The Unexpected Pregnancy

by Catherine George

  She switched off the water and took the towelling robe he held out, amused when he kept his face averted. ‘It’s all right, James. You’ve seen me naked before.’

  ‘I know damn well I’ve seen you naked before.’ His eyes burned into hers as he handed her a towel to rub her hair. ‘This evening has been more of a strain for me than for you in some ways.’

  ‘And just how do you work that out?’ she demanded.

  ‘You felt ill while I was undressing you. I, unfortunately, was in my usual rude health. Must I draw pictures?’

  ‘Even though you’d just seen me throwing up?’ she said astonished.

  ‘Yes,’ he said, the glint in his eyes bringing colour to her face. ‘The stockings were the last straw. Now do you want to go back to bed?’

  ‘I feel better in bed,’ she admitted, ‘but…’ She trailed into silence and looked away.

  ‘I can sleep in the spare room if that’s your problem.’

  ‘Thank you. I’d prefer that.’

  ‘I was sure you would,’ he said tersely, and made for the door. ‘I didn’t do anything about food earlier in case the smell penetrated in here and made you ill again. Could you cope now if I made myself an omelette?’

  ‘Yes, as long as you don’t make one for me.’

  ‘Are you sure there’s nothing you want, Harriet?’

  She thought for a moment. ‘After you’ve had supper would you make me some tea?’

  ‘I’ll make it now,’ he said promptly.

  ‘No. I’ll enjoy it much more after I’ve brushed my teeth and dried my hair and so on. But at my current energy level this could take some time.’

  ‘Have you eaten anything today?’

  ‘Not since breakfast. My visit to the doctor early this afternoon put me right off lunch.’

  His jaw clenched. ‘And of course you worked for the rest of the afternoon?’

  ‘With mind-numbing industry,’ she agreed acidly.

  Heat flared in the tawny eyes for an instant before James turned on his heel and made for the door. ‘I won’t be long. Shout if you want me.’

  It was amazing what feeling clean could do, thought Harriet as she finally made it into the bed James had rearranged for her. Unfortunately she was also pregnant, which meant some serious thinking now James had asked her to marry him. This was by no means unexpected. James Devereux had always shouldered his responsibilities. But there was no way she could accept a man who not only harboured doubts about this particular responsibility, but hated the thought of marrying again.

  Harriet told James this when he brought her tea accompanied by some toast she found to her surprise that she quite fancied.

  He placed the tray on the steel and glass table beside the bed, handed her a plate of toast, then poured tea into a tall white mug as he heard her out.

  ‘My turn now, Harriet,’ he said, when she’d finished. He sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her with disquieting intensity. ‘When I found you in the tower room that night my brain shut down at the sight of you in my bed. I forgot the protection I always carry with me, forgot that you belonged to Tim. I forgot everything other than the desperate desire to make love to you. So the responsibility is mine. Eat your toast,’ he added.

  Harriet nibbled warily, trying to hide how deeply his words affected her. ‘Odd that the pills didn’t work, either,’ she said at last.

  ‘Presumably they have done in the past?’ asked James casually.

  ‘They haven’t been put to the test much. The one time I really fancied myself in love my hero objected to my closeness to Tim, and dumped me a few months into the relationship—if you could call it that. I was so humiliated I jumped at the chance to salvage my pride when Tim suggested the fake engagement.’

  ‘And saved you for me in the process.’ James smiled triumphantly. ‘You didn’t stand a chance, Harriet. Fate obviously meant you to marry me.’

  ‘You hate the thought of marriage,’ she reminded him.

  ‘With you—and you alone—I can cope with matrimony.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, James.’

  ‘Yes, Harriet. Living together isn’t enough.’ He took the mug from her and placed it with precision on the tray, then took her hand in a firm grasp. ‘A child alters everything. Antiquated though it may be I want my child—and his mother—to have my name. So for the second time of asking will you marry me?’

  She looked at him in sombre silence. ‘If cohabiting isn’t enough for you I may have to swallow my pride and say yes. You know my situation only too well, James.’

