The Unexpected Pregnancy

by Catherine George

  He released her hands at once and his eyes glittered.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘All over,’ she sighed, and stretched in invitation against him.

  They slept late next morning, and lingered over breakfast before they went shopping for furniture.

  ‘I rang Whitefriars Estates while you were in the bath,’ said James. ‘I told them we need a reasonable garden and plenty of space and so on. They’ll send me some brochures.’

  Harriet gave him a warning look as they got in the car. ‘I want something more on the lines of End House than Edenhurst, James Devereux.’

  ‘We,’ he corrected her, ‘need a home. And soon. In the meantime let’s look at furniture.’

  If Harriet had harboured any doubts about sharing her life with James Devereux so soon, they were gone for good by the end of the day. Up to that point their time together had been purely social, but shopping with him, for furniture and a television first, and food later, delighted her by being such fun. They got back to the flat at last, laden with bags, still laughing about the elegant young man who’d given them an unnecessarily hard sell about the sofa Harriet set her heart on the moment she set eyes on it.

  ‘Exquisitely comfortable, adjustable to several angles, and in such butter-soft leather,’ said Harriet, giggling. ‘This shade is perfect for madam’s hair. Black is so last year.’

  James laughed and kissed her hair in passing as he stored food away. ‘I admit that your choice surprised me.’

  ‘It gave you heart failure, you mean, at that price, especially when you insisted on the chair and that cute foot-stool thing to go with it.’

  ‘A small price to pay to tempt you into my lair.’ He smiled a little. ‘But I did expect you to go for something more traditional.’

  ‘And clash with all this stark elegance? Certainly not.’

  James took her by the shoulders. ‘If you want flowery chintz, or feel a desperate urge for girly cushions, I don’t care a damn as long as you come here to live with me. And be my love,’ he added softly.

  Harriet looked up at him in silence for a moment, her eyelashes damp. ‘This is so hard to believe sometimes, James. You and me, I mean.’

  ‘It is for me now and then,’ he admitted, ‘but only when we’re apart. When we’re together it feels so right I wonder how I existed without you all these years.’

  Harriet buried her face against his shoulder, soaking his shirt with tears she couldn’t keep back. ‘Sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘Lord knows why I’m crying.’

  ‘Then stop it at once,’ he said huskily. ‘I can’t handle it.’

  She sniffed inelegantly. ‘Give me some tissues, please, and then I’ll make tea.’

  James mopped her up, and ordered her to sit down on one of the crescent sofas. ‘You look tired. Switch on the television we never got round to watching last night and I’ll make tea.’

  The weekend was all the more wonderful to Harriet because James hadn’t made it back from Scotland for the previous one. And, just as Tim had predicted, his brother was not at all averse to spending a great deal of this weekend in bed.

  ‘Not just to make love to you,’ he informed Harriet as he set up the new television in his bedroom. ‘We both need the rest.’

  ‘I thought that television was for my snug,’ she reminded him as she watched the operation.

  James scrolled through the various channels until he was satisfied, then smiled at her smugly. ‘I’ll borrow it until you move in. Or maybe even buy another one for the spare room,’ he added as two English batsmen came out for the last session of the day.

  ‘Ah, cricket!’ Harriet laughed. ‘No wonder you were so keen to lug it back here yourself today!’

  ‘They couldn’t deliver before Monday, and the test match may be over by then,’ James said absently, his eyes on the wicket.

  ‘You could have watched it on the mega screen out there,’ she pointed out.

  He grinned. ‘I’ll enjoy it a lot more in bed with you.’

  ‘A good thing I like cricket, then.’

  ‘I was the one who taught you how to hold a bat, remember.’ James took her in his arms. ‘Cricket is only one of the many things you and I have in common, my darling. We were made for each other.’

  Because James was going away for the week to check on the transformation of a Gothic mansion into a super luxury hotel, Harriet stayed over for the first time on the Sunday night and let James drop her off at work next morning on his way to pick up Nick Mayhew for the drive to the north of England.

  Giles Kemble eyed her holdall with interest. ‘Good weekend, Harriet?’

