The Doctor's Secret Child

by Catherine Spencer

  Her blouse closed down the front. Undoing the buttons was a piece of cake; slipping his hand inside the cotton cup of her bra something he accomplished in a matter of seconds. When he found her nipple, she bit down on his lip—a sharp, involuntary pinch that softened into a gasp of pleasure. “Ahh…!” she breathed, her head falling back in surrender.

  In retrospect, he liked to think he wouldn’t have let matters go much further, at least not on the first date, if that’s what it could be called. But she hadn’t had nearly enough. Slipping the straps of her bra down her arms, she cushioned her breasts in her hands and with a lack of self-consciousness he found moving beyond words, offered them for him to sample. They gleamed faintly in the gloom, olive-skinned and so perfect that it was enough to make him lose whatever speck of decency he had left.

  Before she had time to collect herself, he’d had one hand up her skirt and the other yanking open his fly. Pulling her astride his lap, he teased her flesh with the tip of his. She was wet and hot and so helpless to suppress the pleasure of his touch that she started to cry.

  But when he went to withdraw, she clung to him and begged him not to stop. She knotted her fingers in his hair, dragged his lips to her breast, and gave a hiccuping sob when he drew her nipple into his mouth.

  Half mad with desire, he’d driven into her, so close to the edge that when she wrapped her long legs around his waist and tilted her hips to meet his thrusts, he exploded in a burst of passion that left him groaning.

  By some miracle, she came, too, in a series of inarticulate little cries and contractions that left her quivering around him long after he’d spilled inside her. It had been the first of many times that they’d made love and the only time he hadn’t used a condom.

  Recalling that summer now, in the dark, chill confines of his car, he found himself hard for her all over again while, on the other side of town, Summer sat alone in her apartment with his ring on her finger.

  And he, louse that he was, could focus only on one thing: earthy, wild, uninhibited passion with Molly versus refined sex with Summer who never had a hair out of place and conducted herself with the dignity of a duchess, even between the sheets.

  Disgusted, both with his past and present performance, he rolled down the window and roared off up Wharf Street with the bitter Atlantic wind howling around his ears. It would serve him right if he caught pneumonia. It was no less than he deserved.

  But he needed to clear his head before he did or said something so rash that he ruined three lives.

  Summer deserved better than to be tossed aside on a whim. He had to tread carefully around Molly, or she’d grow suspicious and take flight. Most of all, he had to keep his distance from Ariel until he’d figured out the least damaging way to integrate her into his life. Because there was no doubt in his mind that she was his daughter, and no question but that, one way or another, he was going to fill the empty shoes of fatherhood and be there for his little girl. And if doing so lost him the respect and admiration of those whose opinion he’d hitherto valued, that was their tough luck.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MOLLY lay awake most of the night, figuring out her next move. Above all else, she had to put distance between Dan and Ariel, and by far the safest way to do that would have been to take her daughter and climb aboard the first flight headed back to Seattle.

  There were only three problems: her West Coast address was a matter of record at Harmony Cove General Hospital, which meant Dan could trace her easily should he choose to do so; she couldn’t leave her mother; and Hilda was in no shape to make such a long trip, even if Molly could have persuaded her to undertake it. Seventeen Wharf Street had been her home since the day she’d crossed the threshold as John Paget’s twenty-two-year-old bride, nearly fifty years ago.

  Looming larger than these obstacles, though, was the memory of Dan as he’d looked after he left the house the previous night, standing so long in the ice-black cold that he might have been cast in stone. There’d been something deeply disturbing in his posture; something so utterly still and reflective that the hair on the back of Molly’s neck had bristled with premonition. Gripped by an overwhelming uneasiness based on nothing but instinct, she’d remained hidden behind the curtains in the living room long after he’d driven away.

  The first hint of dawn left the sky beyond the harbor streaked with orange before she finally fell asleep, but by then she’d come up with a plan which, unless she’d missed something vital, offered at least a temporary solution.

