The Baby Verdict (18 page)
Authors: Cathy Williams
How could she explain that marrying him and enduring the torment of her love in silence had seemed unbearable, but the alternative was even worse?
She couldn't. She had made her bed and she would now have to lie on it. Wasn't that what her mother had once said to her? That she had made her bed and would simply have to accept all that went with it? Ironic that her situation was reversed. Bitterly ironic.
âSo,' he said casually, not looking at her, âthere's a baby inside you.'
âCould we turn the lights on? I can't see your face.'
âIn a minute.' He relaxed back in the chair and stuck his legs out, crossing them at the ankle. âI've never...had an experience...'
âI'm relieved to hear it,' Jessica said. âIt would be a bit off-putting to discover you'd fathered a herd of children before.'
âI doubt you'll be able to get back to work as rapidly as you had anticipated...'
She looked at his hard profile, and then found that the glance had turned into a stare.
âPossibly not,' Jessica admitted, taking advantage of his averted face to drink him in. There was an awkward pause, and she said, simply to break the silence, âWhat did you pack? Perhaps I could have a shower...'
Without a word, he stood up, fetched the suitcase from the chair and deposited it on the bed next to her. His silence was beginning to rattle her. He had accepted that there would be no marriage, and now she wondered whether he had decided that he could cease to make all efforts with her. Why bother to build any kind of tenuous relationship when there was now no need? She had been reduced to being no more than the mother of his child. Once this week was over, she would return to her flat and he would visit occasionally, she guessed, to make sure that she hadn't flung herself in front of another passing car. But meanwhile he would carry on with his life and contact would only be resumed once the baby was born. By then, all legal arrangements would be in place. He would be super-efficient when it came to that.
âAre you going to be all right to manage yourself?'
âI'm not ill, Bruno. Had a slight shock, admittedly, but I'm fine.' She sat up and swung open the suitcase to find that he had packed several dresses, her entire underwear drawer, no pyjamas, one shirt and a pair of trousers which had clearly been the first pair his hands had happened to chance upon hanging in the wardrobe. Jade-green silk, appropriate only for evening wear.
Jessica tipped the suitcase upside down and stared at the contents.
âYou envisage a series of cocktail parties for me over the next week, do you?'
âA series of cocktail parties?' He moved to turn on the light, which revealed the inappropriate selection in all their glory.
âDresses?' She looked at him quizzically, momentarily forgetting her personal state of depression. âI'm supposed to be relaxing for the next few days. Does this...' she held up a scarlet number which had not seen the light of day for years â...strike you as a relaxing outfit?'
âIt's a very jolly colour,' he commented, flushing. âThought it might cheer you up.'
âOkay. So what was the reasoning behind the two little black affairs?'
âThose must have found their way in by mistake.' He cleared his throat and peered at the bundle on the bed. He picked one up and he held it up by one shoestring strap to the light. âIt's a very attractive number,' he said, observing it from several angles. âIt never ceases to amaze me the clothes that women somehow manage to squeeze their bodies into.' He dropped it back on the bed and folded his arms.
âThat's as may be, but...' she looked at him with an inward sigh of despair â...it's not a useful lot of clothes. I shall have to go myself and fetch some more.' She prepared to swing her legs over the side of the bed.
âNot on your life! If you just tell me what to bring over, then I can do it myself.'
âBut I wanted to have a shower now,' Jessica said a little plaintively.
âFine. Stay right there. I'll be back in a second.'
He vanished, to return literally a minute later with a short-sleeved shirt in one hand.
âHere. You can put this on.'
âBut it's yours.'
He looked at it as though seeing it for the first time. âOh, so it is. Well, it won't bite and it's been recently laundered. Have a shower and I'll be back up in half an hour with something for you to eat.' Before she could protest he was walking out of the door, and as soon as he had vacated the room she made her way to the bathroom, and had a shower.
The memory of the bleeding was already beginning to fade away, and her spirits began to lift a little.
She still couldn't seem to harness her thoughts, but at least she no longer felt on the verge of cracking up.
If she could manage to maintain her good humour, then it would give her time to build up her defences against him. It had worked for her in the past. She could remember, even as a child, learning to bring the shutters down over her eyes, to control her emotions when her father had been in one of his moods and jeering at her school efforts had become a form of fun. Tears had never worked then. They had only fuelled his cruelty. But gradually she had learned to blank out what he'd been saying and to look through him and past him. Out towards a happier future. Somewhere. And in time the self-imposed control had become second nature for her. She had carried it all the way through to her adult life when it had clothed and protected her like a second skin.
This was different, but wasn't the objective more or less the same?
She slowly dried herself, brushed her hair, leaving it hanging down her back, then she donned the oversized shirt which reached to mid-thigh and suitably disguised every scrap of her body.
This time she would not allow her emotions to ambush all her good intentions. She would smile on the surface and eventually the smiles would become a part of her expression whenever she was in his company.
She stared at the reflection in the mirror and practised a smile.
By the time he returned with a tray, she was back in bed and under the covers.
âYou look better,' he said, glancing at her and looking away. âFood.'
âYou shouldn't have,' Jessica said politely as he placed the tray on her lap and, mysteriously, resumed his position on the chair next to the bed.
âYou're absolutely right. I should have just let you fend for yourself.'
