Accidentally Expecting!

by Lucy Gordon

‘No!’ cried his mother, clutching him tightly.

  ‘Stay there,’ Dante said sharply. ‘Just don’t move.’

  The next moment he was running headlong back to the building.

  There were more screams from the crowd as they realised what he meant to do.

  ‘He’s crazy-does he want to be killed? Does he know what he’s doing? Stop him!’

  But Ferne had seen the reckless determination in his eyes and knew that nothing could have stopped him. Terrified, she watched as he reached the house and began climbing up the ladder through the smoke that now seemed to surround everything. Every time he vanished, she was convinced she wouldn’t see him again, but somehow he always managed to reappear, higher and higher, closer to the place where the dog was looking down, yelping with terror.

  By now two fire-engines had arrived, but had to stop at the end of the narrow street. Seeing what was happening, the firemen came running along the street with a detachable ladder and sent it shooting up towards Dante. Mercifully it was longer than the first one, but when they shouted at him to climb onto it he merely glanced down at them, shook his head and turned back, heading up again.

  He’d reached the last balcony, but now his luck ran out. As soon as he seized it, the wrought iron pulled away from the crumbling brickwork so that one end came completely free, swinging down violently. Screams came from the crowd as Dante hung from the iron, seemingly with no way to save himself. The firemen were working the ladder, trying to get it closer to him.

  Ferne watched, her heart in her mouth, unable to endure looking, yet equally unable to turn away. It was surely impossible that he could come through this alive?

  Then he kicked against the wall hard enough to swing out and up. From somewhere he found the strength to reach higher, and begin to climb up the swinging balcony. He did it again and again, inching closer to the window where the dog was shivering.

  Cheers rose as he finally made it, but as he reached for the dog the animal vanished into the building. Dante hauled himself in, also vanishing, and everyone below held their breath. The next moment there came a crash from inside. Smoke billowed from the window, and an appalled hush fell over the onlookers. He was dead. He must be.

  Ferne buried her face in her hands, praying frantically. He couldn’t die. He mustn’t.

  Then a shout of triumph went up. ‘There he is!’

  Dante had reappeared at another window, further down, with the dog in his arms. Now he was closer to the ladder with the fireman at the top. A little more manoeuvring, and it was near enough for him to reach down and hand the animal to the fireman, who began to back down the rungs, leaving the top of the ladder free for Dante to follow.

  It was nearly over. He reached the ladder, climbed onto it and started the descent. In another moment, he would be safe.

  But then something seemed to halt him. He froze and stayed there, clinging on, leaning against the metal, his eyes closed, his head hanging down.

  ‘Oh heavens, he’s passed out!’ Ferne whispered. ‘It’s the smoke.’

  The fireman passed the dog to another man further down, then climbed back up to Dante, positioning himself ready to catch him if he fell, reaching up to touch him.

  To everyone’s relief Dante seemed to come out of his trance and look around him. At last he managed to move and complete the journey down.

  As he reached the ground, the cheers broke out again. He shook his head as though to clear it and, seeming to return to reality, took the dog from the fireman and carried it to the child, who screamed in ecstasy.

  If the crowd had cheered him before, they now went completely mad. A man who risked himself for a child was a hero; a man who took the same risks for a dog was a wonderful madman.

  Yes, a madman, Ferne thought, trying to still her thumping heart. A glorious madman, but still a man who didn’t live on the same planet as everyone else.

  He seemed strangely unwilling to enjoy the praise he’d won. They tried to hoist him shoulder-high, but now all he wanted was to escape.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, grasping her hand.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  T HEY ran from the crowd, dodging the outstretched hands, darting through street after street until they were lost and their pursuers were far behind.

  ‘Where are we?’ she asked.

  ‘Who cares? Anywhere.’

  ‘And where’s the car?’

  ‘Anywhere. What does it matter?’

  ‘Will you talk sense?’ she laughed. She was on a high of relief.

  ‘No. Why talk sense? When was it ever sensible to be sensible?’

