The Blackmail Pregnancy

by MELANIE MILBURNE

‘I was five once.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Just then Jan announced that lunch was ready and the conversation came to a welcome end. Cara could barely hide her relief. As much as she liked Sally, she didn’t want to encourage any confidences when she would so soon be out of Byron’s life. There didn’t seem to be any point.

  Cara took the seat next to Byron, at Jan’s insistence, and then wished she hadn’t. Byron pointedly ignored her the whole time, making her feel increasingly uncomfortable. Never had she wished for a meal to be over so quickly.

  When Katie spilt her pink lemonade across the table and into Cara’s lap she felt like kissing her in gratefulness. It gave her a valid excuse to leave the table, which she did, with assurances that her skirt was fine and she’d be back as soon as she’d rinsed it.

  Finally the afternoon was over. Patrick was driving them to the airport, picking up Megan on the way. Cara said her goodbyes and sat in the back of the car, wishing herself a million miles away.

  Megan had lost her pale wan look and was positively glowing as she came out of her hotel on Byron’s arm, smiling up at him girlishly. Cara tore her eyes away and examined the electronic window mechanism with fierce intent.

  ‘Hello, Cara,’ Megan said as she slid into the seat beside her. ‘I hope you don’t mind me bumping forward on to your flight. I was going on a later one, but I hate travelling alone. Much more fun to go together.’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ Cara lied.

  Megan monopolised the conversation all the way to the airport and then in the members’ lounge. If Byron was annoyed by it he didn’t show it. He smiled at her amusing anecdotes and addressed one or two comments her way. Cara sat and silently fumed.

  The flight was delayed for forty minutes after boarding. Cara thought she would scream with the frustration of having Megan wedged between them, cooing up at Byron like a devoted puppy. To hide her annoyance she buried her head in a magazine and ground her teeth in silent fury.

  Soon after arriving in Sydney Megan bade them farewell as she was going out with friends for a late supper. In a stoical silence Cara followed Byron to where he’d parked the car on Friday evening.

  ‘I’ll take that,’ he said, reaching for her hand luggage.

  Cara felt the warm brush of his fingers against hers and almost dropped the bag in her haste to remove her hand. His eyes hardened as they flicked to hers.

  ‘You used not to find my touch so abhorrent.’

  ‘You used not to freeze me out with stony silences,’ she shot back irritably.

  ‘I have nothing I wish to say to you.’

  ‘Good. Fine by me.’

  ‘Although I can think of one or two things I should have said a long time ago.’

  ‘Go right ahead. I’m sure I can cope with it.’

  ‘I’m not so sure about that. You’re not such a great fan of the truth.’

  ‘Try me. I suppose you’re going to harp on about me not letting go of the past, like your sister did in her little psychoanalysis session this morning? Say what you like. See if I care.’

  He shut the boot and strode to the driver’s door. He started the car and backed out without a word. He waited until he’d paid the parking attendant before speaking again.

  ‘I didn’t ask Fliss to grill you, if that’s what you’re implying.’

  ‘I’m not implying anything. I just want this weekend to be over.’

  ‘I realise it was difficult for you,’ he said a few moments later. ‘But my parents really enjoyed having you there.’

  ‘Yes, I was the light entertainment for all and sundry. The object of gossip and innuendo. The target of ill-timed confessions of what the children saw. Glad to be of service.’

  ‘You’re far too attached to the victim role.’

  ‘And you’re far too attached to the overbearing ex-husband role.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be your ex-husband if you’d faced this seven years ago,’ he pointed out bitterly.

  ‘No, of course you wouldn’t. You’d be happily married to the ecstatic Megan, with a brood of Rockcliffe lookalikes about your ankles.’

  ‘Let’s keep Megan out of this conversation.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because she’s not relevant to it. This is about us.’

  ‘Us?’ She swivelled in her seat to stare at him. ‘There is no “us”. There’s no point flogging a dead horse, and as dead horses go this one is really starting to stink.’

