The Baby Verdict (19 page)

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Authors: Cathy Williams

BOOK: The Baby Verdict
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Okay, Jessica thought. Let's not beat about the bush here.
‘I came up last night, actually, on Bruno's request. He's going to be out of the country for a few days and he thought that, in view of the situation, my presence here might be a help.'
Jessica nodded miserably, at a loss for words.
‘You have no experience of children, as yet, but, speaking as a mother, I needn't tell you how disappointed I am with this situation.'
‘Well,' Jessica said, firing on a few cylinders now that the immediate shock had worn off, ‘and I would hate to appear rude, but, speaking as the person in the middle of the situation, I can assure you that it's not exactly a bed of roses for me either.'
For the first time, a glimmer of humour flitted across the woman's face, but she remained silent for a while, eventually moving to pull back the curtains, then to sit in still repose on the love chair by the bay window. Jessica followed her warily with her eyes.
‘I had always expected, my dear, that Bruno would indulge his mother with a white wedding, with all the trimmings...' She smiled a little wistfully. ‘No, perhaps not quite the full affair, but a wedding, at any rate.'
‘I understand,' Jessica said uncomfortably. Had he told his mother that a wedding had been planned? Planned and then dismantled in the blink of an eye?
‘He tells me that any such thing is out of the question.' She paused and looked carefully at Jessica. ‘May I ask why?'
‘Because weddings, marriage... I was a fool, Mrs Carr. A mistake and...' Her voice was beginning to go. She could feel her throat seizing up, but she forced herself to plough on. ‘And here I am. Pregnant. I know that Bruno hadn't planned for his life to take this awkward course, and I certainly hadn't.'
‘What
had
you planned, my dear?' The voice was soft but insistent, and Jessica sighed and lay back on the bed, with her eyes on the ceiling.
What
had
she planned? It was a good question.
‘I'd planned a life of independence. A career. A life with no emotional involvement. I always thought that it would just be so much easier. I certainly hadn't planned on babies and on your son... No, all that had been the last thing on my mind...'
‘All that?'
Jessica shifted her head so that she was looking at Bruno's mother. She shrugged. ‘Involvement, I guess. I know there's a baby, but marriage...well, underneath it all, I guess I was more of a foolish romantic than I'd believed. I guess I'd thought all along that marriage and love needed to go together. Bruno and I won't be married because he doesn't love me, and I can't think of anything more unfair on him than shackling him to my side because of a mistake.'
‘Unfair on you as well, if you don't love him either.'
Jessica caught the woman's eyes and opened her mouth o agree but found that she couldn't. No more lies.
‘If only it was as easy as that,' she murmured, half to herself. ‘If only.'
CHAPTER TEN
I
T WAS after midnight when banging on the front door dragged Jessica out of her sleep. For the first time since returning to her own place two days ago, she cursed the fact that she was no longer under Bruno Carr's roof, because if she had been there would have been no chance of hearing anyone knock or bang or possibly even break down his front door.
As it was, she yawned and staggered into her dressing gown and then headed to the door, which she opened by a couple of inches, making sure to keep the chain simply in place. She lived in a relatively safe part of town, but it still didn't make sense to take chances, especially at this hour, notorious for drunken revellers heading home, only stopping off
en route
to cause a bit of random harassment
The minute she saw who was standing outside her front door, all signs of sleep vanished.
‘Open this door,' Bruno commanded, looking as though he might risk pushing it with his shoulder, despite the obstacle of the chain. He was dressed, mysteriously at this hour, in his work suit, although his tie was askew as though he had been tugging it down.
‘What are you doing here at this hour? I thought you weren't going to be back in the country for another three days.'
‘Plans changed.'
‘In that case you can find your way back to your own house. Do you realise what time it is? I was asleep!' She didn't add that it had taken her long enough to get to sleep in the first place without having what little she had enjoyed ruined halfway through.
‘I don't care if you were levitating six inches off the bed, Jessica. Open this door or else I'll break the thing down.'
‘You're not strong enough,' she pointed out flatly.
‘In which case, I'll yell so loudly that every neighbour in a sixty-mile radius will come running to see what's going on.'
She didn't doubt him either. She reluctantly unhooked the chain from the door and stood aside to let him enter. His absence over the past five days had been just what she'd needed to put him in perspective. Or so she reminded herself as she watched him divest himself of his jacket and stride purposefully towards her sitting room. The fact that it was after twelve o'clock was obviously something that hadn't registered with him, or maybe his body was still running on American time.
