Force of Feeling

Pregnant. Campion stood up jerkily. Oh, God, no! She couldn’t be, coud she? Guy had always been so careful. Apart from the first time and the last.

‘Campion, are you all right?’

‘Fine. I think I will go and lie down, if you don’t mind.’

* * *

Pregnant. Of coure she couldn’t be. Campion lay on the bed, staring up at the pleated silk ceiling of the four-poster. She would know, surely? There would be unmistakable signs.

Like being sick and feeling tired, a traitorous voice whispered.

No, she was panicking over nothing. It was true that her body cycles were normally very reliable, but there had been odd occasions when she had experienced the odd hiccup, the odd missed period, and this time… Well, she had put it down to the fact that she was so emotionally upset.

One missed period, a little nausea, oppressive tiredness. What did they add up to, after all?

Nothing…

Guy’s child.

She closed her eyes and swallowed. That frantic desire she had experienced to conceive his child had been a momentary madness. She was not of the valiant breed of women able to support and rear a child on her own.

Financially, yes, she could do it, but there were other and, to her mind, more important considerations. She and her child would be completely alone. She had no family, no support network to help her to teach her child the reality of family life, the kind of life she would want her child to have. And she did not have the reserves within herself to be both mother and father. Oh, God, what was she going to do?

Don’t panic. You could be wrong.

Could be? She must pray that she was. How soon could one tell positively? If she had conceived on that last night…

It was pointless doing anything yet. She could wait until after Christmas. Until she was back in London.

Guy’s child.

When Lucy looked in on her half an hour later, she found her fully dressed and fast asleep, a small smile curling her mouth.

Lucy sighed and didn’t wake her, and then thought guiltily of the telephone call she had just made.

Never interfere in other people’s lives was Howard’s motto. Lucy would just have to hope that on this occasion he was wrong.

* * *

‘If you could just move the star a little to the left, Paul. There, how do you think that looks?’ Lucy appealed to Campion as they both stood back to admire the tree.

‘Wonderful,’ Campion told her, and it was true.

Dark, glossy greenery, rich red candles, and the sparkle of crystal candle-holders were reflected in the Venetian mirror above the fireplace.

In the window, the tree gleamed and sparkled, the red satin bows she and Lucy had spent most of the afternoon making, shimmering against the branches. Baubles painted with Victorian scenes hung on red loops, and the tree lights were tiny darts of white fire illuminating the whole scene.

‘Well, we should just about be ready in time for the children’s party, and then it’s Christmas Eve, and everyone else will be arriving.’

The last thing Campion really wanted was to be part of a noisy house party, but what was the alternative? A Christmas spent alone, moping in her flat, with Lucy offended because she wasn’t joining them.

She refused to allow herself to think about the cottage; about snow piled high outside the windows, and a fire burning warmly in the sitting-room grate. They couldn’t have had a tree like this one, of course, but there could have been a small one; decorated with old-fashioned candles in case the electricity went off. They could have hung stockings from the mantelpiece, and the turkey could have cooked slowly and succulently in the Rayburn.

It took the prick of salt tears behind her eyelids to bring her back to reality. What was she doing to herself? Guy had never once indicated that they should spend Christmas together, and in her heart of hearts Campion had not expected him to; he would have commitments with his own family, she was sure, but they could perhaps have met, have shared one day together… Stop it! she warned herself fiercely. All she was doing was adding to her own torment. The only time she and Guy had discussed Christmas, she remembered telling him she would be staying with Lucy, as she had done for the last few years, explaining to him how far their friendship went back. However, if he had even indicated that he wanted to see her, she knew that Lucy would have generously accepted her excuses and encouraged her to be with the man she loved.

But that was only fantasy. Guy did not want her.

‘Howard, what do you think?’ Lucy asked as her husband walked into the room.