by Anna Cleary
It was too early to share her news with the world, so she was cagey even with Emilie and Neil. ‘I’ve decided to stay on for a week or two,’ she told them in her email. ‘Luc has come to my rescue and he’s letting me stay at his place for some of the time.’
At his place. Not with him. She hoped they got the distinction, though, red-eyed and sleepless from attending to the latest set of twins all night through, they were hardly likely to notice anything.
She included a few pics of Disneyland, some of them strolling in Montmartre, and one rare one she just couldn’t resist of Luc laughing while getting drenched in a downpour of rain.
When the possibilities of varying her limited wardrobe reached saturation point, Luc took her to a boutique in the Rue Cambon, near the Ritz, that blessed venue, and some others in the Rue du Faubourg St Honoré. She tried on dozens of things, and he wanted to buy her most of them, but she accepted one lovely pale green dress to wear for daytime occasions and two for evening—one a simple, stunning black, the other a pale silvery cream.
She would never have been able to afford them herself, though she kept a tally of the cost so she could pay him back when her first truly massive royalty cheque arrived, just supposing one ever did. And she allowed the generous guy to give her some pearls and matching earrings as an outright gift.
She insisted on buying herself the shoes though, and, with the weather warming, trawled the Galleries Lafayette for some cooler things for casual wear. She couldn’t imagine how large she might be in a few months’ time, but there was the rest of spring and a certain amount of summer to live through first.
In her third week in Paris she was booked for her first prenatal visit. A private clinic had been recommended to Luc by a friend in the medical profession. It was the finest in Paris, the friend had assured Luc; reputed to be the most cutting edge in Europe.
The clinic was in the sixteenth arrondissement, across the river from Tante Laraine’s, though not far as the crow flew. In fact, after their big appointment, as Luc casually informed Shari over his breakfast croissant, his mother had suggested they join her for lunch.
‘Oh, have you told her?’ Shari said quickly.
‘Only that you’re still in Paris,’ he said soothingly, the shimmer in his eyes informing her he was perfectly alive to her alarm on the mother front.
The consultation alone was enough for Shari to worry about, without mothers—and such mothers—thrown in.
She put her anxieties aside and focused all her energies on preparing her questions for the doctor. Luc seemed as eager and excited as she was herself, an energy in his stride and a gleam in his eyes that melted her heart whenever he glanced at her.
Finally they were ushered into the consulting room and spent an arduous and exciting hour with the obstetrician, who was a pleasant and efficient Frenchwoman.
There was an endless list of questions for each of them to answer in regard to their family health histories, forms to fill out and government stuff to take care of.
Her official status in France was one of the items at issue.
‘My visa is good for another two months,’ Shari explained. ‘It will have to be extended, of course.’ She glanced at Luc. ‘Will that be a problem, do you think?’
He looked thoughtful, then shrugged. ‘Somehow we will deal with it.’
Then it was time for her examination. Luc didn’t appear to enjoy the pelvic part. Not that he was able to see much from where he was standing, wearing an expression of extreme pain.
His face lightened with relief when the doctor finally peeled off her gloves and pronounced her healthy, and, as far as she could ascertain, l’enfant progessing normally.
L’enfant. Shari’s heart skipped a beat.
And that was just the beginning. By the time the doctor had informed them of the sort of changes to expect along the way, the routine tests and ultrasounds Shari would undergo and her dietary requirements, her head was spinning.
‘We will book your ultrasound for twelve weeks. Then we can measure your baby, check for certain of the possible abnormalities, the heart, et cetera. If we have any concerns at that point there’s a remote possibility we might schedule you for an amniocentesis test.’
‘I’ve read about that.’ Shari couldn’t help wincing. ‘Is that where they insert a needle into your womb?’
For Luc’s benefit, the doctor explained the procedure and its purposes fully.
‘It is not routine these days to take this test. Only if there are particular concerns, and of course even then it is your own choice whether or not you have it,’ the doctor continued. She produced a booklet that described the whole thing in detail.
