Happy Mother's Day!

by Sharon Kendrick

  ‘About … about us still being able to work together—despite last night.’

  Peculiarly, he was disappointed—but since when had realism ever deserted him? Why should she want to lose her most valuable client just because he’d spent the night pleasuring her? Hadn’t she already shown herself to be an admirably sharp businesswoman?

  ‘Don’t you worry about a thing,’ he soothed. ‘Last night is forgotten. It will never be mentioned again. As far as you and I are concerned, it is business as usual.’

  Somehow that had felt like the worst thing he could have possibly said—and Aisling had experienced a weird sensation of alarm as she had made her way down in the elevator and caught a cab to the office.

  Thank heavens she kept spare clothes there and arrived before any of the others, and was able to reapply her makeup and to lose the dress and stilettos without having to face any curious eyes. She sought refuge in a crisp cotton shirt and a smooth pencil skirt and a pair of flat suede shoes, which were reassuringly comfortable.

  Stepping back from the mirror, she eyed her image with a resolute expression. It had been a wonderful experience and a sensual treat, but now—just as Gianluca had said—she must put it to the back of her mind.

  If only it were that easy. She didn’t feel right. She felt … odd. As if something had fundamentally changed in her world. She worried that maybe she had sold herself short in some way—by snatching at something with a man who had offered her nothing but fleeting gratification. Had she been too easy—and should she have played harder to get?

  If only she could rid herself of the burning ache she felt in her heart and the torturous replaying of things he’d said and done to her during that long, blissful night. She told herself she wasn’t in love with him—and, even if she had been, that absence would soon make him fade into his proper place in her memory bank.

  She went through the mechanics of work. She hired a decorator to repaint the hall in her apartment and went shopping in Portobello Road for new pictures for the walls. She booked a spring break in Paris and went to the theatre with a man she met at the gym, before deciding that she didn’t like him enough to see him again—even though Suzy, who also knew him, thought she was being completely crazy.

  But Suzy didn’t know the truth about her brief affair with Gianluca, did she? If she did, perhaps she would have echoed one of Aisling’s biggest fears—that she didn’t think any other man was ever going to be able to match up to him. Ever.

  But not quite her greatest fear. That didn’t materialise for several weeks.

  It started in the same way she guessed it started for a lot of women. She felt off colour—and could no longer face the piece of wholemeal toast with chunky orange marmalade which she always ate at breakfast time. In fact, the one time she tried it she was very nearly sick, but she put that down to the fact that she’d spent most of the previous evening working until late, with a snatched Chinese meal at the end of it.

  Then she began to feel dizzy, with spots appearing before her eyes if she stood up too quickly—and she began to wonder if perhaps she wasn’t run down, or if she had been doing too much. Weren’t those the symptoms of migraine? Maybe she should make an appointment to see the doctor.

  It was only when the nausea began to make her retch when she got out of bed in the morning that she realised there was one simple fact she had failed to consider—and at first she simply refused to believe it.

  When she looked back on it afterwards, she was amazed at how dense she could have been. But denial could be a powerful instinct—particularly when it threatened everything you held dear. For the first time in a long time she felt frightened, and more alone than she’d ever been—even as a child when she’d lain trembling beneath the blankets, waiting for her mother to come home.

  She was sitting in her office when she thought everyone else had gone home, feeling completely washed out and tired and just working out the quickest way of getting home, when Suzy came in, a deep frown furrowing her brow.

  ‘Do you have a moment?’ she asked, shutting the door behind her.

  Aisling looked up at her. ‘Can’t it wait?’

  Suzy shook her head. ‘No, I’m afraid it can’t.’

  What now? Aisling was about to tell her to sit down, when she noticed that Suzy had done exactly that. ‘So go ahead,’ she sighed. ‘Shoot.’

  Suzy stared at her. ‘How long do you think you’re going to be able to hide it, Aisling?’ she questioned gently.

  ‘Hide what?’

  ‘The fact that you’re pregnant.’ And Aisling burst into tears.

