The Unexpected Baby Page 8

Elena swallowed a constriction in her throat. He had a beautiful body, tanned all over, a smooth, slick skin, not too hairy, and not bulging with muscles, either, but honed and hard, superbly fit.

  Almost as if he’d sensed her eyes on him, Jed explained lazily, ‘I was telling her about the frantic faxes from your agent about the awards ceremony and your latest book being short-listed.’ He plucked the paper from his face and swung his bare feet to the floor, pushing a hand through his hair, making it stick up in soft spikes which invited the touch of her fingers.

  Firmly, she pulled her dark glasses from a capacious skirt pocket and put them on. She didn’t dare let him look at her eyes because he’d surely see the starkness of unwilling need there. She wouldn’t let him know that every time she looked at the man who thought she was a deceitful little liar, totally devoid of morals, her body stirred with that desperate, consuming need. She still had her pride, if little else in the way of selfdefence. She’d do her damnedest to hang onto it.

  ‘And as we’ll have to return to London to attend, I’ve booked us on the same flight back as Ma. Luckily there were spare seats.’

  Catherine was saying something about enjoying the flight home so much more if she wasn’t going to be on her own. Elena wasn’t listening properly. She wasn’t in the mood to concentrate on the older woman’s happy chatter.

  He was doing it again, mapping her life out for her, telling her what to do and when to do it, regardless of her feelings, not even asking her what she wanted. No doubt he’d decided she didn’t merit that courtesy.

  And possibly the worst thing—the almost unbearably frustrating thing—was her complete inability to do anything about it. Not in front of Catherine, anyway.

  She swung away, her shoulders tight with tension, walking to the edge of the terrace, feeling the hot Andalucian breeze mould her cotton top to her body, lifting her head to inhale the spiritually healing scent of her garden flowers, the more astringent perfume of mountain herbs.

  Life had been so uncomplicated once. She’d had it all—her home in a country she’d come to love for its vibrancy and passion, this spectacular view, a highly successful career. The only thing to mar it had been the growing and savagely compelling need to hold her own child in her arms.

  It was ironic that the child that was now growing inside her was the reason for her present ejection from the paradise she’d found in Jed’s love.

  ‘Why don’t you finalise the details with your agent, darling?’ He’d come to stand beside her. He put a hand on her shoulder. His touch branded her. She wanted to swipe his hand away, tell him not to call her darling because he didn’t mean it, tell him to stop torturing her!

  She turned her head sharply, her breath catching explosively in her throat, her hair flying around her shoulders. His slight warning frown told her Not in front of Catherine, but he sounded totally laid back when he added, ‘We’ve only a couple more days here, so Ma and I will get out from under your feet. We’ll go and explore the village, potter around, give you time to pack and make arrangements for closing the house up.’

  He was giving her a breathing space. That, at least, was something to be grateful for. Somehow she managed to make all the right noises, to smile, even, telling them about another village, further down the valley, where there were the ruins of a castle and a thirteenth-century church, expressing rather vague and insincere regrets that she was unable to accompany them, escaping at last to the privacy of her study, feeling the blessed silence of her home settle around her.

  She sat at her desk and sank her head into her hands. She had a few precious hours alone, no need to play-act for Catherine’s benefit. Thoughtfully, Jed had given her that time. But probably not for her benefit, she decided with a shuddery sigh. He must have realised the strain she was under and hadn’t wanted her to explode in front of his mother and ruin the poor woman’s illusions.

  And he could escape, too, just for a few hours. Get away from the woman he’d once loved and now regarded with contempt and distrust.

  She lifted her head, pushed her hair away from her face with one hand, reached for the phone with the other and began to dial her agent’s London number.

  Netherhaye was as lovely as Elena remembered it. A sprawling edifice of golden stone, drowsing in the late afternoon sun, the lovely house managed to insert a sharp finger of sadness into her heart. Had her marriage still been strong, beautiful and true, she would have looked forward to their sharing their time between here and Las Rocas.

