The Baby Gambit

by Anne Mather

  ‘Your apartment?’ Julia wrinkled her nose. ‘Where is it? Somewhere around here?’

  ‘It’s in St John’s Wood, actually,’ said Grace reluctantly, ‘but you could take a taxi.’

  Julia shook her head, and then swayed when she almost lost her balance. ‘I don’t want to wait in your apartment,’ she protested shrilly. ‘I’ve got a suite at the Dorchester. Why don’t we go there?’

  ‘I’ve told you, I can’t.’

  ‘Why not? Why not?’

  ‘You know why not,’ began Grace uneasily, aware that a visitor could arrive at any moment and find her holding up an apparently drunken woman, which would not be good for the museum’s reputation.

  And, as if on cue, the door opened behind her. But it wasn’t a visitor; it was Mr Seton. He took in the scene in a moment, and although Grace was sure she’d hear about it later he came to an immediate decision.

  ‘Perhaps it would be as well if you escorted Miss Calloway home, Grace,’ he declared, with a disparaging glance at her companion. ‘We can’t have—well, I think you know what I’m talking about.’

  ‘I do, too,’ put in Julia aggressively, lunging towards the curator and poking his chest with a rigid finger. ‘Don’t you patronise me, old man. I can buy and sell this place a dozen times over!’

  ‘Julia—’

  ‘I’m sure you could.’ Mr Seton was not impressed, however. ‘Grace! Can I leave this to you?’

  ‘Yes, Mr Seton—’

  ‘Yes, Mr Seton,’ Julia mimicked her in a babyish voice. ‘No, Mr Seton. Three bags full, Mr Seton—’

  ‘Julia, for goodness’ sake—’

  Grace couldn’t wait to get her out of there, and after snatching her bag and jacket from the cloakroom at the back of the reception area she ushered her friend outside.

  The air, muggy though it was, seemed to knock Julia for six, and it was left to Grace to support her friend and summon a passing cab.

  ‘She’s not going to be sick, is she?’ the taxi driver asked suspiciously, eyeing Julia’s pale face with a wary eye, and although Grace assured him that there was no fear of that she couldn’t help crossing her fingers as she did so.

  ‘Could you take us to the Dorchester Hotel?’ she asked, deciding Julia was in no state to go anywhere else. She only hoped and prayed that Matteo wasn’t sharing the suite with her. She didn’t know what she’d do if she had to deal with him, too.

  The receptionist at the Dorchester remembered Miss Calloway very well. In no time at all, a lift had whisked them up to Julia’s suite on the sixth floor, and Grace breathed a sigh of relief when the door closed behind them.

  ‘God, I need the loo!’ exclaimed Julia at once, disappearing into the bathroom, and Grace walked across to the windows and looked out on a rain-wet Park Lane. Where was Matteo? she wondered, not without some anguish. Did he have any idea how Julia was abusing her body? Abusing their unborn child?

  ‘Haven’t you helped yourself to a drink?’

  Julia appeared in the doorway behind her, and Grace noticed she’d kicked off the teetering heels. She’d also shed the jacket of her suit to reveal a sleeveless silk shell and a magnificent diamond bracelet watch on her wrist.

  ‘I’m not thirsty,’ Grace said now. ‘I really ought to be getting back to the museum—’

  ‘Oh, not yet.’ Julia sauntered over to the impressive wet bar and helped herself to a generous gin and tonic. Then, turning, she raised the glass to her lips. ‘I bet you were surprised to see me.’

  The understatement of the year, thought Grace wryly, trying to keep her mind focussed on Julia and not on the father of the child she was carrying. ‘As you say,’ she murmured. Then, almost compulsively, she asked, ‘Is it wise to drink so much?’

  ‘Why not?’ Julia leaned back against the bar and regarded her consideringly. ‘Perhaps I need it to control the urge I have to tear your eyes out.’

  ‘Julia—’

  ‘Yes?’

  Grace sighed and shook her head. ‘I just—well, you know how sorry I am.’

  ‘For what?’ Julia arched mocking brows. ‘For making love with the man I wanted to marry, even when you thought—knew—even when you knew I was expecting his baby?’

  ‘We didn’t—’ Grace broke off, her shoulders sagging. She knew Julia would never believe they hadn’t actually done ‘it’ so there was no point in trying to defend herself. ‘I suppose so, yes.’

