Serendipity

by Fern Michaels

  “To what do I owe this early morning breakfast?”

  “It’s too early for humor, Mac,” Alice murmured.

  Once again Mac wondered how she managed to talk without moving her facial muscles.

  Mac poured his coffee into a fragile little cup, which looked like it belonged to a child’s tea set. He shrugged.

  Alice looked down at the piece of dry toast on the gold-rimmed plate. Would it stay down if she nibbled on it? She rather doubted it. Panic coursed through her. She knew what was wrong, and she didn’t need a pelvic exam or a urine test to confirm it. She was pregnant. The whole idea was so repulsive, so abhorrent, she almost gagged. A baby wasn’t in her plans—not now, not later, not ever.

  Last night in the privacy of her bathroom she’d wadded two towels into a ball and slipped them under her nightgown to see what she would look like with a protruding stomach. Her father-in-law would be delighted. Mac would be delirious. But she had gagged.

  She needed to give her condition a lot of thought. It was only nine months out of her life. She’d demand a trip to the south of France, where she’d live out those months so that none of her friends would see her stomach grow fat.

  “Dieting again?” Mac said, stalling for time.

  Mac was such a disappointment to her. She’d expected wonderful things from him, and he hadn’t come through. He was still a captain working at the Pentagon. Nothing prestigious about that. He did look dashing in his dress uniform, but otherwise he didn’t stir her in any way.

  “You should think about dieting yourself, Mac,” she said. “You look like you’ve put on a few pounds.” It was a lie, she thought sourly, he was as fit as his father.

  “Alice, I have to talk to you about something, and no, it cannot wait. I’m leaving for Vietnam in two days. I volunteered. We’ll have time away from one another, and when I get back, if I still feel the same way I do now, I’ll file for a divorce. I want that clear and out in the open. If you still refuse, I’ll simply walk out.”

  Alice raised her green eyes guilelessly and smiled. “I’m pregnant, Mac. So it’s hardly the time to think about divorce. Or for you to be going off and leaving me. Well, say something.”

  He did, but it wasn’t what he intended to say. “Did you tell my father?” A baby. The thought was mind-bobbling.

  Alice’s brain raced. What did that mean? Did he suspect? “What a perfectly silly thing to say. Of course I didn’t tell him. You’re the first one I’ve told.”

  “I’m having lunch with Dad. I’ll tell him. He’ll look out for you while I’m gone.” Jesus Christ! Of all the things in the world she could have sprung on him, this was the worst.

  Mac found himself staring at his wife. She was beautiful, cold, and brittle. He now realized, of course, that he’d never loved her.

  Alice’s long nails tapped on the dining room table. “How long will you be away?” she asked in a disinterested voice.

  He didn’t want to tell Alice he would be in Vietnam a year, so he shrugged.

  “Be sure there’s enough money in the account to take care of things. I don’t want to have to beg your father for handouts. I think I’ll go to France and have the baby there. I’m sure you have no objections. Of course, I’ll need enough money to rent a villa. And I mean carte blanche, Mac,” she said warily.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” Mac said sarcastically. He saluted her smartly before striding out of the dining room.

  Alice wrinkled her forehead. She hadn’t counted on Mac’s being gone for the birth of the baby. The manicured nails tapped on the shiny surface of the dining room table. When Plan A doesn’t work, switch to Plan B. Or C or D.

  While her mind raced, rejecting, sifting, collating, Alice’s eyes raked the dining room she’d inherited from Mac’s father. After their marriage the judge had turned over the Carlin homestead to Mac and moved into a house in the Georgetown section of Washington.

  She remembered that day so well. She’d walked through the house, awed at the magnificence of it, but she couldn’t imagine Mac, as a little boy, scampering about the huge rooms. He certainly wouldn’t have been allowed to bounce a ball on the old, polish wood floors, or to slide down the banister of the splendid staircase. She’d only given the Carlin ancestry, which graced the walls, a cursory glance. They were history and had nothing to do with her.

