‘And practically no food,’ he countered. ‘You’ll be more comfortable sleeping at home. The car ought to be back by now. It’s three.’
‘For a mile walk?’ she exclaimed, clutching his arm as the sunlight almost blinded her. What a lovely word home was, she reflected cheerfully, only wincing as she straightened her back.
‘For you,’ he said steadily.
Ten minutes later the car was sweeping up a wooded driveway and the symmetrical splendour of Wytchwood’s Georgian frontage came into view. It was not the enormous house she had feared and, tucked as it was among a grove of tall, graceful trees, it was a delightful surprise.
Thompson was opening the doors before they even reached the top of the shallow steps. His welcoming smile warmed her and she gazed appreciatively round the spacious, mosaic-tiled hall, already enchanted by the light which seemed to flood in through the tall window.
‘She’s too tired to take a tour,’ Dane was saying with a soft laugh.
She wasn’t. The drowsiness had gone, but her back remained sore so she decided it might be more sensible to lie down and rest for a while.
‘You ought to go to bed.’ Dane was already herding her masterfully towards the carved staircase.
‘The house is lovely,’ she murmured.
‘Glad you like it.’ He pushed open a panelled door and simultaneously a tight, clenched sensation constrained her stomach muscles and she gave a gasp of discomfort.
‘What’s up?’ Dane d
emanded harshly.
She made it over to the bed before pain followed in a blinding wave, wrenching a moan of fear from her. Dane said something unprintable. As the force of the contraction receded she breathed again. ‘It’s the baby,’ she muttered.
‘Early?’ He ran long fingers through his silvery hair, the gesture not far removed from one of desperation.
‘Is there a hospital nearby?’ she pressed anxiously.
He seemed suddenly to unfreeze and while he was out on the landing shouting for Thompson, another contraction seized her, arriving far sooner than she had naïvely expected.
Dane reappeared, to sweep her hastily off the bed. ‘This is my fault. The way I carted you out of that apartment.’
‘I should have realised earlier what was wrong,’ she soothed uneasily. ‘I never counted on this, not now … with you …’
His arms tightened round her on his passage down the stairs. ‘I ought to be with you, but I won’t be much help.’ He gazed down at her, distinctly embarrassed. ‘I’m in a cold sweat.’
For all that, he was marvellous in the car on the way to the small cottage hospital and, by the time they arrived, Claire was in no state to worry about how the experience was affecting Dane. She was swept away from him at speed and suddenly felt totally bereft, plunged at her most vulnerable into the midst of strangers.
‘My goodness, that baby’s not waiting for anyone!’ the chirpy midwife said, and all around her there was a buzz of activity broken up by questions that she was barely able to answer, for the birth process had taken complete hold of her.
‘Dane!’ she cried at the peak of another powerful contraction.
‘Can’t you fill in your damned forms some other time?’ In the interlude his whiplike drawl carried and a moment later he was there, disregarding the chilly Sister in charge’s dirty look that said he was not wanted in her delivery-room. ‘I want to stay.’ He voiced the admission to Claire and no one else, and she grasped his hand gratefully.
They connected her to all sorts of machinery, it seemed. Someone exclaimed, ‘There are two heartbeats, Sister,’ which made no sense at all to Claire at the time because of course there were two, hers and the baby’s.
Light was shed on the comment within half an hour. First a girl was born and then a boy. ‘God, you fantastic woman!’ Dane planted an extravagant kiss on her brow.
‘Perhaps you’d care to wait outside now?’ the Sister suggested frostily. ‘While your girlfriend …’
‘Hey, this lady’s my wife,’ Dane contradicted with icy hauteur and Claire managed a weak grin. He actually sounded proud of the fact.
She was all shipshape and poured into a scratchy hospital gown before she got to see him again. Exhaustion was sweeping over her now. The twins were healthy, blonde like Dane but with very dark eyes that she suspected also came from his side of the family tree. Though both babies were a little underweight, the doctor had assured her that it was quite normal in the circumstances.
Dane sank down on the edge of the bed and clasped her hand. His own was unsteady. ‘I was really scared in there,’ he murmured raggedly, his bright hair a damp tangle round his striking features. ‘But you’re OK, aren’t you? Thank God … and them—–’ He paused again, a dazed aspect to his normally alert gaze, ‘they’re beautiful. Tiny, are they supposed to be that tiny? Hey!’ He smoothed her hair off her brow almost clumsily. ‘You should sleep now.’
She gave him a drowsy smile. Well, if she had failed to shake him into loving, the babies hadn’t. Dane had been snared by tiny fingers and toes. She would never forget that magical look of joy on his face when they had been born. He probably wouldn’t stay so enthusiastic, but she sensed it was the one bond that would never break, and one she had not hoped could exist.