A Whirlwind Marriage

by Helen Brooks

  ‘I’m all ears.’ He was still smiling but she sensed it was with some effort. ‘Fire away.’

  ‘I’m pregnant,’ she said simply.

  ‘What?’ The stunned amazement was absolute. ‘What did you say?’

  ‘You’re going to be a father. That time it snowed—’ She didn’t manage to get anything more out before he had reached her, swinging her up into his arms as he said, ‘Marianne. Oh, my love, my love,’ in between showering her face with kisses. She was astounded to see his eyes were wet.

  And then she cried, and they held each other close, pressed together for a small eternity as he stroked her hair and kissed her and said beautiful things she knew she would treasure all her life.

  The meal she had cooked was wonderful, and when, later that night, he made love to her, it was with an exquisite gentleness he had never shown before.

  Everything was fine.

  She lay enfolded in his arms as they drifted off to sleep and it was her last conscious thought. It was. Everything was fine. She didn’t question why she had to repeat it over and over again.

  In the morning she was sick again, and Zeke wouldn’t be prised from her side, only leaving the house mid-morning when she was feeling herself once more. He had sat on the bed, insisting she have a cup of tea and a couple of dry biscuits before she attempted to get up, and they had talked about the baby, which room would be good for a nursery, how perfect the house was for children, the nearness of schools—everything but her degree.

  It was the same that evening, and for the next few days, and as time went on Marianne’s apprehension grew. It was as though she had never proposed going to university, never wanted a career, she thought desperately. He saw her chained to the house now. Wife and mother, nothing more. They were back at the beginning.

  Of course she could have brought the subject up herself, but something deep inside balked at that. If he went cold again, remote, she wouldn’t be able to stand it, besides which she didn’t want him to think she wasn’t as thrilled about their baby as he was. She was over the moon, ecstatic, but so fearful for him. For them.

  On Friday morning she kept her appointment with the doctor, who turned out to be a small round barrel of a man with the gentlest brown eyes she had ever seen.

  He asked her the normal, somewhat impersonal questions relating to her condition and examined her briefly, stating that the dates she mentioned matched the twelve-week-old foetus he could feel. And then he sat back in his seat, his kind gaze very direct as he said, ‘You seem troubled, Mrs Buchanan. Edgy. Are you worried about having this baby?’

  ‘No, not really, not the baby. At least…’ Her voice trailed away and she looked at him miserably over the big polished desk. Where did she start to explain? she asked herself silently.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted gently. ‘What’s wrong, Mrs Buchanan?’

  ‘My husband and I only recently got back together after being separated for a few months,’ she said awkwardly, and then, as she caught his expression, added hastily, ‘But the baby is his; that’s not the issue. It’s just… Well, I’m not sure if we’re ready to have a child. Not that either of us would consider not having it; we’re both over the moon…’ She paused again. She wasn’t explaining this very well.

  ‘Have you told him how you feel?’ the doctor asked quietly.

  ‘No.’ She flushed a little. ‘It’s nothing, really. I’m probably being silly.’ She couldn’t explain the whole complicated mess to a stranger and suddenly she just wanted to leave.

  He must have sensed how she felt, because he became very brisk and businesslike, but then, just as she was leaving, he said carefully, ‘This is a very important time for you, Mrs Buchanan, and you need all the support your husband is able to give you. Talk to him, eh?’

  She swallowed, and then nodded slowly. She had got more and more keyed up as the week had progressed, and that couldn’t be good for the baby, could it? Zeke had buried his feelings for the first two years of their marriage and look what that lack of communication had resulted in. She needed to air her misgivings, or at least broach the subject if he didn’t intend to. It was the only way.

  She drove home with her mind only half on the road and the traffic, and once in the house fixed herself a light lunch of cold meat and salad which she ate at the kitchen table.

  Since their reunion Zeke had taken to arriving home early on a Friday afternoon, often before three, but by five there was still no sign of him and she found herself getting worried.

  She had lit the fire in the pretty floral sitting room after lunch, pulling the sofa close to the crackling flames and dozing on and off most of the murky, overcast February afternoon, but at five she was wide awake, looking out into the dark garden as the storm which had been threatening all day began to break in the heavens.

  Lightning was flashing across the sky, great jagged streaks which silhouetted the ebony thunderclouds with silver. An icy cold wind was moaning about the house, lashing the trees and bushes into a frenzy now and again and causing the odd billow of smoke from the fire in the grate.