  She smiled at him radiantly. ‘Perfect!’

  The week that followed was anything but. As it wore on it became an endurance test for Harriet. The phone calls from James each night were the only high spots of days that seemed endless as she struggled with fatigue, which increased as she worked late most evenings to keep on top of her workload. Tim came round one evening to announce that he was off to see Francesca over the weekend, but he left early when Harriet couldn’t control her yawns.

  ‘You look as though you could do with a good night’s sleep, my girl. Surely you got some over the weekend?’

  ‘Of course I did,’ she said, flushing.

  ‘When are you actually moving in with Jed?’

  ‘Soon.’ She told him about the new furniture for the spare room.

  ‘Good God! He must be crazy about you,’ said Tim, impressed. ‘He thinks the place is perfect the way it is.’ He frowned. ‘And where am I supposed to sleep when I stay over, may I ask?’

  ‘Where you always sleep. Your bed’s still there.’ She smiled. ‘I sleep with James, remember.’

  ‘I still can’t get my head round that.’ He gave her a hug. ‘Goodnight, angel.’

  During his nightly phone call James told Harriet to go straight to his apartment the following evening and wait for him. ‘Don’t worry about dinner. We’ll order in.’

  The wait for James that Friday night seemed endless. Harriet stood at one of the big arched windows, gazing down blindly at the river, feeling hot and cold by turns. Excitement and delight gradually gave way to dread, which seeped icily along her nerves until she was on the point of bolting by the time James finally arrived. He strode in, his smile fading as, instead of hurling herself into his arms as usual, she stayed rooted to the spot.

  He seized her by the shoulders to kiss her, and straightened slowly, frowning at her lack of response. ‘Darling, what’s the matter? You look shattered. Have you been fainting again?’ he demanded.

  ‘Just once,’ said Harriet.

  ‘Have you seen a doctor?’ he said urgently.

  ‘Yes, this afternoon.’ She stepped back, her dark-ringed eyes fastened on his. ‘I thought I had some virus, but apparently I’m having a baby.’

  James stared at her in shocked silence that grew to unbearable proportions before he found his voice, and asked the question she’d been dreading.

  ‘Is it mine, Harriet?’

  CHAPTER TEN

  A WAVE of such anguish engulfed her at his words Harriet felt physically sick. ‘No, it’s not.’ She took fierce satisfaction in watching the blood drain from James Devereux’s haggard face. ‘It’s mine.’

  She took her phone from her bag and rang for a taxi, then tossed his door key on the counter, but before she could make it to the door he barred her way.

  ‘Where the hell do you think you’re going?’ he demanded furiously. ‘You can’t throw something like that at me and just take off.’

  She gave him a flaying look. ‘Just watch me!’

  ‘I’m entitled to an explanation, Harriet. Now,’ he snapped.

  ‘What is there to explain?’

  ‘How this happened.’

  ‘In the usual way, of course,’ she said wearily.

  James took a deep breath, fighting to get his emotions under control. ‘You told me you took the pill.’

  ‘I do.’

 
‘Did you miss a day?’

  ‘No. Nor did I take antibiotics, have a stomach upset, or do anything else to stop them working. But the single-hormone pill fails in one or two cases out of a hundred. I didn’t realise I was one of the unlucky statistics.’ Her mouth twisted. ‘I was strongly advised to give you the glad news, but I wish to God I’d kept it to myself now.’

  ‘Who advised you?’ he demanded, looking so grim she wanted to run. ‘Who else knows about this?’

  ‘No one except the doctor I saw today. She said that a father always has a right to know. True, of course. But you obviously doubt that you are the father, so get out of my way, please, I want to go home.’

  ‘Home?’ said James scathingly, ignoring the rest of her tirade. ‘That one-room glory-hole in Clerkenwell?’

  ‘After your gut reaction to the news, James,’ she said bitterly, ‘your opinion of where I live is irrelevant. Let me pass, please.’

  ‘Like hell I will.’ He took her by the shoulders, his eyes narrowing dangerously when she cringed from him. ‘For God’s sake stop that, Harriet. You’ve got to let me help you.’

