The Unexpected Baby

by Diana Hamilton

  She bit on the grape and forced it down, because she could hardly spit the wretched thing out. His words had been idly spoken, yet the underlining accusation came through loud and clear. They hadn’t needed to leave the property; they’d had all they needed in each other. Simple expeditions through the gardens and into the pine woods, eating on the patio or in the rose-covered arbour, their lives attuned to the wonderful solitude, the rhythm of their lovemaking, the deep rapture of simply being. Together.

  ‘Of course I do.’ Her voice was thick, everything inside her panicking. The incredible feeling of closeness, of being made for each other, was slipping away. She knew it would happen once she’d broken her news, but the frightening distance between them had no right to be happening now. It hadn’t been there before he’d begun to talk of Sam. ‘Pilar, who helps me around the house, was instructed to keep well clear after stocking the fridge on the morning we arrived’ She spoke as lightly as she could, desperate to recreate all that wonderful closeness for just a little longer. ‘We’re starting to run low on provisions, so I thought we could combine shopping with sightseeing, that’s all.’

  ‘Is it?’ He prowled back to the chair opposite hers and sat, his hands clenched in the side pockets of his trousers. Steel-grey eyes searched her face. His voice was low, sombre, as he imparted, ‘Sam and I had our differences, but he was my brother and I loved him. His death rocked me. Until coming here, to where he was happy, where he found peace and comfort, I haven’t been able to open up about what I feel. Yet it seems to me that you don’t want to talk about him Get edgy when I mention his name. Why is that?’ he wanted to know.

  What to say? She couldn’t deny it. She picked up her cup of now cold coffee and swallowed half of it down a throat that was aching with tension, and Jed asked tightly, ‘Were you lovers? Is that the reason?’

  Dread tore at her heart, knotted her stomach, perspiration dewing her forehead. For the first time since meeting him she deeply regretted his uncanny ability to see right into her soul. She twisted her hands in her lap and tried to smile.

  ‘Why do you ask? Don’t tell me you’re trying to pick a fight!’ Did her prevarication come out sounding as jokey as she’d intended? Or had she merely sounded as if she were being strangled?

  ‘I ask because my talking about him appears to disturb you. It’s something I never considered before, but from what I can gather Sam spent a fair amount of time here. He was a handsome son-of-a-gun. Add the spice of a dangerous occupation—no mere shopkeeper , our Sam—and an extremely beautiful woman with a talent he greatly admired, and what do you get?’ He lifted one brow. ‘I repeat the question.’

  Elena felt everything inside her start to shake. Although Jed was doing his best to look relaxed and in control, his hands were still making fists in his side pockets, and that tough, shadowed jaw was tight. There was more to this than she could fully understand.

  The fact that she’d been married before hadn’t mattered to him. He hadn’t wanted her to talk about it, had assimilated her, ‘It was a dreadful mistake; he turned out to be completely rotten,’ then refused to let her go on with the complete explanation she’d intended to make.

  He’d dismissed her marriage to Liam Forrester as a total irrelevance, and had never once asked if there had been any other man in her life in the intervening years. He had acted as though their future was the only thing that was important to him.

  Yet couple her name with Sam’s and something suspiciously resembling jealousy and anger stared out of the eyes that had, thus far, only looked at her with love, warmth and hungry desire.

  Because Sam had been his brother? Was there a twist of bitterness on that sensual mouth now? The sardonic stress he’d laid on the word ‘shopkeeper’ told her that Sam must have tossed that taunt at him at some time, told her that it still rankled.

  And had Sam been handsome? Looking back, she supposed so. Not as tall as his brother, nothing like as powerfully built. Smooth, nut-brown hair and light blue eyes, with elegant features. He would have been a wow as an old-style matinee idol. Handsome he might have been, but he couldn’t hold a candle to his older brother... Sam had had none of Jed’s dangerous masculinity, none of that forbidding sexual excitement.

  ‘Elena. I need to know.’ There was a raw edge to his voice she had never heard before, and a few short hours ago she could have reassured him. But now, knowing what she knew, the task seemed impossible. Nevertheless, she had to try.

