by Unknown
Mary didn’t move. She couldn’t. She thought of her own lonely childhood and she thought...how could it possibly compare? What had been placed on this man’s shoulders... His mother’s death.
‘You were fourteen,’ she said gently. ‘You didn’t know.’
‘I should have.’
‘And Jake...’
‘You think I told him any of this? The black eye? The blame? He thought Mom died of an accidental overdose. How could I lay any more on him?’
‘He still doesn’t know?’
‘The last minutes in the yacht,’ he said heavily, ‘I threw it at him. He was playing the martyr, telling me to go first. He has a weak leg, courtesy of the Afghanistan injury. I told him to get into the harness or he’d be suiciding, just like Rita. It shocked him enough to get into the harness, to get him to safety. But now...’
‘He’s holding it against you?’
‘Who knows what Jake’s thinking? He’s certainly talking to me in words of one syllable. “Yes.” “No.” “I can’t talk.” “Bye.”’
‘And you?’ she said gently. ‘Where does that leave you?’
‘Not with a family,’ he said bluntly. ‘Jake takes after Rita. He retreats into his acting world. Reality blurs. For me, though, try as I may, I’m my father’s son. I enjoy running this company. I enjoy control. But all my life...’ He took a deep breath. ‘Ever since my mother died I’ve avoided the personal. One night, one vicious outburst and my father destroyed our family. Rita told me I was responsible for Jake. After she died I swore I’d never be responsible for anyone else.’
And she got it. She could read it on his face. ‘You think you might end up like your father, too?’
‘I’ll never put myself in the position to find out.’
‘No one’s asking you to.’
‘You’re asking me to be a father.’
‘No. I’ve given you the opt-out clause, remember?’
‘How can I opt out?’
‘Easy,’ she said, and somehow she found the strength to drum up a smile. ‘You can smile at me, say congratulations, wish me all the best and say goodbye.’
There was a long silence. He looked at her, he simply looked, and when he nodded she knew that somehow he’d moved on.
‘I’ll give you lunch first.’
‘I’ll accept lunch,’ she said, still smiling determinedly. ‘But nothing else. I’m no risk to your world, Ben, and neither is our baby. You’re still free to be...as free as you wish. You’re not responsible for our baby.’
* * *
Our baby.
The two words stayed with him as they left the building, but they weren’t small. They echoed over and over in his head, like a drumbeat, like an off-rhythm metronome.
Like a nightmare.
He couldn’t be a father. How could he risk...?
It’d been his stupid idea to steal the Lamborghini. The consequences had stayed with him all his life. His mother had died because of his stupidity.
His father had been a gross bully. He’d battered his wife but he hadn’t killed her. He had done that by ignoring her, by not reading the difference between real and fantasy.
He’d spent his life trying not to tell Jake, trying to pretend it had never happened, being responsible. But one revelation from a slip of a girl and he’d told her everything.
Why? She wasn’t asking him to commit to any part of this baby’s life. There’d been no reason to spill his guts, and yet...the look on her face... To turn away from her was like slapping her.
He could do financial support. He decided that as they reached the ground floor. He’d be in the States. She’d be in New Zealand. There was no reason for him ever needing to see his...the child.
When...it...turned eighteen...it...might want to meet him. That could be okay.
‘You’re putting a note in your mental diary to have dinner when he turns twenty-one,’ Mary said, and he turned and stared down at her. They were in the foyer. His colleagues, his staff were casting curious looks at the woman by his side.
The mother of his baby?
What was it with this woman? How could she read his mind?
‘How did you know what I was thinking?’
‘You’re like an open book.’
‘I’m not. And I wasn’t thinking his twenty-first. It was his eighteenth.’ Deep breath. ‘Do we know if it’s a he?’
‘I don’t have a clue,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Does it matter?’
‘Of course not.
But then he thought, A son.
And then he thought, A daughter.
‘You’re getting that hunted look again,’ she told him. ‘You needn’t worry. If you turn into your father, I’ll be between you and our child with a blunderbuss.’
‘I believe that,’ he said. ‘I’ve watched you playing roller derby.’
It was her turn to stare. ‘Where?’
‘YouTube.’
‘You watched me?’
‘Last year’s finals. A woman who plays like that...who looks like that... I wouldn’t get in her way for the world.’
‘There you are, then. You don’t have to worry about being like your father. I’ll put on full make-up and intervene.’
‘Don’t,’ he said, suddenly savage.
‘Don’t?’
‘Put on make-up. Pretend. Jake does it all the time. My mother did it. They move into their acting world and disappear.’
‘Is that what Jake’s done now? Is that why you’re hurting?’
‘Can we quit it with the inquisition?’ It was a savage demand but she didn’t flinch.
‘Sorry.’ She sounded almost cheerful. They’d negotiated the revolving doors and were out in the weak spring sunshine. New York was doing its best to impress.
