Giselle's Choice (11 page)

‘If you'd rather not—' he began. His concern was for her, not for his own arousal or his own need, but immediately she shook her head almost violently and clung tightly to him.

‘I do want to, Saul. I need to. I need
you.
'

It was true, Giselle knew. She needed to drive out the demons inside her by taking back to herself the intimacy and closeness that she had thought lost. She needed to re-establish their relationship, to barricade herself away from the pain she knew was waiting for her. She needed the release that their lovemaking would bring from all the dark bonds that imprisoned her. She needed Saul and his love—more, she felt, than she had ever needed them before.

He was careful and gentle with her, his love for her shining though the restraint he was placing on his passion. But his care for her was not what Giselle wanted. She didn't want to be treated as someone who was vulnerable and fragile. She didn't want to be humoured
or cosseted or indulged. That was the way her father had treated her mother, as weak and in need of careful treatment, the lesser partner in their marriage. And she was
not
her mother. Not yet…

She wanted Saul to treat her as he had always done, as a woman whose sensuality and desire for him matched his for her. She wanted them to be two perfect halves of a complete whole, so perfectly matched that it was impossible to tell where one of them ended and the other began.

Saul's tender kiss, as gentle as his careful hold on her body, had her pressing herself fiercely against him, lifting her hands to hold his head so that she could show him how she
wanted
him to kiss her. Her tongue stroked over his lips and then prised them apart, darting quickly and hotly into the sensual intimacy of his mouth, flicking against his tongue, curling round it, stroking it with short, quick movements and then longer, slower ones, until she could feel his heartbeat accelerating to match the frantic thud of her own.

She reached for his hand, placing it against her naked breast, whispering against his mouth, ‘Touch me, Saul. Want me, and show me how strong that wanting is.' When he hesitated, she told him urgently, ‘It isn't your pity that I need. It's your passion. I need its fire to burn away everything but this—us,
now.
So close together that nothing and no one can come between us.'

Her voice was ragged with emotion, her eyes liquid with it, and the way she was revealing her need to him stripped Saul's own defences down to the bone, leaving
him feeling as raw as though someone had ripped off a layer of his skin. He felt her pain for her.

When Saul lifted the hand that wasn't cupping her breast, his fingers wide and spread, his palm facing her, Giselle placed her own hand against it, finger to finger, palm to palm, her eyes closing on the surge of love that swept through her. Saul moved his hand slightly so that her fingers slid between his, and both of them closed their fingers into a shared closed fist.

‘I love you more than life itself,' he told her thickly, and meant it.

‘You are my life, my whole, my all,' Giselle whispered jaggedly back to him.

This time when she leaned towards him he was the one to kiss her, until control of the kiss was wrested from them both by the passion twisting, roiling and burning inside them. They were a single bonded unit of intense arousal and desire, their shared need one single fierce force that linked their bodies together, dissolving flesh, muscle and bone.

When Giselle touched and caressed Saul's body she felt the response of his flesh as though it was her own. When Saul took the tight pucker of Giselle's nipple into his mouth and suckled on it he felt the waves of close to unbearable pleasure that racked and galvanised her body into shudders pulsing through his own.

There was no need for him to ask Giselle when she was ready. His own body told him—just as his senses told him as clearly as though she had spoken the words to him that her need couldn't wait. Lifting her now, he pillowed her against the shower wall and she wrapped
her legs tightly round him, exactly the way she wanted it to be.

His thrust into her, slowly, drawing out the pleasure, half withdrawing from her before sliding himself deeper against the slick, wet, firmly muscled warmth that gripped and caressed him was, Saul knew, her desire and her need every bit as much as it was his own.

Giselle came first, and Saul's harsh wrenched cry of almost agonised release mingled with her low keening moan of satisfaction within seconds.

Later, with Giselle sleeping in his arms, Saul looked down at her and tightened his hold on her. What she had told him today had only deepened his love for her, made his wish that he could have protected her from all that she had suffered all the stronger. When the darkness of now was over their relationship would emerge even stronger. He intended to make sure of that.