Luc looked worried. ‘But it sounds … How safe could it be?’ He glanced from Shari to the doctor.
‘Bien sûr, any intervention carries a risk, monsieur,’ the doctor replied. She indicated the booklet with all the different tests profiled. ‘The risk is there, but it is quite small. The statistics are tabled in here. I advise you to study everything carefully.’ While encouraging, her cool professional smile revealed no clue of her own feelings on any matter.
Out in the street, floating, dancing, pirouetting the few blocks to where they’d left the car, while Luc was absorbed in some deep Gallic thinking, Shari was infected with an Australian need to babble.
‘It’s beginning to feel very real.’ She fanned herself with pamphlets. ‘I’m actually creating a new person. I’m turning into a mother before your very eyes. Me. Who would’ve thought?’
Luc roused himself from his reverie and slipped his arm around her. ‘It isn’t so impossible to imagine.’
‘You think? Have you imagined it? What about you? Do you see yourself as a papa?’
He shrugged nonchalantly, straightened his shoulders and flexed a thousand or so muscles, but his gorgeous eyes glowed. ‘Maybe.’
‘I can imagine it. You’ll be stern and thoughtful and très très vraiment strict.’
He grinned at her mimicry. ‘Me— Zut, I am thinking of that ultrasound. It will be—amazing.’
‘I know,’ she breathed. ‘To hear the little heartbeat.’
He grabbed her hand. ‘Come. I’m not ready to be with other people. Let’s go where we can talk.’
The Ritz wasn’t to hand, but luckily there was a patisserie on the next corner, Le Brioche d’Or. As they approached the crowded café Shari heard some jazz being played within. As if her heart wasn’t high enough.
All the aromas made her mouth water. Though ravenous after her scant breakfast, she was mindful of the upcoming lunch. It would be a serious social solecism not to eat at Laraine’s on this occasion. So she confined herself to selecting only tea and a miniature tarte aux pommes from the pastry counter. Luc ordered coffee.
Sliding into a booth in the upper room at a window overlooking the street, Shari spread out the information pamphlets and selected one, only raising her head when the food was delivered.
The tea was weak and watery, but these days that was how she liked it. She cut the pastry into two pieces and shoved one across to Luc. While perusing a screed about suggested dietary modifications for pregnancy, she bit into her scrumptious flaky pastry. Luckily there was nothing on the forbidden list about butter, apple a squidgin on the tart side, or rich heavenly custard.
The entire tarte was the sheerest bliss. She felt so sorry for all the people in the world who weren’t in Paris with Luc. She eyed his untouched piece.
‘Are you sure you want that?’
Without looking up the gorgeous man passed it back to her.
‘Thank you. This one’s in French only,’ she murmured, applying her paper napkin to the corner of her mouth. ‘Though I can manage most of it. You know, if I’m going to have this baby here I’ll have to enrol in some French lessons.’
Luc glanced up from the booklet he’d been perusing. ‘If? What is this if?’
‘Oh.’ Jolted, she met his sharp gaze. ‘Well … It’s just a figure of speech. I’ve booked into the clini
c now so—I guess I’m—having the baby here.’ She grinned reassuringly. ‘If I can fix my visa.’
He glanced away from her. When he looked back again his eyes were veiled. ‘And you’re content—with that?’
‘You mean—am I content with tu?’ She smiled at his searching gaze. ‘I am. I’m quite content.’
He returned to his reading. Glancing at him a couple of times, she noticed his brows edging closer and closer together. Was it something she’d said?
The next time he spoke, he sounded his usual calm self. ‘Why were you thinking about this amnio needle test? Are you concerned there might be something wrong?’
‘Oh, no.’ She sighed, then pressed her lips together. ‘I don’t even want to think about anything like that.’ She hesitated, then blurted something that had been nagging at the edge of her mind. ‘The thing is, apart from checking for abnormalities, the test can also determine the baby’s DNA.’
‘So?’
She gazed at him. ‘Maybe we should have it. Just to—settle any tiny little doubts you might have.’