  She’d never had a scene at work. Never. Not for Aisling had there been the drunken episode at the Christmas party—or the resignation thrown at the boss in a fit of pique. Yet now she sat there at her desk, howling into a sodden tissue like an overwrought teenager, while Suzy shushed her.

  ‘It’s not the end of the world, Aisling,’ she soothed. ‘Women have babies on their own all the time.’

  It didn’t seem the right time to tell Suzy that she was wrong. That Aisling’s own experience had convinced her that marriage and love and security and the whole package were the only sensible foundation for bringing up children.

  ‘Does he know?’ asked Suzy gently.

  Aisling bit her lip. ‘No. No, he doesn’t.’

  ‘Do you think he’ll be … pleased?’ questioned Suzy delicately.

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it.’

  ‘You’re going to have to talk about it!’ There was a pause. ‘Who is the father, out of interest? Obviously somebody very discreet—since we’ve never seen him.’ Suzy frowned. ‘He’s not married, is he?’

  ‘No, he’s not married.’

  ‘Then why all the secrecy?’

  Aisling twisted her fingers together, the need to tell someone building inside her, like a pent-up dam which was bursting to break free. ‘You won’t tell anyone?’

  Suzy’s eyes narrowed. ‘Not if you don’t want me to.’

  ‘I don’t.’ Aisling buried her face in her hands. ‘It’s Gianluca,’ she said, her words muffled.

  There was utter silence. ‘I beg your pardon?’ asked Suzy eventually—in a voice which sounded almost frozen with disbelief.

  Aisling looked up as tears began to spill through her fingers. ‘It’s Gianluca,’ she repeated hoarsely.

  ‘Not … not Gianluca Palladio?’

  Was there more than one Gianluca in this corner of West London? wondered Aisling slightly hysterically. ‘Yes,’ she answered dully. ‘The very same.’

  ‘Gianluca Palladio—our most illustrious client? The billionaire financier with a penchant for nubile actresses? The man who once gave a famous interview saying that he wouldn’t settle down and marry until he was forty? And that’s six years away, Aisling!’

  Aisling winced. Did Suzy really have to rub salt into the wound? ‘Yes. And yes! Oh, Suzy!’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, Aisling—what were you thinking of? And how long has this been going on?’ Suzy shook her short-bobbed head. ‘I can’t believe I didn’t notice.’

  In a way, this was even worse, but Aisling couldn’t face telling Suzy that the reason she hadn’t noticed was because there was, in fact, nothing to notice—and that nothing had ever really begun. It had just been a bizarre pact fuelled by nothing deeper than a mutual desire. Viewed now with a dispassionate eye in the cold light of day—it seemed that she must have temporarily taken leave of her senses.

  ‘How pregnant are you?’ Suzy’s voice broke into her thoughts.

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘You haven’t seen a doctor?’

  Aisling shook her head.

  Suzy stood up and went and put her arms around Aisling’s stiff shoulders. ‘Well, that’s the first thing you need to do—to find out for sure.’

  Was this helpless mass of conflicting emotions really her—Aisling Armstrong—or had some weepy impostor taken over her body? ‘And the second?’ she questioned weakly.

>   ‘You’ll have to think about telling Gianluca.’

  But just what was she going to tell him? That she was carrying his child—she who had been nothing but the briefest of flings in his busy life?

  And when was she going to tell him? Now? When the little baby inside her was little more than a fast-growing bunch of cells, hidden by a gym-flat stomach? Or when those cells had begun to take on an undeniably human form—when she could show him the first amazing black and white photo of the thumb-sucking infant in her womb?

  Those thoughts brought her up short. She could accept the pregnancy, yes—the pragmatic side of her knew that was what nature had designed her body for. But a baby?

  ‘It’s over, Suzy,’ she said.

  ‘I guessed that.’ Suzy’s voice was soft.

  ‘And how the hell am I going to manage to work?’ Aisling asked, suddenly scared.