  ‘Never for you; I can see that,’ she said tenderly. ‘Come on, let’s get you somewhere safe.’

  ‘Wherever you say. Lead on.’

  She suddenly felt protective. Taking his hand as she might have taken the hand of a child, she led him until they found a small café with a table on the pavement where they could let the sun drench them.

  ‘I need this,’ he said, ‘after all that smoke. I also need a drink, but I suppose I’d better not have one since I have to drive home-when we find the car.’ He began to laugh. ‘Where are we going to find it? Where do we start?’

  ‘I think I remember the street. Don’t worry about it now.’

  When the waiter had taken their order, he leaned back, looking at her. There was exhilaration in his eyes.

  ‘Dante, for pity’s sake,’ she said, taking hold of his hand again. ‘Will you come down to earth?’

  ‘I thought that was what I’d just done.’

  ‘You know what I mean. You’re up in the stratosphere somewhere. Come back down to the same planet as the rest of us.’

  ‘What for? I like it up here.’ He turned his hand so that now he was holding her. ‘Come up here with me. It’s a great life. I’ve never had such fun.’

  ‘Fun? You could have died!’

  ‘Well, the strangest things can be fun if you look at them the right way.’

  ‘You could have died,’ she repeated slowly, as if to an idiot.

  ‘But I didn’t. I could have, but I didn’t. Don’t you understand? It’s been a great day.’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she exploded. ‘How can you sit there as if it was nothing? Of all the mad things to do! To save a child, yes, that’s wonderful. But to take such a risk for a dog-what were you thinking of?’

  ‘I’m a dog lover. And that little boy would have been broken-hearted if I’d left his dog to die.’

  ‘And what about you? Don’t you mind if you live or die?’

  He shrugged. ‘I don’t worry about it. It’ll happen when it happens.’

  ‘It’ll happen a lot sooner if you take crazy risks.’

  ‘Maybe it will, maybe it won’t. What’s wrong with taking risks? Life’s better that way. Think of it as doing the quick-step with fate as your partner. You go faster and faster, never knowing which of you is going to reach the edge first. Everything is possible; it’s the only way to live. And, if not, better to die like that than, well, some of the other ways.’

  ‘You nearly came to grief,’ she reminded him. ‘When you were on top of the ladder you seemed to collapse. You just clung there and I thought you were going to fall. What happened?’

  ‘Nothing. You imagined it.’

  ‘But I didn’t. You slumped against the ladder.’

  ‘I don’t remember. There was smoke everywhere and a lot of things passed me by. It doesn’t matter now. Let’s leave it.’

  ‘I don’t think we ought to leave it. You may have been affected in some way that isn’t obvious yet. I want a doctor to have a look at you.’

  ‘There’s no need,’ he said in a voice suddenly full of tension. ‘It’s over.’

  ‘But you don’t know that,’ she pleaded. ‘You passed out on the top of that ladder and-’

  ‘How the hell do you know?’

  The sudden cold fury in his voice was like a slap in the face, making her flinch back.

  ‘You weren’t up
there; you don’t know what happened,’ he snapped. ‘You saw me close my eyes against the smoke and give myself a moment’s rest before climbing down the rest of the way. And that’s all! Don’t start dramatising.’

  ‘I didn’t mean-I’m just worried about you.’

  ‘Do I look as if I need worrying about?’ he asked in a voice that was now quiet and steely.

  Ferne was struggling to come to terms with the terrible transformation in him, and she had to take a deep breath before she could reply bravely, ‘Yes, actually, you do. Everyone needs worrying about. Why should you be any different? Something dreadful has happened to you. It might have made you ill and I simply want to find out. Why should that make you angry?’

  ‘Why does any man get angry at being fussed over? Just leave it, please.’

  His voice was still quiet, but now there was something in it that was almost a threat.

  ‘But-’

  ‘I said leave it.’