  He thrust the car into gear savagely and roared into the next lane on the Harbour Bridge.

  ‘You really know how to aim your kicks,’ he said.

  ‘I had a good teacher.’

  ‘So it seems.’

  Cara tightened her arms across her chest and stared out of the window.

  ‘Are you serious about leaving the business?’ he asked as he pulled into his driveway some time later.

  ‘Deadly serious.’

  ‘But why? You’ve put so much into it. Why throw it all away now?’

  ‘I no longer feel committed. I want a change.’

  ‘It’s because of Megan, isn’t it?’

  She shrugged coolly.

  ‘Do you want me to dismiss her?’ he asked.

  ‘Would you do that?’ She turned to look at him.

  ‘It would be difficult,’ he said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘But if that’s what you want, then—’

  ‘No.’

  ‘No?’ His eyes meshed with hers.

  ‘No. I want to have a change. My heart’s not been in the business since…for quite some time.’

  ‘What will you do?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said, unclipping her seatbelt. ‘I could go back to university, take up some sort of study. Psychology, perhaps.’

  ‘One psychologist in the family is surely quite enough.’

  ‘But I’m not in the family,’ she said. ‘Any more.’

  He didn’t answer. She followed him into the house and wondered if she’d annoyed him again. His mouth had tightened and his shoulders had hunched as if in tension. She couldn’t work him out. Surely he should be relieved that she was leaving without a fuss. It would make his future life with Megan so much easier without her trailing after him in lovelorn despondency.

  ‘How soon before you finish the house?’ he asked once they were inside.

  Cara put her bag down and ran a hand through her hair.

  ‘A week,’ she said. ‘Maybe two. I’ll leave after that.’

  ‘You’re not leaving.’

  She stared at him across the small distance between them.

  ‘I have to leave,’ she said. ‘This isn’t working, Byron. Surely you can see that?’

  ‘I see it, but I don’t feel it,’ he said, reaching for her.

  She suddenly found herself jammed up against his hard body, her breasts tight against his chest, her legs weakening at the intimate embrace.

  ‘Byron, no.’

  ‘Cara, yes,’ he said, his eyes boring into hers. ‘This is all we have left. I want you and you want me. That’s all that matters for now.’

  A hundred denials came to her mind, but not one of them made the distance to her lips. Instead she opened her mouth to his descending one and was totally lost in the maelstrom of his touch on her flesh. Fire raced along her veins, flicked along her nerves and set her aflame. His touch was a lighted taper to the tinder of her love for him. She had no hope of escaping the onslaught of heat. It totally consumed her, casting her doubts and fears to the furthest reaches of her mind while she basked in the temporary glory of being in his arms.

  He carried her to the bedroom and joined her on the huge bed without once breaking his kiss. Her own mouth had turned savage. It assaulted his with an intent that spoke of deep, unanswered longings. Clothes were a barrier soon dispensed with. Cara heard whimpering cries and realised with a start of surprise that they were her own. Thin wails of pleasure panted from her mouth as Byron caressed every inch of her body, bring
ing her to a place of intense ecstasy that surpassed all that had gone before. Her body ached for him with an emptiness only he could fill. He filled it with a deep thrust of his aroused body that sent her slim form back into the mattress with a deep sigh of relief. At last he was where she most wanted him!

  Byron heard his own garnered breathing. He fought for control, wanting to prolong the intensity of feeling but sure he could not. She totally undid him. She always had. His rigid control shattered under the brush of her lips, the skim of her hands, the enclosure of her tight body. He felt her reach the summit and he soon followed, in a tide of pleasure that pulsed right throughout his body, leaving him spent, still inside her, his chest heaving against hers, their legs still entwined, his heart still thudding in the cavity of his chest.

  He could feel his eyelids closing on the words he wanted to say. Her spent body was now curled into his stomach, the soft curves of her bottom pressing against him intimately, reminding him of all they had shared in the past. Perhaps it was too late to say what he had to say. They’d both moved on in their different ways.

