Good Husband Material (51 page)

‘You arrogant, conceited snake in the grass,’ I snarled.

He pulled me closer and kissed me.

‘I don’t want to marry anyone!’ I gasped when I came up for air. ‘How could I ever trust—’

The nurse came in, squawked, and left hastily, but I’d just discovered something interesting.

After the birth I thought I’d never, ever, want to make love again. But now I just possibly might … in a year or so, say, when my internal organs have rearranged themselves into a more familiar alignment.

Fergal held me close and tenderly stroked my hair. ‘I don’t want anyone except you,’ he murmured huskily. ‘If you’d only come to America with me in the first place—’

‘Oh, yes, and hung around in the background while you sowed your wild oats with the groupies, or whoever else took your fancy? That would have been wonderful!’

‘There wouldn’t have been anyone else. And why are we arguing about old history? You know you can trust me, Tish. I want a family, to settle down – I want you!’

‘No you don’t – you said I was prissy!’

‘I love your prissy, immaculate little ways.’ His voice went deeper, and even throatier. ‘And I think it’s time you cleaned me up and hung me out to dry, don’t you?’

He grinned wickedly, but I hardened my heart – he wasn’t getting off that easily.

‘I’ll think about your kind offer,’ I said primly.

‘Think fast. Your mother’s suddenly decided she wants us to marry. She’s been reading your mail again, that’s how I knew about the divorce coming through. I’m getting a special licence.’

‘She doesn’t even like you! And anyway, just because the baby’s dark, it doesn’t mean—’

‘She’s a Rocco.’ He got up and went to peer into the crib. ‘Bet she’s going to have green eyes!’

‘They’re blue.’

‘All babies’ eyes are blue – they’ll change.’

I looked helplessly at him. ‘Fergal, why do you want me? You could have anyone.’

He has an interestingly sudden way of stopping arguments.

‘We’re getting married.’

‘I’m never getting married again,’ I said crossly with my head on his shoulder. ‘I like being independent, and I’m going to live in the cottage with the baby and write my novels.’

‘Don’t you think it might be a bit crowded in the cottage?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You, me, the baby, two dogs, one parrot, a cat – and Maria!’

‘
Maria!
’

‘You don’t think she’s going to lose the chance to get her hands on the baby, do you? She’s been knitting for weeks! And how are you going to write more wonderful books about me if there’s no one to look after Baby Rocco?’

I sank back against the pillow with as much dignity as I could muster and said faintly, ‘I think I need to rest.’

‘I’ll see you later. Is there anything you want me to bring?’

‘Champagne!’ I snapped, and he laughed and went away.

Fergal: March 2000

    
‘First sensational pictures of Fergal Rocco and

    
Leticia Drew with their baby girl …’

Exposé
magazine

Must have been one of the nurses – money spoke louder than ethics. But I forgive her. I forgive everybody, I’m so happy.

I knew the baby was mine the minute I set eyes on her, I don’t know how. If only I’d known all along, I’d have done things very differently, and to hell with her husband.

I love Tish. I always have and I always will, and it’s a relief to stop pretending I don’t, when really I want to marry her and earn the right to look after her for ever.

And she loves me too, even if she’s a little mad at me at the moment.

The amount of publicity all this has generated is going to come as a shock to her when she leaves the safe world of the hospital, but I’ve plans to deal with that … and after all, I’ve already kidnapped her dog and parrot!

Maria says she is now running a menagerie, rather than a house.

It was highly ingenious the way reporters tried to find a way into the hospital, even to the extent of trying to bribe the nurses.

In the end we had a sort of minor press conference, on the understanding that they would then leave us in peace for a bit.

The photograph of Fergal, the baby and me was rather nice, though I’m sure I don’t remember him saying anything like the things they attributed to him in the article.

My agent is ecstatic – he rang to say my book sales are rocketing since the news broke and sent a huge flower arrangement to the hospital. (I’m having writing withdrawal symptoms.)

James has vanished from the scene entirely, since he now has other things on his mind – Wendy’s in here too, having been rushed in a couple of days after me.

Makes you think, doesn’t it?

She must have had her little lapse about the same time as I conceived, hence the urgency to get rid of me and induce James to marry her, I suppose. And when I told Alice that James wanted sons, she must have thought announcing her pregnancy was a sure card.

And the nurse says it
is
a boy at that, so perhaps it is.

Wendy and sprog had been moved to the main ward when I next minced through on my way to the bathroom. (Take it from me, normal methods of locomotion are out when someone’s been practising embroidery on your credentials.)

She was wearing the usual back-to-front water wings and a glum expression.

Moved by something of a spirit of fellow feeling – and sheer unbridled curiosity – I veered across.

‘Hi, Wendy,’ I said. ‘Congratulations.’

Stooping, I looked down into her baby’s cross, pink face.

There was no mistaking that aubergine-shaped nose, now rendered in minute incongruity in the crumpled, screwed-up face.

He looked exactly like Howard.

‘Well,’ Granny’s welcome voice said sternly down the telephone, a call orchestrated by Fergal. ‘I suppose it’ll all come out in the wash.’

‘What will, Granny?’

‘All that mess. Mind you, I never liked him, and at least that Frodo’s a real man.’

‘Fergal.’

‘And I blame your mother.’

‘She did her best,’ I said, to my own surprise. ‘Granny, you did get my letter, didn’t you, explaining about Glenda, and how I’m …’ This was really difficult, and I swallowed painfully before going on in a rush, ‘I’m not really related to you at all, Granny!’

‘Of course you are, you great daft ha’porth. It’s ozzymoses.’

‘Who?’