  She didn’t dare to say any more, and that word ‘dare’ told her what a dreadful thing had happened. The mere thought of being afraid of Dante was incredible, and yet she was. This was more than masculine irritation at being ‘fussed over’, it was bitter, terrifying rage.

  But he was recovering himself. Before her eyes, the temper drained out of him.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I’m not quite myself. I’ll be all right soon. Just promise me one thing-you won’t say anything about this at home.’

  ‘Not tell them about the fire? I think that story will get around somehow.’

  ‘I don’t mean that. I meant the other thing, that I had a bad moment on the ladder. Hope worries easily. Say nothing.’

  When she hesitated he said, ‘You must give me your word.’

  ‘All right,’ she said quickly. She had a fearful feeling that his rage was on the verge of rising again.

  ‘You promise faithfully?’

  ‘Yes, I promise.’

  ‘Fine. Then everything’s all right.’

  Everything was far from all right, but she couldn’t say so. She could never forget what she’d seen.

  But now his mood was lightening, changing him back into the Dante she knew.

  ‘Look on the bright side,’ he said. ‘Think what exciting pictures I must have given you.’

  Pictures. Stunned, she realised that she’d never once thought of them.

  She, to whom photography was such a part of her DNA that even her own lover’s treachery had been recorded for posterity, had forgotten everything the moment Dante had started to climb.

  ‘I didn’t take any pictures,’ she whispered.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked in mock outrage. ‘You take pictures of everything. How come I’m not considered worth the trouble?’

  ‘You know the answer perfectly well,’ she snapped. ‘I was too worried about you to think of photography.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what the world is coming to,’ he said sorrowfully. ‘My great moment and you missed it. Shall I go back up and give you a second chance?’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ she said crisply. ‘The second take is never as effective as the first.’

  They both knew what they were really talking about. The woman who let nothing get in the way of a good picture had missed this because she’d forgotten everything but his being in danger.

  Now he would know, and how he would love that! But when she met his eyes she saw in them not triumph, but only bleak weariness, as though a light had gone out. He was struggling to present his normal, jokey self, but it was an effort.

  ‘Come on,’ he said tiredly. ‘Let’s go home.’

  They found the car and drove back in silence. At the villa he immediately went for a shower. While he was away, Ferne outlined the events to the family but, remembering her promise, said nothing about what had happened at the end.

  ‘Trust Dante to go back for the dog,’ Hope said.

  ‘He loved it,’ Ferne said. ‘It was as though risking his life gave him some sort of kick.’

  ‘His father was the same,’ Toni sighed. ‘Always finding excuses to do crazy things.’

  ‘Yes, but-’ Hope began to speak, then stopped.

  Puzzled, Ferne waited for her to continue. Then Hope met her husband’s eyes and he gave an almost imperceptible shake of the head.

  ‘If a man is like that, he’s like that,’ she finished lamely. ‘I’ll just go up and see if he’s all right.’

  She returned a moment later saying, ‘I looked in. He’s asleep. I expect he needs it.’

  Then she deftly turned the conversation, leaving Ferne again with the impression that where Dante was concerned there were strange undercurrents.

  Next morning he’d already left for town when she rose. She tried not to believe that he was avoiding her, but it was hard.

  Her new credit cards arrived in the post, and news came from the consulate that her passport was ready. She drove down and collected it, then went to a café by the water and sat, considering.

  Surely it was time to move on? Her flirtation with Dante had been pleasant but it would lead nowhere. Forgetting to take pictures was an ominous sign, because it had never happened before. But the mere thought of a serious affair with him was madness, if only because of his habit of withdrawing behind a mask.

  On the surface he was a handsome clown who could tease his way into any woman’s heart. But, when she’d given him her heart, what then? Would she be confronted by the other man who concealed himself inside, and whose qualities were beginning to seem ominous? Would he frighten her? Or would Dante keep her at bay, allowing her only to see what suited him? Either prospect was dismaying.

