murmured above her head. ‘James said you’d gone to the doctor’s, that he was worried about you. Damn it, Nell, I’m your husband. If anyone has the right to be worried about you, it’s me. What’s wrong?’

She hadn’t had time to think about this, to decide what to tell him—if anything. But no, she would have to tell him, she thought in the next moment. He had a right to know. He was the father. The father. Oh, hell, hell, this couldn’t be happening. And yet in spite of her desperate confusion and the feeling she’d let Matthew down in some way, her maternal instincts had risen with a fierceness that had overwhelmed her.

She thought of all the heavy work she’d done over the past weeks and breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness she hadn’t lost this tiny person growing inside her. But now she was scared, petrified something would happen to the baby because of her.

‘Nell?’ Forde’s voice was a rumble above her head as he continued to hold her close. ‘Whatever this is, whatever’s wrong, we’ll get through it, OK?’

His words acted like an injection of adrenaline. She pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand in a childish gesture that belied her words when she said baldly, ‘I’m pregnant.’

Forde heard the words but for a moment they didn’t register. Since his mother had called him to say Melanie was at the doctor’s surgery, that she had been ill for weeks without telling anyone, he’d imagined she was suffering from every terminal illness under the sun.

She had been so thin and fragile-looking the last time he’d seen her, he’d told himself with savage self-condemnation. He should have done something about it. And everyone knew certain diseases and conditions were only successfully treated if you did something about them fast. And it had been weeks, months …

He had driven like a madman to the address of the surgery James had given his mother, one eye on every vehicle coming in the opposite direction in case she had passed him. He’d fully expected she would be gone when he pulled into the doctor’s car park and when he’d seen the truck had known a moment’s deep relief before he’d realised she was bent over the steering wheel with her head in her hands. Then he’d known a panic he’d never felt before.

His face as stunned as hers had been when Dr Chisholm had given her the news, he said, ‘What did you say?’

‘I’m—I’m expecting a baby.’ Drawing on every scrap of composure at her disposal, she went on, ‘The night you came to my cottage in August, it happened then. I’m thirteen weeks pregnant.’

He raked back his hair in the old familiar way. ‘But you’re on the pill.’ It had been one of the things they had argued about in the months following the miscarriage, her insistence that she go on the pill to avoid another pregnancy. He’d been patient at first, understanding her mind as well as her body needed time to get over what had happened, but then after one particularly painful row she had told him she didn’t want more children, not ever. And that night he had returned to the house to find her gone.

‘After I’d left there was no need to take it,’ she said flatly.

He stared at her. There hadn’t been much need before she’d left; she had hardly let him near her, even to kiss her. She had withdrawn into herself with a completeness that had baffled him. She still baffled him, but… The wonder began to dawn on him. She was pregnant. Pregnant with their baby.

As his face lit up Melanie strained away from him, her back pressing against the driver’s door. ‘No,’ she mumbled, fear in her voice as well as her body language. ‘I don’t want this—can’t you see? This doesn’t change anything between us.’

‘Are you crazy?’ he said huskily. ‘Of course it does.’ And then, as her words hit home, his eyes widened. ‘You’re not considering a termination?’

Hurt beyond measure he could think such a thing, she felt anger replace panic. ‘Of course I’m not,’ she all but spat at him. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’

There was a stark silence as she watched his face change. ‘Let me get this right. You want the baby but you don’t want me? Is that what you’re trying to say?’

Her face white, Melanie shook her head. ‘I don’t mean that.’

‘Then what the hell do you mean?’ Knowing his voice had been too loud and struggling for calmness, Forde took a rasping breath. ‘Look, let’s get out of here and go somewhere for a coffee where we can discuss this.’

‘No.’

It was immediate and again the note of fear was there. Forde could feel his control slipping. She was making him feel like some sort of monster, for crying out loud. She was his wife and this was his baby, and she wouldn’t even talk to him?

Whether Melanie realised what he was thinking, he didn’t know, but in the next instant he saw her take a deep breath before she said, ‘I’m sorry, Forde, really, but I have to have time to adjust to this myself and I need to get back to work—’

‘The hell you are.’ His face darkened. ‘You’re thirteen weeks pregnant, woman. Think of the baby.’

