by Penny Jordan
A muscle twitched in his jaw, and Genista watched it hazily, wondering if, for one moment, when they brought him the news, he had wished that fate had decreed otherwise.
'The lorry driver was full of praise for your quick thinking. You know you could have been killed?'
'I couldn't save my own life at the cost of that little girl's.' Weak tears slid down her cheeks, as her hands moved unconsciously to hold her flat stomach with protective fear.
'The doctor tells me you're pregnant.'
The emotionless words gave her no clue as to his own thoughts. The child she was carrying might have had nothing at all to do with him, to judge from his distant manner.
'I take it you want to keep the child.' He was studying the roses next to her bed, not looking at her at all. Red roses, Genista thought bitterly; a sop to convention, exactly the sort of flowers the nurses would expect a man to bring to the wife who had narrowly escaped death and was carrying his first child.
'Yes.'
Her own voice sounded flat and dead. A whole world had been encompassed by that one small word, because having Luke's baby would catapult her into a new life.
'God, what a mess!' The bitter vehemence of the words brought Genista's head up abruptly. Luke was still pale, his jaw clenched in an anger which seemed to be directed more at himself than her.
'The doctor wants to keep you in hospital for a few days—to run a few checks and make sure that you're suffering from nothing more than severe bruising. Once he's pronounced you fit to leave I'm taking you home.' As though he anticipated her arguments he continued brusquely, 'I know you were leaving me, Genista—and why, but I'm not letting you go back to that apartment on your own.'
His insistence that she returned home with him was merely another sop to convention; another example of his determination to do the correct thing, no matter what the cost to himself or anyone else. He couldn't want her in his house—not now. Verity would be furious. And how could she herself endure the torture of living with Luke and yet knowing that all the time he longed to be with someone else?
'I can manage,' she protested. 'It's better this way, Luke.' Tears filled her eyes, her voice suspended by the huge lump of pain in her throat. 'I ap-preciate that you feel obliged to take care of me, but. . .'
'But you'd rather go to Bob, despite the fact that it's my child you're carrying, is that it?' Luke ground out furiously, leaving the chair to pace the narrow confines of the bed. 'No way, Genista,' he told her brutally. 'You're coming home with me, otherwise I'll tell the doctor that you're going back to an empty flat, and you'll find yourself staying here even longer.'
She didn't have the strength to argue with him. It was far easier simply to lie back and let him dictate to her. And anyway, deep down inside, wasn't there still a small spark of hope, flickering on despite the fact that it should have long ago been quenched? She was carrying Luke's child, and although she couldn't pretend to herself that he loved her the way he loved Verity, mightn't he ... Mightn't he what? she derided herself, her thoughts trailing to an abrupt stop. Mightn't he turn his back on Verity for the sake of a child he hadn't even known he had fathered? For the thought to even cross her mind was ridiculously romantic, and surely a recipe for disaster. What had love brought her to, that she was willing to contemplate such a union just to have Luke near to her?
When the bell went, signalling the end of visiting time, Luke paused by her bed, staring enigmatically down at her, a strange expression in his eyes . . . almost as though he wanted to touch her but daren't. She was imagining things again, Genista told herself, letting her own love for him trap her into seeing what she longed to see. He bent his head and his lips brushed her cheek—the sort of caress any man might give his wife in public, but it wasn't the sort of kiss Genista wanted, and her lips trembled unhappily.
It was difficult adapting to hospital life, perhaps because she was not truly ill enough to appreciate the care. Jilly came to see her one afternoon, dropping gratefully into a chair.
'Mm, lovely!' she commented appreciatively, sniffing Genista's roses. 'No need to ask who those are from. Luke was in the office when the news came through—talk about seeing someone stripped of all their defences! He looked like a man who's just been told he's lost all that matters to him in life.'
Genista smiled mechanically. Poor Jilly—if only she knew the truth!
Jilly said nothing about the baby, and Genista did not mention it either. The doctor had assured her that the danger was over, but she wanted to keep the news to herself. She doubted that she would see much of Jilly once she parted from Luke. She could hardly call at the office!