  She thought of their first meeting on the train when they had sat together, thundering through the night, talking about the circles of heaven and hell. It had seemed a trivial conversation, but now she had the conviction that Dante was mysteriously acquainted with hell. Yesterday he had looked into its fiery depths not once but twice. Unafraid. Even willing.

  Why? What did he know that was hidden from the rest of the world? What was his hell, and how did he confront it?

  She was sunk so deep in her reverie that it took a while to realise that her mobile phone was shrieking.

  ‘Ferne-at last!’

  It was Mick Gregson, her agent, a cheerful, booming man.

  ‘You’ve got to get back here,’ Mick said. ‘There’s a great job coming up, big time, and I’ve put your name forward.’

  He outlined the job which was, indeed, ‘big time’. Following Sandor’s example, a major Hollywood actor had just signed up for a West End play, seeking the prestige of live theatre. Next to him Sandor Jayley was peanuts.

  ‘The management wants only the best for the pics, and when I mentioned you they were very interested.’

  ‘I’m surprised anyone wants me after last time,’ she observed wryly.

  ‘I’ve heard that they value your “self-sacrificing honesty”. Don’t laugh; it’s doing you a world of good. Seize this chance, sweetie. Gotta go.’

  He hung up.

  So there it was, she thought, staring at the silent phone: the decision was made for her. She would say farewell to Dante and return to England, glad to have escaped.

  Escaped what?

  She would have to learn to stop wondering about that.

  The phone rang again. It was him.

  ‘Where are you?’ he asked in a voice that sounded agitated. When she told him, he said, ‘Don’t move. I’ll be there in a few minutes.’

  She was waiting for him, baffled, when he drew up at the kerb.

  ‘Sorry to hassle you,’ he said as she got in. ‘But I need your help urgently. I’ve had a call from a man who owns a villa a few miles away and wants me to sell it. I’m going up there now, and I need a great photographer, so of course I thought of you.’

  ‘I’m flattered, but my experience is showbiz, not real estate.’

  ‘Selling a house can be a kind of showbiz, especially a hous
e like this. In the nineteenth century, it was notorious. The owner had a wife and three mistresses and kept each one in a different wing. Then he was murdered.’

  ‘Good for them.’

  He laughed. ‘It’s odd how people always assume that it was the women.’

  ‘If it wasn’t, it should have been,’ Ferne said without hesitation.

  ‘It probably was. The police never found out. I want you to bring out the drama, while also making it look a comfortable place to live.’

  After an hour they came to the villa, set on a hill with an extravagant outline, as though it had been built as part of a grand opera. Inside, the place was shabby with few modern comforts. The owner, a tubby, middle-aged man, followed her around, pointing out what he considered the attractions, but she soon left him behind and made her own way. The atmosphere was beginning to get to her.

  It took three hours. On the way home, they stopped off for a meal and compared notes. Now Dante was a serious businessman. His notes were thorough, and he was going to do a first-class job with the house.

  ‘My text, your pictures,’ he said. ‘We’re a great team. Let’s get back home and put it all on my website.’

  ‘Fine, but then I’ve got something to tell-’

  ‘Naturally, I’ll pay you.’

  ‘So I should hope.’

  ‘Of course, I can’t afford your usual fees. I expect you get top-dollar now for the right kind of picture.’

  ‘I’ll ignore that remark.’

  ‘But you’re the best at this kind of thing, and I could sell these houses much faster with your help.’

  ‘I’m trying to tell you-’

  ‘I’m going to leave soon, driving all over this area, drumming up business. Come with me. Together we’ll knock ’em all dead.’ When she hesitated, he took her hands in his. ‘Say yes. It’s time to have a little fun in your life.’

  This was the Dante she’d first known, the chancer who faced life with a smile. The darkness of the recent past might never have been.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said slowly.

  She was more tempted than she wanted to admit. Just a little longer in his company…

  ‘Look, I know what you’re thinking,’ he said persuasively. ‘But you’re wrong. I’ve accepted your rejection.’ His voice became melodramatic. ‘Bitter and painful though it is.’