  ‘I first met your brother at a party I threw to celebrate my second movie deal.’ She concentrated on the facts because that was the only way she could handle this. ‘I’ve made a lot of friends in this area—ex-pats as well as Spaniards. Sam came along with Cynthia and Ed Parry. He was staying with them for a few days—apparently he’d known Ed since university.’

  She saw the way his brows pulled together, the way his mouth went tight, and knew he was turning over every word she said, impatient because she wasn’t telling him what he wanted to know. But she had to do this her way, or not at all.

  ‘That had to be about a couple of years ago,’ she went on, needing him to see the whole thing from her perspective, needing to get it right. ‘And, as you know, he often visited this corner of Spain when he needed to unwind. Usually he stayed with the Parrys—’

  ‘But not always?’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, doing her best to stay calm, to ignore the churning, burning sensation in her tummy. ‘We got to know each other well, enjoyed each other’s company. He’d wander up here in the evenings and we’d talk, and sometimes, if it got very late, I’d offer him the use of one of the spare roms. You asked if we were lovers...’ She lifted slender shoulders in a light shrug. ‘He once admitted he had a low sex drive—something to do with using all his emotional and physical energy in his work. He knew the dangers of getting news out of the world’s worst trouble spots. He talked a lot about you, your mother, your home. He was proud of his family. He told me he’d never marry, that such a commitment wouldn’t be wise, or fair, because of the way he earned his living. But he said you would. Some woman to give you children because you wouldn’t want the business to die out with you. Said that women flung themselves at you, couldn’t keep away. But that you were picky. And discreet.’

  Too late, she realised exactly what she was doing. And loathed herself for it. She had side-stepped his question and was trying to turn the situation round and become his accuser, letting the implication that he was a calculating user of women hang contentiously on the air between them, pushing them further apart.

  And the bleak, most scornful look on his face told her he knew exactly what she was trying to do. And why.

  Suddenly, the nausea that had been threatening all morning became an unwelcome, undeniable fact. She shot to her feet, one hand against her mouth, and lurched through the house to the bathroom.

  Knowing he had followed her didn’t help a scrap, and when it was over she leant weakly against the tiled wall, the futile wish that she could turn the clock back three months uppermost in her mind.

  ‘Sweetheart—come here.’ He pulled her into his arms and she rested her throbbing head against the hard, soft-cotton-covered wall of his chest, wishing she could hold onto this moment for ever and knowing that she couldn’t.

  The look of compassion, of caring, on his face didn’t help. It made things worse because she didn’t deserve it. And when he said softly, ‘What brought that on? Something you ate? I’ll drive you to the nearest surgery if the sickness carries on,’ she knew she had to tell him now.

  Waking before him early this morning, she’d been rooting round at the back of the bathroom cabinet, looking for a fresh tube of toothpaste, when she’d found the pregnancy testing kit she’d bought.

  Over the last few days she’d felt strangely nauseous on waking, had suffered one or two inexplicable dizzy spells. Common sense had told her that there were no repercussions from what she and Sam had done, but she’d run the test all the same, just to put her mind at re
st.

  And now she was going to have to face the consequences.

  She pulled out of Jed’s arms, her face white as she told him, ‘I’m pregnant, Jed.’

  Despite her ashen face, the dark torment in her eyes, he smiled at her, slowly shaking his head, one brow drifting up towards his hairline. He pulled her back against his body and enfolded her with loving arms. The unresolved question of whether she and his brother had been more than good friends could wait

  ‘How can you possibly be sure of that, sweetheart? After only one week! It’s a nice thought, but I’m afraid it’s got to be something you ate!’

  For a time she allowed herself the luxury of being held, waiting for her heartbeats to slow down to normal, for her aching head to stop whirling with stupid regrets. They’d discussed starting a family and decided there was no reason to wait. They both wanted children. Which was going to make what she had to tell him so much worse.