  She had never changed anything in the huge colonial mansion, because to do so would have angered Marcus Carlin, and if there was one thing she vowed never to do, it was to upset her father-in-law. In the beginning the heavy, antique furniture depressed her, but once she made it her business to learn its value, her attitude changed. Now she had it all catalogued, right down to the last silver spoon.

  She’d also had her jewelry catalogued and appraised, which comprised all the fine pieces she had weasled out of Mac and her father on her birthdays and Christmas. She had the neck for diamond chokers and just the right earlobes for the three-carat clusters that once belonged to Mac’s grandmother. Her wrists were slender and graceful enough for the several diamond bracelets she constantly wore. She had a total of seven valuable rings, so valuable that Marcus Carlin insisted she keep them in a safety vault, but it annoyed her that she and Mac had to pay the outrageous insurance premiums o them. Once she’d had to cancel a trip to the Virgin Islands because premiums were due. The following day she’d taken her entire jewelry box to Marcus Carlin and with tears in her eyes told him that she and Mac couldn’t afford to keep them. The judge had immediately written a check. Mac and his father had serious words over that incident. She and Mac had had serious words too.

  Alice looked down the length of the cherrywood table, which was set with two magnificent arrangements of fresh tulips and greenery. It would seat sixteen comfortably. She fancied she had an eye for beauty, but none impressed her as much as her own. She presented a lovely picture sitting there at the head of the table in her elegant dressing gown, and she knew it. The fine crystal, bone china, and sterling silver inspired her eyes to sparkle. The Irish linen cloth and napkins felt like satin in her hands. Her eyes turned to the sideboard, where an elegant silver service stood. All this now belonged to her, the mistress of Carlin House.

  And she was fucking pregnant.

  The birth alone would be worth a palatial estate in Hawaii. Or perhaps a chalet in Switzerland. She did love to ski. Then again, she loved the sun.

  The Carlin money was so old, it was moldy, It had been made in tobacco and cotton, which was another way of saying the sweat, blood, and tears of slaves. There was so much of it, it boggled her mind. And she wanted it. All of it. If she couldn’t have it all, then her child would get it. Either way, it would be hers.

  On her way up t he majestic stairway that led to the wide, central foyer, with its decorative balcony, Alice vaguely wondered, and not for the first time, about her feelings toward Mac. He’d certainly given her everything she’d asked for, even the family home. He’d grumbled about accepting it, of course, but in the end he’d given in, because he thought it would make her happy. And then he’d taken her around the world, again, to make her happy.

  Alice removed her dressing gown and hung it carefully on a scented hanger. She wanted her own maid, someone to pick up after her, but so far that little treasure had eluded her. A cook, a housekeeper, and a gardener were all she had. Now, though, with the baby coming, she was almost certain she could cajole a personal maid out of her father-in-law. She would also have to give some thought to a nurse and a nanny.

  An ugly look crossed Alice’s face as she ran her hands over her flat stomach. Soon it would buldge like a watermelon, and she’d have to wear those damn tent dresses. Maybe she could have Dior whip up something that wouldn’t shriek pregnancy.

  Today was one of her nothing days, a day when she could sit and read, drink a mint julep, watch television, or go shopping. She hadn’t been shopping in two days. By now Garfinkle’s would have new merchandise. A day for herself. Or she could read a book on pregn
ancy, the one the doctor had given to her last week. As if she wanted to read about a uterus, ovaries, and the birth canal. Just the words were enough to make her heave.

  She could have stopped by her father-in-law’s office and invited him to lunch to tell him the news, but Mac had already planned lunch with him. Better to let the judge come to her. Much better.

