‘No... Oh, God. I don’t know. Probably not...but maybe. I’ll head to the bat
hroom.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ His hand on her back, they wended their way through the guests to the restaurant, where the staff were scurrying in a hive of activity.
Gabby headed at speed towards the bathroom and Zander waited, aware of a tightness across his chest, an elusive feeling that he was missing something important.
When Gabby emerged she looked marginally better. ‘I’m OK. I wasn’t sick. Usually if I just sit down for a bit I can will it away.’
‘“Usually”?’
There was a beat and then another. ‘I meant whenever I feel nauseous...ever since I was a child. I’m fine now.’ But her hazel eyes skittered away.
‘OK.’ Again there was that sense he was out of the loop. And now he went with his instinct. ‘If you say so. But I don’t believe you. I know something is wrong and I think you should tell me.’
‘Stop...’
The word was too low, too urgent, and now real panic took hold of him. ‘Tell me. Are you ill?’ Shades of Claudia. He took her hands in his, shocked at how cold her fingers were. ‘Tell me. I’ll sort it out.’
She gave a small half laugh. ‘I don’t think you can sort this out, Zander. Not even you.’
‘Then I’ll help. Tell me what it is.’
‘I... I’m sorry, Zander. This isn’t the time or the place, but...’ Gently she took her hand from his. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’
The word echoed, reverberated up to the lofty grandeur of the ceiling, off the iconic Georgian chandelier and flew, ping-ping-ping, from one fluted pillar to the next. It caused a sonic boom that vortexed around him, filled with the one word on repeat.
Pregnant.
It resounded in a sonorous toll.
Pregnant.
The meaning of the word sought entry to a brain desperate to block it out. Eventually he forced his vocal cords into action and looked down at Gabby, sitting on an elegant dining chair, surrounded by crystal and silver and pristine white napkins.
‘But you can’t be.’
He recognised the stupidity of the words even as he uttered them. Gabby wouldn’t lie and she wouldn’t make it up. Had Julia been right—had this all been an elaborate set-up? His own folly dawned on him. He’d accepted that she was on the pill, hadn’t given any other protection a thought. Yet he couldn’t believe he’d got it so wrong—anyway, she looked as shell-shocked as him.
‘Well, I am. I told you the truth in Sintra. I am on the pill. It turns out that it’s to do with that herbal remedy I was taking for anxiety—apparently in a low number of cases it can counteract the pill. It does say so in the small print. Ironic, really. All my research, all my planning, and I didn’t read the small print.’
Zander wished he could think, but his brain felt as if it was encased in a gluey mix of sludge, each thought coming in slow motion. As she spoke, he had backed away from her and was now a foot away from the table. He recognised the stricken look in her eyes, looked away, caught a glimpse of his expression in an ornate gilded mirror. Horror had redrawn his features into a caricature of repudiation.
Too many emotions swirled inside him—along with the memory of Claudia, who had wanted a family. It had been Zander who had insisted on caution, on waiting. Now her voice echoed in his brain.
‘Zan. I think we should go for it. I know we’re young, but that’s OK. Let’s start a family—not a business.’
And he’d resisted, prevaricated, knowing his own dream would be given up, would flicker out before ever catching light. Then illness had struck and all their energy had been for the fight and then acceptance. Claudia hadn’t ever got to hold a baby in her arms...and now Gabby would.
Gabby was carrying his baby.
The whole idea jarred in his brain and he felt something inside him shattering—illusions, plans, certainties. All were coated with a layer of guilt. It was all he could do to remain still, not to run from the room with its Regency splendour.
Gabby rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you now—not like this...not at the wedding. I know this isn’t what you want.’
Her hand went to her tummy, lay flat over it almost as if she were protecting the baby from his reaction, from his words. The gesture dispersed the fog, cut through the sludge. None of this was the baby’s fault. Zander’s guilt and emotion, his past behaviours, failures and fears, had nothing to do with the miraculous being growing in Gabby’s womb.