  He shrugged. ‘There is another option. If you really can’t face the thought of marrying me I can still buy you the house with a garden.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘And you would live here and I would live there, wherever “there” might be?’

  ‘As I said, it’s an option.’ He released her hand. ‘It’s not what I want, but it’s something for you to think about.’

  Harriet thought about it so much she couldn’t get to sleep. The night before she’d been so happy at the thought of seeing James again, and for a while she’d been even happier today at the thought of having his baby. Then the doubts had crept in as she waited to give him the news. And her doubts had been justified. His reaction had turned her life upside down. Not your fault, she whispered, patting her stomach. In the normal way of things she would have been euphoric about having James’ baby. But not like this—forcing him to marry her. She didn’t care for his other suggestion, either. The thought of living alone and pregnant in some house in the suburbs was even less appealing than in her studio flat.

  At three in the morning Harriet gave up trying to sleep. She switched on the bedside lamp and got out of bed, opened the door quietly and peered out into the living room, which looked even bigger by night, with only the city lights outside to light her way. She stole barefoot across the cool, uncarpeted floor to the kitchen area, wondering if she could manage to butter some bread without putting lights on to disturb James. But before she reached her goal the door to the spare room slid back and he hurried towards her, shrugging on a dressing gown.

  ‘Harriet, do you feel ill?’ he demanded, and switched on the lights over the central island.

  ‘No, I’m hungry, not ill—sorry I woke you up.’

  His dark-ringed eyes captured hers. ‘Do you imagine I was asleep?’

  She looked away. ‘For obvious reasons I couldn’t sleep, either. Do you mind if I make myself something to eat?’

  ‘For God’s sake, Harriet,’ he snapped, ‘do you have to ask?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said simply. ‘I do.’

  James breathed in deeply, very obviously trying not to lose his temper. ‘Go back to bed. What would you like? More toast?’

  She inclined her head graciously. ‘Lovely. That’s very kind of you.’

  ‘Kind?’ he said through his teeth. ‘Go.’

  Harriet went. When she got back to James’ room she remade the bed and settled back against the pillows, hoping he’d make her a lot of toast.

  When James arrived, after a longer interval than promised, he had himself well in hand and the toast he brought was piled with glossy, perfectly scrambled eggs. ‘No nonsense,’ he said sternly. ‘You need to eat.’

  ‘Yes, James,’ said Harriet meekly, and the moment he was through the door fell ravenously on the food, and only by superhuman effort managed to leave one square of egg-crowned toast uneaten by the time he came back.

  ‘Eat it all, please,’ he ordered as he set a mug of tea beside her.

  She gave a martyred sigh and, with James standing over her, slowly finished the last piece as though she were conferring a favour. ‘There,’ she said, handing him the plate. ‘Thank you. Perfect scrambled eggs,’ she added with justice.

  ‘When Tim was ten, and unhappy, sometimes it was all he’d eat, and sometimes I was the only one around to cook it, so it’s my signature dish,’ said James. ‘These days Tim’s tastes are more sophisticated.’


  ‘He’s gone to Florence this weekend,’ said Harriet, sipping her tea.

  ‘I know.’ He shot her a look. ‘It’s not long to his wedding. Are you going to let me pay for your air fare?’

  ‘No, thank you, James. I can manage that myself.’

  ‘I don’t know why I bothered to ask,’ he said savagely. ‘Is there anything else you need tonight?’

  ‘Nothing at all.’

  ‘In that case we’ll leave further discussion until tomorrow. Hopefully, you’ll feel better disposed by then to the sensible solution to our situation.’

  She gave him a mocking smile. ‘If you’re alluding to marriage do try for a more attractive way to describe it, James. First it’s the cure for love, now it’s a sensible solution.’

  His eyes took on a dangerous gleam. ‘For you and me, and our child, it’s the only solution, Harriet. By the way,’ he added as he took clothes from his wardrobe. ‘I’m going out early in the morning. We need food. I’ll try not to wake you, but if I do, stay in bed until I get back. Now try to sleep. Goodnight.’