  But she mustn’t think like that, she told herself. And made herself concentrate on the housekeeper’s effusive greetings. Edith Simms was a fixture, Catherine had told her. Efficient, willing, very likeable—almost part of the family.

  She pushed the unwelcome feeling of sadness out of the way. She’d coped well these last few days, but only because she’d known she had to, and the hundred and one things she’d had to do—and a few dozen more that had been pure invention—before she could leave Las Rocas had helped more than anyone would ever know.

  But she wouldn’t be away from Spain for too long, she assured herself. The only way into the future was to smother all her emotions and go forward, get on with her life. But that would have to wait until after the ceremony.

  ‘I’ve made the master suite ready for you and Mrs Nolan,’ Edith said to Jed, smiling comfortably, convinced she’d done the right thing. Elena wondered what she’d think if she knew the truth, that Jed couldn’t bear the sight of his new bride, that the thought of sharing a bedroom with her made him shudder.

  ‘Thank you, Edith.’ Jed’s features were impassive. ‘I’ll take the cases up—no need to get your husband in from the gardens. Is he still managing?’

  ‘Oh, yes, very well. It’s the winter when his arthritis plays up and makes things difficult. Come the warm weather and he’s right as ninepence.’

  ‘Good.’ Jed smiled down into the housekeeper’s homely face. ‘I’ll have a word with him about getting a lad in to do the heavier work—and don’t worry about him starting to feel old and redundant. I’ll make sure he knows he’s the gaffer and that we need his valuable experience and know-how.’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Nolan, sir!’ Edith breathed, her faded brown eyes like an adoring spaniel’s as Jed strode away to fetch the cases from the car. Elena told herself not to go soft and start admiring his understanding and compassion. He’d shown not a scrap where she was concerned.

  ‘And Susan Keele asked you to phone just as soon as you had a moment.’ The housekeeper had turned to Catherine, and Catherine’s eyes went round and wide, like an excited child’s.

  ‘She must have some definite news about the cottage! How wonderful! I’ll phone right away. You’ll want to speak to her, too, Elena. Let’s go through to the little sitting room.’

  Of all the many rooms at Netherhaye this was one of Elena’s favourites. Comfy armchairs, slightly the worse for wear, were grouped around a stone hearth where apple logs burned brightly in the colder weather. Chunky little oak tables were piled with gardening books and magazines, and Marjory Allingham prints hung on the faded ochre walls, and there was a view of the mysteriously inviting edges of Catherine’s water garden from the mullioned window.

  ‘Here—’ Catherine held out the receiver. ‘It’s ringing out. You speak to her first.’

  Elena took it and began to explain why she and Jed had returned from Spain much sooner than expected.

  ‘Well, it’s nice to be on the short-list, I suppose, but a pity to spoil your honeymoon,’ Susan dismissed, not to Elena’s very great surprise. Her mother had never been much interested in what her daughter did—apart from her marriages. Susan wanted her settled so she could cross her off her list of things to worry about. Elena shuddered to think what her mother’s reaction would be when she learned the truth.

  ‘The sale’s going through that end, and I’ve put this house on the market.’ Now she was all enthusiasm, practically buzzing with it. ‘I should have made a move years and years ag
o—got away from bad memories—but I never could seem to be able to face it. I’m really looking forward to sharing that cottage with Catherine. I do admire her. The way she coped with Sam’s death made me see that life goes on.’

  After five more minutes in the same vein, Elena handed over to Catherine and went to see what Jed had done about their sleeping arrangements, wondering if her mother could be right and Catherine was far stronger than they’d thought.

  It was worth thinking about. Maybe they didn’t need to pussyfoot around her quite so much. Maybe she could take the news of the breakdown of their marriage without going to pieces.

  Maybe she could tell her the truth without feeling too guilty...

  She found Jed in the beautifully furnished, elegantly decorated master suite. He was staring out of one of the tall windows and didn’t turn, much less greet her when she closed the panelled door behind her. Well, what else had she expected?

  She said tonelessly, detachedly pleased she was at last winning the battle with her emotions, pushing them down, grinding them out of sight with a metaphorical heel, ‘I can use the room I had when I stayed here before.’ And refused to let herself remember how extraordinarily wonderful that time of falling so deeply in love had been.