  Marianne shivered, although the sitting room was as warm as toast, and wandered through to the front of the house to stand looking out of the drawing room windows at the empty drive for some minutes, before returning again to the warmth and cosiness of the sitting room.

  Was this storm an omen? she asked herself silently. A portent of what was to come if she opened Pandora’s box? They were supposed to be going out to dinner tonight; Zeke had reserved a table at a local restaurant which had an excellent reputation and cost a small fortune, and they were due to arrive for seven.

  If he was much later she would have to leave talking to him until they returned home. She didn’t want to rush the conversation or leave for the restaurant halfway through; it was too important.

  Zeke phoned five minutes later and he sounded harassed.

  ‘Sorry, I’m going to be late,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll explain when I see you. Could you be ready to leave when I get home, which should be about half past six?’

  ‘Of course.’ She kept her voice bright and steady as she battled with the thought—quite unfair, she admitted silently—that he was reverting to how it had been before she had left him. He had often arrived home late then, content in the knowledge she would be waiting for him in her glass tower.

  But it wasn’t like that now, she told herself firmly after she had said goodbye and replaced the receiver. And he was running a multimillion-pound business, for goodness’ sake; there were going to be some days which weren’t plain sailing and necessitated long hours.

  Nevertheless, the feeling of déjà vu persisted all the time she was getting ready, and several times her hand moved to the faint mound of her stomach as though seeking some kind of reassurance.

  She stood staring at herself when she was ready for some moments. The off-the-shoulder cashmere top in deep violet teamed beautifully with the pencil-slim skirt ending in frivolous frills just below her knees. It wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t be able to wear her normal clothes, she told herself with what she realised was a little dart of sheer pleasure. She was looking forward to seeing her stomach grow, knowing it was Zeke’s child she was carrying, although no doubt by the end of nine months she would be heartily glad to return to her normal shape.

  Zeke roared on to the drive at a quarter to seven, and she was just slipping into her coat when he opened the front door. ‘You look gorgeous.’ He ran his hands down her body under the coat as he pulled her close for a long moment and kissed her. ‘Good enough to eat.’

  So did he. She smiled into the handsome aesthetic face, feeling the power that radiated out from him with a frisson of sensual pleasure. He had always had a devastating presence; it went with the cold, arrogant good looks and the air of command that was as natural to him as breathing.

  It would be so easy to lose her own identity, she thought soberly a moment later as they walked out to the car. To be smothered, taken over, as
she had nearly been in the past. And then she brushed the thought away, determined to enjoy the evening out with the man she loved and the father of her baby. Later was later, and she would say what needed to be said then. For now she wanted to drench herself in the pleasure of being with him.

  The restaurant was fabulous: discreet lighting, beautiful surroundings—it even had a miniature waterfall in one corner and a pianist in full evening dress in another, providing a melodious background to the buzz of conversation emanating from the assembled diners.

  The food was everything they had been promised it would be; the mousseline of smoked salmon with asparagus and saffron dressing melted in her mouth and the fricassee of chicken with tarragon and wild mushroom sauce was truly delicious, but it was the dessert—silver-dusted double chocolate torte with whipped cream—that was the supreme triumph of the evening as far as Marianne was concerned.

  ‘That was truly gorgeous.’ Marianne curled back in her seat like a small satisfied cat as she spooned the last delicious mouthful in her mouth, and raised her eyes to see Zeke watching her, an amused quirk to his mouth.

  ‘Come tomorrow morning you won’t be feeling so pleased with yourself,’ he warned softly, laughing out loud as she pouted at him for the bad taste of the remark.

  ‘I daren’t come here too often,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m going to be fat enough as it is.’

  ‘You’re going to be beautiful and desirable.’ His voice was husky and very warm.

  ‘Will you still say that when you come home to tired, grizzly children, a house cluttered with hundreds of toys and an irritable wife who hasn’t had time to do her hair?’ she teased softly.

  ‘Ah…’ He surveyed her from dark glittering eyes. ‘Now that brings me very neatly on to something I’ve been looking into over the last few days, and the main reason why I was late tonight. I needed to pay a visit to one or two medical establishments.’

  She stared at him, puzzled at his tone. It was one of suppressed excitement and eagerness.

  ‘We’re going to have a baby,’ he continued softly. ‘Right?’

  ‘It’s definitely more than a bout of indigestion!’ She grinned at him, the excellent meal and one glass of wine she had allowed herself giving her something of a devil-may-care feeling that was wonderfully liberating after all the agitation and soul-searching of the last few days.

