Forbidden Fruit

by Charlotte Lamb

  Turning away, she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes, but she couldn't sleep or even lie still; she kept twisting about, sighing. She couldn't stop thinking, yet her thoughts kept dissolving like wraiths vanishing into a mist; she had lost all sense of reality. She was like a leaf being carried helplessly on a strong flood towards…what?

  She turned over on to her side heavily, and her arm flew out and hit something which crashed to the floor with a noise like splintering glass. With a cry of shock, she sat up to see what she had knocked down.

  As she did so, Giles strode into the room from his own. 'Are you OK?' he demanded harshly.

  'I'm sorry, I've broken a glass!' she said, swinging her legs to the floor to stand up.

  Giles grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back on to the bed, kneeling on it beside her, holding her down.

  'Are you crazy? You could cut your foot open on that broken glass!'

  She was trembling stupidly. 'I…I didn't think…'

  'No, that's the trouble, you never do,' he muttered, staring down at her, and she looked back at him, her mouth dry. A strange confusion swept over her. She couldn't stop watching him, the strong face, the grey eyes which no longer looked cold, that mouth which had such passion in the hard, firm lines of it.

  'The glass must be swept up before someone treads on it,' Giles said in a deep, husky voice.

  'Yes,' she whispered. She must stop staring, stop thinking like this—what on earth was wrong with her? Her heart was beating heavily, fiercely, inside her, crashing against her ribs so hard that it made her almost sick.

  Giles stared back at her, his skin flushed and taut, like her own. His eyes had a savage glitter, and she knew this time that it was not rage, it was the same primitive, physical reaction sweeping through her. He wanted her, in the same way she wanted him. He was staring at her mouth, and she felt her lips part and burn, and was terrified.

  She drew an audible breath. 'We'd better call Marjorie!' she said loudly, and saw his eyes blink, his head snap back.

  He let go of her and stood up beside the bed, avoiding the broken glass.

  'Yes,' he said, in a rough, low voice, picked up the phone, and spoke into it, but she was so distraught that she didn't hear what he said.

  He put the phone down, and said brusquely, 'She'll be up in a moment.' His mouth twisted in cold, sardonic mockery then, and he added, 'So you can stop shaking—you're quite safe!'

  Turning on his heel, he walked out, and Leonie lay there, on the point of tears. Living in the same house as Giles was going to be like living on the edge of a volcano. How on earth was she going to survive it?

  When she got up for lunch, though, Giles was politely distant, treating her like a visitor, almost a stranger. Leonie gratefully accepted his lead, talking small talk, avoiding all contact with him, trying never to meet his eyes.

  When she went back to her room an hour later, he opened the door for her, a sardonic look in his face.

  'Going to sleep for a while? Pleasant dreams.'

  Leonie pretended not to hear any undertones in that comment, and stayed upstairs all afternoon. Dinner was a repeat of lunch: they talked politely and remotely and parted in the same way.

  The pattern was set. Each day they had breakfast together, then went for a drive for an hour or two, exploring the countryside in that part of Essex. They returned in time for lunch, and then Giles insisted that she take a long rest on the bed in her room. At dusk they had drinks in the lounge before a light dinner, after which they listened to music or watched TV before Leonie went to bed early.

  Giles treated her with cool courtesy and concern, and they talked quietly over meals, during their drives, in the evenings, getting to know each other a little better each day. He often surprised her; they had more in common than she had ever suspected—liked the same books, same music, same films. There was always some-thing for them to talk easily about, at least. Sometimes, though, their eyes would meet and she would flush and look quickly away, but never before she had seen his mouth go crooked, and those cold grey eyes mock her.

  He knew what he could do to her now, and she was disturbed by that expression in his eyes. She was glad she did not know what he was thinking. She knew now that he wanted her, but did he still bitterly resent having been forced to marry her? Did he still hate her?

  By the end of that week, Leonie was almost eager to see Mrs Kent return. She was still nervous about her mother-in-law, but she hoped life would be a little easier if she was not always alone with Giles. He could then stop pretending that this was a real honeymoon, and go back to work, and perhaps she might feel less tense and edgy.