His eyes glinted. ‘I don’t have any doubts.’
She could feel her pulse beating a little too fast, but she disciplined her voice to stay serene and reasonable.
‘Still, the question has been raised between us, and I—I—well, just for my own peace of mind—need to know that if I’m staying here with you, if we are together in this, you have no reason to doubt me.’
With a rueful expression, he reached across the table and grabbed her hand. ‘Chérie, I don’t doubt you. I don’t doubt you at all.’
She covered their clasped hands with her free one. ‘That’s lovely of you to say, Luc, but I’m thinking ahead to when this baby is born. What if he or she doesn’t immediately resemble you? Or what if I can see the resemblance, but you can’t? Don’t you see? I’m quite an affectionate person. By that time I’ll have spent nearly a year of my life with you, and I could probably end up being really quite—attached to you by then. If that happened and you doubted me, I wouldn’t be able to bear it. The ending would be bad. Big time.’
He concealed his lowered gaze behind his dark lashes, frowning deeply. The moment stretched and stretched until her nerves nearly snapped.
Finally he said, ‘If you think it will bring you peace of mind …’ He threw out his hands. ‘D’accord.’
D’accord? Just like that?
Like a sandbagged zombie, she poured more milk into her tea and made it even weaker. If coffee wasn’t recommended, tea probably shouldn’t be either. And if a man agreed to having a DNA test to verify his paternity without a fuss, surely that was for the best.
N’est-ce pas?
Even if the test had the barest, most infinitesimal possibility of endangering the child’s very existence?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘YOU’RE very quiet.’ They were crossing the Seine en route to chez Laraine. ‘Was it all too much? Are you feeling well?’
‘Sure. I’m feeling great. Just—thinking, is all.’
Thinking about what an idiot she was. Why had she done it? She’d set up a trap and walked straight into herself. She didn’t want that ghastly test unless the doctor specifically recommended it.
It only served her right for angling for reassurance. And how useless that had been. If a man wasn’t in love, he wasn’t, and nothing would ever make it happen.
At least he wasn’t lying to her. She supposed she should respect his implacable resistance to swearing undying love he didn’t mean.
With a sick feeling she realised that if she didn’t take the test, Luc would assume she was scared of the outcome.
‘This may not be the best time for you to go to lunch when you have had such a strenuous morning,’ he said apologetically, ‘but on any normal day I’ll be at work. I’m not sure you’re ready to visit Maman on your own. What do you think?’
Shari glanced quickly at him. Her? Visit Maman on her own? Had he been eating the wrong mushrooms?
‘You may be right,’ was all she said. But her mental cogs were whirring like crazy. Was this to be her lot from now on? Regular visits into the jaws of hell? Not that they were unkind to her there. It was just that her status with them was so uncertain. She wasn’t quite a cousin, nor yet a fiancée. Perhaps she was a girlfriend, although surely Frenchmen loved their girlfriends.
‘What am I?’ she said.
He looked sharply at her. ‘Comment?’
‘How do I explain myself to your family? I mean … it’s hard to know where I stand there. Am I a friend of the family?’
‘Of course you are a friend. You are—my …’ Seemed he too had trouble finding the word. ‘It will be easier for you when you learn more French,’ he said suavely. ‘Everything will be easier.’
After twice making an exhibition of herself before his entire family, she seriously doubted that. It would take some magnificent achievement, like saving France from invasion, or reconstituting Napoleon, to correct the impression she’d made.
‘Exactly how much does your mother know?’ she said lightly as he backed the Merc into an impossibly tight space in the vicinity of the building.
‘She knows nothing. Or …’ He lifted his hands from the wheel. ‘She is Maman. She could know everything.’ He flashed her a grin.
Great.
‘Think of it this way,’ he said smoothly, urging her up his mother’s garden path. ‘Now you are staying in Paris you will need to know some people. When I am at my office all day, you might need a friend to talk to. Here are some people who are willing to know you.’