  Suzy frowned. ‘You’re putting the cart before the horse, Aisling. First, you’ve got to get yourself checked out, and then you’ve got to tell Gianluca. Work is the least of your worries right now.’

  It was so easy to put off something you were dreading—like failing to revise before an important exam and hoping you’d get by on memory and luck. The doctor posed no problem—that was the easy part. He told her that she was in splendid health—and the only thing which made him frown was her workload.

  ‘You’ve got to cut back a bit on your schedule,’ he insisted. ‘I know how you modern women like to take everything in their stride—but you mustn’t forget that you’re growing another human being inside you.’

  A human being who bore Gianluca’s genes. His dark, mocking face swam into her memory as the reality hit her like a cushioned blow. Aisling went to the coffee bar next door to the office and stared at the flattening clouds of froth on the top of her cappuccino.

  So what did she do?

  Just how did she tell him?

  She wasn’t due to see him until after she’d found him a new general manager for his new hotel—but as the purchase hadn’t gone through she didn’t have a clue when that would be. It could be months. She thought about ringing him up—trying to imagine how she’d tell him she was having his baby—but some protective instinct made her want to shy away from the potential of his angry words raining down the phone-line. And over her.

  In the end it seemed easier to do nothing. To let the baby grow inside her while she existed in the curiously detached state of well-being which seemed to have descended upon her, like a comforting cloud. It was as if she’d been given an important project to work on—and, being Aisling, she threw herself into it wholeheartedly.

  As the weeks slid inexorably into months, she read every book on pregnancy which her local store had to offer. Her diet had always been healthy, but she went for it in a big way—and discovered a deep love of spinach. Once the morning sickness had passed, she found she had an amazing amount of energy, and so she swam at her gym before work, the gentle exercise calming her for the day ahead. It was as though she were living in her own little private bubble of a world—where outside forces had no place.

  Only Suzy acted as the voice of her conscience. ‘Aisling—this is crazy. You’re ballooning by the day. You’ve got to tell him!’

  ‘And I will.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘I don’t know. When it’s the right time.’

  ‘But time’s running out!’ cried Suzy, eying the bump with a mixture of fascination and alarm. ‘You’ll be thinking about giving up work soon.’

  Aisling stared down at her stomach as if it belonged to someone else and then gripped the desk with her hands, as if to steady herself. Not only had her body taken on a life of its own, but so had her emotions, and as the weeks passed they grew stronger and stronger. Night after night, she lay in bed while the face of her baby’s father swam into her mind’s eye and some deep yearning filled her with an inexplicable kind of sadness. ‘Some women work until they go into labour,’ she said hoarsely.

  ‘But it isn’t mandatory,’ said Suzy. ‘Anyway—that’s something we ought to talk about, too. How long you’re going to take as maternity leave—or whether you’re planning to give up work altogether.’

  And that was what freaked Aisling out and brought her crashing to her senses. The sudden dawning that her life was about to change irrevocably—that everything she had strived for could be lost by this unplanned pregnancy. And that she hadn’t got into this predicament on her own.

  The feeling which had been building and building inside finally burst out and she knew an overwhelming need to tell Gianluca. To connect. To let him know the momentous thing which was about to happen—no matter what had gone on between the two of them.

  She looked at the calendar which hung by the little window in her kitchen and stared at the date ringed on it as if someone had crept in while she’d been sleeping and drawn it there. It couldn’t really be August, could it? She couldn’t really be due to give birth in a fortnight? What if the baby came early—before she had told him?

  With a sudden sense of urgency, she lifted the phone and punched out the number of his office in Rome—although she had to speak to three different people before she got through to the great man himself.

  ‘Aisling,’ he murmured. ‘This is a surprise.’

  But his voice sounded remote. Wary. As if he was trying to second-guess why she was ringing him—something which he had clearly not been expecting and definitely hadn’t wanted, by the sound of it. They both knew there were no outstanding contracts to be discussed—maybe he thought she was contacting him in a transparent attempt to get him into bed again? Aisling shuddered.

