The Honourable Midwife

by Lilian Darcy

  He came forward, pretending that Alethea was his only focus. ‘Is this our little trouper?’

  ‘Would you have recognised her?’ Rebecca asked, grinning. She held the baby out to him, and he took her carefully into his arms.

  ‘No, I wouldn’t!’ he said.

  Still small for her age, Alethea nonetheless looked like a real baby now, her bones healthily covered in baby fat. At just over three months, and the veteran of two major operations, each lasting hours and involving, he guessed, around eight or ten highly qualified people, she was awake and alert and smiling.

  This was that delightful stage he remembered Jessie and Zoe going through, when a baby’s heart belonged to the whole world, and she’d smile at everyone in sight. Alethea had a little fuzz of golden hair beginning to grow, and plump cheeks as smooth and soft and pink as strawberry ice cream, and Rebecca was obviously intensely proud of her.

  Also, to be honest, she’d grown used to the attention and the praise for her little heroine. Well, anyone who’d been through what she had deserved to glow and gloat.

  ‘She’s gorgeous. She’s fabulous,’ he told her truthfully.

  ‘She is, Rebecca,’ Emma murmured.

  Pete held the baby, and the crowd of interested onlookers pressed Emma close against him. She felt the fuzz of hair on his forearm tickling her own bare skin, and the aura of warmth and strength he so unconsciously and effortlessly gave off.

  ‘She gave us a terrible scare, and she got her picture in several newspapers,’ he said, smiling down at the baby, ‘But we’ve forgiven all that now, haven’t we, cutie, because you’re doing so well!’

  Emma tried to focus on the baby. Alethea did her best to be fascinating. She waved her little arms. She dribbled a little from those pink lips with their pale sucking blisters still apparent. She smiled again.

  But all I’m really thinking about is Pete.

  He had that soft, smiling expression on his face that good men got when they looked at babies, and he radiated a certain pride and satisfaction, too. He’d earned this right, since he’d played such an important part in the successful diagnosis of Alethea’s heart condition.

  In the weeks Emma had seen so little of him she’d forgotten…foolishly forgotten…just what an overwhelming effect he had on her. Just how easily his smile made her heart turn over. Just how much she wanted to touch him, hold him, feel the gift of his body heat wrapped around her, and hear the dark lick of his voice speaking words meant only for her.

  She knew she would see him at the wedding tonight, but perhaps she shouldn’t have responded to Angela Meredith’s phone call just now. It was too hard to see him like this! She could easily have pretended another commitment.

  Another patient arrived. Even allowing for those who were here to see Pete’s practice partner, Lauren Dempsey, the place was crowded. Pete must be running behind. The wedding was at six, and he was obviously also thinking about how time was passing. He held the baby for another minute, then said to Rebecca and her mother, ‘If you have any questions or concerns, please, don’t wait. Get on the phone straight away. Even if it seems like just a sniffle or a degree of fever.’

  ‘I will, I promise. Are these all your patients waiting, Dr Croft?’ Rebecca asked him.

  ‘Not all of them. But if I don’t call the next one in soon, they’ll switch doctors and I’ll have none! I’d better let you get her home.’

  He handed the baby back to her carefully, looked at his watch, then looked at Emma. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. He took in a breath, and she waited. She didn’t want much. Just a word or two. If he’d been about to say something to her, however, he must have changed his mind. Instead, he turned to the reception desk to pick up his next file.

  Sue asked Emma if she wanted to go for a quick coffee, but Emma said no. It took considerable time and effort to do justice to the Paris dress.

  And all of it is for Pete, she realised, not for Kit and Gian, as it should be. Which is probably crazy and doomed to disaster, because he didn’t say a word about the wedding, or anything else.

  Gian and Kit had chosen the rose garden at Kingsford Mill for their ceremony and the large function room there for their reception. At this time of year, a six o’clock garden wedding meant balmy temperatures and late golden sunshine and flowers in bloom. Emma had seated herself with the other guests in time to see Gian striding into position, looking rather on edge and flanked by his brother Marco as best man.

  Kit hadn’t arrived yet.

  Neither had Pete, but his presence wasn’t crucial to the event, and Emma tried not to dwell on the fact of his absence. He’d get here soon. How she’d deal with it, she didn’t know.

  A white car pulled up at the kerb, and here was the bride, with her father to walk her across the grass to the arch of climbing yellow roses where Gian stood, her mother waiting to fuss over her dress and Bonnie to act as an endearingly confused and exuberant flower girl.

  Kit looked fabulous, and Gian seemed hardly able to breathe as he gazed at her. Nell sniffled into a handkerchief and muttered darkly about how silly it was to react this way and when would she learn a little good sense? Caroline luxuriated in her teary state, enjoying every second of it, but in between the two of them, Emma stayed dry-eyed.

  This lovely wedding didn’t make her want to cry, it just settled a hard, hopeless lump deep in her throat, and she hated the way she felt. What, couldn’t she enjoy her friend’s happiness, purely because one other guest was late?

