Forbidden Fruit

by Charlotte Lamb

  Giles's eyes narrowed and hardened, and she reacted instinctively to the threat of his state, in a flam of fear, her dark blue eyes wide and strained, stumbling to her feet with the ungainly movement of a pregnant woman, her body heavier than she ever remembered until she tried to move fast.

  'Be careful!' Giles said roughly, and suddenly there he was, next to her, his arm around her, supporting her. 'You shouldn't have got up so suddenly! You have to take care of yourself now, for the baby's sake.'

  'I'm OK, thank you!' she muttered, stiffening as she became aware of the warmth of his skin, the firmness of bone and muscle under that. His hands pressed into her back, his fingers splayed, each pressing down into her own flesh.

  It was a long time since she had been in anyone's arms, held close; the human contact was tempting, the comfort one she often longed for in the dark hours of the night when she was alone and aching with loneliness and need. She tried to be strong and brave, but sometimes she broke down. It was only human to need to be held, to be close to another living body—but she mustn't give in to that need, let him go on holding her and stroking that warm hand up and down her back.

  It might become a habit; she might come to need it, need him. After all, this wasn't even the first time she had broken down and he had been there to help her. It disturbed her to remember that when they met in Ravenna she had cried in his arms, and now she was close to doing so again, the tears only just held back. It wasn't wise; after all, he might seem gentle and kindly now, but she mustn't forget the cold hostility he had shown her right up until his brother had died.

  He had only become kinder because she was no longer any threat to himself or his family— so what did that tell her about him? Giles Kent was a man whose head ruled his life. He coolly decided how to deal with everyone around him, for seasons which had nothing to do with his emotions—if he had any emotions they were never allowed to show, or to influence how he behaved. It would be folly to forget that, especially now that everything had changed again.

  'You don't look very OK to me,' Giles said drily, his mouth moving close to her hair, stirring the delicate silvery strands with his breath. 'You may not want our help, Leonie, but it's obvious you need it.'

  She had something he wanted; she was carrying his brother's child, the baby he felt might make his mother happy again—and Giles wanted it. Malcolm had often said with a mixture of wry admiration and faint resentment that Giles was relentless in pursuit of what he wanted; he had a powerful will, a tenacity of purpose. That was what made him so good at running the family business, Malcolm had said, grimacing as though he'd wished he were cut from the same stuff. Malcolm had been a warm, lovable human being, though, not a man of iron.

  No, Giles was not made of iron; his metal was altogether more invulnerable—that was what made him such a dangerous enemy to make. You couldn't get through his defences, he was impervious, and he was always determined to have his own way. Leonie knew that if she refused to do what he wanted he would stop smiling at her, being gentle and protective—she would see his icy enmity show through again.

  But she wasn't afraid of Giles—she had too much to lose if she weakened—so she pulled away and faced him defiantly, her chin up. 'I can take care of myself—and the baby, too! I've always taken care of myself, since I left school, and I'll manage somehow, now that there will be two of us. My mother managed to bring me up all on her own.' Her eyes moved away from his face, and she frowned, remembering her childhood, her own bewilderment and loneliness. Well, she wouldn't send her baby away, whatever happened, however hard it might be to keep it. At all costs, she wouldn't repeat the mistakes her mother had made. Somehow, she would manage to keep her baby with her.

  His eyes were bitingly ironic, his voice brusque. 'Do you really want your baby to grow up the way you did?'

  She drew a startled breath, looking up into his eyes. She had never confided in him, ever told him anything about her lonely childhood. How did he know all about that? Malcolm? Or had he had her background investigated as soon as he'd discovered that his brother meant to marry her?

  'I'll make sure my baby is happy,' she said firmly, lifting her chin, defiance in her blue eyes.

  'You'll have to go out to work, and that means you won't be with the baby very much, you know that,' Giles said, his black brows heavy.

  'I've thought it all out,' she insisted. 'Plenty of other women manage, and so shall I. As long as my baby knows I love it, and want it, everything will work out in the end.'

  His hard mouth parted impatiently, to snap out some disbelieving reply, but she spoke first, angrily.