âWell, I've done it all my life,' she answered absent-mindedly, tucking into a mound of scrambled egg and toast. Her hair slipped over a shoulder and she flicked it back, thinking that she should have tied the lot into a ponytail.
âSounds exhausting,' he said eventually, and she stopped eating momentarily to look across at him.
âWhat does?'
âA lifetime of fending for yourself.'
Jessica flushed and resumed eating. This was normal conversation, she told herself. Getting uptight was only going to drag her back to square one, back to the place where every word he uttered had the ability to throw her off balance.
Step one in learning how to deal with her situation would be to answer his questions courteously and without flinching.
âOh, it becomes a habit after a while,' she said airily. This tastes delicious, by the way. I've always admired a man who's not afraid of cooking.'
âWell, I personally wouldn't call two scrambled eggs the epitome of haute cuisine.'
âSmall beginnings,' Jessica said, finishing the very last morsel and closing her knife and fork with some regret. Then she rested back against the pillows with her cup of tea and watched in silence as he removed the tray from bed to side table.
âThere's no need for you to stay here, you know,' she said eventually, when he showed no signs of moving. âI give you my word that I won't leave the room and hurtle outside in another fit of confusion.'
âWas that why you did it?' he asked softly. âBecause my touching you confused you?'
The sudden intimacy of the question wedged a splinter in her determined effort to keep up a smiling façade. She felt the smile begin to slip a little.
âI mean,' she said, disregarding his question, âhaven't you got some work to do? The odd fax to send somewhere?'
âNothing that can't wait.' He paused and continued staring at her. âYou haven't answered my question.'
âThere's nothing
to
answer.' She could feel her heart beating very quickly. Doing double time.
to
answer.' She could feel her heart beating very quickly. Doing double time.
âWhat if I said that I would never lay another finger on you again?' A dark flush had spread across his face and he threw her a challenging look from under his lashes.
âI don't understand what you're saying.'
âWe can simply live under the same roof.'
âIt would drive me crazy!' Jessica blurted out. Tears were beginning to prick the backs of her eyes. How was she supposed to get all her defences in place, if he wasn't prepared to play the game according to her rules?
âI get the message.' He stood up abruptly and looked down at her with his hands in his pockets.
âYou don't understand!' Imploring eyes met cold ice.
âI think I do. Forget I ever asked the question. You were right. I have work to do, so I'll leave you here to get on with your resting. Tonight, I'll give my mother a call and she can come up and lend a hand.'
âYour mother?'
âGood night, Jessica. Call me if you need anything. I'll be in the office downstairs.'
âWait, Bruno.' He was already heading to the door. âWhy don't we talk about this?' She could feel herself on the verge of confessing everything to him and hang the consequences.
âThere's nothing to talk about,' he said politely. âLet's not go along the road of forcing something that's just not there. We're two people who happened to meet in passing, which, as you've been at great pains to point out, is precisely where it should have been left.'
With that he left the room, and Jessica crumpled back onto the bed. It was over. There had been a finality in his voice when he had spoken and beyond them now was nothing. He had made one last effort to accommodate her because of the baby, and she had spontaneously uttered the wrong words. Not that there would have been any right ones.
The past and the present tangled together in her head and she switched the overhead light off, waiting, dry-eyed, as the sky outside darkened. There were no noises in the house, and she wouldn't have been surprised to find that he had gone out. Gone to find himself a real woman, instead of a repressed, inhibited one who couldn't even say what was in her mind because heartfelt truths were something she had never felt the need to indulge in before.
When she next opened her eyes, it was to find light trying to get through the curtain, and there was a knocking on the bedroom door. She wasn't entirely sure which had awakened her. The light or the sound of knocking. Her watch, which she was still wearing, showed her that it was a little after eight.
The shirtâcrumpled. The hairâa mess. The faceâshe daredn't look. If Bruno wasn't repelled by her enough already, then he was in for a treat.
She watched the door handle being turned, frantically tried to arrange her face into something loosely resembling a human being instead of a zombie recently roused from the local graveyard, and was already wearing a fixed, if jaw-aching, smile on her lips when a tall, dark-haired woman entered the room. She was dressed smartly in a tan-coloured cashmere twin set although, instead of the customary pearls, she wore three long strands of gold around her neck.
If this is the housekeeper, then I'm the Queen of England, Jessica thought, but she kept smiling until the woman approached the bed.
It then occurred to her that the constant smile might look a bit manic and she allowed her mouth to relax a little.
âYou must be wondering who I am,' the woman said, and as soon as she had spoken Jessica knew precisely who the woman was. Right age, right look, right accent. Her heart sank.
âYou must be Bruno's mother,' she said, feeling at a disadvantage in her son's shirt, in bed. This sort of elegant, well-bred woman was best dealt with on fairly equal terms. The fact of the pregnancy was just another huge, added disadvantage. The woman had the same angular, strong face as her son although time had weathered it into something slightly less daunting.
âVictoria.' She stepped into the room, and, if she was horrified at the circumstances that had brought her to London from the sanity of her country mansion, then she showed no sign of it. âAnd you're Jessica, of course.'
âI'm very pleased to meet you,' Jessica lied.
âAre you?' The bright, shrewd eyes examined her. âI wish I could say the same but I'm very much afraid that it would be a complete lie.'
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