  ‘No.’ Still he didn’t turn to face her, seeming to find the view of the gardens and the rolling countryside beyond irresistible. ‘Not until Catherine’s settled into the cottage. And by then I’ll be making myself scarce. I told you I would, remember? Then you can have the whole damned place to yourself!’

  She heard the note of angry exasperation but didn’t let herself take any pleasure from the fact that she could still provoke some emotion. She told herself she was now completely indifferent. It was over. Over and finished. And because it was it had to be tidied away, put neatly out of sight, and then it could be forgotten.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I won’t go along with that,’ she told him in a clear, cool voice. ‘You decided we’d play at being the ideal happy couple. I wasn’t consulted. So you can play-act on your own, because after that wretched awards ceremony I’m out of here.’

  ‘No.’ He did turn then. Abruptly, almost clumsily. She saw the harsh lines of strain on his tough features and refused to betray her hard-won indifference by feeling any compassion for him at all. He had brought it on himself by refusing to believe that there had been nothing more than a clinical arrangement between her and his brother. ‘Have you no consideration for Catherine’s feelings? And what about the child? Doesn’t he or she deserve the care of two parents? I know Sam would have wanted that.’

  Pallor spread beneath his tan, and intuitively she knew what it had cost him to mention his brother in this context She said, more gently than she’d intended, ‘I’m sorry, but I can’t agree with you on that, either. Sam wouldn’t have wanted his child brought up by parents who loathed each other.’ She spread her hands in a gesture that said how hopeless the situation was. ‘You say we could be polite and pleasant to each other in the company of others. But think about it. Life would become intolerable and the cracks would start to show—Sam wouldn’t have wanted us to suffer that way.’

  She probed the hard grey eyes, wondering if she was getting through to him. Impossible to tell. He seemed to have blanked off, the earlier flare of emotion under tight control. ‘I’m perfectly capable of caring for my child on my own. I don’t need support, financial or otherwise. And remember, I’m not a silly little girl; I’ve been making my own decisions for many years now. And as for Catherine, I think she deserves to be told. Not brutally, of course, but gently. I’m beginning to believe she’s stronger than you think.’

  He turned back to his contemplation of the view, hands thrust into the pockets of his trousers. ‘You’re getting good at doing this, aren’t you?’

  ‘Doing what?’ She didn’t understand.

  ‘Saying goodbye and moving on.’ Hard shoulders lifted in a shrug. ‘Liam, Sam, me.’

  ‘This is different,’ she said quickly, without thinking, her feelings for this man fighting to surface.

  ‘Is it?’ It was his turn to display utter, drawling indifference. ‘Now why is that?’

  ‘Because I love you.’

  She tried to bite back the words but they’d already escaped her. Why the purple petunias had she used the present tense?

  Because her emotions were stronger than her will to control them.

  She left the room as quickly and quietly as she could, knowing that the stand she’d so decisively made had been fatally undermined by those four unthinking words.

  She was going to have to try harder. Much, much harder.

  The oak-panelled breakfast room was filled with morning sunlight when Elena walked in, feeling groggy. Not so much morning sickness but the aftermath of a hatefully restless night.

  Jed had refused to hear of her moving out of the master suite. He’d pointed her at the huge double bed, tossed one of the pillows and a light blanket onto the Edwardian chaise longue beneath one of the windows and spent the night there, sleeping like a baby as far as she could tell, while she’d lain in the big lonely bed, stiff as a board, not letting herself toss and turn because he might wake and guess the reason for her restlessness.

  And now he was at the breakfast table, finishing off with toast and marmalade, unfairly hunky in a soft white T-shirt and narrow, scuffed black denims.

  He laid aside his newspaper and remarked blandly, ‘I told Edith you wouldn’t want a cooked breakfast. Help yourself to juice and toast—if you’re ready for it. Should I ring for fresh coffee?’

  She shook her head, sitting opposite him, smoothing out the full skirts of the tan-coloured cotton dress she was wearing, pleating the fabric between her fingers as he filled a glass with orange juice and pushed it towards her with the tip of his finger.