  'Look, this baby is my problem, and I'll solve it somehow; I'll manage. I'm sure you only mean to be kind, but I'd really rather you didn't.' Before he could go on arguing, she rushed on, 'I'm sorry about your mother. I would have been to see her before if I had thought she wanted to see me—it would have helped me to talk to her, you know. After all, we're both grieving for Malcolm, we both miss him badly. But I knew she wouldn't want to see me; I suppose I would have reminded her that she and Malcolm had been arguing for weeks before he was killed. It must be hard for her to remember that, but I'm sure Malcolm wouldn't want her to blame herself, I'm sure he has forgiven her. And… well, if she wants to see the baby when it has been born, she'll be very welcome to come and see us any time she likes, or I'll bring the baby to visit her, but only if it is understood that my baby stays with me.'

  Giles had decided to change his tactics now. Instead of being domineering and trying to force her to do as he demanded, he tried a soothing voice, a smile that held some of Malcolm's charm.

  'Of course it will!' he assured her, pretending to look surprised. 'You didn't think I wanted to take it away from you, did you? Of course I don't. I wouldn't dream of it.'

  She wasn't convinced, though. How could she trust him, knowing the ways in which he and his mother had tried to stop her marrying Malcolm?

  'Well, I'm glad about that,' she said, the defiance still glittering in her blue eyes. 'As long as you understand how I feel about everything.'

  There was an impatient, obstinate look about him, and she didn't want him arguing any more so she gave a deliberate yawn. 'I don't want to be rude, but I was just going to take a nap when you arrived… so if you don't mind…?'

  He gave her a searching look and nodded. 'Yes, you look pretty drained. Anxiety is no good for a woman in your condition, Leonie… you don't need all that tension…'

  'It isn't an illness, you know! I'm going through a perfectly healthy, natural process; it hasn't turned me into a helpless invalid,' she muttered, walking to the front door and pointedly opening it.

  He took the hint, shrugging, but paused before leaving and studied her flushed face. 'Malcolm would want us to do what we can to take care of you,' he said, and that really was below the belt. She gave him a furious look.

  'I don't remember you being so concerned about Malcolm's feelings when he was alive!'

  His jawline tightened and he frowned blackly. 'Maybe I've learnt a lot since the day my brother died,' he said in a low, harsh voice, and then he walked away and Leonie bit her lip, staring after him and feeling ashamed and guilty.

  When she talked to Angela later, she wasn't surprised by her friend's reaction—Angela made it quite clear that she thought she was mad, and ought to accept whatever the Kent family wanted to give her.

  'After all, the baby will be one of their family,' said Angela forcefully, 'Even though you and Malcolm hadn't got around to marrying yet. You would have done if Malcolm hadn't been killed, so you're entitled to a claim on the Kents. You know very well it is going to be tough, bringing up a baby without any help from anyone. You haven't got anywhere to live after the baby is born, you may not even have a job… what are you going to do if you turn down the offer Giles Kent made you?'

  'I don't know,' Leonie said wearily. 'Don't bully me, Angela. I got enough of that from Giles Kent.'

  'You mean you know I'm making sense!' Angela sa
id drily, but she didn't go on trying to convince Leonie; she merely shrugged and started to talk about her new boyfriend, Andrew.

  Her last one, Jack, had recently been transferred by his firm to another part of the country. He had suggested that they kept in touch, wrote, saw each other whenever possible, but Angela had shaken her head. She was far too practical not to see the pitfalls ahead. 'It would never work,' she had said to him bluntly. 'I couldn't bear to live anywhere but London, and I couldn't afford to travel back and forth to see you all the time. It would soon drive us both mad. Better to split up now, and stay friends. If you're ever in London, give me a ring, but if you find someone else, date her with my blessing, because, frankly, I shall do the same.'

  Angela was very independent; she had her life worked out and running smoothly, she could take care of herself and was ambitious for the future. Although she loved men's company, she had never yet felt she could not live without any one of them, but there was something new in the way she talked about her latest boyfriend, a young doctor at a London teaching hospital. Leonie wasn't sure what was different—a touch of breathlessness? A flush on her cheeks? A brightness in the eyes?