Genista had another visitor later that afternoon. Jilly stayed only a few minutes and once she had gone Genista drowsed lazily, paying no attention as the click of high heels approached her bed.
'I want to talk to you.'
The voice and the familiar smell of Opium reached her at the same time. Her eyes flew open, her heart contracting in dread as she saw Verity staring down at her. The other woman was dressed in a blue silk two-piece, looking so elegant that Genista was not surprised to see the rest of the ward watching them covertly. In contrast she felt that she had never looked worse. The accident had robbed her of her normal energy. Her skin was pale from being indoors, her hair lacking in its normal vitality. Next to Verity she felt plain and dowdy.
'Quite the little heroine, aren't we?' Verity hissed contemptuously. 'Well, it won't work, you know. Oh, Luke will take you back out of a sense of duty—more fool him. But it won't last. Have you no pride?' she demanded. 'Can you honestly contemplate sharing the bed of a man who you know wants to be with someone else? Oh, I know you love him! But if you think you have any chance of keeping him you're a fool. You might love Luke, but he loves me, and if you had any self-respect you'd make sure he wasn't forced into the situation of telling you so himself!'
For a long time after Verity had gone Genista lay staring into nothing.
Verity was right: she must refuse to go back with Luke. It would be better for both of them!
He had visited her every evening, and as the fingers of the clock crept round towards visiting time Genista's tension increased. She would be firm, but cool. She would not betray by a muscle how much she longed to go home with him. She would remind him that she had not wanted to marry him, and that he had never pretended it was a proper marriage.
By the time the clock struck seven she had convinced herself that she would be able to persuade him that she was right. However, she had not bargained for the fact that he had brought Lucy with him—a Lucy who confided delightedly to Genista that her parents were flying over that evening and the three of them were to spend the rest of her half term in London, sightseeing.
It could not be purely coincidence that in Lucy's presence Luke seemed far less austere, Genista reflected. He laughed and teased the younger girl, and at one point his fingers touched hers as he leaned across her bed. Genista withdrew from the contact immediately, but Luke's hand covered hers, clasping it lightly and curling it into his palm. When they got up to leave he raised her fingers to his lips, kissing them briefly before telling her that the doctor had told him that she could leave the hospital in the morning.
'You'll have to take things easy for a few days,' he warned her. 'Mrs Meadows has agreed to come in full time until you're feeling better.'
If she had any real backbone, she'd discharge herself from the hospital before Luke came back, Genista remonstrated with herself after he had gone. But would it do any good? He seemed determined to take responsibility for her, and she, weak fool that she was, badly wanted the memory of these last few days with him. In another week she would be feeling much better, far more able to do what she knew she had to do.
Luke insisted that she sit in the back of the car. Getting into it brought back memories of the accident, and for a moment she thought she was actually going to faint, but then Luke was beside her, his arms closing round her as he held her comf
ortingly for a moment.
'Don't worry about it. It's only to be expected. The doctor warned me of the possible traumatic effect of being in the car, but it's something you'll have to face sooner or later.'
Luke was an excellent driver, and Genista felt quite safe, or so she told herself until they reached a junction and a careless driver shot out in front of them. Even though she was sitting in the back, she 'braked' automatically.
The car stopped suddenly, and through her nausea Genista heard Luke swear, before he climbed out and the door slammed.
She was shaking from head to toe, and made no attempt to resist when he opened the door and slid in beside her, taking her in his arms and cradling her as though she were a frightened child. It was heaven to be held so close to him, to feel the warmth of his body and smell its familiar sharp odour. Telling herself that she was a fool, Genista closed her eyes and clung ashamedly to the broad warmth of his shoulders, quivering under the soothing touch of his hands stroking down her spine. Burying her face in the open neck of his shirt was an automatic reaction, as was breathing deeply the clean, male smell of his skin. She wanted these moments never to end, but at last Luke put her away from him, his jaw clenching as he looked down at her.
'I'm a man, not a monk, Genista,' he told her harshly. 'We both know the danger of what we were just doing.'
