“Dora approves of you,” Guy told her.
“She doesn’t know I’m pregnant,” she replied.
“I do, but it doesn’t seem to make you any less fanciable.”
“You’ve been alone too long.”
“Mmm,” he agreed absently. “Let’s go and eat. I’m starving.”
“When’s that Hadden character calling again?” Guy enquired while they were having coffee.
Lunch had been a tasty, filling stew, rich with vegetables—Poppy could almost feel the pounds creeping back on.
“He usually calls on Monday mornings. He’s probably been round while I’ve been up here, in fact. I’d better get to work right away.”
“I want a word with him when he comes. I’ll look out for him.”
“Oh Guy, I can cope with him.”
“I’m sure you can, love, but there’s no reason why you should.”
And there was no reason why Guy should use superfluous endearments, as he had taken to doing of late.
Once Poppy was home, however, she was disinclined to make sweaters for Dave Hadden. For one thing, she had little energy. For another, everyone who called, it seemed, from Esther to the vicar’s wife, Madge, including Tanya and Shirley, wanted to make sure she was all right and, at the same time, give her business a boost. They all ordered sweaters for themselves for the cold months ahead, and others to give as Christmas presents.
She set to with a will, happier to work in the knowledge that she would be receiving a fair price, enabling her to pay the mounting bills.
Annabel was one of her first visitors.
“I’m starting the art foundation course after Christmas,” she told Poppy delightedly.
“That’s great news!”
“Yes, they’re letting me start a term late. They liked my portfolio, and my enthusiasm, it seems. Why don’t I stitch some of these up for you?” she asked, viewing the pile of knitted pieces on the table.
“To tell you the truth, I could do with some help. I’ve suddenly got loads of orders, and the sewing up is the part I like least! I could pay you a reasonable hourly sum.”
She mentioned a figure.
“I don’t want to be paid—I thought I might learn a few trade secrets, about design and generally running a fashion business. Not that I’m aiming to compete—I want to design glamorous evening dresses and bridal wear, and maybe children’s clothes.”
“You are going to be busy! Seriously, though, I couldn’t accept your help without paying you. It’ll be hourly, while the work lasts.”
“All right, then. You’re on.”
The two girls worked well together, and if Annabel wondered about Guy’s ongoing concern for his recently sick neighbour, she never questioned his almost daily visits.
Chapter Nine
At the weekend, Tess called on Poppy out of the blue.
“Simon and I are spending the weekend here. We’re expected at his home for Christmas, so we’re having an early celebration with my parents. Can you come for lunch tomorrow?”
“Thanks, I’d love to.”
“Guy’s coming.” She paused. “Poppy, why didn’t you tell me?”
“About what?” Poppy asked guardedly.
“Well, about the baby, of course! It must be due about the same time as ours. Sorry, but my stupid brother let it slip—some doctor! And why are you coping alone? He is the father, isn’t he?”
“No, your mother jumped to that conclusion…”
“Not Robin—Guy! The way you two look at each other—it just has to be!”
“Oh, Tess, you don’t understand.”
“Try me! For heaven’s sake, we grew up together. What are friends for?”
And Poppy found herself pouring it all out to her old friend. It was such a relief to confide in someone she could trust completely.
“I can see it’s a bit tricky, but, from what you say, he himself thinks the father has a right to know, and a duty to support the baby.”
“But if he doesn’t remember…and if he does recover his memory, he’ll also remember proposing to Nerissa, in which case whatever feelings he had for her will be rekindled—either way, I shall still be out in the cold, and he’d have one hell of a guilty conscience to live with. I can’t do that do him, Tess. I…”
“Yes? You were saying?”
“You know what I was trying to say: I love him too much to burden him with that.”
“Oh God, you’re hopeless. Guy’s man enough to decide for himself, but he must have all the facts first! See you for lunch, eh?”
Was Tess right? Should Poppy tell Guy precisely what had happened on that wild and stormy night, and let him decide what to do himself—what part, if any, he wanted to play in the life of his child?
Perhaps she should—and soon. The first week of January, when he and Nerissa were to be married, was less than a month away. Nerissa would be furious, of course, to start married life knowing he shared a permanent link with Poppy in the form of a child.
Supposing he claimed the child, though, she suddenly thought in terror? Supposing he decided that he and Nerissa had more to offer a child than she, Poppy herself? They did, in the material sense, of course, but Poppy loved this child already, and she was quite sure Nerissa would be nothing but a cold and heartless mother, even to her own children—let alone someone else’s.
That Saturday night she barely slept a wink, tossing arguments over and over in her mind. By morning, she decided that Tess was right. Guy must know, and make his own decisions. She would tell him after lunch with the Wilsons. She would ask him to call on his way home, and then she would tell him.
In church on Sunday morning, Tess made a warning face at Poppy and rolled her eyes towards the pews at the front of the church. These were set at an angle to the other pews, and had traditionally belonged to the Devereau family. There, beside Guy, in a tailored purple suit, over which she wore a short fur jacket, was Nerissa. Her blue eyes wandered in Poppy’s direction, gave a little triumphant smirk and returned to Guy, whom she favoured with a brilliant smile.