  Over midmorning coffee in her mother’s bedroom, she asked, “How attached are you to this house, Momma? Could you ever see yourself living somewhere else?”

  “It’s not something I’ve ever given any thought to,” Hilda said, after a pause. “I know it’s no palace, Moll, but it’s familiar and that means a lot when you get to be my age.”

  Taking advantage of the fact that, though her question hadn’t been received with unqualified enthusiasm, nor had it been rejected out of hand, Molly said, “If it meant Ariel and I could stay with you a little longer, would you consider a temporary move to something more spacious? Because you must know, Mom, that as long as you’re confined to this room, it’s going to take you twice as long to get your strength back. Even if we set your bed up downstairs, it’d be a stop-gap solution at best. You need regular physiotherapy and that’s not going to happen as long as you’re housebound.”

  “If moving would mean I’d get to keep my two girls with me, I’d go to the moon, you know that. But how can you stay here, when you’ve got a shop to run in Seattle and Ariel’s supposed to be in school?”

  “I left my friend Elaine in charge of the shop. She already looks after inventory and suppliers, so I know it’s in good hands. As for Ariel’s schooling, I’ve arranged for a tutor to come in four hours every day from Monday to Friday, to keep her out of mischief and up-to-date on her studies. Which leaves the next move quite literally up to you, Mom. So what do you say?”

  Hilda, who’d been reclining against the headboard and apparently ruminating on the possibilities opening up to her, suddenly bolted upright. “You’re not planning to shove me into a retirement home, are you? Because I can tell you right now, Molly, I’m not ready for that! I’m not giving up my independence, just because of a flight of stairs and a house that’s not as big and fancy as you think it should be.”

  “If I was proposing shoving you into a retirement home, there’d be no need for me to stay here, would there?” Willing herself to patience, Molly buried a sigh. “I’m not my father, Mom. I don’t ride roughshod over other people without a thought for their rights or opinions.”

  Somewhat reassured, her mother sank back against the pillows. “Well, if it’s not an old folks’ home you’re thinking of, exactly what have you got up your sleeve?”

  “The Harmony Cove Inn.”

  “The Inn?” Hilda’s faded blue eyes grew large as saucers in her thin face. “If it were summer, I’d think you’d had a touch too much sun! Even if I could afford it, they’d never let me in there unless I wanted to scrub floors!”

  “I can afford it, Mom. And it’ll be a cold day in hell before I let you scrub anybody’s floors, including your own, ever again.”

  “I wouldn’t be comfortable—”

  “Yes, you would. That’s the whole point. You wouldn’t have to cope with stairs, you’d have room to wheel around in the chair until you’re strong enough to try a walker. If you did nothing else, you could sit in the lobby and people-watch, which is a sight more than you’re able to do now. And it’s not as if you’ll be alone. Ariel and I will be right there with you.”

  “Well, when you put it like that…” She ruminated some more, but Molly could tell from the slow smile creeping over her mother’s face, that the idea had taken firm root. “Heavenly days, what’s Cadie Boudelet going to think when she hears!”

  They made the move two weeks later, on a Saturday kissed by the first real breath of spring. On the Thursday before, Moll
y broke the news to Dan after he’d finished the second of his semiweekly house calls.

  “What’s the holdup?” she inquired testily, when he started to raise objections. “You’ve just finished telling me you can’t believe the improvement in my mother’s health and mental outlook. You agreed days ago that she’ll benefit from the change. And now that I have the van, I’ll be able to bring her to the clinic for her checkups, thereby leaving you with one less home visit to make in a schedule already flowing over at the seams. Admit it, Dan. There’s nothing to be gained by her staying in this decrepit old place, and nothing she’s getting here that she can’t have at the Inn.”

  He stroked the ball of his thumb over his mouth a moment, obviously considering the merit of her arguments. Then, exhaling a long breath, said, “I guess you’ve got a point, but it’s going to cost a small fortune, you know.”

  “You stick to doctoring and leave me to worry about the money,” she said sharply.