In her sleep Giselle heard the sound of a child crying—the sharp, helpless, heart-piercing cry of a newborn in need. In her dream she could see the baby, so small and defenceless. She reached for it, to take it in her arms, but it wasn't there any more even though she could still hear its cry. She woke up in the dark, her face wet with tears, her body aching with longing and pain. Her baby. She wanted it so much. She wanted to hold it and protect it. She wanted to give it her love, and most of all she wanted to give it life.

S
AUL LOOKED AT HIS WATCH.
An hour to go before his meeting with Hans de Kyper. Following his discovery that Giselle was pregnant, and his new awareness of her vulnerability, he had cancelled all his appointments apart from the one with the Dutch businessman responsible for the hugely successful growing programme he and Giselle wanted to replicate in Arezzio. It had been impossible for another appointment to be made.

He had tried to persuade Giselle to attend the meeting with him, reminding her of how enthusiastic she had been about the project, but she had simply shaken her head. Saul was desperately worried about her. She seemed to be growing thinner by the day, her weight decreasing as the misery and despair he could see in her eyes grew.

Soon she would be going to the clinic, and even though she had said that she would go alone Saul fully intended to go with her. He doodled automatically on his notepad whilst he thought about the previous night, when he had woken up to find Giselle crying in her sleep. When he had woken her she had seemed confused, telling him that she had heard a baby crying.

Saul closed his eyes and then opened them again. Giselle had made it clear that had she not had the fear that she might inherit her mother's vulnerability to severe postnatal depression she would have wanted to have children, a child…
his
child. Saul glanced absently at the doodle he had drawn and then tensed. On the notepad he liked to use when he was working at his desk was an unmistakable sketch of a stork carrying a baby.

Saul stared at the doodle for several seconds whilst his mind went into overdrive. Then abruptly he pushed back his chair and got up, calling out to his PA as he opened the connecting door to her office. ‘I've got to go out.'

‘But what about Mr de Kyper?' Moira protested.

‘I'll be back in time to see him. If I'm not keep him talking. I need to see him.'

Before she could say anything more he was opening the outer door to his office, pulling on his suit jacket as he did so.

Once outside on the street he reached for his mobile phone. He had come outside because he didn't want anyone else—not even Moira, who was the soul of discretion—to hear what he knew he had to say.

When he had got the number he wanted and made his call he asked to be put through to whoever was in charge of the clinic.

The doctor to whom he eventually spoke introduced herself as Dr Smithers. She seemed to think that Saul was trying to prevent Giselle from having a termination
against her will, and insisted that the appointment could only be cancelled by Giselle herself.

‘My wife is merely coming to see you for pre-termination counselling,' Saul pointed out. ‘I feel she needs to speak to other medical experts first.'

‘Then I suggest it is your wife you should be speaking to right now and not me,' Dr Smithers told him crisply.

Saul sighed as he ended the call. He had tried to coax Giselle into agreeing that they should at least seek proper medical advice on the subject of postnatal depression, but every time he raised the subject she became so emotional and filled with panic that he had felt obliged to drop the matter. Giselle was totally convinced that she would behave as her mother had done, but Saul could not imagine her doing any such thing. Now, having spoken to the clinic's director, he was even more determined to accompany Giselle on her appointment—even though she kept insisting that she did not want him to do so.

Saul headed back to his office. He might not have had any desire for them to have a child—he would certainly have argued firmly against them doing so if Giselle had approached him with a view that they should rethink their original agreement—but the situation they were now in had taken them many steps beyond that scenario. Giselle was already pregnant—by accident, by an act of fate. And an act of fate was what had brought them together. Could he in all good consciousness reject one act of fate whilst accepting the other as a gift he hadn't been able to refuse?

Giselle was concerned about the effect having a child
might have on her mentally. After listening to her crying in her sleep, and remembering everything that she had said to him, Saul was now equally concerned about the effect that having to terminate her pregnancy was already having on her.

He looked at his watch. He'd now got less than an hour before his meeting.

As soon as he got back to his office Saul switched on his laptop. Half an hour later he had the name of a London-based professor who was one of the world's foremost experts in the field of postnatal depression.

