Nadia Knows Best (28 page)

“I'm bleeding,” Clare whispered, cradling her stomach and swaying in the doorway. “Oh God, I don't believe it. This can't be happening… make it stop… I don't want to lose the baby…” Overwhelmed with shock and grief, she slumped against the wall. Annie caught her.

“OK, come on, let's get you into bed. Which is your room?”

Helplessly, Clare nodded in the direction of the door at the far end of the landing. Together they made their way slowly toward it. Annie hastily swept the scattered clothes and makeup off the duvet and helped Clare onto the bed.

“Shall I phone the doctor?”

“No.” Clare began to cry. “I don't want that fat old git prodding me about. I just want the bleeding to stop. Is this a miscarriage?” She raised anguished eyes to Annie. “What should I be doing? Is there any way to stop it?”

“Let me call the doctor.” Annie straightened up, but Clare's hand gripped her wrist.

“Don't leave me. Please don't leave me on my own. I'm sorry I was so horrible to you. But… I'm so scared. I don't want to lose my baby.” Tears rolled down her cheeks and her face crumpled. “This isn't fair, it's n-not f-f-fair. Just when I'd got used to the idea of a baby… it's like being punished for not being thrilled in the first place.”

Having finally managed to extricate herself, Annie was back moments later with the phone. The doctor's answering service put her through to NHS Direct. The adviser at the other end told her to keep Clare in bed and continue to monitor the situation. Tomorrow morning she should see her doctor. Basically, there was nothing else that could be done in cases of early miscarriage. If it was going to happen, it would.

“Oh God.” Clare groaned, sinking back into the pillows in despair.

“Is the pain bad?” Annie hated feeling so helpless.

“Not really. Just cramps, like ordinary period pains. I just can't believe it. Three weeks ago I was crying because I didn't want to be pregnant.” Clare wiped her eyes with the corner of the dark blue duvet. “And now here I am, crying because I don't want to lose it.”

Feeling sorry for Clare had until tonight been something Annie would have put on a par with bumping into Elvis in Walmart. Now, she simply gathered the girl into her arms and let her sob.

“I have to go to the bathroom again,” Clare gulped, some time later. “I need a… a pad of some kind. All I've got is loo roll stuffed in my knickers.”

Annie jumped up. “Where do you keep them? In the chest of drawers over there?”

“I've only got T-T-Tampax.”

“There's a spare in my bag downstairs. Let me go and get it.”

When Annie came back, Clare managed a tremulous half smile. “Thanks. You're being really kind.”

Annie smiled back. “It's only a pad.”

“You know what I'm talking about. I've been such a cow. I didn't want you taking Dad away from us, and I didn't want anyone trying to be our stepmother.”

“I wasn't actually planning on doing either of those things,” said Annie.

“Well, I'm sorry.”

A lump rose in Annie's throat. As if sensing it, Clare pulled a face. “God, this is in danger of turning into
The
Waltons
.”

“I used to love that program.”

Wryly, Clare said, “Except in
The
Waltons
, Mary-Beth doesn't get pregnant.”

“That'll be your dad.” Annie rose to her feet as the front door slammed downstairs. “Let me speak to him.”

Two minutes later James burst into the bedroom, his face white and strained. Hugging Clare, he said, “Oh, sweetheart. I'm so sorry.”

“Why me, Dad?” Clare was by this time exhausted from crying, but over the worst of the shock. It was happening and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She just wished she could get the irrational thought out of her mind that the baby had decided it didn't want her as its mother.

“These things happen. You didn't do anything wrong. It just wasn't meant to be,” said James.

“I know.” Deep down, she did know that. “Dad? Annie's been really great.”

“She
is
really great.” James stroked his daughter's tousled hair.

“Where is she now?”

“In the kitchen. Getting dinner ready.”

Clare nodded. “When you've finished eating, could she come up here and sit with me?”

“Of course she will, if that's what you want.”

It seemed almost sacrilegious, but Clare realized she was hungry. Adjusting her pillows, she said, “And if there's any to spare, I wouldn't mind a steak sandwich.”

***

There was a good atmosphere in the Comedy Club; several of the acts had gone down a storm and even Josh had earned himself tumultuous applause and requests for an encore. But, although she couldn't put her finger on it, Nadia sensed a change in Suzette. Before, they had hit it off instantly. Tonight, however, she appeared to be holding back, making excuses not to join in with the rest of the crowd. Rather than enjoying the evening, she gave the impression of someone in a dentist's waiting room about to have a couple of wisdom teeth yanked out.

Every time Nadia caught her eye, Suzette hastily averted her gaze. It was most odd and rather unsettling, almost as if she felt guilty about something. But what reason could she possibly have to feel guilty? If Laurie had flirted with her over dinner, she would have told them—that had been the whole purpose of the ploy. And if he
had
, then what possible reason could there be for Suzette to cover up for him?

