The Baby Secret

Victoria had nodded sympathetically but said nothing.

'And so here I am, needing some help for a while. You do understand it would just be for the next three months until she's back?' Mrs Bretton had asked anxiously. 'Would that suit you, m'dear? I know it's not everyone's cup of tea.'

'That would be fine, really.' Victoria had tried not to sound too eager, but the job sounded tailor-made for her present circumstances. The money wasn't bad, and Mrs Bretton had already said they would work out the hours to suit them both, added to which the thought of working in the fragrant environment—which was just a stone's throw from the picturesque mews where her flat was situated—was very appealing. And when she'd explained about the baby—with Mrs Bretton cluck-clucking like an old hen and plying her with home-made fruit cake—Victoria had known she had found a friend. And so it had proved. Mrs Bretton had been heaven-sent.

'Why did you send my cheque back this morning?' Zac left the matter of her job and returned to his main grievance, but again Victoria jerked herself free, glancing at her dainty gold wrist-watch as she did so with a pointed frown.

'I really do have to go.' She looked into his angry face, the rain forming tiny sparkling crystals in the gleaming blackness of his hair, and added in a softer tone, 'I'll ring you later tonight. Will that do?' He had no right to look so good.

'How are you feeling?' It was flat and expressionless.

It wasn't what she'd expected him to say next, and Victoria found herself staring at him for a long moment, her mouth slightly agape, before she managed to stutter, 'I…I'm fine, thank you.'

'Are you eating enough?' he asked gruffly.

Eating enough? She couldn't stop. 'Yes, yes, I am,' she said quickly, knowing that if she didn't make a quick exit this show of concern—lukewarm though it was—was going to have her howling like a baby any moment. 'Goodbye, then…' She was backing slowly away as she spoke and he let her go without another word, his eyes dark and unfathomable as he watched her, and his hands thrust deep into the pockets of his suit trousers.

The flower shop was only round the next corner, but by the time Victoria pushed open the door—a jangling bell proclaiming her entrance—she found her heart was beating as furiously as if she had just run a marathon. Which was pathetic—utterly pathetic, she told herself angrily. It didn't make any difference.

Why hadn't he phoned her if he wanted to object to her return of his very handsome cheque? Victoria asked herself, once the morning niceties had been done away with and she was sitting at a table putting together a small basket of fragrant freesias and deep red carnations. He could have—he had her number both at home and here, and it was unlikely she'd be anywhere else. Unless he thought she was still a regular visitor to William's place? she thought suddenly, her brow wrinkling.

But no, knowing Zac, he was fully aware of both her movements and William's, and therefore he'd known William had been out of the country for the last three weeks. Perhaps he'd thought she'd slam the telephone down on him? It could be that. Or was he mellowing in his feelings towards her; was this some sort of overture? A wish to put their relationship on a more civil level?

She pulled herself up sharp, stabbing an innocent carnation so hard into the green oasis in the pretty wicker basket that it broke midway down the stem.

It didn't matter if he was mellowing, she told herself angrily—not that he was of course. A proud, intensely virile man like Zac didn't appreciate his wife getting pregnant by someone else—as he saw it. He loathed her now; she had seen it in his eyes that evening four weeks ago and nothing had changed. And his situation was no different of course; Gina was still very much a part of his life and no doubt would continue to be so for a good few years yet.

She had returned his cheque because she was determined to make it on her own—now and in the years ahead—but his pride didn't like that. That was all it was. He had more money than he knew what to do with, and if it appeased his conscience a little—if he had one, that was—by giving her a handout it was an easy get-out.

But she didn't want his money. Victoria stared at the somewhat bedraggled basket and knew she would have to start all over again. Mrs Bretton had been delighted when she, Victoria, had shown a very real aptitude for flower arranging. It was normally the older woman's daughter who took care of that side of the business—Mrs Bretton had confided to Victoria that she was all fingers and thumbs—but her employer wouldn't think much of the higgedly piggedly mess in front of her at this moment, Victoria thought ruefully.

She picked each of the flowers out of the oasis, cleared her mind of everything but the job in hand, and banned the image of a tall, dark, handsome man with midnight-black hair and ebony eyes from entering her consciousness again that morning.

Victoria left the shop at just after five, after an unusually hectic day that had her feeling drained and tired. The rain and wind of the morning had given way to a quiet, mellow summer evening that carried the scents of a newly washed city in its soft gentle breeze, and she stood for a moment looking up into the blue sky as the sun warmed her face, drinking in the moment.

Depression had been hovering about like a little black cloud waiting to descend on her head all day after the unexpected confrontation with Zac—it had upset her more than she would have thought possible to see him again— but now she thrust the weakness away determinedly as she began to walk home, before turning after just one or two steps and walking in the opposite direction.

She was going to buy herself a dress—perhaps two, she thought purposefully. She hadn't bought any maternity clothes yet, and she had noticed the dress she had on today was slightly tight round the bust and middle. She might be a betrayed and pregnant wife—she made no apology to herself for the indulgent self-pity—but she was blowed if she was going to be a dowdy one.

Victoria spent a surprisingly contented hour or so shopping, buying herself three new sexy lace bras—the maternity ones were monstrous and seemed more built to hold outsize melons than anything else—from a little boutique close to the flower shop, and also two cleverly designed non-maternity dresses that nevertheless hid her changing shape wonderfully well and were immensely flattering into the bargain. They made her feel like herself again.

She resisted the temptation to buy more—she couldn't really afford it and she would need warmer maternity clothes in the next two or three months anyway—but on the way home she made an appointment for the next lunchtime to have her hair trimmed in an exclusive little hairdresser's she had noticed a few days before.

One of the unexpected benefits of her pregnant stage was the wonderful condition of her hair and skin, she thought encouragingly as she turned the corner into the mews and home. Her skin—normally inclined to dry-ness—was dewy fresh and silky smooth, and her hair had a shining softness no artificial conditioner could have improved on. Hormones weren't all bad.

Her little pep talk to herself ended abruptly as she lifted her gaze and saw the sleek silver Jaguar parked at the far end of the mews in the tiny car park like a big cat waiting to pounce.

Zac! Her heart stopped and then raced away like a runaway horse, the beat pounding through her blood as she watched the occupant of the Jaguar open the driver's door and stretch lazily to his feet. What now? More fighting?

She watched him walk towards her in much the same way a mesmerised rabbit watched the predator who was about to attack, and it was only as he reached her side that she found the strength to make a conscious effort to pull herself together.

'I thought we'd arranged I was going to phone you tonight?' Victoria said tightly as she looked up into the dark, handsome face that haunted her days and nights.

'Wrong.' His voice was even and steady and very cool. 'You told me that was what you were going to do, that's all.'

Power games again. Hurt and panic churned through her chest and made he

r voice brittle as she said, 'There was no need for you to come here; we could just as easily have talked on the phone, Zac. I really don't see that there's any point to this.'