Giselle was in turmoil—torment, in fact. He knew that without her having to say so. Her grief and despair spoke far more clearly to him of her real feelings than any words could have done. And, since he loved her so much that he could not bear to see her in pain, he was going to make sure that no stone was left unturned in his efforts to help her.

The professor was currently in America, giving a lecture tour, but would be back in London within twenty-four hours. If necessary Saul was prepared to hire a private jet and fly Giselle to America so that she could speak to him. That was how much he loved her. There was nothing he would not do for her.
Nothing.
And that included becoming a father.

Becoming a father.
As the shocking realisation hit, Saul knew that deep within himself, even though he had sworn to Giselle that he never wanted children, there was something—an urge, a powerful need—that wanted to protect the vulnerable new life Giselle was carrying.

H
ANS DE
K
YPER WAS A
skilled businessman, and on any other occasion Saul would have enjoyed crossing swords with him as they discussed the terms on which they might possibly do business, negotiating into the early hours of the morning if necessary. But not today. Today, when their meeting stretched from one to nearly three hours, Saul knew he had to bring it to an end. But before he could say anything the Dutchman himself was suggesting that they continue their discussions in two days' time.

 

‘But why do you want me to see this professor? My decision has already been made.'

‘Has it?' Saul challenged Giselle softly. ‘Have you really made the decision you want to make, Giselle? Or have you made the one you feel you have to make?'

‘I know what he will say, Saul. I know he will tell me that I've made the right decision.'

Saul shook his head. ‘No, you don't know that, Giselle. You can't know it without speaking with him. You simply believe it. I want us to go and see him, hear what he has to say.'

Saul hated to put pressure on Giselle when she was already so distraught. Tears were pouring over the now too-sharp prominence of her cheekbones as she paced the floor of their sitting room. She was gaunt and thin, her eyes huge and luminous with tears and emotion as she shook her head in denial of his suggestion that they consult the professor. But Saul wasn't going to give up.

‘Listen to me,' he begged her. ‘You were six years old when your mother died. That's nearly twenty years ago—just think of the leaps and bounds there have been in medical science since then.'

‘Science, yes. But this is more complex than that. There isn't a formula that can be applied to put things right. It's a mental problem—a…a form of madness.'

‘Giselle, please—do it for me. See him for me—if you won't see him for yourself.'

Saul watched as her eyes widened and then became shadowed.

‘You'd do that to me?' she demanded in disbelief. ‘You'd use that kind of emotional pressure against me?'

‘It's for your own sake—to help you.'

‘Help me? And what happens if this professor says that he thinks I
will
be like my mother? Do you really think that knowing that will help me?'

‘I don't think he will say that. Because I don't think you will be like her.'

‘You can't know that, Saul. Perhaps you're even hoping that he
will
say that I'll be like her. You don't want children, after all.'

‘How can you say that? Trust me, please, Giselle. I love you, and I'm trying to help you. Just talk to him. That's all I'm asking you to do. Make an appointment to see him and hear what he has to say.'

‘Very well,' Giselle agreed reluctantly. Maybe it
was
only fair to hear what this professor had to say.

The words seemed to hang between them. Giselle's heart was pounding, her emotions whirling, as she recognised exactly what those words really meant. With every day that passed—every hour, every minute—the baby she was carrying was more precious to her. She had thought about things until her head ached from thinking, until she was so confused that she was unable to think any more. It had been simple before she had known she was pregnant to tell herself there could never be a child—for its own sake. Now that a child was a growing reality inside her all the logic in the world could not compete with the fierce determination and strength of her maternal instincts. She wanted this baby. She wanted it with a yearning, aching intensity that was far too strong for her to fight or resist.

‘Do you want me to make the appointment?' Saul offered.

Giselle shook her head.

‘No. No, I'll do it myself.'

‘Here are the details,' Saul told her, handing over the information he had printed out from his computer search. ‘Why don't you make the appointment now, whilst I go and do some work?'

Giselle nodded her head.