  ‘Our baby.’ He hadn’t returned her smile, and now she found herself searching his face. ‘Yours and mine.’

  ‘Zeke?’ She was beginning to feel panicky and she didn’t like it.

  ‘Agreed?’ he pressed, still in the same low voice.

  ‘Of course it’s your baby and mine.’ She didn’t have a clue where he was coming from, but something was afoot, and the smile had died.

  ‘Do you know that with your standard of A level passes a hospital laboratory would be prepared to accept you as a trainee?’ Zeke asked mildly. ‘You’d be given exemption from some of the National Certificate exam in chemistry and biology, but there’d be a few years attending day-release and evening classes with all manner of further exams to pass. Of course there’d be the asset of working in a laboratory, which would enable you to learn useful practical skills, but with all the out of work study and so on you’d be working all the hours under the sun.’

  She was too amazed to say a word.

  ‘So, although that seemed a good idea on the face of it, I don’t think it’s great for you in your current position, not now the baby has changed things.’

  ‘Zeke—’ She took a deep breath. This was so surreal. ‘When did you start looking into all this?’ she asked shakily.

  ‘A couple of weeks ago,’ he answered quietly, his grey eyes tight on her bewildered face. ‘I knew how much you wanted to work in a laboratory so I wanted to explore all the options before you committed absolutely to a straightforward degree. Once I’d got all the facts and figures I was going to discuss it with you and we could have decided what was right for us.’

  If a choir of angels had suddenly materialised singing ‘Hosanna in the Highest’ Marianne couldn’t have been more astounded. He had been investigating a job for her, she thought dazedly, wondering if her ears were deceiving her.

  ‘But now it looks as though we’re back to the university idea,’ Zeke continued evenly, ‘which should be fine as long as we can get you into somewhere near, so you don’t have to drive too far on the days you need to attend lectures and so on.’

  ‘You mean now, in the immediate future after the baby’s born?’ she asked in surprise. ‘Are you suggesting we have a nanny?’

  ‘We could get a nanny.’ He eyed her stolidly, enjoying the utter bemusement she couldn’t hide. ‘But I don’t fancy a stranger living with us, somehow, and however dedicated she would be she wouldn’t love it as we will. So on the days you’re at university I’ll be at home, okay?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ll share caring for our child between us,’ he said coolly, his handsome face calm. ‘You told me once I could delegate and you’re right, I can. I’ve got over six months to set it all up, and we can turn the breakfast room into a joint study for both of us. It looks out on to the garden, and with the big French windows it’s perfect.’

  ‘But, but your work…’ Marianne couldn’t take her eyes off his face. ‘Buchanan Industries…’

  ‘I own Buchanan Industries; I can do whatever I want,’ he said drily. ‘What’s the point of being the boss if you can’t call the tune? I don’t want to miss seeing my children grow up.’

  ‘Do you mean it? Do you really want to do this?’ she asked softly, the fierce emotion that was growing and growing inside her making her voice tremble.

  ‘Yes,’ he said huskily. ‘We’ll take it as it comes, Marianne, over the years. We’ll have our family, God willing, and we’ll have each other and that will be the main thing. We’ll see our children growing up, surrounded by love, and with two happy, fulfilled parents who love them and each other. It might not be the traditional way of doing things but it will be our way, and we can always get additional help later if we need it.’

  The tears were blocking her throat, but she still managed to murmur, ‘You don’t have to do this, Zeke. I know how important your work is to you. I can stay at home for a few years and then go to college when the children are all at school.’

  ‘You’re important to me,’ he corrected softly, reaching for her hand and lifting it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. ‘We’ll share our careers and our children and our grandchildren. We’ll make our house ring with laughter and joy, and the kids will never know what it feels like to be unwanted or unloved. They’ll grow and blossom and become anything they want to be, like their mother.’

  She looked at him, her love so intense it hurt. ‘I love you,’ she whispered mistily. ‘I love you with all my heart.’

  ‘I know.’

  His face was open, his grey eyes perfectly at peace and filled with a light that had banished all the darkness.

  They had come through, they were together in heart and mind, and it was only going to get better in the years to come. This was the greatest thing in all the world. This was love.

  ISBN: 978-1-4592-0056-2

  A WHIRLWIND MARRIAGE

  First North American Publication 2002.

  Copyright © 2000 by Helen Brooks.

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