  Cara didn’t seem to need him the way he needed her. She’d steeled herself against vulnerability, fought to maintain her composure, while he was certain, deep down, she was aching with need just as he ached. He’d tried to fill the space she’d vacated but it had been a pointless task. No one came close. No one touched him quite the way she touched him. He wondered if her vulnerability had connected with his protectiveness in some sort of strange, elemental way, marking him as her protector for life. God knew, he wanted to protect her from the hurt of the past. He wanted to give her new hope, teach her to believe in herself, in them both, and embrace what life had to offer.

  ‘Cara?’ His voice seemed to fill the silence of the room.

  ‘Mmm?’

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Did I rush you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘I was in a hurry. You have that effect on me.’

  ‘I was in a hurry too.’

  ‘Making up for lost time?’ he asked.

  He felt her nod her head against him, even though she didn’t speak. He felt the even pace of her breathing and knew she had fallen asleep. If only he could do the same so easily. He lay awake with her in his arms, the shifting shadows of night fading to let the early-morning sun anoint their bodies with an incandescent glow.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT WAS after eight when Cara woke. She opened her eyes to see Byron tying his tie in front of the mirrored wardrobe.

  ‘Hello, sleepyhead,’ he greeted her. ‘Want to meet me for lunch?’

  She sat up and brushed the hair out of her eyes.

  ‘I’m pretty tied up today,’ she said, thinking of the rest of the curtains arriving, as well as the tiler coming to measure the upstairs bathroom.

  ‘What about dinner? About seven?’

  Cara chewed her bottom lip.

  ‘I don’t think it’s such a good idea,’ she said. ‘I’ll be leaving soon and—’

  ‘You’re not leaving.’

  ‘Byron, this is crazy. I can’t do what you want me to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that,’ he said. ‘It’s not important now.’

  No, she thought. Not since Megan sorted it all out for you.

  ‘It’s not going to work,’ she said desperately. ‘We can’t go back.’

  ‘No, but we can go forward.’

  ‘I’m not prepared to do that.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked. ‘Because you can’t allow yourself to be happy?’

  ‘I don’t want my happiness to be at the expense of someone else’s.’

  ‘No one is going to be compromised by your happiness. No one.’

  ‘What about Megan?’

  ‘I told you before—Megan has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she asked. ‘Don’t you care about her at all?’

  ‘Of course I do, but only as a brother should. She’s been a part of my life since the year dot.’

  Cara examined his expression closely. She wanted to believe him, but how could she—knowing what she knew? It suddenly occurred to her that perhaps he wasn’t aware of Megan’s pregnancy. But why wouldn’t Megan have told him? Surely it would be the one thing that would drive a permanent wedge between her and Byron? She didn’t understand Megan’s motivation for not using it—as trump cards went it was surely the biggest anyone could want.

  ‘How many times have you slept with her?’ The words spilled from her mouth before she could stop them.

  Byron glared at her crossly as he shrugged himself into his suit jacket.

  ‘What sort of question is that?’

  ‘A perfectly reasonable one, I would’ve thought.’

  ‘Quite frankly, I can’t see the point in answering it. You didn’t believe me before; you’re even less likely to believe me now.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘I haven’t slept with her at all.’

  Cara couldn’t quite disguise the disbelief in her eyes and he shook his head in frustration.

  ‘I told you it was pointless.’

  ‘But I heard that…’ Her words fell away as she ran her mind back over what she’d overheard in the corridor at the Rockcliffe home.

  ‘You hear what you want to hear and the rest you make up, with that martyred mindset you insist on adopting,’ he interjected, his tone laced with irritation.

  ‘But surely you must—?’

  ‘Stop it, Cara,’ he said heavily. ‘This discussion is now closed. I’m late as it is, and the traffic will be horrendous by now. I’ll call you later.’