As soon as she was on her own Giselle looked at
the papers Saul had given her. She felt sick at the very thought of seeing this professor she knew nothing about. What if he confirmed that there was still not a lot they could do? That this rare form of psychosis could still happen to her? She didn't know what to do. She felt sick with fear and panic. But she had promised Saul. She reached for her mobile and started to dial the number on the printout and then stopped. It was no good. She could not do it. She couldn't bear to hear in cold stark words what she already feared. Crumpling up the paper, she threw it in the wastepaper bin.

 

‘Have you made the appointment with the professor yet?' Saul asked a couple of hours later. They were in the kitchen, where Saul was making them both a hot drink—tea for Giselle, now that she could no longer tolerate the strong coffee she adored.

‘No, not yet—it's getting a bit late now. I'll do it tomorrow,' Giselle told him. The truth was that she hadn't even tried to make an appointment, because she felt so afraid of what it might reveal.

 

Over twenty-four hours later, with the appointment still not made and Giselle refusing to give him a straight answer every time he asked her why she hadn't made it, Saul was beginning to worry even more about her. All he wanted to do was help her, but she seemed determined not to accept that help. It was almost as though she had already convinced herself that nothing and no one could help, but Saul refused to believe that. In his own mind he was sure that she would be a wonderful mother.
How could she not be when she was such a wonderful person? He firmly believed that the professor would be able to reassure her and calm her fears. But how could that happen if she refused to see him?

It was past midnight, and Giselle was in bed and asleep. Saul had gone to look at her ten minutes ago, and in the moonlight coming into the room he had seen the traces of tears on her skin.

He loved her so much.

And the child she was carrying?
His
child?

A sensation he had not expected and was not prepared for tightened its fingers on his heart. They
had
to see the professor—so that they could seek his professional opinion and then be guided by the advice he gave them. The situation was far too important for them to try to make any decision on their own and without proper advice.

Somehow he had to find a way of persuading Giselle to agree to see him. For both their sakes. No, Saul corrected himself mentally, for
all
their sakes. There was nothing else for it. He was going to go ahead and make an appointment for them to see him. He would find a way to convince Giselle that it was the right thing to do.

It was time for him to take matters into his own hands, Saul decided.

 

By morning Saul had made his decision and acted upon it. He re-read the e-mail he had just received from the professor's PA, confirming the urgent appointment he had requested. The only day she had been able to fit
them in was the same day as Giselle's appointment at the clinic, two hours before her appointment there. Printing off the e-mail, Saul left his study to go upstairs, where Giselle was still sleeping. He was loath to wake her, feeling that she needed her rest, but he did want her to know about the appointment. He hesitated, torn between letting her sleep on knowing how exhausted she had been the previous evening, and waking her up so that he could tell her about the appointment in person. He decided that it was best to let her sleep. Quickly he wrote her a note, explaining what he had done, and pinned the printed-off e-mail to it.

 

When Giselle woke up the first thing she saw was the note Saul left on his own pillow.

The note ended with three kisses.

Saul had gone ahead and made the appointment. Because he didn't trust her to do it? He was justified in
thinking that after she had said she would do so and then hadn't, Giselle knew, but his actions still hurt her.

By the time she had read the note three more times she was starting to panic.

She knew every word of Saul's note off by heart now, and her heart was thudding frantically in response to them. Saul was going to force her to see the professor. Saul had told her that he did not believe she could ever be like her mother, but what if the professor disagreed? What if he told them both that after she had given birth she would be a risk, a threat to her baby? What then? Was Saul's insistence on them seeing the professor because really he hoped that the professor would say there was too much of a risk for her to be a mother? She wasn't sure what Saul felt about the pregnancy…she'd been too afraid to ask.

Her head was pounding with anxiety and with the adrenalin rush produced by her body to protect her—the instinctive fight or flight mechanism. Fight? Wasn't flight a better option for her? Flight to somewhere, someone, with whom she would be safe—just as she had been safe with that person during the years she had been growing up? Her great-aunt might be elderly now, but she was still feisty and fiercely protective of those she loved.