‘So,' she said mutinously, following him into the sitting room, but then standing by the door with her arms folded defensively. ‘What do you want?'
‘I had a long chat with my mother when I got back from America this evening,' he said, perching on the window-ledge and staring at her, his eyes hooded and unrevealing.
‘And? What does that have to do with me? I'm tired, and whatever you have to say to me can wait until another day.“ Her sluggish brain began working furiously, trying to remember what she could possibly have said to his mother that might have been relayed back to him, but she had been very careful to keep her emotions to herself. Even when it had become patently clear that she and his mother got along really rather well, circumstances considering. Despite frequent references to maternal disapproval, there was something innately warm inside Victoria that Jessica had found herself responding to. So what could she have told her son that had made him find his way over here at this hour?
‘I liked your mother!' she blurted out, confused. ‘And I thought she liked me too!'
‘And you're wondering how she might have betrayed one of your little confidences?' he said in a jeering voice.
‘I didn't give her any!' Jessica retorted, whitening. Had she? She had been tempted, but she had held back, biting back the need to confess how she really felt about her son She wrapped her dressing gown more tightly around her but even so she still felt cold.
‘Then why are you so frantic to try and remember what you said to her? No, don't bother to answer that. Not that you would. Denial is your instinctive response to any question you find even remotely troublesome.' He moved across to one of the chairs and sat down, rubbing his eyes.
‘Why are you sitting down and making yourself at home at this hour of the morning?' Jessica asked coldly.
‘I told you. We need to talk.'
‘We've already talked. I don't remember it getting us anywhere.'
‘My mother liked you. Have I mentioned that?'
‘You've been drinking, haven't you?' Jessica asked looking at him narrowly. He hadn't staggered into the house like a typical inebriate, and his words weren't slur ring, but there was something aggressive and unpredictable about his behaviour.
‘Don't try and change the bloody topic, Jessica. I'm sick to death of that ploy of yours. I'm sick of pussyfooting around all your little problems.'
‘You? Pussyfooting? Don't make me laugh. I'm going to go and get you a cup of black coffee. You're going to drink it and then you're going to leave.' She didn't give him time to answer. Instead she swept out of the room headed towards the kitchen, relieved to find that he hadn't followed her, and then slumped heavily against the fridge door while she waited for the kettle to boil.
Why had he come? She had never seen him under the influence of drink, but she was pretty certain he was there now, whatever he might say, and drunks were notoriously unreliable. They said what was in their mind, and she didn't think that she could stand an hour's worth of Bruno Carr raving on about all her inadequacies. But how could she get him out? He was bigger than her and stronger and if he decided to stay put until he had said whatever piece he had come to say, then he would stay put.
The kettle began to boil and she shakily poured the water into a mug and then stirred in two heaped teaspoons of strong coffee granules.
She half expected to find that he had passed out on the sofa in her absence, but when she got back to the sitting room it was to find him where she had left him, and if the drink was getting to him then he showed zero signs of it.
‘Drink up.' She stood over him with her arms folded and watched as he took a mouthful and then recoiled, spluttering.
‘What the hell have you put in this?'
‘You've had too much to drink. The stronger the coffee, the better,' she told him calmly, and he muttered something unflattering under his breath. ‘You need to get back to your house, get yourself into bed with a couple of paracetamol and go to sleep. In the morning, you might be coherent.' And you won't be here, she thought to herself. Whatever state he was in, she still didn't like what he could do to her. Just seeing him, looking down at that rumpled thatch of black hair, was enough to make her feel unsteady.
‘Stop giving orders. I'm sick to death of you giving orders.'
‘You're sick of a lot of things concerning me, aren't you? Is that why you came here? So that you could tell me just how sick you are of me and everything that I do and say? I wouldn't have thought that you would need drink as a prop to give you Dutch courage for that, though. You've always been just fine at telling me precisely what you think.'
‘Oh, do me a favour. You're hardly the shrinking violet when it comes to saying what's on your mind.'
‘Right, I'm off to bed.' She made a move to turn away and he grabbed her clumsily by the wrist.
‘Oh, no, you don't. You're going to stay right here and listen to what I have to say.' He frowned, as though he had temporarily forgotten what he had to say, and Jessica watched him with an expression of long-suffering patience.
‘Then hurry up and say it. I'm tired.'
