by Zee Monodee
She closed her eyes again. “You don’t want to know.”
Bad.
“Your mother is quite something.”
“You could say that again.”
The repressed anger in her struck him like a slap. Where usually, he would have bristled at such an act, this time, he wanted to wave a white flag. Why, and how? True, he was the one who’d agreed to the invitation, lugging her along. But still … The vehemence in her tone and in the clamped set of her jaw threw him off loop, a feeling he was unfamiliar with.
The only thing he was certain of right then? He hated this loss of control.
Bloody hell. How could he have thought he would gain anything by forcing Jane to meet with her family? Dalton had gobbled their ‘love affair’ story, but Marenka, she was sceptical. The tension between the two women had been tangible. Marenka also changed personas like a chameleon, bitchy with her daughter one second, hard and not fooled with him when he showed he wouldn’t fall for her sweet act, and obliging and adoring with her fiancé the next.
Jane was tough to be able to put up with an old bat like her.
He darted his gaze back to her. She was looking out the windshield at something in the distance. She winced and brought her fingers to her temples.
“You need to rest,” he stated.
She nodded.
Silence settled between them, and he focused his attention on the road. They had reached the outskirts of the city, where traffic always got congested.
“Next time Marenka calls, do me a favour. Don’t answer.” She pursed her lips in a tight line.
Her reproach stung, and this time, his temper flared. Back to normal, thank goodness.
“I picked up the bloody phone so the bloody ringing wouldn’t wake you up. I was concerned about you.”
“Yeah, right.” She snorted. “Concerned enough to throw me at her in her lair. Please spare me that kind of concern. In an act of kindness, next time, leave it well enough alone.”
“Who says there will be a next time?”
He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. On the point of apologizing, he did a double take.
Jane had turned to him, her hands to her hips. In the cramped confines of the Ferrari, her pose seemed so incongruous, it actually made his temper cool down.
But such was not the case for her, as she narrowed her dark eyes at him.
“You know what? You’re right. There shouldn’t be a next time. I guess stupid ideas are contagious.”
“What?”
She had totally lost him there. He shot her an incredulous stare, and only pure reflex made him slam on the brakes to keep from hitting the car that had stopped in front of them.
She threw her hands up. “You know, your stupid idea that I’m carrying your baby. I was even starting to believe it.”
That’s a first. Jane had always been intent on worming her way out of any association between them; she’d given ample proof of that in the two days they’d been together.
And these words must mean he had been able to worm his way in, even if just a little. He’d consider that progress.
As if realizing what she’d just revealed, she looked in the other direction. Her long hair swept forward to shield her profile so he could no longer see what expression played on her features.
How to make sure he could hold onto the ground he’d already won?
“If you believed it for even one minute, Jane, it can’t be that stupid, can it?”
She clenched her hands in her lap.
“Just … take me home.”
The cars in front started moving, and he put the vehicle in gear.
“You don’t have your keys yet.”
She gave a strangled sound in reply.
The traffic trickled, and he concentrated on easing his car ahead foot by foot. He didn’t want to dwell on anything else right then. So this was what being with a pregnant woman was like. Tiffs and fights that happened without any warning. No wonder Phillip complained so much. Michael could rein in his temper, but there were times when words escaped him.
Jane could return the favour equally well, though. Wouldn’t the two of them be a volatile pairing, like oil and fire?
Suddenly, he wasn’t so sure he could carry on like this. He never put a foot forward without knowing where it would land. He had a feeling Jane Smithers, and not only her baby, would be a wholly inextricable mire once he stepped into it.
Doubt had cast a heavy shadow on his confidence by the time they entered London. But he still wanted the best for her, to help her. If she wanted to go home, he would take her. This time, he wouldn’t impose.
“Maybe your landlady is back. Want to check?”
*
Jane nodded before she could process the question in her mind.
When she realized they were on their way to Chelsea, only then did she understand that Michael had offered her an out that she’d jumped on.
What else could she do, though? She had known him to be steadfast and utterly confident all the time. That he wasn’t pushing his way on her now could mean only one thing.
He was opting out.
A weight clanged into her heart, then a void made itself known, as if the protective cloak around her had been lifted, leaving her exposed and vulnerable to the world. Michael had been there for her almost ever since she’d learned of her pregnancy. His presence was linked irretrievably to her baby. Two days it might be, but her world had tilted on its axis in those forty-eight hours, time he’d been in almost entirely.
What would she do if he left her?
The same thing you would’ve done. Bring up your child alone.
The thought brought no comfort and no warmth. Nothing but a damp chill that wove its way around her body and made her want to curl up in a little ball to ward off the cold.
When the car came to a stop, she lifted her gaze to stare at the burnished red bricks of her building a few yards away. The front door was closed; Mrs. Cheswick had returned home, there to buzz anyone in.
She opened the door and was about to leave when he clasped her wrist.
“Where are you going in such a hurry?”
“Home.”
Her voice had come out hoarse and raw, as if she’d just cried.