  ‘Whether you’re the father or not?’ she threw at him, then swallowed convulsively, her eyes widening in panic as her stomach heaved. Beads of perspiration broke out on her upper lip, and she threw James an agonised look as she fled to the kitchen sink. She gesticulated wildly for him to go away, but he kept an arm round her and put a cool, supporting hand on her forehead while she threw up.

  Coughing and gasping in utter misery, Harriet scrubbed at her eyes and wiped her nose on kitchen paper, then sipped the glass of mineral water James gave her.

  ‘Where are your things?’ he asked, when he returned from paying off her taxi.

  ‘I didn’t bring any.’

  ‘You can have something of mine. I’ll fetch your clothes tomorrow,’ he said, and picked her up.

  Harriet struggled wildly, but he held her fast.

  ‘I’m putting you to bed whether you like it or not,’ he said roughly, his face grim with determination as he strode off with her.

  ‘I’m going to be sick again!’ she gasped, and James raced to his bathroom and held her head again while she retched until her ribs ached.

  Wishing she could just die and get it over with, Harriet straightened eventually, shuddering as she saw her ashen face in the mirror. She turned her back on it in disgust, and pushed James away as he bent to pick her up.

  ‘Don’t do that. It makes me dizzy.’

  Apparently convinced she would collapse without some kind of support, James put an arm round her waist again and took her into the other room. He sat her down on the bed, and crossed the room to slide back the section of wall that hid his wardrobe. He took out T-shirt and boxers, and put them down beside her. ‘Shall I help you undress?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ll manage.’ If it killed her, she added silently as he left the room, which was showing a disquieting tendency to revolve. Illusion due to the curved walls, she assured herself. But when she stood up the floor undulated beneath her feet like the deck of a ship, and she sat down again sharply.

  James knocked on the door. ‘Are you in bed yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘May I come in?’ he called.

  ‘It’s your bedroom.’

  James put his head round the door. ‘What’s wrong?’

  Was he serious? ‘I feel sick, giddy and utterly miserable—and I’m pregnant,’ she added bitterly. ‘Otherwise I’m just dandy.’

  For once in his life James Devereux looked at a complete loss. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  Kiss me better, she thought despairingly. ‘I’m afraid you’ll have to help me undress, after all.’

  James crossed to the bed and knelt to take off her shoes. ‘Heels like these are a bad idea in the circumstances,’ he said tightly.

  ‘I didn’t know about the “circumstances” until I saw the doctor. This afternoon,’ she added, in case he’d missed the point.

  James hadn’t. His mouth twisted as he got up. ‘It must have been a hell of a shock, Harriet.’

  ‘It was. I thought I had some kind of flu.’ She began to unbutton her black linen suit jacket. ‘This bit I can do. It was the standing up part that beat me.’

  James took the jacket from her and with infinite care, as if she were attached to a stick of gelignite, swung her feet up and laid her back against the stacked pillows. ‘Undo your shirt.’

  Harriet did so clumsily, all fingers and thumbs under the tense eyes watching every movement. ‘Hold your arms up,’ he instructed when she’d finished, and she obeyed, face burning as he tossed her once crisp pink shirt aside.

  James shifted her enough to unfasten her bra and remove it so he could slip his T-shirt over her head. By the time he put her back against the pillows his hands were shaking and he looked as hot and bothered as Harriet.

  ‘Now for the skirt,’ he said, clearing his throat.

  She unhooked it and slid the zip down and James drew the skirt away, his jaw suddenly clenched at the sight of lace-topped stockings. As he slowly peeled them off Harriet found her voice.

  ‘Not the knickers,’ she said gruffly.

  ‘Right.’ He drew the quilt up over her legs, his face rigidly blank. ‘What else can I do for you?’

  ‘Just go away, please,’ she said wearily, and turned her face into the pillows.

  Harriet woke later to find it was nearly two hours since she’d sprung her bombshell on James. She sat up with care, and crawled gingerly out of bed. Her head still felt like a balloon about to float away, but at least her legs seemed willing to hold her up. She lingered in the bathroom for a while in case there was any throwing up to be done, decided there wasn’t, washed her pallid face, dragged a comb through her hair and went back into the bedroom.