‘No, you're not. You're all wired up because I'm here.' He shot her a crafty look from under his lashes, which she did her best to ignore, but her heart had gone into overdrive.
‘Don't flatter yourself.'
‘I'm not.' He gave her a lopsided, knowing smile and she raised her eyebrows expressively.
‘And that wolfish grin doesn't sit well on someone who's had too much to drink. You just look ridiculous.' The annoying thing was that he looked anything but ridiculous, even though he should have. ‘And I don't recall saying anything funny,' she snapped, when he grinned delightedly at this remark.
‘Did I tell you that my mother took to you?'
‘Yes, as a matter of fact, you did.'
‘Said you had a lot of fighting spirit.' He gave something that sounded like a snort. ‘What could I do but agree with her?'
He was still loosely hanging on to her wrist as though having forgotten that his hand was there, and she tried to jerk her hand away. Instantly, his grip tightened, though he was still staring thoughtfully into the distance.
‘Would you mind letting me go?'
‘Only if you promise not to hover over me like a schoolteacher with your arms folded.'
She sighed loudly and nodded, then, when he continued looking at her, repeated woodenly, ‘I promise not to hover over you like a schoolteacher with my arms folded.' At which he gave her a satisfied look, released her hand, and she gratefully went to the sofa and sat down, curling her legs underneath her.
‘My mother never really cared for the women I've gone out with,' he said in a ruminating voice.
‘Yes. I know.'
‘You
know
?'
‘She told me.' That, Jessica freely admitted to herself, had given her a buzz.
‘And what
precisely
did she tell you?'
‘She
precisely
told me that you always went for the same type of woman. Pretty, empty-headed, disposable.'
‘My mother told you all that, did she?' His voice was blustering, but she could see that he was severely taken aback. ‘So you two sat there, having cosy little confidential chit-chats at my expense over cups of tea.'
‘Your name cropped up now and again.' Jessica shrugged. ‘Bound to, I guess, under the circumstances.'
‘And what other gems did she come up with?'
‘She said that when you were three you rifled her lipstick drawer, smeared bright red lipstick all over your face and then fell down the stairs in her high-heeled shoes.' That had been such a gem of a confidence that she couldn't resist smiling now at the image, and Bruno scowled at her.
‘God, the woman never lets me forget embarrassing incidents like that. I was three at the time!'
‘That's probably because you've managed to put all embarrassing incidents behind you now.'
‘Well, it would be extremely suspect if I was still prone to smearing lipstick on my face and tripping downstairs in high-heeled shoes, wouldn't it?'
‘Anyway, we're getting off the topic of why you're here.' She felt she had to drag the conversation back into the boxing ring or else totally lose sight of the fact that Bruno Carr was to be kept at a safe distance.
‘So we are.' He stretched his feet out and crossed them at the ankles, then he clasped his hands behind his head and sank into silence.
‘Well?' Jessica prompted.
‘My mother didn't expect to like you. When I first explained the situation to her on the telephone, she was horrified. 'Course, she blamed you for the whole mess.'
‘Oh, of course,' Jessica said sarcastically. ‘Because Archangel Bruno couldn't possibly have had a hand in it at all!'
‘It seems she changed her mind after meeting you.'
‘You mean...she thinks that you might be partly responsible for the situation? You amaze me!'
‘I mean she expected to find that you followed the trend of my usual girlfriends.'
‘Ah!' She was no clearer now as to the direction this conversation was going but she realised that she couldn't have halted it even if she wanted to. Which she didn't.
‘Don't interrupt,' he ordered and she declined to point out that she hadn't. ‘I came here fortified to say my speech and you'll sit there and listen to it. My mother...whom I love dearly and whose opinions I value greatly, seemed to think...' His voice petered out and he frowned accusingly at her, as though she were personally responsible for his failure to carry on.
‘I haven't interrupted,' Jessica pointed out. ‘You were saying...?'
‘She seemed to think that you might possibly be the right woman for me.'
Jessica's mouth dropped open in sheer amazement. If his mother had told him that, then the woman was an actress of Oscar-winning standards because she had certainly said nothing to Jessica of the sort. In fact, she had pointedly steered clear of any matchmaking tendencies.
‘She seems to think I might be better off with someone like you.'
‘Someone like me?
I'm not an act at a circus show! What do you mean
someone like me
? I can't think that your mother would have referred to me in those terms!' Her eyes started welling up and she blinked the tears back.

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