  Mrs Kent arrived late on a cold, windy afternoon, complained of a headache after her long drive home, and went straight to bed.

  In the morning, Giles left for the office early, before Leonie was up, and so Leonie faced her mother-in-law alone over breakfast.

  Mrs Kent arrived after Leonie had eaten, paused in the doorway as though startled to see her, then muttered, 'Good morning,' and sat down opposite her at the table. She poured herself some orange juice, sipped it, took a slice of toast and spread a thin layer of marmalade on it in silence.

  Leonie felt her spirits sink. Was this how it was to be? Grim silence? Hostility? Isolation? She did not know how she was going to stand it.

  Then Mrs Kent looked up and gave her a quick look, frowning. 'Leonie…' she began, and then sighed, breaking off.

  'Yes?' Leonie met her eyes, her own gaze pleading. She could not live in this house if both Giles and his mother were to be her enemies.

  'Leonie,' Mrs Kent began again, then abruptly held out both her thin hands, which were trembling. 'My dear, don't look at me like that; you mate me so ashamed… I wasn't kind to you; I wish I had been—you and Malcolm might have got married right away, and he wouldn't have gone siding, and…' She broke off again, her lip quivering, her lashes wet with tears. 'Oh, but what's the use of wishing? You can't turn back the clock.' The tears began to trickle down her white cheeks.

  'Please, don't… don't cry…' Leonie whispered, horrified, and Mrs Kent let go of her to run one hand over her own face, scrubbing away the tearstains.

  'No, you're right—we mustn't cry over what we can't change,' she said in a husky voice. 'We have the future to think about. That is what matters now. The baby. His baby. When Giles told me, it was like a miracle—I'd bean so unhappy, and then to hear that there was going to be a baby, Malcolm's baby. Oh, it changed everything. I've got something to live for again.' She pulled out a handkerchief and blew her nose, then managed a watery smile. 'If it is a boy, Leonie, you will call him Malcolm, won't you?'

  'Yes, I mean to,' Leonie agreed, but she felt a shiver of odd uneasiness. Mrs Kent was an obsessive woman, and that made Leonie a little frightened.

  What if Mrs Kent became too possessive over the baby? Tried to take it over completely? Leonie was not aggressive, her nature was too gentle for that, but if her mother-in-law became a threat she was determined that she would not back down. This was her baby, and she was not giving it up to anybody.

  Two days later, she was taking a walk around the garden before lunch when she stopped with a gasp, her hand going to her back.

  It couldn't be the baby coming! It wasn't due for ten days. The stabbing sensation subsided. She waited, gingerly massaging her back, but the pain seemed to have stopped. A false alarm? Slowly she began to walk back to the house, took off her coat and went to wash before lunch.

  Another pain hit her as she turned on the taps. This time she was sure what it was, and, wincing, she looked at her watch. Well, it wasn't going to happen for a while, the pains were too far apart, but she had to face it: the baby was definitely on the way.

  She decided not to say anything to her mother-in-law for the moment. She would eat her lunch first and wait until the pains were coming at much closer intervals. No point, yet, in alerting the maternity hospital in which she was going to have the baby. They would not want to see her
until a much later stage.

  Leonie had been afraid she would panic when the time came, but oddly enough she felt very calm and relaxed. She ate a light lunch of fruit and an omelette, then lay down on her bed, glad to be alone so that nobody should realise what was happening, and she could ride the pains without an audience. They were not very severe yet, and she found it helped to practise her breathing lessons.

  It was four hours later that she finally decided it was time to admit she was in labour. Mrs Kent was the one who panicked. She began to shake, turning pale; could hardly dial the number of the hospital to warn them Leonie was on her way, and her voice broke as she called for George to drive Leonie there at once.

  'I'm coming too!' she said, helping Leonie out of her chair. 'You'll want some support!'

  The baby was born at nine o'clock that night, a boy weighing six pounds exactly, and it wasn't Mrs Kent who was there at the moment when Malcolm's son emerged into the world. In fact, she hadn't even been allowed to be present during labour. The ward sister firmly explained that only fathers were permitted to be present.