  Harriet slept eventually, but woke early to listen for James. It seemed like hours before she heard him leave the spare room. She lay with eyes closed in case he looked in, and at long last heard the outer door close behind him. She slid carefully out of bed, relieved when the room held still and her legs held firm. She took her phone from her handbag and rang for a taxi, and soon afterwards, with only teeth brushed and hair combed by way of grooming, she was in a cab on her way to Clerkenwell. When she got to the flat she changed her clothes and collected the weekend bag she’d packed the day before, in that other lifetime before she’d seen a doctor. And only then left a message for James on his phone at the flat.

  ‘I need some time to myself. I’m not in Clerkenwell or with Dido, so don’t try to look for me, and please don’t worry. I feel much better today, and I’m perfectly safe. I’ll ring you tomorrow.’

  She knew perfectly well that James would worry. But right now she didn’t care. She needed time to herself to put her life in order before she saw him again. It was cruel, maybe, but she just couldn’t forget those three little words that had cut her to the heart. Nor did she believe for one minute the explanation he’d made for them. Harriet’s eyes hardened. For a split second James had doubted that her child was his.

  After several hours of such hard thinking her brain threatened to shut down, Harriet curled up on a sofa later that afternoon to watch an old Hollywood musical on television. In a break in the music she heard footsteps in the hall and shot to her feet, heart pounding, looking round wildly for something to use as a weapon.

  But the man who strode into the untidy room was no burglar. James Devereux glared at her furiously, dangling a key in front of her eyes. ‘I’ve got one of these, too. Tim’s only just told me that the other two are on holiday, so I never thought of his house. I hope you’re pleased with yourself, lady. I rang Dido before Tim, so you’ve sent three people off their heads with worry.’

  ‘You worried the others. I rang you to say I was safe,’ she said, and took her phone from her bag to reassure her friend, who was in such a state it took Harriet some time to calm her down. ‘I’m fine, Dido, honestly,’ she said at last. ‘Come to my place for supper on Monday evening.’

  James came in from the hall, snapping his own phone shut as she finished. ‘I’ve just let Tim know he can enjoy the rest of his weekend in peace.’

  ‘You can do the same, now,’ said Harriet, and sat down on the sofa again, only to be hauled summarily to her feet.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ James informed her grimly. ‘Now,’ he added in a tone that dared her to disobey.

  She might as well, she decided as she repacked her bag in Tim’s chaotic bedroom. She’d done her thinking and made up her mind, which had been her main object in coming here. She would put James in the picture once they got back to the apartment.

  When she went downstairs James took her bag from her, made sure the house was secure, and then drove her home in silence, his face set in such angry lines Harriet couldn’t imagine telling him anything for a while. He helped her out in the basement car park and marched her over to the lift. When they got to his floor he unlocked his door, dumped her bag down and seized her wrist to lead her to the spare bedroom.

  Harriet felt a sharp stab of compunction when she saw that the room had been rearranged to make space for the new chestnut leather sofa and chair. ‘It arrived, then.’

  ‘Delivered this morning, as I ordered,’ James informed her. ‘I went out early to make sure I was on hand when it came. I wasn’t long, but you were too quick for me. I suppose you took off the moment I left.’

  ‘Yes. I needed time to myself to think.’

  ‘Is that the truth, Harriet?’

  She frowned, taken aback by his air of desperation. ‘Of course it is, James.’

  His eyes bored into hers. ‘You didn’t go somewhere else on the way to Tim’s, by any chance?’

  ‘I went to a couple of places. I collected my things from the flat, and then I took my suit to the cleaners and bought some food.’

  ‘No visits to clinics?’ he demanded.

  ‘Clinics?’ she repeated blankly, then stared at him, incensed, as the penny dropped. ‘Oh, I see! Well, you’re wrong. A termination was one possibility I never even considered. I’m hardly likely to get rid of the only blood relative I might ever possess!’

  He exhaled slowly, and rubbed a hand over his eyes. ‘I had to ask, Harriet. My imagination went into overdrive when I couldn’t find you.’

  ‘I just needed breathing space, James,’ she said, calming down. ‘I knew Tim’s place would be empty so I went there to think things over.’