It made no sense, Nadia thought. She was doubting Laurie again, letting her imagination run away with her. As Josh headed to the bar, she took the opportunity to slide into his seat next to Suzette.

“Hi.”

“Oh, hi.” Suzette's knuckles tightened around her drink.

“Are you OK?” said Nadia. “It's just that you seem a bit… I don't know… on edge.”

“No. I'm fine.” Her voice was high. “Honestly.”

“Look, is it something to do with Laurie? Because if there's anything you feel you should tell me—”

“Actually, I'm not fine,” Suzette blurted out. “I've got a raging headache and I feel terrible. Right here.” She pressed her hand against her forehead and briefly closed her eyes. “Really, it's nothing to do with Laurie. I've been hoping it'll go away but it just won't. I think I'd better go home.”

Nadia watched her rise jerkily to her feet. “D'you need a lift or—”

“No, no, I've got my car. I'm just going to slip away. A good night's sleep and it'll be gone in the morning… Bye.”

Janey came back from the loo. “Where's Suze?”

“Gone home. Headache,” said Nadia with a shrug.

“Headache? She didn't mention it before.”

“Maybe she was just tired.” Frowning, Nadia said, “Did she ever say anything about Laurie?”

Mystified, Janey's eyes widened. “No. Like what?”

“Well, I wonder if Laurie said or did something that she hasn't told me about.”

“You mean he might have told her you've got a backside as big as a sofa?
Ow
,” giggled Janey, fending off a flying beer coaster. “Come on, give the boy a break. You checked Laurie out and he passed with flying colors.”

Nadia gazed thoughtfully at the door through which Suzette had exited and wondered why she wasn't convinced.

The house in Clarence Gardens was finished at last and on the market. Inside, following the departure of the decorators yesterday, the smell of fresh paint lingered. The wooden floors were polished, the windows gleamed, and the official For Sale sign had gone up. Andy Chapman, the estate agent, was wasting no time.

Jay was inside the house checking that everything was immaculate and Nadia was outside watering the garden when Andy arrived at midday with the first potential buyers. Nadia was still busy drenching the nicotianas—poor things, they were parched—when everyone appeared on the sunbaked terrace.

“Well, this is just charming.” The wife turned to her portly husband. “Isn't it, Gerald? I can just see us sitting out here. And low-maintenance, perfect. We could cope with a garden like this.” To Jay she added, “It's been very well designed.”

Nadia felt absurdly proud. This had to be how Clare felt when she heard clients praising her paintings. There really was nothing like a good compliment to give you a boost.

“Nadia designed the garden,” Jay explained as Nadia turned off the outside tap.

“You mean you did all this yourself? By heck, and you're only a slip of a thing,” the husband exclaimed. This was what was so heavenly about men who weighed almost 300 pounds, Nadia decided. As far as they were concerned, anyone less than 150 pounds counted as a slip of a thing.

“Should have seen the place before she started,” Andy Chapman told him. “Nothing but rubble and weeds.”

“Is she included in the price?” Guffawing at his own joke, Gerald turned back to Nadia. “Tell you what, love, that's not a bad idea. We could keep you here, put you up in the spare bedroom, in exchange for keeping the garden up to scratch.”

“Any time,” Nadia joked back. “This is a dream house, I'd live here like a shot.”

Too late, she saw the wife give her husband an anxious nudge, terrified that he may have unwittingly offered her the job and been taken up on it.

“I'd like to see the kitchen again,” the woman announced to Andy, before Nadia could start haggling over terms and conditions. Over her shoulder she added, “Very nice garden, dear. Gerald, would our pine table go with those tiles in the kitchen? And we have to work out where the piano could go.”

“Seemed pretty keen,” Andy observed ten minutes later, having dispatched the potential buyers and come back out onto the terrace for a cigarette. “They've just accepted an offer for their place on Frenchay Common. Short chain. Could be promising. By the way”—he flashed a grin at Nadia—“they asked me to tactfully let you know that they weren't actually serious about the room.”

“I'm distraught,” said Nadia.

“Anyway, next one's due any minute.” Checking his posh watch, Andy took several hasty puffs of Marlboro to crank up his nicotine levels.

“He's already here,” said Jay, emerging through the French windows onto the terrace with Laurie in his wake.

Nadia's fingers tightened round the garden hose she was in the process of winding up. She looked at Laurie, as disreputable as ever in his scruffy Earl jeans, ripped gray T-shirt, and butterscotch tan.

“Mr. Welch. Right on time.
Excellent
,” Andy declared, flinging down his half-smoked cigarette and stepping forward to shake Laurie's hand with enthusiasm.

The expression on Jay's face was unreadable. Laurie grinned at Nadia.