  ‘You bitch!’

  Grace drew a steadying breath. ‘Is that what you came to say?’

  ‘Part of it.’ Julia took a generous gulp of her G and T before continuing. ‘So tell me about it: how was it for you?’

  Grace bent her head. ‘I’d rather not discuss it!’

  ‘I’ll bet.’ Julia was scornful. ‘But all the same I think we should compare notes. I mean, we’ve got so much in common, haven’t we?’

  ‘Oh, Julia—’

  ‘What? What?’ Julia’s lips curled. ‘Don’t give me any guff about us being such good friends. Friends don’t do the dirty on one another. Friends don’t pretend to be sympathetic on the one hand and jerk you off on the other.’

  ‘I wasn’t!’

  ‘Weren’t you?’

  ‘No.’ Grace spread her hands. ‘You have to believe me, I never wanted to hurt you.’

  ‘Yeah, right.’ Julia swallowed another mouthful from her glass, and then wiped her wrist across her mouth, smearing her lipstick. ‘No wonder I need this. You almost ruined my life.’

  Grace seized on her last words. ‘Only almost,’ she protested. ‘You’ve still got Matteo, haven’t you?’

  Julia’s eyes narrowed. ‘Oh, yes,’ she said, after a few moments. She sneered. ‘I’d forgotten about that.’

  Grace didn’t know how anyone could forget that they were going to be married, but perhaps it wasn’t so surprising in Julia’s present condition. ‘So,’ she said, trying to speak normally, ‘where is he?’ She spoke past the constriction in her throat. ‘Is he in London, too?’

  Julia snorted. ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’

  ‘Not particularly.’ Grace was weary. ‘I was just being polite.’

  ‘Oh, polite, right.’ Julia sounded sardonic. ‘Always the diplomat, eh, Grace?’ She finished her drink, and weighed the heavy glass in her hand. Then, dropping it carelessly onto the tray, she came towards the other woman, holding out her arm. ‘What do you think of that?’ she asked, indicating the watch. ‘How much do you think I paid for it?’

  Grace, who had had to resist the urge to back away from her, shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea.’

  ‘Look at it.’ Julia thrust her wrist beneath Grace’s nose. ‘Come on; you’re supposed to know about these things.’

  ‘Not jewellery,’ said Grace, wishing she’d just put Julia in a cab and let her make her own way home. ‘I’m sure it was expensive.’

  ‘You’d better believe it.’ Julia examined the watch herself with jealous eyes. ‘I doubt if a year’s salary at that pitiful place where you work would cover it.’

  ‘Maybe not.’ Grace was trying to remain calm. ‘Look—I really should be going.’

  Julia’s face hardened. ‘It doesn’t bother you, does it? You don’t care about things like this.’ Her chin jutted. ‘You’re so smug, aren’t you?’

  Grace’s shoulders sagged. ‘If you say so.’

  ‘That’s what I mean,’ muttered Julia, thrusting her face close to Grace’s now. ‘Anyone else—anyone with red blood in their veins—would show a little emotion here. But not you! Goddammit, Grace, I know you’re in love with him! You forget: we’ve known one another for a long time, and I know you.’ She poked Grace in the chest as she had poked Mr Seton earlier. ‘Come on, come on; admit it, damn you! You’re jealous as hell that I got there first.’

  Grace pushed her hand away. ‘That’s not true—’

  ‘Of course it’s true.’ Julia was contemptuous. ‘I bet it fairly burns you up, imagining us together—in bed!’

  ‘For Go
d’s sake, Julia!’ At last, the other woman had caught her on the raw, and Grace had had enough. ‘Look—all right. You win. I—I am envious, yes. But that doesn’t mean I don’t hope that you and—and Matteo will be happy.’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Julia rocked back on her heels. ‘What a hypocrite you are, Grace. You don’t hope that Matt and I will be happy! It would please you no end if he and I split up.’

  ‘No—’

  Julia scowled now. ‘Oh, well, have it your own way. It doesn’t matter, anyway. It’s not going to happen.’ She spread her fingers in smug satisfaction. ‘What do you think?’