  Poor Mac. Poor, poor Mac. Where had it all gone? She pulled on a sheer nylon, careful to keep the seam straight. She wasn’t certain if she had ever loved Mac. She rather thought she had, in the beginning. But maybe it had only been his dashing cadet uniform, his potential, his background, and all that wonderful, old, crackly, green money Mac and his family was everything her family wasn’t. Her father was a landscaper, her mother a nurse. They lived in a square little house that was manicured and pruned, so much so that it screamed at you when you walked up t he flagstone walkway to the little front porch with its two wicker chairs. She’d never wanted for anything. She’d had everything the other youngsters had, possibly a little more, as her mother worked. She’d had her own car at seventeen, a spiffy Pontiac with real leather seats. She’d even been popular in school, a cheerleader, and she had sung in the school choir because her voice was high and sweet. By the time she left for Syracuse University, she knew she never wanted to return to Rockville, Maryland. Instead she wanted to find a rich husband and get married as soon as she finished college.

  The secret to anything, she thought as she twirled in front of the smoky mirror, was planning. For her anyway.

  She had a plan now. It was committed to memory. Later, at some point, she would decide it was time to put it into effect.

  Alice climbed behind the wheel of her Mercedes sports coupe for an exciting day of shopping at Garfinkle’s.

  IT WASN’T UNTIL Mac parked in the lot nearest the Pentagon’s Seventh Corridor entrance that he started to wonder if Alice would deliver a girl or a boy. A baby! Son of a bitch!

  It wasn’t that he didn’t like babies. In fact, he loved kids. As an only child, he’d often been lonely growing up and had always wished for a house full of siblings. He knew he’d make a good father if given the chance. He debated a full minute about the strings he’d pulled to get transferred out. He could pull them again and have his orders changed. If he wanted to. But he’d made a commitment and he would stick to it. Alice would survive as long as she had a housekeeper, a butler, a chauffeur, a cook, and round-the-clock nurses.

  Mac Carline turned more than one head when he strode down the corridor to the office he shared. He was tall, well over six feet, and he carried himself like a commanding general. The Academy did that to a man. Chest out, chin in. People called him handsome. He saw himself as clean-cut and all-American. He had the kind of bright blue eyes that women loved, and sinfully long eyelashes that swept upward and matched his unruly dark hair, which he threatened to brush-cut every time it fell over in his eyes. He also had a sense of humor. He could laugh at himself and was fond of playing practical jokes on the secretary, Stella, who took it all with good grace.

  Stella thought of him as a son and brought him cookies and brownies from home. She was Polish, and once in a while told him a silly Polish joke. She also told him, over and over, that if he wasn’t happily married, she could fix him up with one of her hundred cousins. Captain Carlin always laughed, but he never said he was happily married.

  Stella wiped her eyes. She was going to miss him. How handsome he looked, she thought, as he strode past her desk and winked at her, something he did every morning. She pretended to swoon, as she did every morning. It was a standing joke between them.

  The buzzer on her desk sounded. “Stella, will you get Phil Benedict on the phone for me and call my father to confirm our lunch date? By the way, you look beautiful today. That husband of yours must be treating you right.” He chuckled.

  Stella beamed. “Yes, sir, I’ll take care of it right away. Stay always treats me right, Captain.”

  “That’s because he knows a good woman when he sees one,” Mac joked. He was going to miss Stella and her sweet, homely face. He was going to miss a lot of things.

  He thought about the baby while he waited for his old roommate to come on the line. He’d miss the birth, the first bottle, and everything that came afterward. Would Alice send him pictures? Out of sight, out of mind. He’d have to discuss that with his father.

  Mac’s fingers drummed on the desk. The ease with which Alice had announced her pregnancy puzzled him. She’d made it clear early on that she didn’t want his children, even though she’d said otherwise when they were dating. Once she’d made the rash statement that she couldn’t wait to cook a meal for him. He was still waiting. Alice couldn’t boil water, much less cook a meal. Sometimes he wondered how she got herself together in the mornings. This whole thing was confusing, to say the least. The Alice he knew would have demanded he find a doctor to perform an abortion. She would have ranted and raved and blamed him. The Alice he knew would have thrown a fit at her circumstances, and more so when she found out he was leaving for Vietnam, but even that hadn’t bothered her.

  “You son of a bitch, I just heard!” Phil Benedict hissed into the phone. “I want to go too!”

  “Sure you do and sure you want to leave those twins and that cute little wife. Don’t shit me, Benny.”