  'This is my grandson!' Mrs Kent protested, scarlet with rage.

  'We don't know yet whether it is a boy or a girl, do we?' said the sister sharply. 'I'm sorry, but I cannot bend the rules for you or anybody else. Fathers only. This is a hospital, not a game show. I can't have my labour-room full of relatives!'

  Mrs Kent looked as if she did not believe her ears, and Leonie had been horrified by the gathering storm, but she never knew what happened next because a nurse appeared at that moment and discreetly led her from the waiting-room into the labour ward.

  So it was Giles who told Leonie she had a son. He arrived an hour after Leonie was wheeled into the labour-room, and was there throughout the birth, to her startled surprise. She had not expected it of him. It did not seem to be his scene.

  When he first walked in, he looked so formal and elegant, wearing one of his dark grey pinstriped city suits, a cream silk shirt, and a dove-grey silk tie. He looked totally out of place, and she had stared at him almost angrily, her forehead beaded with sweat, her hair dishevelled, half inclined to ask him to go away, for heaven's sake, because she knew she looked terrible and she did not want him to see her looking this way.

  'Are you the husband?' the midwife asked him, her eyes fascinated.

  'Yes, what can I do to help?' Giles answered coolly, and then to Leonie's disbelief he took off his jacket and tight-fitting waistcoat, undid his tie and shed it, opened his shirt collar, rolled up his shirt-sleeves and took over from the busy young midwife, who was delivering another baby in a neighbouring cubicle.

  Giles wiped her sweating face with a cool, moist sponge, talked soothingly to her in between the spasms of pain which came with each contraction, and when the pain began again helped her count down her breathing.

  It was Giles who held her hand during the final stages, and Giles who said quietly at last, 'You have a son, Leonie, a wonderful little boy.'

  She was lying there, exhausted by that final push and already on the dark verge of sleep, her eyes shut, but they opened at the sound of Giles's voice, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks. She looked around the cubicle eagerly. 'A boy? Where is he? I want to see him.'

  'You will later, but he's gone to the nursery for tonight,' the midwife said, and Leonie frowned, suddenly afraid.

  'Why so soon? Why didn't you let me see him? Is there something wrong? Tell me—'

  'He's perfect; there's nothing wrong at all,' Giles said quickly.

  'Perfectly normal procedure,' said the midwife. 'You're tired and the baby is slightly premature, and we thought we would tuck him up in the nursery right away so that you could get some rest.'

  'But I haven't even seen him!' protested Leonie. 'Bring him back,'

  'Wait until you're in bed in the ward,' said the midwife calmly. 'Then we'll see.'

  Giles bent down and said soothingly, 'I saw him, and, I promise you, he's fine; he has masses of hair, already jet black, and he's going to be tall, I think; his legs look very long-he's a real Kent.'

  'Just like his father,' said the young midwife, smiling at Giles. He was the sort of father she liked to have at her births; he was capable and useful, he had taken a lot of her work off her hands, kept his wife happy and stable until the time when her own expertise was really needed.

  Not to mention that he was very good to look at! Dark, like his son, she thought; tall and long-limbed, and had a charming smile when he wasn't too absorbed in his wife to turn it in the midwife's direction!

  Leonie met Giles's eyes and read the mocking irony in them. The midwife was looking at him, but both of them thought of Malcolm. But he smiled at her, his cool mouth twisting.

  'Yes,' he said. 'He is just like his father.'

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A week before Christmas that year, Leonie woke up early out of a very deep sleep and at once lifted her head, listening for some sound from Mai. He slept next door, in the old nursery, which had been redecorated while she was in hospital—a surprise present from Mrs Kent, whose passionate enchantment with her grandson needed expression.

  Each time she had come to see them she had brought armfuls of toys and clothes for baby Malcolm, and flowers, magazines and books for Leonie. When they got back to Warlock House it was to find a uniformed nanny waiting in the nursery, which had been painted glossy white, then stencilled with animals in pastel shades-pink and blue and yellow and green.