He drove on without a word, leaving her to stare blindly out of the car window. Had his words been a subtle reminder that although sexually she might arouse him, his reaction was purely physical, and that it would be Verity of whom he would be thinking if they actually made love?
While he garaged the car, she went upstairs, walking automatically into the room she had shared with Luke. Her case was on the bed, and seeing it reminded her of everything that had happened since she left. She started to unpack automatically, staring white-faced with shock into the wardrobe as she opened the door. Less than a week ago it had held Luke's suits, next to her dresses—now it was empty.
'I've moved my stuff out,' Luke told her evenly, walking into the room. 'In the circumstances—for both our sakes—I thought it better. If you want me, I'll be within call, and I hope you won't let what's happened between us prevent you from calling me if you need me, Genista. Whatever else I might be guilty of, my desire to do everything I can for you is quite genuine.'
'I know.' Her voice sounded husky and strained. She glanced at the large bed she had shared with Luke and would now be occupying alone, willing the tears not to fall.
'Why don't you lie down and have a rest?' Luke suggested. 'I'll bring you a drink.'
'I'm fine,' Genista replied automatically, and then remembered that he might want to talk to Verity. She owed it to him to be as unobtrusive as possible. After all, he could hardly want her company.
She was undressed and in bed when he came back with a cup of tea.
'If you want to go to the office . . .' she began, thinking to offer him an opportunity of leaving her, but he shook his head decisively,
'Work can wait. Whatever needs to be done I can do from here. I'm not leaving you alone, Genista. If you can't sleep, call me. The doctor gave me some sleeping pills for you.'
She pulled a wry face. 'No, thanks. I've had enough pills recently to last me a lifetime.'
It was not strictly true. She had been offered them, but had always refused, thinking of the child growing inside her. The nurses had understood and had not pressed, even on the nights when she lay awake until the early hours of the morning, dreading the emptiness of her future.
She dozed and woke late in the afternoon, breathing in the fresh country air through the open window. Downstairs she could hear a phone ringing and her stomach clenched. Was it Verity, ringing Luke?
To her surprise at seven o'clock he came upstairs with a covered tray which he placed beside her bed, and a bottle of wine.
'It's only an omelette,' he told her, surprising her further. 'I'm no chef, but Mrs Meadows couldn't stay this evening. You don't mind if I eat up here with you, do you?'
Mind? If only he knew!
The omelette was delicious and Genista had drunk two full glasses of wine before she realised it. She felt positively lightheaded; courageous enough to plead breathlessly with Luke to stay with her for another half-hour when he said that it was time she slept, but when he did eventually go she heard him leave the house and the sound of his car, driving away, and she knew beyond any doubt that pity was not and never could be enough!
Three days later she was up and about, pottering in the garden, and trying to keep out of Luke's way. He was still working from home, and she was meticulously careful about avoiding him. Her earlier euphoria about being home had been dissipated by the feeling of strain which now engulfed her. Living in the same house as Luke, but as distant strangers, was taking far more toll of her fragile reserves than a clean break would have done. In her apartment at least she would have been able to give way to her emotions, safe in the knowledge that her weakness would not be observed, but here she felt as though she were walking a tightrope from which she would inevitably fall.
Matters came to a head one afternoon when Luke had been shut in the library since early morning. Genista went out into the garden and walked aimlessly among the flower beds, before returning to the house to change for dinner.
With pain in her heart she selected a simple jersey dress from her wardrobe in a soft shade of green, which complemented her colouring. Clad in briefs and a dainty bra, she was just applying her makeup when Luke knocked, walking in before she could reach for her robe.
His abrupt, 'I must talk to you,' sent shivers of apprehension quivering down her spine, but she tried to school her features into polite enquiry, praying that she would not betray the sickening sense of dread spreading through her.
'We can't go on like this,' he told her brusquely. 'It's just not going to work out. I know you want to keep the child, and as it's my responsibility I shall want to provide for it. Oh, I know you can manage on your own, but. . .'
'But it would ease your conscience,' Genista supplied bitterly. 'There's no need, Luke. I'm keeping the child because I want to. It's a personal decision, which doesn't involve you. As you said, financially I can manage very well. I shall probably sell the apartment and buy a small house in the country.' Strange how the words formed themselves to make sensible sentences, ideas she had not even known she had coming logically from lips that felt numb with pain. 'It won't take me long to pack. I could leave almost straightaway.'