  ‘I’d like to see you, Gianluca.’

  ‘Really? Want to tell me why?’

  ‘There’s something I need to discuss with you.’

  ‘Go ahead—I’m free now.’

  Aisling flinched. He couldn’t have made it more plain that he was no longer interested in her. She was past tense and he wanted her to understand that. But a sense of duty and of indignation and some biological imperative to share this with her baby’s father drove her on. ‘I’d rather not talk about it on the phone.’

  ‘Now I’m intrigued.’

  Aisling ignored that. ‘Are you coming over to England at all?’

  ‘Regrettably not,’ he purred. ‘I’m pretty tied up here at the moment. Perhaps you’ve read that I’ve just bought a football stadium and it’s keeping me pretty busy?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Aisling tightly. Who could have forgotten her appalled shock when she’d seen the photograph in the international section of her business paper which had shown Gianluca laughingly surrounded by a posse of scantily clad cheerleaders?

  In his office, Gianluca looked out onto the monument of Vittorio Emanuele as it gleamed brilliantly white in the sun, remembering Aisling staring out at it and him inviting her to his vineyard, that first night he’d slept with her. Yet there had only been two nights—and both times it had been the most fantastic sex. She was an interesting woman, there was no denying that. She hadn’t pestered him for more—she had kept to their pact, and, undeniably, his opinion of her had gone up as a consequence.

  So did this phone call mean that she was hungering for a little more of the pleasure they’d shared?

  And wasn’t he?

  ‘You miss me?’ he questioned.

  If the situation hadn’t been so deadly serious, Aisling might almost have laughed at his arrogance. ‘That’s not why I’m ringing.’

  ‘Then just why are you ringing?’ he questioned coolly.

  It was not something she had planned to say over the telephone—but what choice did she have?

  ‘I’m pregnant, Gianluca. With your child.’

  There was a silence so long, that for a moment Aisling thought that the connection might have been broken, but as soon as she heard his harsh, cold voice she knew she had been wrong.

  ‘What’s your address?’ he demanded.

  ‘W-why?’

 
; ‘Why do you think?’ he demanded furiously. ‘I’m on my way!’

  CHAPTER NINE

  GIANLUCA was angry when the plane touched down at the private airfield outside London and even angrier when his car became snarled in a jam outside the capital.

  ‘Can’t you hurry it up?’ he demanded.

  The chauffeur shot a quick glance in his mirror. ‘I can try, sir.’

  To give the man his credit, he did. They passed the river and then row upon row of narrow streets, crammed with houses which looked tiny to Gianluca’s eyes.

  ‘We’re here, sir.’

  ‘Pull up a little way back,’ Gianluca instructed—because instinct made him want to see her before she saw him. As the car pulled to a halt in front of a tall house, not far from the tube station, Gianluca sat there—brooding and waiting.

  How things could change, he thought—and how quickly.

  Earlier that day, he had risen from his bed and showered, slid into one of his immaculate suits and drunk some coffee. He had been excited about a new merger—but even more excited about setting up a school sports programme which was to be affiliated with the new football stadium.

  Before his breakfast had even been completed he had arranged to buy a new helicopter and refused the opportunity to take part in a forthcoming television series about successful tycoons. Overall, his feeling as he had been driven to work had been one of a quietly underlying sense of satisfaction. The world according to Gianluca.

  And then had come Aisling’s phone call.

  Apparently he was going to be a father!

  Cancelling all his meetings, he had made a few calls before immediately arranging a plane to take him to England. During the flight and the drive from the airport, his thoughts had spun round and round in an unchanging circle as he tried to work out the approximate date of the last time he’d slept with her. Because if she was telling the truth and he was the father of her child as she had implied—then the baby must be due any time soon!

  He stared out at the tree-lined road. It was the most beautiful English summer’s evening—with the intense green leaves of the trees almost blocking out the bright blue of the sky above. Sunlight dappled through the available space, making bright, unmoving patterns on the dusty pavement—for there was not a trace of wind.