  “Sounded good, though, didn’t it?” Phil laughed. “Personally, I think you’re nuts. Let the marines go. They come by that kind of stupidity naturally.”

  “I need to put some distance between me and here, that’s all. The thing at home, it’s not getting any better. My old man is leaning on me real heavy. I hate staff duty. This is nowhere to be, Phil, and we both know it. By the way, Alice told me she was pregnant this morning. Before I delivered my news.”

  “But . . . You told me . . .”

  “Yeah . . . Yeah, but I never told Alice,” Mac said tightly. “Since I exercised my conjugal rights one night when I had too much to drink, she thinks I’m responsible . . . or she’d like me to believe I am.”

  Phil Benedict whistled. “Hey, why don’t you pull some of those awesome strings your father pulled the first time around?”

  “I thought about it and decided against it. This is something I feel I have to do, Phil. I don’t want to deal with Alice and her pregnancy now.”

  The faceless voice on the other end of the phone was silent for a moment. “I understand, Mac. Is there anything I can do, anything you want me to take care of while you’re gone?”

  “Write to me. I have a feeling I won’t be getting many letters. Alice said she’s going to rent a villa in the south of France and have her baby there.”

  Phil whistled again. “Hey, you know what I always say, it’s probably meant to be. Listen, I can meet you for a drink after work if you want. We should at least shake hands and all that crap. You can tell your wife you had a flat tire.”

  “The hell I will. I’ll say I stopped for a drink with the best friend a guy ever had. Sadie’s, right? Five minutes past five okay with you?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  Mac looked at his cleared desk. There really was no need for him to be here. He had his orders, and his time was his own. Something had prompted him to come in today, possibly the luncheon with his father. Marcus Carlin was the kind of person you had to make an appointment to see. Marcus Carlin didn’t believe in time off.

  From childhood on Mac had always had to play the part of a little solider for his father. He’d done it to please him, and when he pleased his father, his mother smiled. In his formative years he’d never said more than “yes, sir” and “no, sir” to his father. A regimented life, according to the judge, built character. So first there was boarding school, then prep school, and then the U.S. Military Academy and his commission in the army. “Ten years,” his father had said, “ten years and you’re out and headed for a bright future in politics.” Well, his goddamn ten years were almost up, and he didn’t want to go into politics, and Vietnam was his one and only
chance to show independence from his father. Maybe, if he was lucky, he wouldn’t come back, and he’d never have to go into politics. Or he could take off and disappear when he mustered out after his tour of duty in Nam. The coward’s way out, he thought miserably, although in his gut, he knew he was a coward only when it came to confronting his father. Otherwise, nothing cowed or frightened him.

  Where Vietnam was concerned, the old man would surely expect him to come home with every medal the army had to offer. Once, that is, he got over the shock of Mac’s decision.

  Mac’s stomach rumbled ominously. A grimace of pain stretched across his face. Once the judge heard about Alice’s pregnancy, he would have a press release scheduled by three o’clock. It would be full of saccharine and bullshit.

  Mac pounded his clenched fist down on the shiny desktop. A pencil skittered to the edge, teetered, and dropped to the floor. Dust particles swept upward. They reminded him of the sawdust in a carnival. He’d run away with a local fireman’s carnival when he was twelve. The carny people had hidden him for two months. That two months had been the happiest time of his life. He’d loved eating with the Fat Lady and all the roustabouts. His only concern was his mother, who was in failing health. He’d called her once from a pay phone to tell her he was safe, but he hadn’t told her where he was. The worst part was being found by state troopers and taken home. His father hadn’t done anything normal like taking a belt to his behind. Instead, he’d banished him to his room without a radio. The only reading material he was allowed to have was Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary and a book consisting of maps of the entire world. His punishment was to learn the spelling and the meaning of every single word in that dictionary. Every night for a year his father quizzed him. Weekends were spent drawing maps and penciling in remote places, half of which he couldn’t pronounce at twelve years of age. To this day he could close his eyes and pinpoint any place on the world map. It was his personal nightmare.