  'When am I going to meet Andrew?' Leonie asked her curiously, and Angela promised to give a little supper party in her flat one evening soon.

  'You'll like Andrew,' she assured her, adding, 'We'll just have a few people. There isn't room for more than a dozen. Something simple to cook and serve… a paella, or pasta… they can help themselves in the kitchen and then sit down on the floor to eat. Some garlic bread! Fruit… and wine… Perfect.'

  'Can I opt out of sitting on the floor to eat?' Leonie wryly asked. 'I may get down there, but I'm not sure I shall be able to get back up again!'

  Angela looked down at her heavy body and laughed. 'Sorry, stupid of me! Of course you can sit on a chair.'

  She continued to plan aloud, 'I'll ask people to bring a bottle of something, too. Whatever they can afford, preferably wine.'

  'I'll help you with the food,' offered Leonie, glad to have something to keep her mind off her own problems.

  It wasn't as if she could do much about them as yet. She still had nine weeks to go before the baby arrived, she was sure she would find somewhere to live before then, and the local health clinic had given her the names of several women who might agree to take care of the baby while she went on working. Leonie had met two of them and liked them, but until the baby had actually arrived she felt she couldn't make any firm arrangements. She would get six weeks' leave after the birth, which meant that she wouldn't have to make a final decision for over three months.

  In one way that was a relief, but in another the uncertainty was worrying and unsettling. She didn't know what the future held, she didn't know if she could cope, and her pregnancy meant that she was often tired—her life was a mess.

  Angela's party was something to look forward to, and she enjoyed helping her get ready for it. They cooked a huge paella, which they then covered with silver foil and kept hot in a low oven, they prepared bowls of salad, and Leonie made an enormous chocolate mousse, which was popped into the fridge an hour before the guests arrived.

  Angela had bought a few bottles of red and white wine to start the party off, and was hoping everyone would bring a bottle too, to keep things going with a swing.

  The first to arrive was Andrew, and Angela greeted him with flushed excitement, especially when she saw what he was carrying under each arm—two bottles of champagne!

  'Very extravagant of you, but marvellous! You're a love!' she said, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him.

  Leonie liked him on sight; he was tall and skinny with dark brown hair and hazel eyes, not good-looking exactly, but with such a warm smile that nobody could help smiling back.

  'This is Leonie,' Angela said casually, waving a hand at her. 'You remember, I told you about her?'

  Leonie flushed—what had Angela told him? She didn't much like the thought that Angela had been gossiping about her to someone she hadn't even met.

  She met his hazel eyes uncertainly, and Andrew gave her a friendly grin, offering his hand. 'Hi, I'm Andrew, and judging from your wary expression you're doing just what I'm doing—wishing you knew just what she has been saying!'

  Leonie laughed, relaxing. 'Something like that!'

  'Oh, don't be so silly, the pair of you,' said Angela. There's the doorbell again—I'll go and open the door while you open the champagne, Andrew. Leonie, find some suitable glasses!'

  'She loves to give orders, doesn't she?' Andrew teasingly asked, but Angela just rushed off to let in the new arrivals, who were also carrying bottles, to Angela's delight and relief.

  The room was soon crowded with people and humming with voices, and it was several hours before Leonie ran into Andrew again. She was carrying a tray of clean glasses from the kitchenette, where she had just washed and dried them, and Andrew gave her a sharp look, took the tray from her and handed it to another girl, asking her to take them over to the man in charge of pouring out drinks.

  'As for you, you are to sit down and stay down,' Andrew told Leonie firmly. He looked behind her and calmly said to some people lounging around on the sofa, 'Would you mind getting off there? Leonie needs to put her feet up.'

  They scrambled up at once. 'Sure, Doc!'

  'Oh, no, really…' Leonie began to protest, but Andrew manoeuvred her backwards and down on to the sofa.

  'Feet up!' he ordered, and with a flushed face she obeyed, frowning a little because she hated being the centre of attention, and everyone was watching them.