  The civil marriage celebrant pronounced Gian and Kit to be man and wife, and they signed the register. Uniformed waiters served cocktails on the terrace while the bridal couple and their immediate family posed for photographs against the background of blooming roses.

  No Pete.

  Emma talked to Caroline and Nell and some of the other guests. Caroline’s son brought his mother a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray and earned a fond squeeze. ‘I’d rather you didn’t do that in public, Mum,’ he told her.

  ‘Isn’t he gorgeous?’ she said. ‘If only there were more men like him!’

  ‘You can give that stuff a rest, too,’ he growled, but he was grinning with an endearing mix of awkwardness and pride at the same time.

  Everyone moved inside, where a band had begun to play. The three-course meal came in stages, with breaks for dancing, speeches and toasts. The extensive Italian contingent refused to allow this to be a staid occasion. If the atmosphere even hinted that it might fall flat, forks began to tap insistently against glasses, a signal to the bride and groom that they were expected to kiss, and they happily obliged.

  No Pete.

  Emma knew he wasn’t on call. She’d heard his practice partner saying something to Angela about covering this weekend. So why wasn’t he here? Kit and Gian must have noticed. They’d probably said something to each other about it. Or perhaps he’d phoned Gian with an explanation. She wasn’t going to ask.

  He’d looked at her this afternoon in his waiting room. He’d been about to speak. And then he hadn’t. Now he wasn’t here. No reason to think his absence was anything to do with her. No reason to assume she was that significant in his life any more. Maybe this was why his absence hurt so much. Because she wasn’t involved.

  The cake arrived, wheeled in on a trolley draped in pristine white cloth. The two-tiered construction was covered in rolled fondant icing and decorated in dark pink ribbon and delicate lace patterns of palest rose. The white satin bow on the knife handle almost hid Kit’s hand, and when Gian closed his hand on top, their two sets of fingers made a seamless whole. They pressed down on the knife, and everybody clapped and cheered.

  Including Pete.

  When had he appeared? Just now, as far as Emma was concerned. He stood on the opposite side of the room, and if he’d seen her, he wasn’t looking at her at this moment. She flushed at once from head to toe, and wished she had Caroline and Nell here for camouflage. No, for protection. But they’d moved closer to Kit and Gian,
and were talking to Kit’s parents.

  Now he’d seen her. The band had begun to play again, and couples crowded onto the floor. Pete moved in her direction, his intent so apparent and strong that he only narrowly avoided several collisions with the dancers. Unconsciously, Emma moved toward him, so that when he reached her she was on the dance floor, too.

  ‘Where have you been?’ she blurted, unnerved by the way his gaze had fixed on her.

  ‘With Claire.’

  Her heart sank. Always with Claire! And what had she been so foolishly hoping? That weddings were contagious, or something? That an expensive gown from Paris would get the perfect romantic scene that it deserved?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I wanted to be here. I am here now, at least.’ His arms had wound around her, softening her will to resist. ‘It was important, though.’

  ‘It always is.’ The bitter phrase escaped her lips and soured the shape of her mouth, she could feel it.

  ‘We’ve solved things now.’ He began to pull her into a slow dance, although she scarcely realised she was moving. ‘We’ve realised what was wrong.’

  ‘You’re back together,’ she guessed aloud. She lifted her chin and nodded brightly, as if she’d been expecting this news, as if it didn’t tear her heart open with one agonising slash while her feet twittered to and fro, vaguely in time with his.

  He froze.

  ‘No! Hell, no! Not that! I’ve realised…and Claire has, too…what was stopping us from making any progress with decisions about custody, that’s all. All?’ He repeated the word. ‘It was getting in the way of everything, Emma, and the fact that we’ve dealt with it now, and understood it…’

  ‘I don’t understand, Pete. You’ll have to…’ she took a jagged, painful breath, and tried to laugh ‘…speak slowly and in monosyllables, or something. I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘She didn’t want the girls. That was the problem. She thought she ought to want them, and have them with her, because mothers are supposed to, but she was terrified of it. Zoe broke her arm this afternoon, you see…’

  ‘Oh, no!’

  ‘She’s fine. But something suddenly clicked for Claire when she found herself handling the accident so badly, and she understood what’s been tearing her up all along. She couldn’t handle the girls, so she kept reaching out to me, wanting me in her life in some way to take the pressure off. As soon as she could finally admit it, to herself and to me, the solution was clear. The girls will stay with me, full time and permanently.’

  ‘You won’t move?’ Emma blurted.

  ‘I won’t move. Claire will have them to visit in the holidays, of course, and come and see them for the occasional weekend, but she won’t have them with her for any length of time. She never wanted our marriage, not really, even from the beginning. She just wanted me because she was terrified of being a parent alone.’

  ‘That’s great, Pete, to get it settled, and to understand,’ Emma told him, because she knew it was.