The pressure on her flesh increased a little before he let her go. “I’ll come with you, make sure your landlady really is back.”
She nodded and exited. Hearing the other door close right after hers, she didn’t wait for him before shooting to the front door and ringing the intercom. After she announced herself, Mrs. Cheswick buzzed her in, and she headed straight to the old lady’s flat.
In the lobby, Michael’s presence loomed behind her, but she didn’t dare turn to look at him. Better to give him an easy exit. She’d be a bitch if she dragged this on or tried to make him feel guilty. Truth be told, he hadn’t done her any wrong. She was the one who’d allowed herself to be caught in such a strange entanglement.
She always made things worse; hadn’t Marenka drilled that in enough? Most of the time, she could ward off the uncertainty her mother had gifted her with, but sometimes, the guilt plagued her. She was nothing but a complication to everyone ...
Mrs. Cheswick was all ears when she told her she’d lost her key, minus the lurid details of the incident. The woman didn’t really seem bothered, her gaze glued to Michael as she played the dotty old lady. He indulged her politely, and were she not so miserable, Jane would’ve laughed at the ditzy encounter.
With the key firmly in hand, she headed towards the stairs. In front of the first step, she finally faced him.
“If you give me five minutes, I’ll get changed and give you the clothes back.” She paused. “It was really nice of you to order them. I realize I didn’t even say thank you.”
He nodded. “Keep them.”
His voice sounded gruff, almost strangled. Was she reading too much into this?
She bit her lip as she stared at him. Saying thanks again
would make her seem silly, wouldn’t it? What else could she tell him? ‘Goodbye and farewell’ wasn’t really something she loved saying. “So ...”
He shrugged.
Convinced he would leave, but unable to make the first move by turning around and going up the stairs, she started rambling. “Now I just have to figure out where I can find someone to duplicate this key for me. Mrs. Cheswick will need hers, and—”
“I know someone who can do it for you.”
“Oh.” She moved from one foot to the other. “Well, if you give me the address, I can go and get it done.”
“It’s in East London, not exactly close to here.”
“Oh.”
Jane could almost imagine them shuffling the tips of their shoes on the floor like shy primary school kids.
“I’ll take you.”
Her first instinct was to say no, but something smothered the urge, telling her this might be the last time she would ever see him. “That’ll be great.”
Together, they walked back to the car. The drive to East London was uneventful and deathly quiet. Jane stole peeks at her companion every other second. A wonder he hadn’t caught her yet. A part of her was mortified, but the other part that didn’t want to let him go always won the battle.
Wrong choices, again, a little voice screamed in her head, but who cared to listen to it?
He parked the Ferrari in front of a small shop that claimed to make duplicate keys of any kind.
She stepped out of the car, scanning the neighbourhood. The shiny red car stuck out like a sore thumb amid the second-hand Fords and Nissans parked here and there. Boutiques selling ethnic Indian wear dotted the pavement, and the beat of bhangra music could be heard from passing cars cruising along the street.
A faint smell of curry tickled her nostrils. Her nose had recently gone oversensitive, and she frowned at the pronounced aroma of fenugreek that assailed her. As she looked up, she caught sight of the sign above.
Balti & Tandoori, 24/7.
Michael caught her elbow, and together, they entered the key-maker’s shop. An elderly lady draped in a sari sat at the counter.
Jane was stunned when Michael offered her the traditional Punjabi greeting. The woman replied in kind, and then conversed with him in broken English. A young man joined them, and he and Michael shook hands—more like bumped fists—in a gesture that screamed Michael was more than welcome there.
“Who’s the missus?” The bloke smiled at her.
Michael introduced them. The man winked and hollered with laughter when Michael said he needed a copy of Jane’s key.
Shame crept up her face, and she exited the shop at the first opportunity. Michael joined her on the pavement.
“We have a moment to kill. Patel’s got some work queued, and I told him we weren’t in a hurry. Want to take a stroll?”
She glanced around. “Will the car be safe?”
He laughed. “Sure will. Patel’s a mate. Never been around this part of town, have you?”
She shook her head. Her life revolved around home in west London, work in The City, and evading her mother, which usually meant being holed up in the aforementioned two places. She rarely, if ever, set foot outside of ‘her’ areas.
The scent of curry floated to her again, and she made the mistake of inhaling deeply.
Her eyes shut, and she went faint. Her throat closed, and her chest expanded like it would burst. A kaleidoscope of colours danced in front of her eyelids, and everything swirled in her head. At the same time, her stomach clenched, and her tongue seemed to triple in size.
“Jane?” Michael settled his hands on her shoulders.
She felt like she was falling, but she still stood, because he wasn’t making any move to catch her or reel her in.
Her mouth watered, and her lips opened just enough for her to mumble something with utmost conviction.
“I need a Balti.”
*
“What? Jane? Are you okay?”
Had he heard her right? Her face was pale, and she had gone stock-still.
“I need a Balti.”
He could barely hear her.
“Now.”
More force in her voice this time. Actually, she sounded crazed, but he wasn’t about to tell her that.
