eau drawled mockingly. ‘Randy and I occasionally work together. I’m a photographer. I live in the apartment on the top floor of this building.’
The proverbial coin dropped. Gil. The male Randy called Gil and was in love with. She had mentioned him several times in letters. He had clearly known about her friendship with Randy that day he had gone out of his way to speak to her and Hannah.
Randy sighed. ‘Gil, I …’
He inclined his dark head. ‘I’m going,’ he teased. ‘If I stayed, my sins would very likely be linked with Dane’s.’
‘I’m sorry, I seem to have—–’ Claire listened to the thud of the front door. ‘I shouldn’t have landed on you like this. It was just so late and I couldn’t face a hotel.’
Randy gave her an affectionate hug. ‘Gil and I don’t sleep together,’ she said frankly. ‘You didn’t disturb us. We had a meal out because he said he was at a loose end.’
Viewing the grim light in her friend’s eyes at that confession, she registered that the path of true love ran no smoother for her.
‘We’re really just friends,’ she continued. ‘He gave up switching on the Gallic charm ages ago. Would you like a drink? I know I would.’
Claire settled into Randy’s spare room with ease. They had always had the kind of friendship that neither distance nor time lapses altered, and within the first week she found a job. Ironically, it came courtesy of Gilles.
He was a frequent visitor to the flat and when he learnt that she was looking for a job he viewed her with lancing amusement, but tactfully made no comment. A couple of days later, however, he called in to leave a phone number with her.
‘John’s an archaeologist. I did some photographic work for his current book. He’s looking for an assistant to help him put together his material,’ he said. ‘His last one got bored with the isolation and left to work in an office. I mentioned your name. He suggested you ring if you’re interested.’
John Hawthorne was a portly man in his fifties with a pleasant warmth of manner, and he offered her the job at their informal interview. He showed her the tiny office off the library of his townhouse and the typewriter that she felt confident of mastering for the few letters he would require of her. She also decided to enrol in night classes.
She tried to count her blessings then. It was infinitely preferable to have left Dane with all flags flying. He was content to think her reunited with Max and she was lucky to have a job. It mightn’t last for ever but John would give her a good reference when he no longer required her services. The first few weeks of severance crawled past.
In low moments, she had a habit of staring out of her office window. It overlooked a walled garden and snowdrops were pushing their heads up bravely in the shelter of a wall despite the white carpet of a heavy ground frost. Dane was still whooping it up in the Caribbean with a variety of female companions. He had been photographed partying on the yacht. As sure as God made little apples Dane was not anywhere gazing out of a window watching snowdrops grow!
‘If you ever need anything,’ he had emphasised before she got on the plane, ‘call me.’
And what would he do if she did and told him that she couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, would never have believed that there was this much pain in loving? But of course she wouldn’t. At Christmas she would write. Christmas was a comfortable distance away. She might be capable of putting pen to paper by then.
She had sent a note of her address to Lew Harrison, receiving a reply by return of post that icily offered her an allowance per month which was more than her present salary would give her in an entire year. She had written back to say she was working and self-sufficent. At least she had made someone’s day of recent! A tense smile fleeted across her lips. She had called in at the doctor’s the day before yesterday on a much more enlightening mission, although she hadn’t known it at the time.
She had been half-way through a careful delivery of her dizzy spells, her poor appetite and feeling like the worst of malingerers when the doctor had cut in to say, ‘Forgive me, but is it possible that you could be pregnant?’
Claire had halted mid-flow. No, it hadn’t occurred to her. Not once had it occurred to her, and her periods had often tended to be irregular during times of particular stress, so she hadn’t paid any heed to the absence of one until the doctor drew her attention to the fact.
The possibility had shattered her initially. Old wives’ tale or not, she had never credited that two nights in a man’s arms could lead to such far-reaching consequences. And the news that she had to await the results of a test for confirmation had filled her with raw impatience.
John called in to remind her that she had asked if she could finish early. ‘You’d better hurry,’ he said, checking his watch.
She had to wait ages to see the doctor. Her nerves were stretched by the time she finally got into the surgery. Ten minutes later she floated out on air. The knowledge that she carried Dane’s child inside her was a guilty source of joy, for she had no doubt how he would react to such a bombshell. Her delight, however, was soon equal to blocking out that momentary sense of discomfiture. She had finally discovered something capable of keeping her sane. There would be no more sleepless nights or scratchy meals. No more wallowing in a bottomless pit of self-pity for what she couldn’t have. All of a sudden, she couldn’t stop smiling!
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘WHAT do you mean, now you’ve got something to look forward to?’ Randy still looked in need of resuscitation, her carrying voice piercing Claire’s ears so that she almost winced. ‘Are you out of your tiny mind? Life is just about to open up for you and you get a stab in the back like this … it doesn’t bear thinking about!’ she muttered feelingly, sinking down on the telephone seat.
Claire stifled her irritation. ‘The baby, or the life that was opening up?’ she teased. ‘Honestly, I’m delighted.’
Randy glanced up. ‘You came in here as white as a sheet.’
‘The lift made me feel sick,’ Claire admitted ruefully.
Randy shook her head. ‘You really are happy about it. How can you be?’ she demanded. ‘Who wants to be stuck with a baby after the shortest marriage on record?’
Claire straightened her shoulders. ‘I do and now you’ve said your piece, would you mind if we dropped the subject?’
She went into her room before her tactless friend could further detract from her pleasure. Randy had recently been plotting and planning to try and persuade Claire into accompanying her to parties and the like. To Randy, a pregnancy now, when her marriage was over bar the shouting, was a disaster. For Claire, a serene and softened smile on her mouth as she examined her still slender profile in the mirror, it was redemption. She couldn’t have Dane but she could have his child.