“No need to look so shocked. I can buy it if I want, can't I?”

Only taken aback for a millisecond—he was an estate agent after all—Andy said, “You two know each other?”

“I've asked Nadia to marry me,” Laurie replied easily. “Just trying to get her to make up her mind.” He paused. “I know how much she likes this house.”

Andy could barely contain his delight. “Who wouldn't? This is a superior property.” Turning back to Nadia he added, “And what were you saying not ten minutes ago? That you'd live here like a shot? Well, well, this could be the answer to your prayers. Sounds like a perfect arrangement to me.”

There was a knot like a tangle of elastic bands in Nadia's stomach. Her and Laurie together. It had been her dream for years. Yet suddenly she was no longer quite so sure…

“Nad? Why don't we take a look round?” Taking control, Laurie relieved her of the hose.

“You've already seen the house,” she told Laurie coolly.

“Not properly. Not since it's been finished. Come on.” As he reached for her hand, Nadia noticed the absence of the zing of electricity she'd come to associate with his touch. It hadn't happened.

Jay's phone beeped. He glanced briefly at the text message on the screen and snapped it shut.

“Right, I'll leave you to it. Have to go.”

“Missing you already,” Laurie murmured, American-style, as Jay left.

***

“You took it on board then.”

Clare, who was painting in the garden, glanced over her shoulder at Nadia and leaned back on her stool.

“Took what on board?”

“Malcolm's advice. Paying more attention to detail.” Nadia removed her sunglasses and studied the fairground scene taking shape on the canvas. “This is tons better.”

Inwardly Clare glowed, because she knew it was better too. She even felt better, more centered and less panicky. Maybe turning into a nicer person was making her a better artist. Blimey, she'd even admired Annie's new dress yesterday in an almost genuinely sincere way. OK, the dress hadn't been
that
great, but it had actually suited her. And being complimented had cheered Annie up no end.

“I spoke to Thomas at the gallery yesterday. He said Malcolm Carter's pretty well-respected on the art scene,” Clare admitted. “He reckons any advice Malcolm offers, I should take.”

“Good.”

“Anyway, the thought of him doesn't give me the creeps quite so much now. It helps that he's gay.” Quickly she added, “But he still looks like a fat toad,” because there was such a thing as being
too
nice.

“So. How are you feeling?” Collapsing onto the grass, Nadia popped the tab on a can of lager and offered up the other one.

“Fine.” As she took the can, Clare realized that it was true. Let's face it, if her periods had been irregular, she would never even have known she was pregnant. While having the miscarriage hadn't been nice, she no longer thought of it as losing a baby. It had been a minuscule collection of cells barely visible to the naked eye. And although it made her feel horribly guilty to even think it, the inescapable truth was that maybe it wasn't always a tragedy for something like this to have happened.

Clare put down her brush and opened the can of Heineken. God, wasn't ice-cold lager great?

“I'm twenty-three,” she told Nadia. “I want children one day. But I'd much rather have them with someone who isn't a complete arse.”

“Absolutely.” Wiping her frothy upper lip with the back of her hand, Nadia nodded in agreement. “And you couldn't find anyone more arsey than Piers. That wouldn't be physically possible.”

“I hate him,” Clare marveled. “I can't believe he gets away with
being
him.”

“You're well out of it.” Wriggling out of her T-shirt, Nadia flopped down in sunbather mode in her lime-green lace bra and white shorts.

“I've still got that check he gave me. I was wondering what to do with it.” Resuming work on her painting, Clare said, “Do you think I should post it back to him? Or spend it on really nice shoes?”

“Depends. Would you let me borrow them?” said Nadia.

“Of course you could borrow them.”

“Oh well, in that case, that's the silliest question you ever asked. Definitely spend it on shoes.”

Clare broke into a grin. “Sometimes you say the sweetest things. Crikey, what's up with Tilly?” Shielding her eyes with her free hand, she watched as Tilly, looking shell-shocked, headed across the lawn toward them.

Encouragingly, Nadia patted the grass next to her. “Tilly, sit down. Are you OK?”

Tilly couldn't sit, she was in far too much of a state. Shock vied with confusion. She felt like a cartoon character in a whirl of befuddlement, with spirals and question marks bouncing out of her head on springs.

“Hey.” Clare waved her paint-loaded brush in front of Tilly's pale face. “You can tell us. Is it Cal?”

“What?” Tilly was finding it hard to concentrate.

“Cal. You know, your…
friend
. What happened?” said Clare teasingly. “It's OK, we won't be shocked. Did he try to undo your bra?”

“Leave her alone.” Nadia saw that Tilly was trembling. “Tilly? Who were you talking to on the phone when I came through?”

“Mum.”

Typical. What was Leonie up to now?