Where to take her for lunch?
Clive’s was his normal business option, with comfortable seating, discreet booths, excellent food and an air of muted elegance. Clive himself always greeted him and no matter how busy, a booth was always assured.
He took Mary’s arm and steered her Clive-wards, but she dug in her heels.
‘The park’s thataway, right?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘And it’s Central Park. That’s where the Imagine garden is. Strawberry Fields Forever. I loved John Lennon. Can we buy a sandwich and go there?’
‘It’ll be full of—’
‘Kids and dogs,’ she finished for him. ‘Exactly. My kind of place.’
‘I guess it will be if you have this baby.’
‘It is anyway,’ she said, her voice gentling, as if she needed to reassure him. ‘I’m a district nurse. Kids and mums and oldies are what I do. Along with grass under my feet. Ben, I’m still jet-lagged. Fresh air will do me good.’
Now that she mentioned it, she was looking pale. He should have noticed before, but she was wearing drab clothes, she looked incredibly different from the last time he’d seen her and the news she’d brought had been shocking. Now he took the time to look more closely.
‘You’ve been ill.’
‘Morning sickness,’ she said darkly. ‘Only they lie. Morning... Ha!’
‘But you decided to fly to New York, morning sickness and all.’
‘It didn’t seem right not to tell you.’
‘Telephone?’
‘I wanted to watch your face when I said it.’
‘So you’ve said it. And I’ve been found wanting.’
‘You haven’t,’ she said, and tucked her arm into his. ‘You’ve explained why you’re afraid of being a father. If I’d telephoned I’d never have got that. I’d have raised Gertrude or Archibald to think Dad doesn’t care, rather than Dad cares too much. Where can we get a sandwich?’
; Dad. The word did his head in.
‘If we’re having a sandwich we’re having the very best sandwich,’ he growled, fighting an emotion he didn’t know how to handle.
‘Excellent. Lead the way. We’re right beside you.’
We.
Discombobulated didn’t begin to describe how he felt.
CHAPTER NINE
HE HAD A diary packed with meetings.
He sat on the grass and ate sandwiches and drank soda with the mother of his child.
It seemed she’d done what she’d come to do. As far as Mary was concerned, the baby conversation was over. She chatted about the devastation caused by Cyclone Lila, about the rebuilding efforts, about Barbara and Henry’s dejection at the possibility of selling a cyclone-ravaged island.
‘Maybe I can buy it,’ Ben found himself saying.
‘Why on earth would you?’ She’d hardly touched her sandwich, he noted. When she thought he wasn’t watching she broke bits off and stuffed them into her bag.
Just how bad was the morning sickness?
‘Because I can?’
‘Just how rich are you?’
‘Too rich for my own good,’ he said, and grinned. ‘It’s a problem.’
‘Where’s your dad?’
‘He died ten years ago. Heart attack. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.’
‘You really hated him.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I did. He was a total controller. Jake and I were supposed to go straight into the business. The power he wielded... We went into the army to get away from it. There was another dumb decision. It was only when he died that I took the first forays into commerce and found I loved it.’
‘It doesn’t mean you’re like him.’
‘No.’ His voice told her not to go there, and she respected it. She abandoned her sandwich, lay back on the grass and looked up through the trees.
‘It’s the same here as in New Zealand,’ she said in satisfaction. ‘Trees. Grass. Sky. Nice.’
‘You’d never want to live here.’
‘No.’
He looked down at her. She’d come all the way from New Zealand to tell him something that could have been said over the phone. He’d reacted just about as badly as it was possible to react. She was in a strange country, she was jet-lagged and she was morning sick.
She looked happy?
‘What?’ she said, seeing his confusion.
‘You could be a bit angry.’
‘What’s to be angry about?’
‘If you had a half-decent dad he’d be here with a shotgun. I’d be being marched down the aisle and we’d be living happily ever after.’
‘I don’t see shotgun weddings leading to happy ever after.’
‘But you’re happy without it.’
‘I’ll have a job I love, my roller-derby team, a baby I think I’ll adore to bits, enough money to exist on and trees, grass, sky. Oh, and Heinz. What more could a woman want?’
She was so...brave. He had so many emotions running through his head he didn’t know how to handle them, but he looked down at her and he thought, involved or not, he wanted to help. Despite her protestations, he knew how hard the life she’d chosen would be, and the thought of this woman facing it alone was doing his head in.
‘Mary, you won’t have just enough money to exist,’ he growled. ‘You’re having my child. I’ll buy you a decent house; set you up with everything you need. You needn’t go back to work.’
She thought about that for a bit.
He wanted to lie beside her. He was wearing an Armani suit. The grass...
‘The grass is comfy,’ she said.
And he thought, What the hell, and lay beside her.
She was gazing up through the treetops. The sky was amazingly blue. The tree was vast. He felt...small.