  James was waiting for her, still dressed in formal shirt and suit trousers. ‘I heard you moving about,’ he said stiffly. ‘I thought you might need me.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’ She gave him an icy look as she got back into bed. ‘Now or in the future.’

  His eyes glittered ominously. ‘You’re never going to forgive me?’

  Harriet shrugged. ‘You know that some of my friends are men, and as a wild card there’s even Tim to bring into it if you’re keeping score, so I suppose you can be forgiven for questioning rightful paternity. But not by me,’ she added flatly.

  ‘Harriet, will you just listen?’ said James with sudden violence. ‘You’ve got it wrong. It’s not long since we became lovers, so when you said you were pregnant I was bloody terrified that the child wasn’t mine, not that it was!’

  Harriet desperately wanted to believe him, but his initial doubt had cut so deep she couldn’t. She raised a sardonic eyebrow. ‘Or maybe were you “bloody terrified” that I’d played the oldest trick in the book to get you to marry me.’

  ‘It never crossed my mind,’ he retorted, so emphatically Harriet gave him a mocking smile.

  ‘Methinks the gentleman doth protest too much.’ She shrugged. ‘Don’t worry, James. I didn’t come here to propose.’

  His eyes hardened. ‘That’s usually a male prerogative.’

  ‘You would know. Did you go on bended knee to Madeleine?’

  ‘No. I’m not going on bended knee to you, either, Harriet.’ He sat on the edge of the bed and took her hand. ‘But I am asking you to marry me.’

  ‘How kind.’ Harriet detached her hand. ‘Thank you, James. But the answer’s no.’

  ‘You haven’t thought this through,’ he said with sudden passion, a pulse throbbing beside his mouth. ‘This isn’t just about you, Harriet. There’s a child involved. Our child—’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘Of course I’m sure,’ he said scornfully. ‘Otherwise why would you have told me?’

  ‘I could be palming another man’s child off on you.’

  James eyed her with distaste. ‘This isn’t a joke, Harriet.’

  ‘Dead right it’s
not,’ she agreed. ‘But I’m in the mood to lash out at someone.’

  ‘And I’m the nearest.’ To Harriet’s surprise he smiled a little. ‘But not dearest right now.’

  She looked away. ‘I’m not lashing out at you because of the baby—’

  ‘Our baby,’ he said very deliberately. ‘Now lie still for a while. I’m going to have a quick shower and make some supper.’ He got up to take some clothes from the wardrobe. ‘While I’m doing that you can mull over the idea of lawful wedlock.’

  Once she heard the water running Harriet sat up cautiously, wondering where he’d put her clothes. But when she put her feet to the floor it was obvious that making a run for it wasn’t an option. She subsided against the pillows again, defeated. She would have to stay put and go home tomorrow. But that was the hell of it. James was right. The Clerkenwell flat wasn’t home. Neither was the one in Bayswater, and in any case Dido’s sister was moving in there shortly. The plus in her life was the money for End House, which was no fortune, but at least she wouldn’t be penniless when she had to give up her job. The minus factor was a total lack of relatives and nowhere to call home.

  James emerged from the bathroom in jeans and the twin to the T-shirt Harriet was wearing. ‘How do you feel?’

  ‘Depressed,’ she said morosely.

  ‘You need food.’

  ‘No way,’ she said in a panic. ‘I need a bath, not food.’

  ‘Right. I’ll find you another shirt.’

  James helped Harriet out of bed, waited until he was sure she could stand unaided then let her get to the bathroom in her own time while he turned on the shower to the correct temperature.

  ‘Make do with a shower tonight,’ he ordered. ‘Do you need help?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Leave the door ajar. Shout if you want me,’ said James, and left her to it.

  Harriet used James’ shampoo on her hair, and lathered herself with his shower gel and then stood for a long time under the jet of water, one hand smoothing her stomach as she came to terms with the fact that there was a life in there.

  ‘Time to come out, Harriet,’ said James.