The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

  She wrapped her arms round her waist and shivered. It was still cold in here after the past couple of days, and she wasn’t in a hurry to sit about half naked just to dress the set, so to speak.

  Oh, rats. She felt as nervous as a virgin bride, if such a thing still existed. She had her doubts. She looked around. He’d brought the quilt up from downstairs at some point and put it back on the bed. It looked very tidy and intimidating.

  Should she have the lights on or off? And her clothes—on or off? And what about perfume?

  Oh, Rob, help me. How do you want me? Do you want me, or is it just habit and proximity?

  The door opened softly behind her, pushing her in the back, and she moved out of the way and let him in.

  He eyed her warily, and she realised with sudden insight that he was just as nervous as she was, for some crazy and inexplicable reason. Oddly enough, that gave her courage. She smiled up at him and pushed the door closed.

  ‘I waited for you,’ she told him softly. ‘It was too cold to undress.’

  His mouth quirked up at the side and he nodded slightly, then stood there for a moment. He seemed to be waiting for her to make the next move, but she felt suddenly shy. How silly, to be shy with her husband!

  ‘There’s a full moon,’ he said quietly, and turned off the light. ‘Look out there. It’s beautiful.’ The room was filled with an eerie silver gleam, cold and brilliant as it reflected off the snow, and after a moment she could see almost as clearly as before. She looked out over the ghostly white landscape and shivered. It was icy and mysterious, slightly sinister in a way, and she was glad she wasn’t alone.

  She turned back to him, searching his face in the moonlight that streamed through the open curtains.

  He was still standing there, his stubble dark against his skin, and she reached out a hand and rasped it gently against the rough hairs.

  ‘I’m sorry, I should have shaved,’ he said, but she shook her head.

  ‘No. I like it.’

  ‘It’ll hurt you.’

  ‘It’s only stubble, not razor wire. I’m sure I’ll live.’

  She moved closer, rising up on tiptoe and pressing a gentle kiss to his lips. ‘Everything done downstairs?’ she asked, and he nodded.

  ‘Everything’s done. I’m all yours.’

  She smiled, her heart thundering. ‘Good.’ Then going up on tiptoe again, she cupped his hands around his face and lifted her lips to his once more. ‘Make love to me, Rob,’ she murmured, and with a ragged groan he tunnelled his fingers through her hair, anchored her head and kissed her back.

  There was nothing tentative about him this time. She’d unleashed a tiger, and she was ready for him now. His mouth plundered hers, demanding her response, and she gave it to him a hundred-fold.

  His hands left her hair, sliding down her shoulders, over her arms, coming to rest on the soft fullness of her breasts. A ragged groan rose in his throat, and he tucked his thumbs under the hem of her sweater and slid his hands up against her skin, dispensing with the catch of her bra and taking her breath away. His thumbs chafed her nipples, teasing them, making them ache for more.

  She made a helpless noise in her throat and he lifted his head, stepping back and peeling off his clothes in a few short, impatient movements. Her sweater followed, the bra tangling with it and going too, then her trousers fell to her ankles and he pushed her down onto the edge of the bed, kneeling in front of her and removing them and the thick, snuggly socks she’d put on to keep her feet warm for the evening.

  All she was wearing was a thong, a deep wine-red lace thong that left little to the imagination and brought another groan from deep in his chest. He slid his hand up from her foot, leaving a trail of heat up her leg until he brushed the back of his fingers against the tiny lace panel that hid her from his heated gaze.

  She gasped, and he smiled grimly. ‘Oh, yes,’ he vowed, and she felt heat pool under his hand. He pulled her to her feet, easing her against him so she felt the slight chafe of his body hair against the softness of her skin. It was unbelievably exciting.

  ‘Rob—’

  ‘It’s all right, Laurie,’ he soothed. ‘It’s all right. Slow down. There’s no hurry.’

  He lifted her easily, kicking the tidy quilt aside and lowering her to the chilly sheet. Then he was beside her, his body heat warming her as his lips found hers again. Her fingers cupped his jaw, rubbing gently against the sensuous scrape of the stubble, rough against her palm and unbearably erotic.