His body was touching hers. She was so close. He wanted...
‘Just enough for the baby,’ she said.
And he thought, What? What had they been talking about?
‘The money,’ she said, as if she’d heard his unspoken question. ‘I don’t want anything for me, but it’d be nice to think if he or she wants to go to university the choice won’t be dictated by my finances. You’re the dad. Our kid’ll be smart.’
She said it like she was pleased. Like she’d made a good decision to choose him to father his child.
He sat up again. ‘Mary...’
And once again she got what he was thinking. ‘I did not plan this,’ she said evenly.
‘How do I know?’
‘What, lie on an island and wait for a stud to be washed up? Hope to be pregnant? Why?’
‘I have no idea.’
‘You also have no idea how this pregnancy will affect my family,’ she said, in that soft, even voice that he was growing to trust. ‘They’ll hate me. They’ve been forced to back down in their accusations. Now I’ll turn up pregnant when my sister’s just lost her baby. They’ll tell me I’m rubbing their faces in it. It’ll hurt. This isn’t all roses, Ben.’
‘But did you want it?’
‘No,’ she said, and she said it in such a way that he believed her. ‘To be honest, I’ve avoided relationships. My father’s...desertion gutted me, and I’ve always thought if I can’t trust my dad, who can I trust? Like you, my family background doesn’t leave me aching to copy it. But now...maybe you’re right in one sense. Even though I didn’t set you up, I’m welcoming this baby. Somehow the night of the storm changed things for me. I do want it.’
‘Despite you not being in a position to afford it.’
‘I can afford it. I didn’t come here for money. Set up a trust or something for the baby if you want, but I want nothing.’
Nothing.
He thought of all he had here. A financial empire. An apartment overlooking Central Park. Any material thing he could possibly desire.
What would happen if he lost everything?
He’d have trees, grass, sky. Right now they felt okay.
It might get draughty in winter, he conceded, and he looked at Mary and he thought she’d just build a willow cabin or find a cave. She was a survivor and she didn’t complain. She’d care for this baby.
And suddenly he felt...jealous? That was weird, he conceded, but there it was. He was jealous of an unborn child—because it’d have a mother like Mary.
‘How’s the book going?’ he asked, feeling disoriented, trying to get things back on track, though he wasn’t sure where the track was.
He saw her flinch.
‘You don’t have to tell me.’
She thought about it. ‘That’s okay,’ she conceded. ‘Maybe I have to open up a bit there, too. It’s always been my private escape, my writing. If I’m to have this baby then I need to share.’
‘So...share?’ The request felt huge, he thought. It was only about a book, he reminded himself. Nothing else. ‘Is it proceeding?’ he asked.
‘It is.’ He could see her make a conscious effort to relax. ‘In your fictional life you’ve been drinking weird, smoky cocktails with three slutty sisters, squeezing them for information, and all of a sudden they’ve transformed themselves into dragons. Very gruesome it is, and rather hot, but you’re handling yourself nicely.’
‘A true hero?’
‘You’d better believe it.’
‘Will you try for publication?’
‘A million authors are striving for publication. What makes you think anyone would like my book?’
‘I like it.’
‘That’s ’cos you’re the hero. I’ll send you a copy when I’ve worked out my happy ever after.’
‘Happy ever after works in books?’
‘You have to believe in it somewhere.’
A cloud drifted over the sun. A shadow crossed Mary’s face and she shivered. Enough. He rose and put down a hand to help her up.
She stared at it for a moment as if she was considering whether to take it. Whether she should.
‘You need to let me help a little,’ he said gently. ‘I’d like to.’
‘I’d like to help, too,’ she said. ‘Where’s Jake?’
‘Still in New Zealand, winding up his movie.’
‘Would you like me to talk to him?’
‘No.’
‘That’s not very polite.’
‘Families are complicated.
‘You don’t need to tell me that.’ She ignored his hand and pushed herself to her feet, wincing a little as she did.
‘You’re hurt?’ The tiny flash of pain did something to him. She was pregnant. What did he know about pregnancy? Surely she shouldn’t have flown. What if there were complications? What if...?
‘Twenty-four hours squashed in a tin can is enough to make anyone achy,’ she said. ‘So let’s get that “Call the artillery and have me carted off to Emergency” look off your face.’
‘Am I that obvious?’
‘Yes.’
‘You’re sure you’re okay?’
‘Yes.’
‘Where are you staying?’
She told him and he struggled to keep his face still. Not a salubrious district. Cheap.
This was the mother of his child.
No. This was Mary.
‘I’ll take you home,’ he said.
‘I’ve just figured out the subway.’
‘Good for you but I’ll still take you home.’
‘You have a car?’
He hauled out his cellphone. ‘James will be here in two minutes.’
‘Wow,’ she whispered. ‘Wow, wow, wow. Bring on James.’
* * *