  He’d been hoping for this for so long—a permanent, workable solution that didn’t hurt his darling girls. And she could see in his face how much it meant to him. There was a new clarity in his golden-brown eyes, and the tight little knots at his temples and around his mouth, which she’d thought were a permanent part of the shape of his face, had softened out of existence.

  He looked several years younger, and yet at the same time even stronger and more mature. He looked like a man who had the hope of happiness, and who knew he’d earned it…

  Until he frowned.

  ‘I won’t blame you, though, if you think this has all come too late,’ he said.

  ‘Too late?’

  ‘For us, Emma.’ Pete searched her face. ‘It’s been a mess. Terrible timing. Other priorities. I shouldn’t have pretended we were just friends. That was a mistake.’

  ‘I pretended it just as much.’

  ‘I was the one who blew the illusion out of the water at the wrong time.’

  ‘Claire’s visit spooked me,’ she admitted. ‘A lot of things spooked me. It always seemed that you were finding it too hard to get out of each other’s lives, and I wondered if that meant there was something left between you after all, much more than you admitted.’

  ‘No. It was only ever the girls. Only Claire’s ambivalence, and then the shock of her illness. I’ve been very clear in my feelings for a long time. First, that our marriage was a mistake from the beginning. And lately…’ He stopped speaking, and his dance steps slowed.

  The band began to play ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ at a seductively slow tempo, with the lead singer wringing every drop of poignant emotion from the words. Several feet from them, Nell suddenly exclaimed, ‘Oh, God!’ in a choked voice. ‘They’d have to play this, of all things, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘Nell?’ Emma said. She remembered that Nell had always had problems with this song, but typically she had never explained why.

  ‘Leave me alone! This is my problem. Stupid ghosts from the past. Get on with it, you two.’ She gave them a pained, upside-down smile. ‘I mean it!’ She turned abruptly and headed in the direction of the ladies’ room.

  ‘Does she?’ Pete murmured. ‘Mean it, I mean.’

  ‘In that tone, yes.’

  ‘I’ve always liked this song, actually,’ Pete said. His arms tightened around Emma, and he’d stopped even pretending to dance. He was only swaying, and holding her. ‘Covers how I’ve been feeling lately, too. So clear, and so simple. No sunshine when you’re gone, Emma. That lovely warmth. That heat.’ His mouth brushed hers, making her pulses leap instantly. ‘All the sunshine when we’re together, and none of it when you’re gone. And I want the sunshine. I want you in this dress. Wanted it the day I first saw it. I want you out of it, too. And I can offer it now. I can offer you everything you deserve. My heart. My life. My girls to love. If you’re still interested, that is.’

  ‘Oh, I’m interested,’ Emma said. ‘I’m fascinated. I’m eager and ready and—I love you, Pete.’

  ‘I love you, too. Feel what it’s doing to me just to say it.’ She could. He was holding every muscle so tight he was almost shaking. ‘I love you, Emma.’ He kissed her sweetly, not caring if anyone was looking on. ‘I can’t ask you to marry me yet. It wouldn’t be fair. It’s too soon, and we both need time. But I’m giving you fair warning.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Oh, yes! Somewhere a few months down the track, when you least expect it, probably at sunset, I’m going to produce a big bunch of roses and go down on my knees and—’

  ‘Could there be a red Ferrari involved as well, perhaps?’ Emma suggested, hugely encouraged by the mention of roses and sunset.

  ‘A red Ferrari?’

  ‘Roaring up my driveway, with you at the wheel.’

  ‘Oh, there could, yes,’ he agreed.

  ‘Drowning out the sound of the violins on my stereo.’

  ‘I’m really getting the picture now. There definitely could.’

  ‘And it might even just happen that I’m wearing this dress.’

  ‘OK, now you’re cheating. I can arrange the red Ferrari—I’m sure there’ll be a luxury car rental place in Sydney that handles them—but I can’t arrange this dress without tipping you off as to my intentions.’

  ‘Never mind,’ Emma said. ‘Just kiss me, and we’ll worry about the rest of it later.’

  Two months later, as it turned out, on a hot February Friday, just as the sun had sunk to the horizon and a cool evening breeze had freshened the air. Emma stood on her front lawn, wondering why the sprinkler hadn’t come on when she’d turned the tap. Looking along the hose, she found a kink, and heard, at the same moment, the throaty growl of an expensive car cruising down her street.

  Not yet having correctly identified the sound, she glanced up, pulling the hose in her hands to straighten the kink. Water filled the air around her as the sprinkler spurted into action, drenching her at once and making rainbows of misty spray in the air, jus
t as she caught sight of the car.

  Red. Open-topped. Loud. With the familiar shape of a particular man at the wheel, and two little girls shrieking in excitement in the back seat.

  With her wet coral pink T-shirt and black bike shorts clinging closer to her body than her Paris dress, Emma began to laugh.

  Her future had just roared into the driveway.

  ISBN: 978-1-4603-5765-1

  THE HONOURABLE MIDWIFE

  First North American Publication 2004

  Copyright © 2003 by Lilian Darcy

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