The corner of his mouth barely lifted, but his eyes were drawn to Poppy. Her small smile was acknowledged with a solemn nod. His eyes remained on her, however, taking in her still-pale face and lean cheekbones. Her slender body was hidden beneath a practical, tartan-lined duffel coat.
Nerissa’s sharp eyes followed the exchange and brought it to an end by the expedient of sliding her hand over Guy’s. She had removed her gloves, and the magnificent diamond sparkled in the light of electric lamps switched on to dispel the winter gloom.
Poppy joined in anthems, carols and responses like an automaton, saying her own little prayer in between for some answer to her dilemma. After the service she stayed talking to friends for as long as was polite, studiously avoiding Guy and Nerissa, and turned away to her car.
“How are you?” asked a familiar voice just behind her.
“Getting better all the time, thanks, Guy,” she assured him, swallowing a sudden lump in her throat.
“That’s good.” She glanced round at the unexpected bleakness of his tone. “See you at the Wilsons.”
“Yes, see you there.”
Despite the general conviviality around the lunch table, Poppy felt tense and alone. There was no chance now of talking to Guy, either here or afterwards when they left for their respective homes. Nerissa took every opportunity to stake her claim to Guy, blithely talking of their plans for the Hall once they were married.
“I’m afraid we shall have to go now,” she told Esther, who had only just served coffee. “Guy’s coming up to London with me this afternoon. We’ve been inundated with invitations: Guy’s really been missing out!”
“I also have a few business matters to attend to,” Guy reminded her soberly.
“I expect I can spare you occasionally, bu
t we’ve got a lot to catch up on,” she told him with a fulsome smile.
“How long will you be away, Guy?” Tess asked.
“A couple of days, I expect.”
“A week, at least,” Nerissa insisted.
“I do have work to do,” Guy reminded her kindly.
“Don’t be stuffy, darling—it’s nearly Christmas.”
“Which is why I must get things done before the business world shuts down for two weeks.”
“I expect Simon and I will be gone before you get back, in any case,” Tess told him, “but we’ll be back for a few days around New Year.”
“Excellent! I was thinking of throwing a Hogmanay party on New Year’s Eve. I hope you’ll all come—it’s time I returned some hospitality.”
There were general murmurs of assent and acceptance, and Guy left, almost reluctantly, it seemed, with Nerissa.
“Come and see the new skirt I bought,” Tess invited Poppy. “I’m hoping to persuade you to make a sweater to go with it.”
“I’ll give you a hand in a minute with the dishes, Esther,” Poppy called back as she followed her friend from the room.
“No problem—the menfolk love stacking the dishwasher. They have an ongoing contest to see who can pack the most in!” Esther laughed.
“Have you really bought a new skirt?” Poppy asked as she followed Tess up the wide staircase to her old room, which she now shared with Simon.
“Yes, I have, but, as you’ve guessed, I wanted a chat. It’s a pity they had to dash away. In fact, it’s a pity Nerissa’s in the picture at all. Do you get the impression, as I do, that all’s not well with those two?”
“I put it down to wishful thinking. You can’t get round the fact that Nerissa’s the one with Guy’s ring on her finger, the one who’s going to marry him shortly. I don’t somehow think she’ll relinquish that position lightly.”
“She’d make him desperately miserable! She’s a townie, who just likes to play at country pursuits from time to time, whereas Guy loves it down here. He likes dogs, and I bet he’s marvellous with children. He wants to put down roots—take my word for it. I guess I just felt like giving you a bit of encouragement—you looked so down in the mouth over lunch.”
“Thanks,” Poppy returned drily. “And I thought I was being bright and cheerful.”
“You were—overbright! And I wasn’t the only one to notice it.”
“Who else—not Guy?”
“The very same! He’s concerned about you, I can tell. Where are you having the baby, by the way?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.”
“I’m coming down here so that Mother can look after me. I think it’s marvellous that they’re due about the same time—they’ll have ready-made friends in each other.”
And they chatted on about their coming state of motherhood, though their circumstances were so different. Poppy began to realize that there were many practicalities she had not yet considered. Her life was about to change for good with the arrival of this baby.
By Wednesday, Guy was back at the Hall. Poppy saw nothing of him, but she heard his car once or twice, and noticed the lights blazing away after dark. Was he alone? Or was Nerissa with him? she wondered.
Annabel had already left the following afternoon when Guy walked in. Poppy was feeling rather pleased with herself as she packed the last of the finished sweaters, beautifully stitched up by Annabel, into its cellophane wrapper. Work was the one thing that kept her mind from constant thoughts of the man who had just arrived. She viewed the scowl on his face with some dismay.
“How’ve you been?” he asked tersely, as if he had been away for years, and not just the four days since they had last seen each other.
He slumped onto one of the kitchen chairs, resting an arm on the well-scrubbed surface of the table.
“I’ve been fine, Guy—and extremely busy. Annabel’s a tremendous help. We’re right up to date with orders. How about you? Been living it up in London?”
