A Special Kind of Woman

by Caroline Anderson

  ‘Ah! Right. Hi, there,’ she said, laughing softly at Owen’s introduction and shaking Ryan’s hand. ‘It’s nice to meet you. I hardly ever get to meet the husbands.’

  ‘They’re cheated,’ he said gallantly in a soft Canadian burr, and he winked at her. ‘I shall have to make a point of coming along for fittings in future.’

  ‘If you’re allowed,’ Ginny retorted. ‘It’s a girly thing, usually, isn’t it, Cait?’

  ‘Only because men get bored to death. They just don’t have our stamina.’

  ‘You can say that again,’ Ryan groaned. He slid an arm round his wife’s waist and drew her closer. ‘How about that dance you promised me?’ he murmured, and Ginny smiled at Cait and Owen and excused herself, and they went off towards the dance floor.

  Cait’s eyes followed them longingly. She’d never danced anywhere except at a nightclub or a disco, and that only a very few times in her life. Certainly she’d never danced in a long, floaty dress with a man’s arms around her as he whirled her round the floor.

  ‘Sounds like a good idea.’ Owen’s voice was soft, his breath teasing her skin. He was still standing slightly behind her, and his hands came up and cupped her shoulders, bringing a shiver of anticipation to her skin. ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it sounds like a lovely idea,’ she said a trifle breathlessly, and turned towards him. ‘Could we?’

  Heavens, was she really as wistful as she sounded? Owen’s eyes creased in a smile. ‘I’m sure we could.’ He cupped her elbow with his hand and led her to the dance floor, then turned her into his arms.

  ‘I don’t think I can remember any of the fancy things,’ she told him, and he chuckled.

  ‘I never knew them. Just relax. I won’t know if you do it wrong, and if you’re very careful I probably won’t tread on you more than a few times.’

  He didn’t tread on her at all, and Cait was sure he was lying about not knowing the steps. She didn’t care. She just rested one hand on his shoulder, placed her other hand in his and let him guide her. At first he kept a discreet distance between them, but gradually they settled closer together, until her head was on his shoulder and their clasped hands were tucked in against their bodies, so that the back of his hand brushed her breast.

  She could feel the shift of his thighs against hers as they moved slowly to the music, and after a while her steadily building awareness threatened to consume her. To an outsider they would have appeared just like any other couple dancing, she thought, and yet she could feel the tension humming in him, the savagely suppressed passion simmering just below the surface, like a banked furnace.

  Finally the master of ceremonies called the last dance, and she could feel the tension in him mounting to unbearable levels. Then the music swirled to a halt with a flourish, the band were sent off to thunderous applause and Owen eased away from her and looked down into her eyes.

  ‘Time to go,’ he said gruffly, and she could see the desire burning in his eyes.

  They were silent in the taxi, and when they arrived back at the house he put the dogs out, then filled the kettle and put it on the Aga.

  ‘Coffee?’ he asked, and Cait lifted her shoulders in a tiny shrug.

  ‘If you want.’

  Their eyes met and locked. ‘You know what I want,’ he said, his voice low and taut with emotion.

  She smiled a little unsteadily. ‘So what are you waiting for, Owen?’ she murmured.

  He closed his eyes briefly and then opened them again, and she almost staggered under the force of the need that blazed from them. ‘Dogs,’ he said distractedly, and went to the back door, calling them in.

  He threw them a biscuit each, took the kettle off the hob and held out his hand. ‘Come to bed,’ he said softly, and her legs nearly gave way.

  Reaching out her hand, she placed it in his, her trust in him absolute. She had never loved like this before, and she knew she never would again. As her hand linked with his, so did her heart and soul, and in that moment she gave herself to him completely.

  The sun streaming in through the window woke Owen, and he propped himself up on one elbow and looked down at Cait. She was beautiful—her skin warm and flushed with sleep, her lashes like dark crescents against her rose-petal cheeks.