  His lips left her mouth, trailing fire over her palm, the contrast shocking a tiny gasp from her. He grunted with satisfaction and moved on, up her arm, over her shoulder, down, to take an aching nipple into his mouth and suckle deeply on it.

  She bucked and arched against him, and he lifted his head and stared deep into her eyes. ‘I love you,’ he whispered raggedly, and she wanted to cry.

  ‘Rob—please,’ she breathed, and he stripped away the tiny scrap of lace; his eyes locked with hers in the silver moonlight as he moved over her.

  ‘I love you,’ he said again, and then they were one, moving together in a dance as old as time, and she felt whole again.

  She’d forgotten what it was like to make love with her husband, she thought sadly. He was sleeping now, his head pillowed on her chest, his lashes dark against the silver of his skin in the moonlight. She rested her hand on his head, her palm curled round, her fingers threaded through the silky-soft dark hair that teased her skin, and thought about the past year.

  All the times they’d tried to make a baby, that was all they’d been able to think about. This time, not thinking about a baby, or failure, or if it was just the right time, not too early, not too late, they’d been able to concentrate on each other.

  It had been wonderful, but Laurie knew it was all part of the magic of the weekend that fate had handed them. When he’d turned up, she thought it was going to be a disaster and, true, her plans had gone well awry, but there was no way she could call what had happened between them a disaster.

  It was going to make it all the harder, though, when he left.

  She stroked his shoulder, sleek and firm, and he sighed and shifted, rolling onto his back and drawing her into his arms. He tucked the quilt round her with a tender gesture that brought tears to her eyes, and with a contented sound he settled back into sleep.

  Laurie didn’t sleep, though. Some time before dawn, she heard the snow plough come through, and she knew he’d be going.

  She woke him with a kiss, and he turned towards her, taking her into his arms and wrapping her close against him. ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ he murmured in her ear, and then his mouth found hers again and for a while she forgot about everything except the magic of his touch…

  They walked up to the lane after breakfast and, sure enough, it was clear.

  ‘I suppose I’d better be getting back,’ he said once they’d returned to the cottage, and she could see the businessman resurrecting himself in him. ‘I missed all sorts of calls on Friday. I really should have been in the office.’

  ‘Borrow mine,’ she offered, suddenly reluctant to let him go quite yet, but he shook his head.

  ‘No. I’ll get back now. I probably need to go into the office tonight and sign things. We just have to arrange to get all your stuff shipped back at some later date. What are we going to do about the dogs?’

  ‘The dogs?’ she said blankly.

  ‘Well, they need an estate car, and I’m not happy about you driving in this weather. I suppose you could wait a few days and come when it’s cleared—’

  ‘Rob, I’m not coming back,’ she said, and he looked at her in astonishment.

  ‘What? What do you mean, you’re not coming back? Of course you’re coming back.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, I’m not. Nothing’s changed between us. You still work too many hours, you’re away too much, and I don’t need that. I can’t deal with it. I hate it—and when you’re there, it’s always pressured. I can’t live like that
any more, Rob.’

  ‘But—’ He broke off, stabbing a hand through his hair, and turned away, then turned back, his mouth a grim line. ‘So what was last night all about, then?’

  She gave a tiny shrug. ‘I don’t know. It just seemed right—’

  ‘Because it was right. You’re my wife—we’re married, dammit. We belong together.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’

  ‘Yes, necessarily!’ he ground out. ‘For God’s sake, Laurie, how could it have been like that last night if we didn’t love each other? How could you have done the things you did with me if you didn’t love me? That wasn’t just sex, and you know it.’

  She sighed and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘I didn’t say I don’t love you.’

  ‘So what are you saying?’ he said, exasperated. He grabbed a chair and turned it round, straddling it, his arms folded on the back and his eyes pinning her like lasers. ‘I don’t understand, Laurie. What’s going on in that head of yours? Tell me!’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said honestly. ‘I just know I came up here to think, to find time to discover what I really do want from my life, and I don’t know the answers yet. Until I do, I can’t make any decisions.’