Aloud, Nadia said, “And?”

“She wants me to go and live with her in Brighton. With Brian and Tamsin. For good.”

It wasn't so much the unexpectedness of the invitation that had Nadia lost for words, it was the look on Tilly's face. Were those tears of horror swimming in Tilly's huge blue eyes? Or tears of joy?

***

“This is fantastic,” Nadia breathed as the auctioneer called the assembled crowd to attention. “How can everyone else look so calm? What if I scratch my ear and buy a house by mistake?”

“Just don't scratch your ear,” Jay murmured.

“But I might not be able to help it! I'm feeling very twitchy. And itchy.” Twitchy and itchy. God, it sounded like a couple of cartoon characters.

“You've probably got fleas,” whispered Jay. Pulling Nadia in front of him, he stood behind her and held both her hands firmly down at her sides.

Phew, that was exciting. She felt his breath on the back of her neck and the heat from his body against her spine. Even better was the knowledge that, in all honesty, there wasn't any need for him to be doing this, because they both knew she wouldn't really accidentally bid for a house.

The attraction was still there, Nadia thought happily. On both sides. And maybe the time had come at last to do something about it.

Ooh, here we go…

“Now we come to Lot Seven,” said the auctioneer, and Nadia felt her heart break into a clumsy gallop, because this was the one Jay was after. They were here in the Garden Room at Bristol Zoo, the venue for tonight's property auction. When Jay had asked her if she'd like to come along with him, she'd jumped at the chance. The last time she'd been to an auction was during her college days, when she'd bought a portable black and white TV for six pounds, beating off opposition from a fellow student who'd chickened out at five pounds fifty.

Needless to say, the TV hadn't worked.

But here, incredibly, the bids could leap up ten thousand pounds at a time, racing from four hundred thousand to half a million in less than a minute. Just the thought of so much money made Nadia feel queasy with excitement.

“Highcliffe House. Just off the Downs in Sneyd Park,” the auctioneer continued. “A detached Georgian property requiring refurbishment but retaining many original features. Potential for redevelopment. I'll start the bidding at two hundred… two twenty… two forty… two sixty…”

It was like watching the start of the Grand National. Overwhelmed by the speed of the bidding, Nadia's head swiveled around the Garden Room as she attempted to pick out the other bidders. God knows how the auctioneer managed it; some of them were dipping their heads by no more than a centimeter. Close behind her, she knew Jay was doing the same as the bids shot up in twenty thousand pound increments. Imagine, twenty thousand pounds
per
nod
…

“Sold,” said the auctioneer, with a delicate tap of his gavel and a nod of acknowledgement that, confusingly, appeared to encompass the entire room. “For five hundred and forty thousand pounds.”

“Who got it?” Nadia twisted round, her heart in her mouth.

“I did,” said Jay.

“Really?”

His mouth twitched. “I always get what I want. Well, almost always.”

Nadia's stomach did an excited bunny-hop.

“Mr. Tiernan?” The auctioneer raised his eyebrows, indicating with another brief head movement that Jay should make his way over to the desk by the entrance and indulge in some serious form-signing.

“Fancy a drink when I'm done?” Jay said lightly.

Fancy a drink? She could do with a whole vineyard.

“Why not?” Nadia smiled and felt instantly bereft as he let go of her hand.

Oh crikey, getting a bit carried away here. It was looking like make-your-mind-up time. Who knew where tonight might end?

***

Jay took her to Crosby's, a busy, buzzy bar on Whiteladies Road in Clifton. He ordered a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to celebrate.

“You'll have to pay,” said Jay. “I'm broke now.”

“Don't open it,” Nadia told the bartender. “We'll have a couple of lagers instead.”

Amused, Jay opened his wallet and paid for the champagne.

“Here's to the new project,” he said, raising his glass. “Yours too.”

Nadia chinked glasses with him. Apparently, chinking glasses was a dreadfully common thing to do—glasses were only meant to air-kiss—but where was the fun in that?

“My next garden.” Her wrist brushed against Jay's, the fleeting contact every bit as thrilling as having her hands held during the auction. Jay's plan was to turn Highcliffe House into four flats and the surrounding grounds into a communal garden. It was larger than the one she'd just finished, but in less of a mess than Clarence Gardens had been.

“Five hundred and forty thousand pounds,” marveled Nadia. “That's a lot.”

“I'd have gone up to five eighty.”

Gosh. When the work was finished he'd probably sell the apartments for over three hundred thousand apiece. Speculate to accumulate and all that. You must need nerves of steel in Jay's business, not to mention the ability to keep a cool head when things went horribly wrong. And he was cool, thought Nadia. It was an attractive quality in a man. Then again, having a body like his didn't do any harm. Or eyes like that. Or a wicked smile so dangerous it should definitely be made illegal—