Baby. Just the sound of the word brought such a rush of emotion she felt dizzy. ‘Women the world over work when they are pregnant,’ she pointed out with a calmness she was far from feeling, ‘and I shall explain the situation to James and tell him I won’t be doing any lifting or carrying of heavy bags and things. But I still need to work, Forde. I want to work.’

‘You’re not well enough,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Now I know why I’ve been feeling the way I have I can eat little and often and make sure I don’t miss meals or get too tired, but normal life will continue.’ Feeling a compromise was in order, she added, ‘I’ll phone you tonight, I promise.’

‘Not good enough. I want to sit down with you and discuss this properly. You’re carrying my child, Nell. I’ll take you out for a meal tonight. Be ready about eight.’

She really didn’t want to do this. For one thing the complaint she now recognised was morning sickness tended to be more afternoon and evening sickness, and for another being with Forde was painful at the best of times, reminding her of all she’d lost. ‘I don’t think—’ She found her words cut off as his mouth took hers.

The kiss was a deliberate assault on her senses, she recognised that from the moment his mouth descended, but he’d taken her by surprise and by the time reason was back she was trembling at the sweetness of his lovemaking. He had moved to lean over her, using one hand to steady himself and the other to lightly cup her breast, but immediately his tongue had slid along her teeth and he had probed her lips open.

In spite of herself she gave no resistance as he slowly and voluptuously explored her mouth; she couldn’t. He only had to touch her—he’d only ever had to touch her—and she melted, turning liquid with desire. Her attraction to him had always been consuming, that was why she had tried to put distance between them after they’d lost Matthew. First by shutting herself away emotionally and mentally, and then by physically removing herself from his orbit. But he had forced his way into her life again, with disastrous results. But no, she couldn’t think of their baby as a disaster.

With her guard lowered and her defences down, Melanie kissed him back as she had done on the fateful night in August. His sharp intake of breath told her he’d sensed her capitulation, but his mouth was like a drug and she couldn’t break its hold on her.

It was another car drawing alongside them that caused Forde to ease back into his own seat, his mouth reluctantly leaving hers after one last long kiss at the side of her mouth.

To her shame, Melanie knew she wouldn’t have been able to show such restraint, regardless of who was around. And that was the trouble, she told herself silently as she smoothed back a strand of hair off one hot cheek. Forde had been the chink in the armour she’d worn against the outside world from the day she had met him. He had made her believe in happy-ever-after for a while, convinced her that his love was enough to protect her from anything that might come against them, from within and without. But he hadn’t been able to stop her hurting Matthew.

A young mother with a toddler climbed out of the car that had parked next to them, clearly pregnant for the second time. The girl didn’t look a day over eighteen and she was bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, her long blonde hair and short miniskirt, which revealed endless legs clad in leggings, making Melanie feel like an old hag.

That was the sort of woman Forde should have married, she thought miserably. Someone fresh and sparkling without any hang-ups. Someone as far removed from herself as the man in the moon, in fact. Her thoughts gave strength to her voice when she said, ‘I have to get back to work, Forde. Now.’

He didn’t argue this time. ‘OK. But you make sure you explain this new turn of events to James, Nell. I have a spy in the camp who’ll inform me if you’re not behaving, remember that.’

He had been joking, well, half joking, she surmised, but the words were like a bucket of cold water poured over her head. Isabelle. This baby was her grandchild. The panic returned but stronger, and she felt she must know what a fish felt like when caught in a fisherman’s net with no visible source of escape.

‘Eight o’clock tonight, OK?’

Forde was looking at her and, seeing in his eyes he wouldn’t take no for an answer, Melanie nodded jerkily.

He gave her one last swift kiss, his uneven mouth quirking. ‘Stop looking as though the prospect of dinner with the father of your child is a fate worse than death,’ he murmured sardonically. ‘My ego has taken enough hits in the last months as it is.’