Her eyes grew wide, and she made a strangled sound as if she were out of air and panicking.
Ignoring his instincts telling him to calm her, he heeded only the call of urgency he sensed coming from her. She needed her Balti? Well, she would get it.
He steered her towards the restaurant and settled her at a table, where a waiter took their order. It wasn’t easy to convince Jane to sip some water while she waited.
The food arrived a little while later, and he watched with amusement and surprise as she dug into the portion big enough for three adults. The naan bread accompanying the curry disappeared just as quickly while she ate like someone famished.
Was that what they called a pregnant woman’s cravings? He’d never thought someone as thin as Jane could pack away so much food in one meal. The colour returned to her face as she ate, though he wasn’t sure if that was from the relief of eating or from the hot and pungent spices.
Halfway through the meal, she glanced at him and offered him some of the dish. He declined, never having been able to stomach the seriously spicy side of Balti preparations.
She finished the bowl with not a drop to spare, pushed the tray away, and wiped her mouth with her napkin, before smiling at him.
He’d never thought her to be really beautiful, not by traditional beauty standards. She had a killer body, yes, but her face struck anyone as plain at first glance. Right then, though, something on her features made a light burst in his brain and told him to really look at her.
This woman was different, all right. She intrigued him, provoked him, and hid so much of herself inside a thick shell that he wondered whether light ever touched her world from time to time. He hadn’t missed the almost childlike wonder and enthusiasm with which she’d dug into her food. A huge contrast to the stiff guest who had graced Dalton’s table earlier. She had barely eaten anything for lunch, and had he not prodded, she wouldn’t have touched anything at all.
Who are you really, Jane Smithers?
This was a question he wanted answered, and all of a sudden, he was certain he didn’t want her out of his life.
Yet, she was intent on returning to her flat. Once she did that, there would be no reason for the two of them to get together again. He had only the drive back to Chelsea to spend with her. Unless ...
“I seem to recall I left your phone on my desk at home.”
“Oh.”
Surprise and confusion flitted across her face, widening her eyes and creasing her smooth forehead.
“I’ve also got the clothes you wore last night.”
She nodded.
“I guess you’ll want to pick them up.”
She bit her lip, not answering.
He stood and held out his hand. After a long moment, she placed her palm against his and stood, too.
They went to pick up her key and then settled back into the car, before he drove to his house in Hampstead.
Jane remained silent throughout the ride, and when they entered his courtyard, she reached out with a hand and brushed his knee. He had just enough time to glance at her to see her other hand clamped on her mouth.
He’d barely opened the front door when she sped into the house and up the stairs.
“What the hell?”
He kicked the door closed and followed her.
She disappeared inside the bedroom he had appointed her, and the bathroom door was wide open when he went in. Strangled noises reached him, and he found her on her knees in front of the toilet bowl, chucking the contents of her stomach.
He caught the glimmer of tears on her cheeks and went to settle behind her, before he ran his arms around her waist to hold her. She heaved for breath when the outburst passed, and he released her onl
y long enough to wet a towel in the sink and bring it to her.
She sagged against his chest when he drew her close again, and he bathed her face with the wet cloth. Her eyes closed, her head dipped back against him, until her breathing grew regular and she fell asleep. Exhausted by the strain of her upset stomach and the tension-filled day he’d put her through, most probably. Pregnant women needed good care, not something he’d been providing, apparently.
He cradled her in his arms and carried her to the bed, where he deposited her. He removed her boots and drew the lightweight quilt over her. Wisps of hair stuck to her temples and cheeks, and he brushed them away. Jane mumbled something when he touched her, but she didn’t awaken.
He sat on the edge of the bed until shadows crept into the room and he got up and drew the curtains. Leaving her to sleep, he went downstairs to his study and plopped down on the big chair behind the desk.
What would he do? It had taken one instance when he’d contemplated her leaving for him to realize he wanted her to stay. What did that imply? Did his quest to prove he could care for someone mean so much to him? Or did it mean that he cared for Jane specifically, let alone her unborn baby?
Too many questions, and not enough answers. No prospect of answers, even. What did the rational and sensible man he was make of such an absurd situation?
A soft beep caught his attention. The sound came from his desk drawer. He pulled it open to find Jane’s phone, a reminder flashing across its screen.
Apptmnt Dr. Larkin. Monday 1 p.m. Ultrasound sked. Drink water 4 full bladder.
Jane’s gynaecologist. Who else could it be? So she was having a scan that day.
The baby.
His thoughts came back to the matter at hand. He’d already let so many people believe he was this baby’s father. If he exited Jane’s life, where would that leave her? He’d be known as the man who had abandoned his child, and then Jane would have to explain everything to everyone.
He didn’t want that for her. No, she deserved better.
And he knew what he had to do. In for a penny, in for a pound. There were some things a man had to gather his balls and do.
Picking up his mobile, he called his PA.
“Rory, cancel the flight to Doha tomorrow. I need you to charter a plane for Monday afternoon instead. Ask the pilot to be ready to take off as from three o’clock.”