She had tried to sound flippant, but failed abysmally. He certainly looked as if he had hardly slept since they had last met, and she would rather not go into the reason why.
“No,” he snapped moodily. “I’ve been working bloody hard! Both in London and since my return! Any chance of a cup of coffee?”
“Of course. I was about to have some myself.” She filled the coffee machine and switched it on, aware all the time of Guy’s eyes following her every movement. “How’s Sheba?”
“She’s fine—I don’t think she missed me, either.” Either? “As long as someone feeds her and walks her, she doesn’t give a damn who it is!”
“Oh dear, we are grumpy today,” she said with a smile, audaciously patting his cheek.
The next moment she wished she hadn’t. In a flash, he had seized her wrist and hauled her onto his knee.
“Did you miss me, Poppy?” he demanded, his voice suddenly hoarse.
Miss him! She had spent every moment she was not actually working, and often even then, thinking of him, what he was doing, how he was feeling.
“I’ve been busy working, Guy,” she told him quietly, her gaze unable to meet his. “And, anyway, what right would I have to miss you? You’re engaged! Is Nerissa at the Hall now?”
“No—I left her in London.”
“You prefer to work down here?”
“I prefer to be down here—don’t you realize that?”
“Th-the coffee’s ready, Guy.”
“To hell with the coffee—this is what I need.” Refusing to take no for an answer, he seized her chin and angled her lips to meet his. She mustn’t respond, she wouldn’t—yet she did. In no time at all, she relaxed against him and slid her arms round his neck.
“Oh, Poppy, what am I going to do about you?” he asked huskily.
“Right now, you’re going to have a cup of coffee,” she told him, taking advantage of his relaxed state to escape from his embrace. “And you can tell me how Ken Knight’s getting on in the garden.”
She set down two cups of coffee and deliberately sat opposite him, with the table firmly between them.
“The man’s crazy about the walled kitchen garden, and he has no plans for azaleas and the like, you’ll be glad to know. But I didn’t come here to talk about vegetables. How’s the cottage industry? Has Hadden been round?”
“No, which means he’ll call next Monday, I suppose. I rather wish I hadn’t dealt with him in the first place.”
“You don’t have to deal with him now, if you don’t want to. I’ll see him for you.”
“Why on earth should you?”
“I want to, Poppy. I want to help you. Here you are, a girl living alone, trying to run a business, and also expecting a child without the benefit of a husband. You seem to bring out the protective instinct in me. I want to help you.”
“And Nerissa?”
“I’m sure a wife would understand my motivation.”
And Poppy was equally sure she wouldn’t—any more than she would understand their recent warm embrace!
“It’s not right you should be coping alone,” he went on. “Are you sure you wouldn’t like to tell me who the father is? I’m sure we could get this all sorted out, without too much trouble.”
Now was her chance. Should she tell him? She had intended to last weekend, but then he had taken off with Nerissa. She gazed into his amazing light-hazel eyes, now full of concern for her, not as the object of his love—though he did seem to fancy her—but as another human being who had made a mess of her life.
“Oh, Guy,” she began, the words trembling on her tongue.
A light, staccato rap sounded on the door. For a moment they just sat there, staring at each other—a frozen tableau, teetering on the brink of something important.
“You’d better see who that is,” Guy suggested res
ignedly, reacting more quickly than Poppy.
She stood up and took the few steps to the door, her eyes widening in dismay and horror when she saw Nerissa standing there.
“Is my fiancé here, by any chance?” she asked superciliously.
“Er, yes, he is, as a matter of fact. Come in.”
“Oh, how cosy!” she exclaimed, looking round as if referring to the kitchen, but Poppy knew she meant the two of them sitting there, like some married couple.
“Darling, I just couldn’t stay away,” she told Guy effusively.
“What about that reception you were going to this evening, and tomorrow night’s cocktail party?”
“Unimportant!” she declared airily, with a dismissive wave of the hand. “I decided I’d much rather be with you, at Cranford Hall. After all, it’ll soon by my home, too, so the sooner I get used to it, the better.”
Guy stood up, scraping his chair back as he did so. “We’d better get back there, right now,” he said, ushering her out through the door, an arm round her shoulders. “Thanks for the coffee, Poppy.”
The words were an afterthought. Poppy watched incredulously as they went up the path together, Guy’s arm round Nerissa’s shoulders.
“We have to talk,” she heard him say as they reached the gate.
She closed the door and leaned against it with a sigh. Nerissa had decided which side her bread was buttered, and renounced her social engagements for Guy. Had she found it difficult to do so? For Poppy, there would have been no real choice. Her love for Guy would have won, hands down.
They had now gone back to their future matrimonial home together, to make plans for the future—plans which in no way would include Poppy.
To think she had almost told him about the baby. She could never tell him now. Nerissa only had to show her beautiful face, and Poppy ceased to exist. There was no way she could now unburden herself to him, and risk losing her child to him and that woman. Nor did she want to create difficulties for him—she loved him too much.
That same evening she was washing up after supper when she heard a noise. Pausing in her task, she listened carefully. There it was again, a whimpering somewhere close by.
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