Afterwards, she wondered what on earth had made her say her next words. Maybe it was because the memory of the woman’s voice in the background when she’d been talking to him on the phone still rankled—more than rankled, if she was being honest. Or perhaps it was his assumption that the fact that she was pregnant sorted all the problems? Or that he didn’t understand, he simply didn’t get the torment she’d been going through since Matthew’s death because she, and she alone, was responsible for their son’s stillbirth and nothing could change that.

‘I’m sure there are plenty of willing fingers just itching to stroke that ego though,’ she said with deliberate nonchalance.

She watched the beautiful silver-blue eyes turn to crystal hardness. And immediately regretted her rashness.

‘Now that was definitely loaded,’ he said, searching her face with laserlike intensity. ‘Explain.’

She shrugged. ‘Nothing to explain. I was just saying I’m sure there are more than a few women lined up who are quite happy to keep you company, that’s all.’ Ecstatically so, no doubt.

‘And on what do you base that assumption?’ he asked with deceptive mildness.

‘Forde, I’m fully aware I have no right to criticise you seeing other women. You are free to do whatever you please.’

‘Is that so?’ It was a snarl. ‘And this—’ he held up his left hand with the thick gold wedding band ‘—means nothing? Is that it? Well, think again, sweetheart. It means a great deal to me as it happens.’

The hypocrisy was too much. ‘I know someone was with you the night I phoned about the divorce papers,’ she said stonily.

‘What?’ His brow wrinkled, then cleared. ‘Yes, you’re right,’ he said with silky smoothness. ‘There were several people present actually. I was holding a dinner party for my mother’s birthday, just her and several old friends of hers. I don’t know who you heard, Melanie, but I can assure you every woman present was eighty years old or above.’

Wonderful, just wonderful. Not only had she forgotten Isabelle’s birthday but had revealed herself as a jealous, mean-minded shrew. Gathering the remnants of her dignity around her, she stared at him, her chin lifting. ‘I see, but you don’t have to explain to me. I was just saying you’re free to do whatever you please.’

‘No, Nell, I’m not.’

The return of his pet name for her after the Melanie of a few moments ago made her want to sag with relief. But she didn’t. Stubbornly, she began, ‘I have no right—’

‘You have every right to demand of me the same faithfulness and honesty I demand of you, Nell. And let me just say this for the record. When I made my wedding vows I meant every one of them. And they hold firm. Got it?’ Forde was secretly rather pleased at the jealousy she’d betrayed but knew better than to belabour the point. ‘And I’ll pick you up at eight tonight.’

She wanted to object but when she looked at him there was an unsettling blend of concern and tenderness in his face. It wiped away her resolve. Weakly, she said, ‘James should never have said anything to your mother. I’m not pleased with him.’

‘Be as hard on him as you like,’ Forde said cheerfully, ‘but he did say something and I’ll be at yours at eight.’ He opened the truck door and then paused, turning to face her once more. ‘You were going to tell me about the baby, weren’t you?’

His uncertainty made her feel like the worst sinner on earth. She answered with obvious sincerity, her voice soft. ‘You would have been the first to know, Forde, even if you hadn’t turned up here this morning.’ And then honesty forced her to continue, ‘But it might not have been for a day or two until I’d adjusted to the idea.’

He stared at her. ‘Is it really so bad, being pregnant with our baby?’

It was the worst thing and the best thing in the world, but how could she explain that to him when she couldn’t explain it to herself? ‘I have to go,’ she said tightly.

He nodded. ‘Drive carefully.’ And then, as an afterthought, he added, ‘What are you going to tell my mother? She’s worried about you, Nell.’

She bit down hard on her bottom lip. ‘The truth, I guess.’ But that was going to be nearly as painful as these last few minutes with Forde. Isabelle wouldn’t understand why, in these new circumstances, they weren’t getting back together for a start, and who could blame her?

This was such a mess. She was a mess. And things were going to get even messier in the next days when Forde realised she wasn’t going back to him.

Her voice brittle, she said, ‘Goodbye, Forde. And—and thank you for coming.’

He smiled. ‘You don’t have to thank me. I’m your husband, remember?’

He stood and watched her as she drove away, his hands thrust in his pockets and his shoulders slightly hunched. He looked big and solid and very sexy, and she was indisputably pregnant by this wonderful man who was also her husband. She should have been the happiest woman in the world …