  Grace saw the ring then that occupied Julia’s third finger. She didn’t know how she could have missed it before, except that she’d been avoiding any overt curiosity, and Julia had had her hand wrapped around the glass. But now she couldn’t help but stare at the huge sapphire that nestled in a circle of diamonds, and Julia twisted it round her finger, adjusting it to its best advantage.

  ‘Impressive, huh?’ she taunted. ‘Bond Street’s finest.’

  Bond Street!

  Grace stiffened. So that meant Matteo was in London, after all. Which made her desire to escape from the hotel that much more urgent.

  ‘It’s beautiful,’ she said honestly, and side-stepped away from her. ‘You’re very lucky.’

  ‘Aren’t I, though?’ But Julia’s lips twisted a little mockingly as she acknowledged it.

  ‘But I have to go,’ insisted Grace again. ‘Really, Julia, I do. I don’t want to risk losing my job.’

  ‘As your sister’s husband did, you mean?’ enquired the other woman carelessly, and Grace knew she needed no more proof that Matteo intended to go through with this marriage.

  ‘Matteo told you,’ she said, but it was not a question, and Julia preened a little in her victory.

  ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘Matt tells me everything.’ She grimaced. ‘I didn’t approve of him helping you out, but I guess I can be magnanimous in the circumstances.’

  Grace flinched. ‘Helping—me—out?’ she said uncomprehendingly, and Julia nodded.

  ‘Sure.’ She gave a malicious little smile. ‘Didn’t you realise? Who did you think paid that money back that Giles had—what shall I say?—appropriated?’

  Grace swallowed. ‘You’re not serious!’

  ‘Why not?’ Julia sauntered back to the bar to pour herself another drink. ‘Matt said it was the least he could do. Recompense, I suppose, for the fool he made of you.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  GRACE waited several days before she decided she had to do something about what Julia had told her.

  To begin with, of course, she’d wanted nothing so much as to find Matteo and tell him exactly what she thought of his ‘magnanimous’ gesture. But as her blood had cooled the realisation of what her anger might mean to Giles had forced her to think again. As usual, Matteo had tied her hands so tightly that there seemed little she could do to express her disgust.

  She had thought, when he’d come to the apartment, that he’d had some respect for her feelings, at least. Discovering that he’d discussed her family’s private problems with Julia—whatever their relationship was, he must have known how she’d feel about that—put a whole new slant on what he’d said. But that he should have done what he had to ease his conscience so far as she was concerned was totally unacceptable, and she couldn’t let him get away with it

  But what could she do?

  Whatever happened, she knew she couldn’t risk doing anything to damage Giles’s future prospects by insulting his benefactor, so she would have to find some other way of dealing with it.

  And that was when she thought of the marchesa.

  Matteo’s grandmother had always been exceptionally kind to her, and although she couldn’t expect her to feel quite the same about her now as she’d done before Julia’s revelations she trusted the old lady would not refuse to listen to her.

  But how to get in touch with her? She didn’t know the telephone number at the Villa di Falco, and something told her that it was unlikely to be freely available to just anyone who cared to ask for it. Which meant she had two choices: either she sent the marchesa a letter, or she must go to Italy and speak to her face to face.

  Naturally, she would have preferred the former option. It would have been far easier to put what she had to say down on paper in the certain knowledge that she wouldn’t be interrupted before she’d explained all the facts. But—and it was a big but—did she really want to take the chance that Julia—or someone else—might read the letter, too?

  The truth was, she didn’t. Indeed, she cringed at the thought that Julia might find out and think she was trying to wheedle her way back into their lives. That was the last thing she wanted to do, which meant she had to return to Italy and see the marchesa herself.

  But not if Matteo was there, she assured herself grimly. She had no desire to see him again, particularly now, and she wondered if there was any way she could find out when Julia and the father of her child were getting married. Soon, no doubt. Matteo was a proud man. He would not want to escort a heavily pregnant bride down the aisle of the church in Valle di Falco.

  But even as she was considering this another thought occurred to her. Of course. Julia and Matteo had been in London three days ago. They could still be here. Which would be ideal.

  She couldn’t wait to get home from work that evening and ring the Dorchester. How lucky that she knew Julia was staying there, she thought, telling herself she didn’t care in the least where Matteo was staying. Just so long as he was still here, she prayed silently when the hotel receptionist answered the phone.

