The Unexpected Baby

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.’

She turned again and walked down the path. Her spine was as straight as it could possibly go, but, boy, was it tingling! She half expected him to bounce up behind her and grab her, lock her in the attic, if that was what it took, and keep her there until a situation arose that demanded she be brought out and paraded—a new bride doll with a painted smile and a puppet master to pull her strings.

But he did no such thing. Of course he didn’t. He let her go.

The hotel she always used when she flew into London to see her publisher was comfortable and unpretentious. It suited her. Or had done.

Tonight she couldn’t settle. Jed haunted her mind and filled her heart. Memories of the good times, those special, wonderful, loving times, kept coming back, resurfacing seconds after she’d thought she’d pushed them back into oblivion. The bad times, too, were ever present, tormenting her.

Since arriving she’d made an appointment to meet with her editor tomorrow, and another to have lunch with her agent the day after that. The rest of the time would be spent shopping for that perfect dress, shoes to wear with it, maybe a new perfume.

She’d get her hair trimmed. And what about a facial? Manicure? Browse through the bookshops. Why not? Anything to fill the hours, occupy her mind.