  If he was going to act like a polite stranger, pretend nothing had happened to turn lovers into enemies, then she’d go along with it. For now. Frankly, she didn’t feel up to fighting, restating her decision to leave him and make a clean break. It would have to wait until she felt better able to handle it. Once the awards ceremony was out of the way she could concentrate on organising the rest of her life.

  He’d picked up his paper again, but after a few minutes of intolerable silence, when the only sound appeared to be the bumping of her heart against her ribcage, he lowered it and told her, ‘Catherine’s taken herself down to the cottage. Apparently the Fletchers moved out a couple of days ago. Contracts won’t be exchanged for another six weeks or so, but she couldn’t wait to look round the garden and make plans for transforming it.’

  Six weeks of pretending to be the ecstatic new bride, then Lord knew how much longer staying meekly here, playing the role of the understanding wife, while he made himself scarce, immersed himself in business.

  That was his decision. It wasn’t, and never could be, hers. Her stomach lurched, an uneasy prelude to ejecting the few sips of juice she’d swallowed. She pushed the glass away.

  ‘I’ll be in the garden if you want me.’ He folded the paper and put it to one side, his tone telling her he knew she wouldn’t. ‘I’ll be helping Simms trim the yew hedges and breaking the news that he’s to have permanent help.’ He stood up, looked at his watch. ‘I suggest you register with the local GP. Edith will let you have the surgery’s number. Make an appointment to have a check-up. It’s past time you did.’

  And he left the room.

  She hadn’t said a word, Elena realised as deep silence settled around her. Not a single one. Was this how Jed saw their future? He dictating, she accepting, turning into a mouse?

  Pushing herself to her feet, she knew she couldn’t let that happen. She went to find Edith.

  Two hours later she followed the sound of the electric hedge-cutter and found Jed on a step-ladder, neatening off the top of the ten-foot high ancient yew hedges that surrounded Catherine’s formal rose garden.

  Simms said, ‘Nice to see you again, Mrs Nolan—grand day isn’t it?
’ He smiled at her and wheeled a barrow of trimmings away, and Jed came down the steps, switching off the noisy implement, a slight frown lowering his straight black brows.

  He looked gorgeous. All man and touchable. Very, very touchable. Heat, hard work, sweat and hedge-dust had left smudges on his face, rumpled up his hair and created damp and grubby patches on his old T-shirt.

  Elena swallowed convulsively but kept her head high, her face serene. And of course he was looking puzzled, wondering why she was so glossy, so packaged.

  She’d arranged her pale hair at the nape of her neck, in a smooth, cool style, fixed tiny gold studs into the lobes of her ears and was wearing a suit he hadn’t seen before—straw-coloured linen, with a short-sleeved, nipped-waist, collarless jacket over a straight skirt that ended two inches above her knees—and plain, slightly darker-toned high heels.

  She said, as if reciting from a list, ‘I’ve registered with Greenway and I’ve arranged for a check-up m four days’ time.’ The morning of the awards ceremony. And before he could give her a verbal pat on the head for being a good girl and doing as she’d been told, she said, in the same breath, ‘Edith said it was all right for me to borrow the Astra. So I’ll head for London now. I managed to get a room at my usual hotel—a lucky late cancellation—and I’ll see you back here in three days’ time.’

  She heard him pull in his breath as she turned to go, and a second later his voice made her pause. ‘Running away, Elena?’

  She swung back. Never let it be said she hadn’t the courage to look him in the eye. ‘No. Shopping. I’d like something extra special to wear for the ceremony. You never know, I might win. And if I don’t, I’ll want to go down with all flags flying. Besides—’ she did what he’d done to her at breakfast: looked pointedly at her watch, and wondered if he felt as she had done—surplus to requirements ‘—I need to see my editor and my agent. I’m sure you can square my flit with Catherine. She at least understands that I have a life.’ She lobbed him a flinty smile. ‘You should be grateful. I’m sparing you my noxious company for three whole days. And nights.’