  'You aren't going to have the baby any minute, are you?' asked someone.

  'Certainly not,' said Andrew. 'But she has been on her feet for far too long, and has done far too much this evening. Now it's someone else's turn to fetch and carry.'

  People drifted away, probably afraid they would be asked to do some work, and Andrew sat down on the end of the sofa, lifting Leonie's feet on to his lap, and, to her embarrassed amazement, taking off her shoes.

  'Angela says you're looking for somewhere cheap to live after the baby is born,' he said as he almost absent-mindedly began to massage one of her feet, his long fingers deft and soothing.

  She nodded, grimacing. 'Which is like looking for gold-dust in the street!'

  He laughed. 'Don't I know it! When we were all students it was hopeless finding anywhere cheap to live if we couldn't live in at the hospital doctors quarters. Look, are you determined to find somewhere around here? I mean, would you consider moving out of London?'

  She looked quickly at him, her heart leaping. 'Why? I mean, yes…I mean, I'd consider anything…you don't mean you know some-where…somewhere I might be able to afford?'

  He hesitated, his face wry, 'Well, don't get your hopes up too high—it is just an idea, it might not be possible. It's just that…well…my mother doesn't usually take lodgers, but my father died five months ago, and she is living alone in their house, and she might consider letting you move into part of the house.'

  Leonie drew a sharp, excited breath and he shook his head at her. 'I said, don't get too hopeful. I haven't spoken to her. It only occurred to me this evening. I have to go and visit my mother tomorrow; she's lonely on her own, she's always ringing me up and begging me to come and see her, and I was wondering about the future because I can't keep driving back and forth, but she is too old to get a job, or move…'

  'How old is she?' asked Leonie.

  'Sixty-four,' said Andrew. 'Frankly, I don't know what to do—I don't seem to have any spate time any more. If I'm not working I'm driving to see my mother. Angela is getting quite bad-tempered about it, and, I must admit, I am, too—I'd like at least a few hours for my own life every week. On the other hand, I feel I have to do something to help my mother. She needs company, something to take her mind off her own troubles.'

  'Where does she live?'

  'Deepest Essex—a village some miles from the Thames estuary, near Burnham,' he said. 'T
hat's the problem. If you kept your job here it would mean hours of travelling, but I'm sure you could get a job somewhere down there. Of course, I can't speak for my mother. I know she is thinking of letting the flat—the rent would be a help for her. But she would have to see you and make up her own mind.'

  'Of course,' Leonie said eagerly.

  'Would you like me to talk to her, ask if she'll see you?'

  'Yes, please!' How could he doubt it?

  He smiled at her, leading her expression while his long fingers still kept busy massaging her feet. It was an amazingly soothing feeling, and she loved it. 'OK, then,' he said. 'I'll talk to her. When could you go there? Could you come down with me on Saturday morning?'

  'Yes, of course!' Leonie breathed. She would have agreed to any arrangement, and somehow got the time off, but Saturday would, undoubtedly, be the easiest day to go. It wouldn't involve asking permission of her boss, or having to work overtime to make up for the time lost.

  Angela suddenly arrived beside the sofa, eyeing them coldly. 'What are you two up to? You've been whispering away in this corner for hours—what are you talking about?' Then before they could answer she asked even more crossly, 'And are you some kind of foot fetishist, Andrew? Why have you got Leonie's feet on your lap; why are you sitting there stroking and fondling them? Goodness knows what people are thinking!'

  'Who cares what people think?' Andrew asked lightly, obviously resenting Angela's suspicions, and Leonie looked from one to the other, very upset at the thought of causing trouble between them.

  'Angie, don't be silly! Andrew was only being kind,' she hurriedly said, removing her feet from Andrew's hands and swinging her legs down to the floor.

  'Oh, kind is he?' Angela asked with a cynical expression.

  'Yes!' Leonie was very pink. 'Oh, come on… look at me! I'm the size of a baby elephant at the moment—you couldn't suspect Andrew of fancying me in my condition!'

  Angela didn't look too sure about that.