  When she finally placed her hands against the powerful muscles of his chest and eased herself away from the haven of his embrace, she felt calm. Empty. She was about to tell him something he probably wouldn’t want to live with, to kill his love, which was the most precious thing she had. She had to do it quickly and cleanly. The agony was too great to be prolonged.

  ‘It’s true, Jed. I did the test this morning.’ She saw the look of disbelief on his face and knew he was about to tell her she’d got it wrong, misread the instructions. She forestalled him quickly, her voice thin because of the effort it took to control it. ‘By my calculations, almost three months.’

  And then she watched as his eyes froze over. ‘Three months ago I hadn’t met you, and the first time we had sex was on our wedding night,’ he stated grimly, his lips thin and bloodless. ‘So perhaps you’d like to tell me, my dear wife, who it was who fathered the child you’re carrying?’

  His cold sarcasm hurt her more than anything that had ever happened to her in her entire life. She could have handled anger, insults, even physical violence—anything that sprang from powerful emotional trauma. This icy sarcasm, almost amounting to cynical indifference, was worse than if he’d stabbed a rusty blade into her heart.

  What she had feared had happened. He had already gone away from her emotionally, relegating the magic of their lovemaking to mere having sex.

  And he was waiting for her answer, his eyes dark and bleak, his mouth tight against his teeth. She gathered up the last vestiges of her strength, exhaled a shuddering sigh.

  ‘Sam.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  HE STRODE away, his shoulders hard and high and rigid. Elena couldn’t move. Her feet felt as if they’d been welded to the cool marble floor tiles, and her arms were wrapped tightly around her quivering body.

  Only when she heard the sound of the car he’d hired to bring them from the airport was she shocked into movement. Her flying feet scattered rugs as she ran to the front of the house, tugging open the sturdy front door, racing through the courtyard and out onto the stony track.

  He couldn’t leave her like this, run out on her, with nothing said, nothing explained—never mind resolved! But the cloud of dust, the noise of the rapidly receding engine told her that he could. And had.

  Her first instinct was to get her own car out of the barn and follow him. But he would hate that. Even if she caught up with him nothing would be achieved. He had taken what he obviously felt he needed; time alone to sort his head out.

  If only he had given her enough time to explain, to tell him the whole truth. He would still be hurting... But not this much.

  Pushing her fist against her teeth, to stop herself throwing her head back and howling her pain to the burning bowl of the sky, she ran to a rocky outcrop, uncaring of the sharp edges cutting into the soles of her bare feet, and watched until the cloud of dust disappeared on the valley floor. Then walked slowly back to the house, defeated, wretched.

  Jed would come back in his own good time, and all she could do was wait. But for the first time ever she could find no comfort in her beautiful home, the symbol of her fabulous success. Lovingly recreated from what had been little more than a near derelict shell, her home, her gardens, her slice of Andalucian mountainside, had previously reinforced her belief in herself, in the financial and emotional independence she’d made for herself.

  As she’d confided in Sam, on what had turned out to be his last night in Spain, ‘When I left my husband ten years ago and came out to Cadiz, I had nothing—not even my self-respect, because Liam had taken that away. I worked in bars and lived in a miserable oneroom flat and took to writing in what spare time I had as a way of forgetting. Luckily, it paid off, and what had begun as therapy became my whole existence.’

  The wine had been flowing freely on that dark February evening, and she’d lighted a fire in the great stone-hooded hearth, because the evenings were chilly in the hills. Sam’s mood had been strangely reflective, almost sombre, the atmosphere—that of long-standing easy friendship—conducive to soul-baring.

  ‘And now, because my books took off in a big way, I have everything. A successful career and pride in my work, a beautiful home in a lovely part of the world, a wonderful circle of friends—more financial security than I ever dreamed of having. Everything except a child, and sometimes that hurts. I guess I hear my biological clock chiming out yet another passing hour. But as I have no intention of ever marrying again...’

  She shrugged wryly, sipping her wine to deaden the ache of her empty womb, her empty arms. Liam had adamantly refused to contemplate fatherhood. He’d wanted a glamorous wife on his arm, not a worn-out rag of a woman, stuck at home tied to a bunch of grizzling kids.

