by Nancy Carson
‘I thought you’d like your mother and Jesse to come,’ he said. ‘Hey, there’s no need to cry. They’re not as bad as all that. I quite like them, you know, even if you’re evidently not so keen…What’s got into you?’
She flung her arms around him and tears rolled down her cheeks uncontrollably. He held her tight, stroking her hair, unable to fathom out why she was sobbing and laughing by turn so intensely. It was such an unremarkable occasion, after all.
‘Oh, Will, it’s…it’s the most fantastic…’ Her voice, faltering through her weeping, ensured she could not finish her sentence. ‘Oh, I couldn’t be happier…Thank you…But why didn’t you bring them with you last night?’
‘Two reasons. First, I didn’t feel that confident about driving – especially all that way, and in the dark. And second, I wanted us to be alone last night.’
‘I can’t understand why you even bothered to come last night. You could’ve waited till this morning and driven in daylight.’
‘And miss the chance of sneaking into bed with you in the middle of the night again? Lord above, it’s the only way I seem to be able to get any passion out of you since you threatened to cut off my supply.’
She thought her heart would stop beating. She lifted her head and looked at him with consternation through her flood of tears. ‘Passion? What d’you mean, passion?’
‘Oh, come on, Henzey. First you deprive me of my conjugal rights, then when I leave my shift one night to come home and make amends and tell you all right we’ll try for a baby, despite a poorly stomach, despite being racked with anxiety over your unhappiness, you just overwhelm me with passion. And it’s been the same ever since – every time I’ve done it. You know it has.’
‘Wait a minute…You mean, you agree? You agree we should start a family?’
‘I said so. Weeks ago. God, where have you been all this time? You’ve been so obsessed. Don’t you remember anything? Sometimes I swear you’ve been going doolally tap. It’s as if you’ve been on another planet.’
Henzey swallowed hard and looked at him in disbelief, trying to assimilate this information as quickly as she could before she made a serious faux pas. But she could not help smiling. ‘I thought…You know, I thought I’d dreamed it - you sneaking back home at night,’ she said, and she scanned her memory, trying to recall whether she’d said anything last night that might incriminate herself, such as calling him Neville. ‘So how many times did you do that? How many times did you leave your shift?’
He laughed again at her apparent bewilderment, blissfully unaware of the reason for it. ‘I’m not telling you,’ he teased. ‘How many times did you dream it?’
‘More than once,’ she replied ambiguously.
‘More than once? Well, lucky you.’
‘But how many times did you leave your shift? I want to know…It’s not funny, Will.’
‘Yes it is, but I don’t know exactly how many times. All I’ll say is that it was as often as I thought I could get away with it.’
‘Oh, Will.’
‘You must admit, though, Henzey – since then you’ve cooled off a lot. That’s why I thought I’d try again last night to catch you in bed late. I drove down here like a madman crazed with lust. But it worked, didn’t it?…’ He grinned contentedly. ‘Why can’t you be like that every night, Henzey?’
She sighed. She could. She was sure she could. ‘I expect you’d only get fed up with it, though.’
‘With you? Never.’
So she had loved Will as ardently as she thought she had loved Neville; and he her. What a turn-up. A surge of relief swept through her, cleansing her, purging her. Never had she experienced such exquisite feelings of release. The very last thing she could have hoped for was deliverance from her nightmare. She was carrying Will’s child after all. And, just as important, Will had been the same sensual, passionate equal as herself, given the chance. She would settle for that. She would happily settle for that.
‘Henzey, the kettle’s boiled,’ Lizzie called from the kitchen. ‘Where’s the blasted teapot?’
Henzey grabbed her pillow and hit him again, more playfully now. ‘Will Parish, if my mother and Jesse weren’t in the kitchen right now I’d…I’d…’ She stopped suddenly and swallowed hard. ‘Oh, God…I feel sick now.’
‘Sick? Does that mean I’ve got to go and find the blasted teapot?’
Be swept away by THE BLACK COUNTRY CHRONICLES
Gutsy heroines, epic love affairs and page-turning intrigue…
June 2015
1936 will be Maxine Kite’s year!
Plucked from obscurity, young cellist Maxine Kite is thankful for the chance given to her by Birmingham’s esteemed orchestra, but a part of her is still unfulfilled. Music has always been her passion but she has dreams far too big for a girl from a simple family.
When the jazz clubs of New York beckon, along with the sultry world of wayward musician Brent Shackleton, Maxine leaves safety and propriety behind.
But a girl’s good name can be all she has in the world… and once lost, is almost impossible, to reclaim…
Pre-order now
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