Giselle didn't hesitate. Within seconds of making up her mind she was packing a small case. She was going to flee to Yorkshire.

 

His second meeting with Hans de Kyper might have produced the kind of result Saul would normally have
been celebrating—with Giselle—but right now celebrating anything was the last thing on Saul's mind. It was half an hour since the Dutchman had left, and despite his repeated attempts to ring her he had been unable to make contact with Giselle.

He'd rung, and then texted her on her mobile, and then, when he'd discovered that her mobile phone was switched off, he'd phoned their landline.

Now, when he hadn't been able to get any response from either, he texted Giselle on her Blackberry yet again, asking her to call him, and then he told Moira that he was going home.

Initially when he stepped into the Chelsea house there was nothing to arouse his concern. The cleaners from the concierge service they used had been in. Fresh flowers had been placed in the vases in the hallway and the drawing room, and their bedroom smelled faintly of Giselle's scent—the one he'd had specially blended for her on her birthday. Her laptop was in their shared office, but Giselle herself wasn't. Saul was concerned. It was completely unlike Giselle not to have her phone switched on. He was all too aware of how distressed she was, and now he was beginning to wish that he hadn't left the note for her about the appointment. He had intended his note to be reassuring, but what if Giselle had not interpreted it that way? What if in her current state of mind she had seen it as a threat instead?

Cursing himself under his breath for his earlier lack of awareness, he felt the nagging feeling of concern that had been with him all day flare into urgent and anxious life.

 

‘Are you all right?'

The kindly female voice pierced through the fog of confusion that had closed Giselle in a wall, distancing her from her surroundings.

‘Yes. Yes. Thank you.' She thanked the woman whilst inside a voice screamed like a prisoner battering on a locked and bolted door.
No, no… I am not all right.

Please help me.

Help her? She must help herself. There was no one else to do it. She placed her hand on her flat stomach, nausea making her gag. She was so afraid, so desperately afraid, and so weak. All she wanted was to be with her great-aunt and to seek her advice.

York Station. Giselle felt in the pocket of her luxuriously soft off-white cashmere coat to check that the ticket for the small market town where her great-aunt lived was still there. Just thinking about her great-aunt and her wisdom was helping to calm her. Her great-aunt would understand, she knew.

She wasn't hungry, but she was thirsty, so she bought a bottle of water from one of the station's outlets, thanking the man who served her before huddling deeper into her coat. It was colder up here than it had been in London—or maybe it was just that
she
was colder.

She made her way back to the platform for the Settle train, and took her seat.

It was evening before her taxi finally dropped her off outside the entrance to her great-aunt's retirement home. She'd gone from the station to a hotel and checked in there first, then come straight there. She paused only to
exchange a few words with the warden to explain that she had come to see her great-aunt.

The first words her great-aunt said to her once she had greeted her and hugged her were, ‘Saul's desperately anxious about you, Giselle. He wants you to get in touch with him.'

‘Has he told you about—?' Giselle began.

‘About the baby?' her great-aunt interrupted her. ‘Yes.' She reached for Giselle's hand and held it tightly between her own. Her skin was paper-thin with age, but her grip was still firm and comforting—just as it had comforted her all those years ago, when she had first gone to live with her. ‘We must tell him that you're here. He's very worried.'

Giselle wanted to refuse, but somehow she couldn't find the energy to resist. Just hearing Saul's name on her great-aunt's lips had filled her with such a great need to see him and be held by him, and with it came the deepest kind of sorrow—because she knew she must deny her love for him.

‘Very well,' she agreed, nodding her head, her mouth dry as she reached inside her handbag for her Blackberry. She switched it on, and her heart started racing and then aching as she saw all the calls and texts Saul had sent her. She wasn't strong enough to speak personally to him. She knew that she would break down if she did, and beg him for what he would not want to give her. Instead she texted him, telling him that she was with her great-aunt and that he was not to worry any more, before quickly switching off the phone again. She hoped that Saul would not take it into his head to come up here
after her. But even if he did it would be morning before he could get here, and by then hopefully she would be feeling more composed and would have her arguments all in place.