  It was a simple matter to ask for Miss Calloway’s suite, and the receptionist didn’t hesitate before putting her through. Which meant Julia was still there; and where Julia went Matteo went also, Grace thought bitterly, not replacing her receiver half fast enough to prevent her hearing the pick-up. A man’s voice answered, and it was not until Grace had slammed down her receiver that she had the uneasy feeling that it had not been Matteo’s voice.

  But, of course, it must have been, she chided herself impatiently. Who else could it be? And, in any case, she was in no state to make any kind of identification. On top of which she’d hung up so fast that his response had hardly registered.

  She blew out a breath. So, there it was. Julia and Matteo were still in London, and as they said in B-movie jargon the coast was clear. All she had to do was book herself on a flight to Pisa, and hire a car to take her to the villa.

  Mr Seton was not very pleased when she rang him at home later that evening to say she would not be in for the next couple of days. ‘But you’ve just got back,’ he objected irritably. ‘You’re not ill again, I hope.’

  Grace thought about lying, and then thought better of it. ‘No, I’m not ill, Mr Seton. This is—a family emergency. I’m sorry, but I have to deal with it myself.’

  Mr Seton was silent for a moment and Grace could imagine the way his mouth would be compressed. ‘Two days, you say?’ he asked at last, and Grace hoped that it would be enough.

  ‘Two days,’ she agreed fervently, and breathed a sigh of relief when he gave her his permission.

  It wasn’t much easier getting a seat on a flight to Pisa. It was August now, and every flight was fully booked. It didn’t help that there was a strike of French air traffic controllers, too. She eventually paid the upgrade and got a cancellation in club class, on a flight leaving at a quarter to eleven the following morning.

  She phoned her mother, too, to tell her she was returning to Italy. But, although Mrs Horton asked, she didn’t tell her why. That could wait until she got back. She then spent the next twelve hours fretting over whether she was doing the right thing. And, if she was, whether the marchesa would agree with her.

  The flight proved uneventful, but when she arrived in Pisa she found she had no hope of hiring a car. Instead, she was forced to hire a taxi, and spent the journey worrying that the remaining lira she’d sav
ed from her previous trip would not be enough to cover the fare. She could have asked, of course, before she got into the cab, but she didn’t. If the driver had refused to take her, she didn’t know what she’d have done.

  In the event, paying the man proved to be the least of her problems. Getting him to stay while she spoke to the marchesa was another matter, and she was struggling to find the words to make him understand that she would need a ride back to Pisa that evening when she heard the sound of horse’s hooves. Glancing apprehensively around, she was relieved to see it was only Ceci who was cantering towards her, her expression mirroring her surprise at the unexpected guest.

  ‘Grace!’ she exclaimed, swinging down from the horse’s back and bestowing her usual greeting on Grace’s cheeks. ‘What are you doing here?’ She frowned at the unusual sight of a taxi parked on the forecourt of the villa. ‘Where’s Papà?’

  Grace avoided an answer. ‘Could you do me a favour, Ceci?’ she said instead. ‘I’m trying to explain to this man that I’d like him to wait while—while I speak to your great-grandmother.’

  ‘To Nonna?’ Ceci frowned. ‘Why? What’s happened to Papa?’

  ‘Nothing, so far as I know.’ Grace had no wish to get involved in a discussion about Matteo. But she was relieved to hear that he obviously wasn’t here. ‘Please.’ She gestured towards the driver. ‘Will you tell him I’ll want to go back to Pisa tonight?’

  Ceci frowned. ‘To Pisa?’ she said blankly. And then, as if growing impatient with the man’s curious stare, she seemed to come to a decision. Grace didn’t know what she said to him; it was far too rapid. But the driver tipped a hand to his forehead and got back into his cab.

  It wasn’t until he drove away that she suspected Ceci hadn’t done as she asked. As the cloud of dust the taxi’s tyres had churned up subsided, she turned to find the girl handing the reins of her mount to one of the men who had been working in the gardens. Then, tucking her arm through Grace’s, Ceci drew her up the steps to the terrace.

  ‘Nonna is resting,’ she said, and Grace, who was getting hotter and hotter by the minute, couldn’t say she was surprised. Italy in August was a lot different from Italy in June, and the navy trouser suit, which had seemed so cool and comfortable in London, was beginning to cling to her sweating limbs.