  He shrugged and stuffed his stethoscope into his pocket. “If you say so. But if I might be permitted to ask, how do you plan to get her from her bedroom to the van—piggyback her downstairs, or parachute her out the bedroom window?”

  “I haven’t quite decided, but I’m sure I’ll manage.”

  “I applaud your independence, Molly,” he said, “but if I might make a suggestion without getting my head bitten off, let me arrange for an ambulance to transport her to her new digs. That way, I’m less likely to be called to emergency to fix a few more broken bones should you not manage as well as you anticipate.”

  “Thank you,” she said starchily, wishing she’d thought of it herself instead of trying to figure out a way to get Cadie Boudelet to lend a hand without having to grovel for favors. “That’s very kind of you.”

  He bathed her in a grin so engaging, she practically reeled from its dismaying effect on her heart rate. “That’s me, all right. A regular boy scout! So, I guess the next time I see you, it’ll be at the clinic.”

  “Yes,” she said. “I’ll make an appointment for Monday so that you can see for yourself that she’s none the worse for moving up in the world.”

  In fact, she ran into him again on the Sunday, and it wasn’t a pleasant encounter.

  The Harmony Cove Inn, a gracious two-storied establishment built around the beginning of the nineteenth century, sprawled over the crest of exclusive Wolfe Avenue, commanding a stunning view of the harbor and distant Lighthouse Island. Surrounded by vast gardens manicured to a fare-thee-well in summer, it had played host to countless heads of state over the years. Century-old maple and elm dotted its lawns, mullioned windows winked from its weathered stone walls, massive beams supported its ceilings.

  As the ambulance drew up at the main entrance, with Molly and Ariel following in the van, smoke curled from the tall chimneys silhouetted against the bright blue sky. A clump of birch trees threw purple shadows over the last melting clumps of snow. Pale green tips of daffodils poked through the freshly turned earth under the shelter of the bowed front windows.

  So overwhelmed that she was on the verge of tears, Hilda reached out to grasp Molly’s hand as they waited to check in at the front desk. “I’ve lived in this town all my life, Moll,” she exclaimed, gazing in awe at the charming lobby with its bowls of fresh flowers, ornately framed antique prints, and hardwood floors worn to satin smoothness by the passage of thousands of feet over the last two hundred years, “but this is the first time I’ve ever seen anything as grand as this.”

  “It is perfect.” But unlike the things which drew her mother’s admiration, what Molly noticed was the doorman in his gray uniform, the clerk behind the desk and most of all the arched wrought-iron gate which barred people enjoying the public rooms from invading the privacy of resident guests. Safety barriers, every one, standing between her and Dan. Between Dan and Ariel. He wouldn’t be dropping in here, whenever the mood took him, and poking his nose into matters best left alone.

  She’d booked a suite on the main floor, a two-bedroom affair with a sitting room which opened onto a sun-drenched private courtyard. As the weather improved, her mother would be able to sit out there and enjoy the fresh air.

  Until then, two comfortable wing chairs and a small sofa flanking a tiled fireplace equipped with gleaming brass andirons beckoned invitingly. An antique cabinet in one corner held a television set and stereo; a pedestal table and four chairs stood next to the window. The entire main floor of the house on Wharf Street would have fit in there, and still left room to spare.

  The bedrooms were equally spacious, the two twin beds in each piled with feather pillows and traditional hand-stitched quilts reminiscent of the ones her mother and Cadie Boudelet used to make every winter. A selection of lotions, shampoo, hand-milled French soap and thick, velvety towels stocked the en suite bathrooms. No expense had been spared in providing for the comfort of guests.

  It made the perfect retreat even though, as Dan had predicted, it cost plenty. But for Molly, her mother’s pleasure at being surrounded by so many fine things made it worth every cent. Here Hilda could recover in comfort, and Molly’s own secret remain safe.

  “We’ll have our meals brought to the suite today,” she decided, realizing that, when lunchtime came, one reason her mother was reluctant to be seen in the dining room stemmed less from her being in a wheelchair than from embarrassment with her clothes.