  She opened her mouth to speak but he’d already turned and left the room. She listened as his car drove away a short time after. She could almost see his long, lean fingers tight against the wheel in frustration, lines of tension running along his mouth as he concentrated on getting to work.

  She threw back the bedcovers and headed for the shower, the inner muscles of her body protesting slightly at the sudden movement, reminding her with a sharp pang of the pleasure she’d felt in his arms the night before. The hot stinging needles of water hit her body relentlessly and she shut her eyes and let her face receive the cascading spray.

  After the curtains had arrived and the tiler had been and gone Cara went for a long walk along the tree-shaded streets. She tried to imagine what it would be like to be secure enough to trust what Byron said instead of doubting him at every turn. Could it be possible that what she had overheard was wrong? That what had been exchanged between the nameless, faceless guests at the party had been nothing more than idle gossip, something to pass the time before the next drink was served? The more she thought about it, the more she had to admit Megan could have any number of lovers; she was popular and attractive and very confident. She was at ease in male company, unlike herself, who still found it hard to understand Byron’s physical attraction to her after all this time.

  Cara’s own attraction towards him was easy to explain—she loved him and had never stopped doing so. He’d told her he no longer felt anything for her that first day when she’d gone to his office. She knew it was different for men, they could disassociate their physical feelings from their emotions, but she couldn’t quite quell the faint hope that in some deep place inside he still held some sort of feeling for her.

  She thought about Fliss’s observations of her behaviour. Did she deliberately sabotage her own happiness in some deeply subconscious way because she didn’t feel entitled to it? Was she punishing herself just as her mother had done?

  She sat on a harbourside rock and watched the boats drift past, their sails billowing in the wind like white doves. Time passed and still she sat and listened to the sounds around her, the playful sea breeze lifting her hair occasionally, the sun gradually sinking in the west in a red-golden glow.

  ‘I was wondering where you’d got to.’

  Cara was jolted out of her silent reverie by the sound
of Byron’s deep voice behind her. She got up from the rock and dusted off her linen trousers without meeting his eyes.

  ‘I’ve been looking for you for over two hours,’ he said when she didn’t speak.

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Her eyes skirted past his as she reached for her sunglasses on the rock. ‘I didn’t realise the time.’

  ‘Fliss was rushed to hospital just after four this afternoon. I thought you might like to know.’

  ‘Is she…all right?’ She looked up at him, her expression full of concern.

  ‘Mother and baby doing well.’ He gave her a smile that tore at the fabric of her heart. ‘A daughter in somewhat of a hurry, seven pounds three ounces, with jet-black hair and a very determined Rockcliffe chin—or so I’m told.’

  Cara met his eyes, her heart thudding heavily in her chest.

  ‘What have they called her?’ she asked with a hollow feeling settling in her stomach.

  ‘Emma,’ he said proudly. ‘Emma Rose Millicent. I think the Millicent was put in to butter up Great-Aunt Milly.’

  Byron suddenly frowned as he saw the tortured expression on Cara’s face. Tears were falling from her hazel eyes, scoring track marks down her cheeks, and yet no sound of crying came from her.

  ‘Cara?’ He touched her on the arm. ‘Are you OK?’

  She started to cry then. Great hulking sobs that tore at him deep inside. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen her really cry. She wasn’t like Fliss, who bawled hysterically at soppy movies and even cutesy advertisements, especially ones with puppies or kittens. Cara always sat still and silently, as if she were completely detached from her emotions. It had intrigued him at first, and then it had annoyed him that she blocked so much feeling from her life. For in doing so she barricaded him off as well.

  ‘Cara, honey.’ He put his arms around her, drawing her sobbing frame into his solid warmth. ‘Hey, what did I say to upset you?’

  She shook her head against his chest, unable to speak. He stroked the back of her silky head, cupping her neck with his palm. He didn’t know what else to do. The evening light was fading and he was standing with his ex-wife in his arms in a state of distress he’d never in his life witnessed before. Fliss’s howling over romantic comedies was nothing to this.