  He looked at her in silence for a moment, then crossed to the kitchen counter and leaned against it as though he needed support. ‘And have you come to any conclusion?’

  ‘Yes. Do you still want to marry me?’

  ‘Yes, Harriet,’ he said with weary emphasis, ‘I still want to marry you. But something tells me you’re about to make conditions.’

  She nodded. ‘You have to do something first.’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘What, exactly?’

  ‘Take a DNA test. We’ll have one, too,’ She patted her midriff. ‘That way you’ll never have to ask again if the child is yours. You’ll know. One way or the other.’

  ‘To hell with that,’ said James, appalled. ‘I know I hurt you, Harriet, and I regret it bitterly. But this is pure retaliation.’ He seized her hands. ‘Look me in the eye, Harriet, and tell me there’s even a remote possibility that I’m not the father.’ He nodded in triumph as her eyes fell. ‘You know you can’t.’

  ‘I still want you to have the test,’ she said stubbornly, pulling away. ‘Otherwise no wedding. I’d rather bring my child up on my own.’

  ‘Over my dead body!’

  Harriet shrugged and picked up her bag. ‘I’m going back to the flat. You need time to think it over. Call me when you’ve decided.’

  ‘I’ve already done that, so I’d rather you stayed here so I can look after you.’ He took the bag from her, looking every year of his age for once. ‘When I made a promise to your grandmother to look out for you I didn’t know what I was letting myself in for. Nor that I would fall so hopelessly in love with you that I’d do any damn thing you wanted.’ He shrugged wearily. ‘You win, Harriet. I’ll take the test.’

  ‘This isn’t a contest, James, it’s not a case of winning,’ she said, her voice purposely acid to disguise threatening tears.

  ‘No. In my case it’s losing.’ He put the bag down and took hold of her by the shoulders. ‘But remember this. You’re the one insisting on the test, not me.’

  ‘You’re afraid of the result?’

  ‘God grant me patience,’ he said bitterly, his eyes locked with hers. ‘I know the result. And so do you. But if that’s what it takes to get you to marry me, I’ll do it.’

  ‘Thank you. Thank you for the furniture, t
oo,’ she added belatedly.

  ‘Not at all,’ said James with formality, and took her bag into the newly furnished spare room. ‘There. It’s all yours, Harriet. Put your feet up, read, watch television, or anything you like, then later perhaps you’ll join me out here for dinner.’

  She nodded, feeling suddenly forlorn. ‘Do you want me to cook?’

  ‘No. I’ll send out for something. You need to rest. On Monday,’ he said on his way to the door, ‘you can serve notice that you’re vacating the flat, ready to move in here next weekend.’

  ‘James,’ she said urgently.

  He turned. ‘Yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry I worried you.’

  His eyes softened a little. ‘Next time you go walkabout leave a note, please.’

  Once James closed the door behind him Harriet sat down in her new, supremely comfortable chair. She looked at the furniture grouped so carefully with the television, the pile of new books on the bedside table. She had her own private sitting room, just as she’d asked for, but James obviously meant her to sleep in it as well. And after the dance she’d led him on, she could hardly complain.

  The rest of the evening passed in a polite truce, with no physical contact between them other than James’ kiss on Harriet’s cheek before she retired to bed in her newly furnished room. After more of the same during Sunday, by early evening she was more than ready to go back to Clerkenwell.

  ‘I’m London-based this week,’ James informed her when they arrived at her flat.

  She eyed him warily as she switched on lights. ‘Will I see you before next weekend?’

  ‘Do you want to?’

  ‘If I don’t want to, there’s not much point in moving in with you,’ she said tartly.

  ‘Do you want to see me?’ he repeated very deliberately.

  ‘Not if it means a repeat of this weekend.’

  ‘In that case maybe we should give each other some breathing space this week. But I’ll be here first thing on Saturday morning. Until then take great care of yourself, please.’ James took her in his arms and, for the first time since her life-altering announcement, kissed her very thoroughly before he let her go. ‘Goodnight, Harriet. Sleep well.’