  ‘But what about us?’

  ‘Us is one of the things I need to think about, Rob,’ she said gently. ‘I don’t know if there is an us any more—if there can be.’

  ‘After last night?’ he said incredulously. ‘You still don’t know, after last night? After the things I said?’ His voice cracked, and he looked away, his jaw working. He’d shaved this morning, and she could see the muscle jumping under the smooth sheen of his skin.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured. ‘It’s not that I don’t love you, because I do—’

  ‘That’s big of you. Don’t overdo it,’ he said sarcastically, but he was just lashing out in hurt, she knew that, so she let it go.

  ‘Rob, I need time. I’m sorry if you can’t accept it, but it’s the way it is.’

  ‘So I’ve just got to go away and leave you to get on with it?’

  She nodded. ‘Please.’

  He was silent for a while, but then he lifted his head and speared her with his eyes. ‘Can I see you?’

  Again, she nodded. ‘That would be lovely. I will miss you. I always miss you. Maybe this is the answer—we have our own lives and meet every now and again for the weekend.’

  ‘Next weekend?’

  ‘If you like.’

  He sighed and shook his head as if to clear it, then stood up, spinning the chair and dropping it back under the edge of the table. ‘Right, I’d better go and pack,’ he said, and walked out.

  She stared after him, hot tears stinging her eyes, and then folded her arms on the table and laid her head on them. She wouldn’t cry. She wouldn’t. Nor would she weaken. It would be so easy, but, as she’d told him, nothing had changed. He was a workaholic, and he always would be. Leopards didn’t change their spots, and she wasn’t sure she had the right to expect him to change what he’d always been.

  She could hear him upstairs, moving around in the bedroom, gathering up his things, and she realised the sheets would smell of him that night and, even though he’d gone, she’d still be reminded of him as she lay alone in bed and ached for his touch.

  He couldn’t believe she was staying here. After last night, as well, after he’d opened his heart to her and told her he loved her—not once, but over and over again, so there was no chance she’d missed it.

  He picked up his trousers and bundled them up angrily. Dammit, what was she trying to do to him? She couldn’t just pick him up and drop him like some kind of toy!

  And now he’d agreed to come back this coming weekend to torture himself further. He must be mad. Insane.

  In love.

  Oh, hell.

  He gathered up the last of his things, ran downstairs and stuffed them into the suitcase. It would take him hours to dig out the car, of course. He’d only found one end of it, and he’d need to turn it round. Either that, or he’d have to reverse up the track.

  Thank goodness he’d got traction control. He wasn’t sure how well it would work under the circumstances, but it had to be better than nothing.

  He pulled on his coat and boots, grabbed the shovel and went out and started digging. Maybe a little frenzied activity would settle his temper and calm him down before the drive. The way he felt right now, he was quite likely to write the car off before he even reached the lane!

  He was angry with her. Laurie watched him out of the kitchen window, standing with her arms wrapped round her waist, holding in the ache. It took him ages, but finally the car was cleared of snow and he’d started the engine to warm it and clear the windows.

  He was digging his way to the track now, snow flying in all directions, and then at last he linked up with McGregor’s tracks and straightened up, stretching out his back muscles and flexing his arms.

  His coat was long gone, put into the car for later, and he was looking hot and only marginally less angry.

  She’d put the kettle on, and as he stomped his way back in, shedding snow in the doorway, she looked up and tried to smile.

  ‘Coffee?’ she offered, but he shook his head.

  ‘No, I’ll get on. I’ve got a long way to go.’

  They stood there for a moment, her uncertain, him weighing the situation, and then finally she went up to him and stood on tiptoe and kissed him.

  ‘Drive carefully. I’ll miss you. Ring me when you get back.’

  ‘OK. I might see you next weekend.’

  Might? ‘OK. Take care. I love you.’