‘Ozzymoses. That thing where it all sort of seeps in. You’ve been around me long enough to absorb some Thorpe into you.’

‘Osmosis?’

‘That’s what I said. Anyway, you’re the only kind of granddaughter I’ve got, so you’ll just have to make the best of it.’

I began to feel better. ‘I think I can live with that, Granny.’

‘Rose and I’ll hire a car and come and see you soon. When’s the wedding?’

‘I don’t know yet. I haven’t—’

‘Get on with it. Your mother’s marrying that doctor too, thank goodness, so at least she’ll be off your hands.’

‘Yes. I’m going to be a bridesmaid.’

‘Better be a bride first. That Fingal phoned me up.’

‘Fergal?’

‘He’s a charmer and no mistake. Said everything was his fault, but he wanted to settle down with you and be a good husband.’

I shuddered. ‘That’s what I thought James was. I don’t want another one of those.’

‘Better have a bad one then,’ she pointed out practically.

Fergal: March 2000

    
‘LOVE WAS TOO STRONG FOR US,’

    
says Fergal Rocco of rock group Goneril, who is to wed

    
divorcée and mother of his child Leticia Drew, 31 …’

Sun

Maria said she’d told Tish that I’d make a model husband and father.

‘I told her: he will not want his little girl to see pictures in the papers of her papa doing naughty things with other ladies, will he?’

‘What did she say to that?’

Maria frowned. ‘I did not quite understand the idiom, but it was something about wearing your guts for garters if you did anything like that in future … does that make sense?’

I nodded. I didn’t need the warning: you can accuse me of many things, but being as stupid as her last husband isn’t going to be one of them.

This week in hospital has given me some time to think, if nothing else – and clearly life isn’t ever going to be the same again – thank God.

Of course, everything isn’t perfect – the
world
isn’t perfect (and I certainly won’t be taking out any shares in rubber goods either …) – but it’s as near as it’s going to get.

Mr Rooney found Glenda in Canada. She’s now a high-powered businesswoman, divorced, with no other children, and although she sent her best wishes, she doesn’t feel that she’s any place in my life. Nor, it sounds like to me, any real interest in me. I’d still like one day to meet her, more for curiosity’s sake than anything. I’ve written asking her for any details she can remember about my real father (apparently chance-met at a pop concert: Ill Met by Moonlight?), but more for the sake of the baby than anything.

Mother, predictably, is still impossible, but now she’ll soon be someone else’s responsibility. They’re planning a June wedding and she wants me to be a bridesmaid, which is the strangest idea she’s thought of yet. Margaret wants me to be Matron of Honour at hers, too, so you can see I’m much in demand.

Wendy doesn’t want me to be anything at hers. (I wonder if you can get leather wedding dresses.)

The hospital, my cottage, and the gates of the Hall are all still under siege by reporters waiting for me to take the baby home.

Home …

I admit I did cry when Fergal said it was impossible for me to go back to the cottage since reporters and cameramen line every perimeter like rabid triffids, but secretly I was relieved, too. The thought of having the sole responsibility for a tiny baby was throwing me into a panic, now it was actually time to leave the warm cocoon of hospital.

Not that I could have kept Fergal away anyway.

Maria says he’s decorated a room at the Hall exactly like the nursery at the cottage, and moved everything up there – what Granny would call a ‘fate acumply’. And he’s made me a study in one of the little tower rooms with a view of the park, and filled it with great drifts of my golden autumn leaves.

Maria was horrified!

The animals are settling in well together, and Bob is looking after the cottage and its garden for me until we decide what to do with it. (A weekend retreat for Carlo and Sara is on the cards – I quite like the thought of that.)

Maria also says the baby is the most beautiful one she’s ever seen (so do I, but as her mother I can’t go around saying that kind of thing!), and gave me the idea for her name when she said she was a late Valentine.

Valentina.

It sounds very romantic, and has made me think of a wonderful plot for a new novel.

But if the hero doesn’t have black hair, green eyes and a very short fuse, Fergal says he’ll want to know the reason why!

A gorgeous festive romantic comedy – come home for Christmas with Trisha!

Pre-order
Wish Upon A Star

With special thanks to Judith Murdoch, my agent, for her encouragement and support.

Trisha Ashley was born in St Helens, Lancashire, and gave up her fascinating but time-consuming hobbies of house-moving and divorce a few years ago in order to settle in North Wales. She is a
Sunday Times
bestselling author.

For more information about Trisha please visit www.trishaashley.com, her Facebook fan page (Trisha Ashley Books) or her Twitter account @trishaashley.

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www.AuthorTracker.com
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Sowing Secrets

A Winter’s Tale

Wedding Tiers

Chocolate Wishes

Twelve Days of Christmas

The Magic of Christmas

Chocolate Shoes and Wedding Blues

If you’ve enjoyed
Good Husband Material
, why not try some of Tish’s recipes?

Ingredients

1lb/450g cooking apples

8oz/225g sultanas

6oz/175g shallots or onions

1 rounded tsp ground ginger

7oz/200g sugar – brown muscovado gives a good flavour

1 tsp salt

1 pint/600ml malt vinegar

Method

Peel, core and chop the apples and place in a large bowl with the sultanas. Finely chop the onion and mix in, together with all the remaining ingredients.

Cover the bowl and leave to stand for one hour.

Put the mixture into a large heavy non-reactive pan bring it slowly to a boil, uncovered, and then turn the heat down and simmer for thirty minutes or so, stirring frequently, until the mixture is thick and brown.

Allow to cool slightly and then spoon into warm, dry, sterilised jars and cover with a waxed disc and seal. Leave to mature for 3 months before opening.