  Leonie had protested, 'I don't want him to have a nanny! I want to look after him myself!'

  Earnestly, Mrs Kent had soothed, 'Of course you do, my dear, and of course you will, but babies are a twenty-four-hour responsibility, and, take my word for it, you'll be glad to have help with him. My children had a nanny. Nanny Grant—such a nice woman; she was with me for years, even after Malcolm grew up and went off to boarding-school. She had no family, you see. This was her only home by then. She was such a comfort to me after my husband died. We sat and talked for hours, about the children when they were small. She loved them, too—we shared them. I was very fond of her. I missed her when she died.'

  'I remember Malcolm talking about her,' Leonie had admitted, and Mrs Kent had smiled a little mistily at her. Since the birth of her grandson she no longer seemed to be on the verge of tears every time anyone mentioned her dead son, but her love for Malcolm was as deep as ever.

  'Well, my dear, Malcolm was the baby, the youngest, so she clung on to him longest.' Mrs Kent had sighed. 'I suppose she spoilt him. Well, we both did. But Nanny Grant really loved babies, and when I was interviewing girls to take care of Mal the thing I wanted to be sure about was that they loved babies.'

  'This girl, Susan Brown, is highly trained,' Giles had intervened in a coldly remote voice. 'Whether she loves babies or not, she has been to a good training college, and she seemed very level-headed and sensible to me. You can trust her with the baby, Leonie—and, as to your not wanting a nanny, let me remind you, you were planning to leave him with someone else while you went back to work, so I don't see why you are making all this fuss.'

  She had flushed angrily. 'I wanted to spend as much time as possible with him, too! I didn't intend to hand him over to a nanny all the time!'

  'You're free to make whatever arrangements you wish with Susan Brown,' Giles had shrugged. 'She will want time off, you know; she won't be employed on a twenty-four-hour, seven days a week basis. I'm sure she will be only too happy to let you take care of the baby whenever you choose. I agreed that she should have weekends off, anyway, although she is ready to make a special arrangement should you need to go away at any time. It would only be a question of overtime. She will work a five-day week, in other words, and she would have free time during the day, plus some evenings off, but I've left it to you to make final arrangements with her about time off during the week.'

  'It seems you've arranged everything!' Leonie had muttered crossly.

  'You'll like her, my dear; she's a very nice
girl,' Mrs Kent had coaxed. I'm quite sure you'll be pleased with her.'

  Leonie had liked Susan, luckily; it would have been hard not to like her. Fresh-complexioned, with curly blonde hair and calm blue eyes.

  Susan had a warm and friendly nature, and, above all, it was obvious from the start that she was enthralled with Mai. Leonie could not help liking someone who adored her baby.

  They had talked over cups of coffee later that day and come to a very amicable and flexible agreement to share Mal, for the moment. Leonie would look after him in the mornings, Susan in the afternoons, and they would take it in turns to be on call during the evening and night. If Leonie wanted to go out in the morning, or Susan wanted to go out in the afternoon, that would be worked out between them.

  'And when I start work we'll draw up a schedule acceptable to both of us,' Leonie had promised, and Susan had given her a surprised stare.

  'Will you be going back to work, then?'

  'Probably,' Leonie said defensively. 'But I'm not sure when, yet.'

  'What sort of work do you do? Something exciting?'

  'I was a secretary.'

  'Oh,' said Susan, frowning. 'To someone important? Was it a highly paid job?' She was clearly baffled, especially when Leonie shook her head.

  'It was nothing special, and I didn't earn that much, no.'

  Susan pulled a face.

  'Why are you looking at me like that?' Leonie asked, laughing.

  Bluntly, Susan said, 'Well, if I was you, I'd much rather stay at home. I mean—you've got this marvellous house, and a lovely baby, and an absolutely terrific husband.'

  Leonie flushed. 'I like my independence!'

  She had a sneaking feeling Susan was right, though. It would be only too easy to forget about finding a job, settle down to enjoy the comforts of this luxurious home and the joy of her little boy.