  There had never been money to spare for extras, or occasion to wear anything glamorous, with the result that Hilda’s wardrobe was basic, to put it mildly. So while she napped in the afternoon and Ariel worked on a jigsaw puzzle, Molly went shopping, returning to the Inn just as dusk fell with enough boxes and bags that she needed a bellhop to help carry everything to the suite.

  “There’s no point in feeling like a queen if you don’t look the part, Momma,” she decreed, overriding Hilda’s protests of extravagance. “And some of this stuff’s for Ariel, as well.”

  “Not that thing, I hope,” her mother said, eyeing a flowing robe of scarlet satin trimmed with marabou feathers at the hem and wrists. “Your father used to forbid me buying you anything that was red. He thought it brought out the lust in men.”

  Deciding that probably had a lot to do with why her mother stuck to black or brown, thereby shielding herself from his unwelcome attentions, Molly stroked the offending garment, loving its rich, soft texture. “Don’t worry, Mom, this one’s for me, and I can assure you there won’t be any men beating down my door with evil intent on their minds. You and Ariel are the only two people who’ll see me wearing it.”

  At seven on Sunday evening, they left the suite in high spirits and wound their way along the window-lined gallery connecting the private rooms to the public area, to dine in style in the Cranberry Room. Ariel skipped ahead, dark braids bouncing, full skirt swirling around her long legs, leaving her mother and grandmother to follow at a more sedate pace.

  Hilda wore a blue wool dress a shade deeper than her eyes, and what used to be her Sunday-best shoes. With her hair freshly washed and curled, a touch of lipstick on her mouth and a hint of blusher to relieve her pale cheeks, she looked like a new woman.

  The lilt to her voice, the liveliness in her expression, were worlds removed from the woebegone picture she’d presented just a few weeks before, and watching her, Molly knew a pang of regret for all the wasted years. That a little loving attention and a new dress were all it took to reverse the neglect left her ragged with guilt.

  “In case I haven’t said it in so many words, I love you, Momma, and I’m sorry I waited so long to come home and act the way a daughter should,” she murmured, touching her mother’s shoulder.

  Hilda reached up and patted her hand consolingly. “You spend too much time dwelling on past mistakes, child. You’ve got to find a way to forgive yourself, and me, and all the other people who haven’t done right by you over the years. You’ve never said who Ariel’s father is and I’m not asking you to name him now because it doesn’t matter anymore, but I wil
l say this: I’ve often thought the reason you’ve never married is that you can’t let go of the past. But not all men are like him or your father, and I’d dearly like to see you happy with a good and decent husband. It’s what every mother wants for her daughter.”

  At that point, they reached the wrought-iron gate, and things started going downhill the minute they passed through into the main lobby of the Inn.

  “I don’t need a husband. I’m happy with things just the way they are,” Molly said stiffly, then casting a glance at Ariel who’d noticed a display of Victorian dolls in a glass-fronted cabinet and lingered to inspect them, put an end to the discussion by calling out, “Ariel, sweetheart, we’re going in for dinner now. You can look at the dolls later.”

  Always willing to please, Ariel spun around with the coltish exuberance of youth which never failed to amaze Molly, and barreled full force into a group of people emerging from the coat-check room.

  “Watch where you’re going, young lady!” one of the women exclaimed in tones of well-bred annoyance, and with sinking horror, Molly realized the speaker was Yvonne Cordell, that Dan was with her, as was his father, another couple of about the same vintage as his parents, and a younger woman closer to his age who seemed to be the only female among them who cared that a child might be hurt.

  She reached down to help a mortified Ariel just as Molly bolted to the rescue. But Dan was faster than either of them and grasping Ariel by the waist, swung her to her feet and muttered something in her ear which turned her incipient tears into a giggle.

  Of course, he had to look devastating in a navy suit and a shirt so white it matched his smile. And of course, the kind younger woman who wore an engagement ring sporting a diamond solitaire the size of Ariel’s thumb nail, belonged to him, as anyone with eyes could tell just from the way she leaned against him and tucked her hand under his arm.