  His mouth tightened fractionally, and with a curt nod he turned away and strode over to the car.

  She watched him go, reversing slowly up the track towards the lane, and the dogs whined and fretted and ran backwards and forwards between them.

  ‘Come here, dogs,’ she called, and closed the door once he was out of sight.

  Only a few days to go and he’d be back.

  She must be crazy.

  ‘Right, you guys, cup of coffee and then I suppose I ought to dig the car out and go and buy some food. That sound good to you?’

  Midas wagged his tail, but Minstrel was whining at the door and looking lost.

  She could understand that. She stroked the dog’s silky head and sighed. ‘I know, sweetheart. I miss him, too.’

  She brushed aside a tear, made herself a drink and settled down to write her shopping list.

  It was a long way home. He only stopped once, somewhere in the Borders, and most of the way he was on the car phone, talking to his PA, and Mike, in New York—a very unimpressed Mike who’d been dragged out of bed to answer the first call—and anybody else he could think of so he didn’t have to think about her.

  And when he wasn’t on the phone, he put one of his CDs on good and loud and nearly blew the speakers. Anything to drown out his thoughts.

  Then finally he was home, if he could call it that. It seemed horribly empty and quiet, huge and unfriendly and soulless. No wonder she didn’t like living in it on her own, he thought, and wondered if she might not have a point.

  Whatever, she’d do what she wanted. She’d made that much clear. He carried his case up to the bedroom—their bedroom—and found the contents of his case from the New York trip dumped unceremoniously on the bed where he’d left it all on Thursday night. He put the case on the floor, chucked the other stuff after it and went back downstairs.

  It was nearly ten o’clock, and he was bushed, but he ought to go into the office. New York was still open, just, and he really should be in touch with Mike.

  He drove down into London to his office, parked under the block and went up, using his pass key to let himself in. To his surprise his secretary was there.

  ‘Hi. I knew you’d come in, so I came back and got on with some work while I waited. Mike needs to talk to you about the coffee futures.’

  ‘OK.’ He sat in his chair, stabbed a few buttons on his phone
and sat back.

  ‘Coffee?’

  ‘Thanks. I don’t suppose there’s anything to eat?’

  ‘I can get something. What do you fancy? Chinese? Sushi?’

  ‘A bacon sandwich,’ he said with feeling. ‘Mike, hi. I’m back in the office. Update me.’

  Sue wandered off, muttering something about bacon sandwiches under her breath, and he tried to pay attention to his colleague. Obviously it had been a busy day on the world stock market, and there was a lot of catching up to do. He authorised some sales and some purchases, hung up and checked through his post.

  There was mountains, of course, because he hadn’t been in the office for nearly three weeks.

  ‘Bacon sandwich,’ Sue said, plonking it down in front of him.

  He blinked at it. ‘How the hell did you get that?’

  ‘There’s a greasy spoon round the corner. I went there.’

  ‘You’re a love,’ he said fervently, and bit into it. He was starving.

  ‘I got a cake and some chocolate as well while I was out.’

  ‘I don’t want chocolate.’

  She grinned. ‘No, but I do.’

  He laughed softly. ‘OK. More coffee?’

  ‘In the jug. I’ll get it.’

  They worked for three hours, until even Rob thought it was unreasonable to keep her there so late, and he told her to go home and not come back until ten the next day.

  He worked on for another three hours, then went up to the penthouse suite that he kept now for foreign visitors and crashed there for the rest of the night. He didn’t fancy going home. It was too empty without Laurie, and he didn’t feel strong enough to deal with it yet.

  It was then that he realised he hadn’t phoned her, but he couldn’t really do it at four o’clock. He’d wake her—unless she was lying awake worrying about him.

  He picked up the phone and then realised that her number was in his case at home and he didn’t have it with him.

  ‘Oh, hell. She’ll manage,’ he said, and stripped off his clothes, falling naked into the bed and sighing with exhaustion. He felt a prickle of guilt, but told himself it was her own fault she was up there in Scotland and not at home. If she’d been at home she would have known he was all right.