Shari broke into a laugh. Her heart warmed with love for the sweet man. At least he was thoughtful about her loneliness. And his excitement about the baby was a fantastic relief.
Fortunately, this visit was less nerve-wracking than the first. She’d done everything humanly possibly here to dispel the notion she was Rémy’s woman on her first visit, and today it paid off. No urns were on display, and the assembly around the lunch table treated her with kid gloves.
She guessed that those who hadn’t been present the first time she visited had been apprised of her dive into the twilight zone.
Strolling in with Luc, she tried to look reassuringly normal and joyous. Certainly, after the visit to the doctor, some joy must have still been hanging about her because it kept trilling through her spirit. Nothing too terrible could touch her with Luc’s enthusiasm for their shared secret wrapped around her heart like a shield.
‘Alors, Shari, how are you today?’ people said after the exchange of kissing. ‘Are you well, ma chérie? Are you eating your food?’
Laraine herself, dressed in a lovely linen suit, was very attentive to Shari’s comfort. Shari wondered if it was an accident the decanter of mineral water had been positioned near her place setting. How was a woman able to be so charming, so intelligent, so pleasant and discreet all at the same time, and still be so formidable?
At least Shari felt more confident about her clothes. She was wearing her floral dress, heels, and had wound her hair into a chignon to show off some aquamarine earrings Luc had surprised her with in honour of their first consultation.
She’d drawn a caterpillar on her collarbone, but felt pretty sure it would only be visible if she leaned forward, or had to twist about.
Laraine’s cast of characters had expanded. There was a new couple, Raoul and Lucette. Lucette had a baby in a high chair she was feeding while attempting to eat her own food. Every so often Raoul interrupted his conversation to amuse the baby or assist in the production of shovelling food into his little rosebud mouth. Whenever Raoul looked on them a softness touched his eyes.
He loves him, Shari thought, trying not to stare. Really loves him. And he loves her.
Tante Marise was late to arrive, and after she’d kissed and been kissed by everyone she exclaimed to Luc, ‘Again, Luc, and so soon. We are honoured, hein?’ Then she turned to Shari, her blue eyes so genuinely kind Shari felt warmed. ‘I am so happy you a
re here, Shari. When do you return to Australia?’
Shari felt Luc’s quick glance. ‘Not yet. Not for a while.’
‘Oh, là, but where are you staying? Not in an ‘otel?’
‘Shari is staying with me,’ Luc said, taking up a ladle and turning to Shari. ‘Tagine, chérie?’
All eyes sparkled and flitted between Luc and Shari. After a polite nodded ‘Ah’ from Tante Marise, conversations about half a dozen random subjects broke out while the family digested the information with their tagine à l’orange.
Chickpeas and lentils in a mildly aromatic sauce.
Delicious.
Shari felt a pleased glow. She could have kissed the man right there. A public acknowledgement of their relationship, however discreet, was a breakthrough.
Laraine seemed to take the news in her stride. She merely nodded, as if her son was confirming something she’d suspected all along. Her glance at Shari continued warm, curious, a little amused, and Shari felt it often.
She supposed mothers worried about who was birthing their sons’ babies. By some feat of witchcraft, Laraine had already guessed she was in the family way. How soon would be tactful to fill the matriarch in officially? Not understanding how things worked between mother and son made the territory chancy.
Until Luc was ready to declare his paternity to the world, Shari couldn’t feel any real security. And how likely was he to announce it loud and clear unless he knew for certain he was the father?
By the time they were through the salad course, Rochefort and were embarking on the mousse aux framboises, Rémy’s name hadn’t been mentioned once. The family were making an effort.
Maybe a day would come when she would feel relaxed with them all and stop worrying about every little thing. But after she and Luc had said their farewells, kissed and been kissed, the burning question had crystallised in her mind.
When would she return home? Would she ever?
‘It wasn’t quite so scary this time,’ she said to Luc afterwards.
‘It was good you remained conscious,’ he agreed, smiling.
‘And the earrings helped.’