  ‘We have a lot in common, you and L’ Sam levered himself out of the comfy leather-upholstered armchair on the opposite side of the crackling log fire and opened the last of the three bottles of wine he’d brought when he’d invited himself for supper earlier. ‘You want a child, but you can’t stomach the idea of a husband to go with it—once badly bitten and all that.’ He withdrew the cork with a satisfying plop, and although Elena knew she’d already had more than was wise, she allowed him to refill her glass.

  Over the two years he’d been coming to this corner of Spain, to snatch a few days’ relaxation between assignments for one of the more erudite broadsheets, he had become her dear friend. There was something driven about him that she could relate to, and nothing remotely sexual so she was doubly comfortable with him.

  She smiled at him with affection. Too right, she didn’t want or need a husband. Never again—the one she’d had had turned out to be a disaster.

  Sam kicked a log back into place with a booted foot and stood staring into the flames, his glass loosely held in his hands. ‘I’m dead against marriage, too, but for different reasons. With my dodgy lifestyle, it’s not on. Besides—and I wouldn’t admit this to just anyone—I’ve a fairly low sex drive. Unlike my brother.’

  Jed. Sam often talked about him. He lived in the family home, somewhere old and impressive in the shires, and headed the family business—gobbling up any opposition, sitting on a fat portfolio. And now, it appeared, he was a womaniser too.

  But Sam was telling her, ‘Since his late teens he’s always had women making a play for him—nubile, dewy-eyed daughters of the landed gentry, women who lunch, tough career cookies, the lot. But, to give him his due, he’s picky and very discreet. Mind you, he’ll marry some day, to get an heir. He wouldn’t want the family business to die out with him. But not me. All my emotional, mental and physical energies go into my job. I only feel properly alive when facing danger, grabbing photographs and copy from volatile situations.’

  Elena hated it when he talked like that; it made her feel edgy. She watched him drain his glass, heard him say, ‘Like you, the only regret I have is knowing how unlikely I am to ever have a child of my own. To my way of thinking, passing on one’s genes is the only type of immortality any of us can ever hope for.’ He turned to watch her then, his lean, wiry frame tense. ‘There is
an answer, though, for both of us. I’d be more than happy to offer myself as a donor. I can think of no other woman better to carry my child. I’d make no demands, other than the right to visit with you both when possible. Never interfere. Think about it.’

  He put his empty glass on a side table and bent to kiss her lightly on the forehead. ‘You would never have to lose your freedom and independence to a husband; you wouldn’t have to go through the messy business of sleeping around to get the child you’re beginning to crave. No risk of nasty diseases! And I’d get my single claim to immortality.’ He smiled into her. shell-shocked eyes. ‘Sleep on it, why don’t you? I’ll call you in the morning. If you want to go for it, we can get straight back to London and start things moving. There’s a private clinic headed by a professor of gynaecology who owes me a favour—it’s useful, sometimes, to have friends in high places! Night, Elena—I’ll let myself out.’

  At first she’d dismissed his idea as utterly preposterous, but the longer she’d sat over the dying embers the more deeply she’d thought about it, and the less outlandish it had become.

  He’d talked about her craving for a child, and he was right. Sometimes, the need to hold her own baby in her arms was an actual physical pain, a deep, regretful sorrow that wouldn’t go away. And when that happened—with increasing regularity—everything she had achieved for herself seemed suddenly worthless.

  She would never marry again, and the thought of sleeping around in order to get pregnant was deeply repugnant. And she liked and respected Sam Nolan, didn’t she? Admired him. The child who carried his genes would be blessed.

  When he called the following morning her answer was an affirmative.

  She’d made the necessary trip to the London clinic with Sam, never once imagining that almost six weeks later she would be at his funeral. Deeply saddened by the loss of a talented young life to a stray sniper’s bullet in a war-torn East African state, and more than devastated because only that morning after a month of hope, she’d discovered that his idea hadn’t worked. Sam hadn’t achieved his claim to immortality and she would never have a child to hold and love.