  Her lips were slightly swollen from their kisses, and there was a touch of whisker-burn on her lip. He leant over and kissed it better, and her lashes fluttered up and she smiled at him.

  ‘Hi,’ she said, her voice shy and tentative, and he smiled back and kissed her again.

  ‘Hi yourself. How are you?’

  ‘Wonderful,’ she told him, her eyes shining. ‘How are you?’

  ‘Likewise.’ He eased the quilt away from her shoulders and looked down at her, at the soft dusky rose of her nipples puckering in the cool air, the smooth swell of her breasts, the flat plain of her stomach. She was beautiful, and he felt desire rip through him again.

  He’d been right when he’d thought she’d be amazing to make love to. Her face was a mirror of her feelings, every touch, every stroke of his hands registering in her expressive features.

  He kissed her again, and she reached for him, drawing him into her arms, and he was lost.

  Cait had never been so happy. She’d thought she’d known what to expect, but afterwards she realised that her slight and very limited experience hadn’t prepared her at all for the love-making of a skilled and patient man. Every touch had registered, every kiss had found its target, and when he took her home on Sunday night, she felt more cherished and loved than she’d ever felt in her entire life.

  Nevertheless, at the back of her mind she worried that they hadn’t taken any precautions, and so on Monday morning she went to see Max Carter, her GP.

  ‘I don’t think there’s the slightest danger that I’m pregnant,’ she told him frankly, ‘because it’s right at the end of my cycle, but I ought to go on the Pill for the future, I think.’

  He nodded. ‘I can give you a prescription for the morning-after pill as it’s called, if you like, but you don’t sound as if you think it’s necessary, and it’s getting a bit late now for it to be effective anyway. It’s up to you.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. I’m sure I’m safe. I’m as regular as clockwork. I know I can’t be pregnant.’

  So he checked her over and gave her a prescription for the Pill, and she started taking it straight away to give her cover immediately after her period was over.

  Except that it didn’t come. The week passed, and Milly came home for the weekend and slept for most of it because she was so exhausted, and Cait cooked for her and tried not to think about what was happening inside her.

  Perhaps it was because of the Pill, she thought, and ignored the nagging doubt. Not that she needed to be on the Pill, as it turned out, because she hardly saw Owen.

  First, Milly and Josh were both up for the weekend, and then he had to go away to a conference, but she didn’t really have time to miss him because she was into a frenzy with the Christmas ball rush starting and everyone panicking about their dresses.

  He spoke to her on the phone from Italy, though, almost every day, and because she was so busy trying to ignore the time bomb that was going off inside her, she told him all about her Law course and how well it was going, and how she planned another course for the following year—maybe a residential course for a few weeks at a quiet time of the year, if she could afford it.

  ‘That’s great,’ he said, sounding quite enthusiastic, and she thought, Oh, lord, he doesn’t care if I go away. I wonder what he’s doing in Italy, and with whom?

  She threw herself back into the ball gowns, ignoring Owen and her missing period and her sudden loss of interest in tea and coffee.

  Then finally she could ignore it no longer, because she woke up on the Tuesday morning just over two weeks after the ball, went into the bathroom with a pregnancy test kit and came face to face with her worst nightmare.

  ‘You idiot!’ she berated herself, tears stream
ing down her face. ‘How could you have been such a fool? Twice, for goodness’ sake!’

  She thought of Emily, of the struggle she’d had to bring her up, the endless nights walking the floor with her and then trying to work during the day while her daughter slept; she remembered their flat, cold in winter and hot in summer and damp all year round, and she wrapped her arms round her waist and rocked her baby and sobbed as if her heart would break, because she loved its father and he didn’t love her, and there was no way she could do anything but have it, and she was going right back to square one, her life in tatters all over again.

  She went out of the bathroom and picked up the phone, staring at it blankly. Owen had rung at three o’clock in the morning to say he was back from his conference in Italy, and he wanted to see her again that night. Good, because she needed to see him, and suddenly she couldn’t wait till the end of the day. She punched in his number, and he answered on the third ring, sounding sleepy and sexy and wonderful.