Luke made a negating gesture, his face bleak. 'Whatever you wish. I have to go away on business myself tonight—something which has just cropped up. I'll be gone several days, so there's no rush. All I ask is that you leave me your address, Genista
'There's no need,' she heard herself saying lightly. 'I shall keep on the apartment for a while, until I decide what I'm going to do, and afterwards (they both knew that she meant after the birth), I can't see any point in maintaining contact. You will have your life, and I shall have mine.'
'If that's what you want.'
If it wasn't all so hurtful it would almost have been funny, Genista reflected later, when Luke had gone. She knew he had gone, because she heard the car drive away. Had he gone to Verity? To tell her that soon he would be free?
She had told him she would leave straightaway, but suddenly she lacked the energy to do so. Her car had been returned and was in the garage, but she could not contemplate driving it. She would wait until the morning, she decided, and hire a taxi to take her to the station. Once she was in her own apartment she could start making proper plans for her future—a future which she had to keep reminding herself no longer held Luke.
In the event the taxi firm were heavily booked and unable to collect her until the afternoon. She checked the time of the trains and estimated that she would arrive in London during the evening. With her cases packed and time hanging heavily on her hands, she walked through the rooms which had been her home for such a short span o
f time, storing up memories for the long, lonely years ahead.
The taxi had been booked for two-thirty, and when, shortly after one, she heard a car, she thought there had been some mistake. She was poised at the top of the stairs, ready to descend, when the door burst open and Luke strode into the hall. He looked up at the precise moment that Genista looked down, dizzily trying to comprehend that what she was seeing was real and not merely feverish longing.
'Luke!'
His face paled when he saw her.
'I forgot something,' he told her brusquely. 'I thought you'd be gone.'
'I couldn't face the drive, so I decided to go by train. The taxi couldn't pick me up until two-thirty.'
Seeing him like this, just when she was on the point of taking herself out of his life for ever, was the cruellest blow she had yet endured. The sight of his dark head, his body encased in the immaculate business suit, made something snap inside her. The stairs seemed to shimmer and move below her. She blinked, trying to focus, and swayed, reaching dizzily for the banister. The small sound of protest in her throat alerted Luke. As the stairs rushed up to meet her, he dropped his briefcase and started to run. She felt herself falling and cried out fearfully.
'It's all right, you're quite safe.'
Luke's arms closed round her, the soft wool of his suit beneath her cheek, his voice rough and uneven.
'Let me get you back to the bedroom.'
She felt him lift her, carrying her to the room they had shared for such a brief span of time. The dizziness was gone, but her pulses still pounded, although this time it was not with fear. Luke bent to lower her on to the bed, and all at once his expression changed, his face bitter with a pain that made Genista catch her breath.
'Oh God, Genista!' she heard him mutter hoarsely against her hair. 'I can't let you go. Don't ask me to, I beg you. I give you my word I won't lay a finger on you . . . won't do anything you don't want me to do. We'll start all over again, I promise you, and this time ...'
She must have made a sound, because he suddenly released her, turning his back on her to stare out of the window. 'I didn't come back because I'd forgotten something,' he told her abruptly. 'I came back because I had to see this room once more; to try and imprint on my mind the memory of you in it, in my bed—in my arms. God knows I've given you good reason to hate and despise me,' he went on. 'First I took your virginity; then I gave you a child. You'd think pride alone would keep me away from you when I know how you feel about Bob-—didn't I hear you tell Lucy with my own ears how you felt about love? But none of it makes any difference. I only have to look at you and I ache for you. I fell in love with you the moment you walked into Greg Hardiman's flat. Until that moment I'd never believed in love at first sight. I was bored, on the point of leaving, when suddenly you walked in, and and it was as though I'd been struck by a bolt of lightning. I took one look at you and knew. And you looked back. In my arrogance I thought you felt the same. My feelings for you were so intense that I couldn't believe you weren't feeling them to.