  Except that he thought it was a good idea for her to go away on a Law course for a few weeks or months or whatever.

  Oh, lord.

  ‘I need to see you,’ she said, her hand trembling. The little indicator strip was mocking her, and she put it down before she dropped it. ‘Can I come round now?’

  ‘Now?’ he said, and she could hear the bedclothes rustling. ‘Um—sure. Just give me half an hour to shower and dress.’

  She couldn’t wait that long. She got into her car, drove round to his house and sat outside, twisting her hands on the steering wheel until he opened the door and came out.

  Her courage deserted her, and she sat there watching him as he crossed the gravel drive and pulled open her door, hunkering down beside her and taking her hands in his, his face worried.

  ‘Cait?’ he said softly. ‘Darling, what’s the matter? Is it Milly?’

  She dragged in a shuddering breath. ‘I need to talk to you.’

  He straightened up, still holding her hand, and helped her out of the car. ‘Come inside,’ he said gently, and led her in, closing the door behind her and turning her into his arms.

  She stood stiffly, her body frozen with shock and dread and the terrible acceptance of defeat, because she knew she was going to lose him, and she couldn’t make her mouth say the words that would take him away from her for ever.

  After a moment he dropped his arms and stepped back, looking down at her with his hands on her shoulders, steadying her as one shudder after another ripped through her frame.

  ‘Cait, for God’s sake, talk to me,’ he said unsteadily, his voice ragged. ‘What’s wrong with you? What is it? Oh, God, tell me you’re not dying.’

  ‘Dying?’ she said, freed suddenly from the immobility that had gripped her for the past few minutes. ‘No, I’m not dying, Owen,’ she said hollowly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

  CHAPTER NINE

  ‘PREGNANT?’

  Owen’s hands fell to his sides, and he stabbed his fingers through his hair. His hand was trembling, Cait noticed absently, and any moment now he’d tell her she was trying to trick him into supporting her, and throw her out, as Robert and his father had done. She steeled herself for the blow—but it didn’t fall.

  Not yet, at least.

  Finally he moved. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said gently, and led her through to the sitting room. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  She shook her head, a shudder of distaste rippling through her. ‘No, please. Nothing.’

  She stood there, and he took her shoulders and pressed softly on them until her knees gave way and she sat down on one end of the sofa with a plop, then he sat at the other end, one leg hitched up, his elbow propped on the back, his head supported on his hand, watching her.

  ‘I take it this isn’t good news?’ he said eventually, and she stared at him as if he were mad.

  ‘Good news?’ She laughed, and her voice cracked. ‘How can it be good news?’ she asked, close to hysteria. ‘I’ve only just got Emily off my hands, I was just about to start my life! I’m thirty-five, Owen. I’ll be fifty-three by the time this baby leaves for university—no, fifty-four! That’s ancient! That’s almost all my working life! I was going to have a career…’

  Cait put down the hem of her sweater before she tore it in half, and bit her knuckle instead.

  ‘Doing Law,’ he said flatly.

  ‘Something to do with it, probably.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Why?’ She looked at him as if he had two heads. ‘Because I’ve always wanted to do Law!’

  ‘OK, so you want to do Law. What about your shop?’

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t afford to give it up, not for years, probably. I might have to pay for help so I can study.’

  Owen nodded. ‘And where does the baby fit into all this?’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t! That’s the whole point! The baby is just—I can’t believe I was that stupid. All these years I’ve waited for my freedom, and the first half-decent man to come along and I throw it all away.’

  ‘Was that supposed to be a compliment?’ he interrupted, and his smile was strained.

  She closed her eyes, the fight going out of her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve been wonderful to me, and it’s been the best time of my life, but now I’m going to have to pay for it, like I always have to pay, and it’s just so damned unfair.’

  ‘Don’t do anything silly, will you?’ he said carefully, and there was an edge in his voice that made her look at him more closely.

  ‘Silly? You mean have an abortion? You think that’s what this is all about?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope not. If it is, then if there’s anything I can do to change your mind—I’ll have the baby when it’s born, bring it up, look after it, pay all its expenses—anything you want, Cait. Just don’t kill my baby, please. I’ll do anything rather than stand back and let you do that.’

  Anything except marry me, she thought hollowly. Tell me you love me, Owen. Tell me you’re overjoyed. Tell me anything, just don’t sit there and be so bloody reasonable and try and negotiate.

  ‘I don’t want anything from you,’ she lied. ‘You can have access, of course you can, and see it as much as you want, but I don’t want your money.’ Just your heart.

  ‘Can I see it every day? Every night?’

  She stared at him, puzzled. ‘Every day?’

  ‘Yes. You said I could see it as much as I wanted. That’s every day, Cait. I want to see my baby born. I want to see it grow up. I want to be there when it takes its first step, and kiss it better when it falls down. I’m not going to be an absentee father—not unless you make me.’

  Owen reached out, taking her cold and lifeless hand in his warm, strong, vital one. ‘Marry me, Cait,’ he said, his voice vibrating with emotion. ‘Marry me and live here with me and our baby. Be a family.’

  It was such a wonderful thought that she nearly agreed, but then she remembered how he’d encouraged her to go away on the residential course she’d talked about, almost as if she’d become too much of a fixture in his life.

  And the last thing she wanted was to be a burden to him, a duty, so she and her child became a sea-anchor weighing him down and ruining his life so that he ended up hating them both.

  ‘You don’t mean that. You’re only saying it because you’re afraid I’ll kill it.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Yes.’ Cait dredged up a smile. ‘It’s all right, Owen, I’m not going to do anything stupid. You don’t have to do the decent thing, as they say. I’m only telling you because I think you have a right to know.’

  ‘So you won’t marry me?’

  She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

  ‘It might.’ He glanced at his watch, then stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I have to go to the hospital. They rang just after you did and they’ve got a crisis on. I can’t get out of it, or I would, because we have to talk this through. I’ll come and see you tonight as
soon as I get away, and in the meantime think about it. Think about the advantages and disadvantages of marrying me, and we’ll talk again tonight. OK?’

  She stood up. ‘I won’t change my mind, Owen,’ she warned, and he gave her a grim little smile.

  ‘Just take the time. Please. That’s all I ask. Take the time, think about it and let me know your answer.’

  She nodded in the end, because it was the easiest thing to do, and then she went home, opened up the shop and sat down at the desk with a piece of paper.

  She wrote at the top ‘Advantages’ and ‘Disadvantages’, then wrote down all the pros and cons in the two columns.

  At the end of the exercise one thing was clear. The advantages outweighed the disadvantages by about a hundred to one, but the one disadvantage was too huge to overcome.

  ‘He’ll hate me,’ she’d written in shaky script, and even as she read it, her eyes filled and welled over, and she laid her head down on the desk and wept.

  ‘Cait? Oh, dear, love, what’s the matter?’

  She dragged in a deep breath and sat up, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. The lady who ran the antique shop next door was hovering by her desk, her eyes concerned. Cait dredged up a smile. ‘Oh, hello, Gilda. I’m sorry, I was just having a wallow.’

  ‘Oh, Cait. Missing Milly, I expect, are you? I remember when mine went away—awful. Just awful.’

  Cait sniffed and nodded. She couldn’t tell Gilda what was wrong—not now, before she’d got all her ducks in a row and decided what she was doing.

  Although only an idiot would turn Owen down.

  ‘Oh! You’re not wearing it!’

  ‘What?’ She blinked at Gilda, who was staring dumbstruck at her hand. ‘Wearing what?’

  ‘Um—oh, nothing. A—a dress I thought you were wearing today, but you’re not. I’ve just realised—Cait, I have to go, love. I just saw you through the window, and—well, take care. Come and have a chat if you want.’

  Gilda patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and almost ran out, leaving Cait totally confused. What on earth was she on about?