“If it was a simple dinner partner I needed”—she grinned back, undaunted—“I’d choose from among the many very wealthy divorcés in the area. Then, while he was here, I’d drain him of his fortune in true black-widow fashion.”
He feigned a shudder to match her exaggerated drawl. “Not you at all, Deanna. I guess I’ll just have to come preserve your character.”
She slid her arms around his neck and rested her head on his shoulder. “What you do to me does nothing to preserve my character! Mmmmmm, I could stay like this all night.”
“And I’d never make it to my appointment,” he crooned softly. “Deanna?”
“Mmmmmm?” Her eyes were closed and she felt totally peaceful.
“Can I see you this weekend?”
When her head bobbed back up her eyes were filled with excitement “I’d love that,” she whispered, knowing that his question held a meaning far deeper than the actual words and pleased that she could finally accept the challenge.
Mark arrived shortly after noon on Saturday and stayed through Sunday evening. During that time he and Deanna spent every minute together. They walked through the city hand in hand, with Deanna uncaring of who should see. They ate at the suite and they ate out. They visited the modern-art museum, then took a carriage ride through downtown Atlanta. It was something that Deanna, for all her years in Atlanta, had never done, something very much for tourists, something undeniably romantic.
Best of all was the fact that they had hour after hour alone. Irma had made up the guest room for Mark, unaware—or perhaps simply discreet and accepting—that Deanna would be spending Saturday night in that large bed with him. It was there that they talked quietly of past and present, avoiding the future as something neither was yet ready to handle. They made love and slept, then repeated the pattern until Deanna gave way to exhaustion. It was, ironically, this that later caused the only minor friction between them.
“You’re still tired?” He frowned at her, noting her lagging pace when they returned to the suite after an early dinner Sunday evening.
Deanna flopped down onto the sofa. “You’ve worn me out.”
“We slept all morning.” he argued,
“Maybe it’s the exercise,” she shot back suggestively. Not only had they walked for miles, but their night had indeed been punctuated by intermittent activity.
But Mark was serious. “I think you should see a doctor. You’re still pale and I don’t like it”
“I’m fine,” she insisted.
“Deanna?” He had come to sit by her side.
“Uh-oh. I’m beginning to recognize that tone of voice.”
Ignoring her flippancy, he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She had worn it down just for him. “Deanna, I have to ask you something.”
She took his hand and held it between hers, put her head back and shut her eyes. This lethargy had begun to bother her too, but she refused to worry Mark with it. “Mmmmm?”
“I was wondering … I mean, I know I should have asked you before …”
Puzzled by his hesitancy and the trouble he seemed to be having, she raised her head and looked at him. “What is it?”
With a sigh he spoke. “You went through nine years of marriage without a child, so I more or less assumed you used some form of protection. It’s been over a month since we were first together. You’re suddenly more tired than usual. Do you think you could be pregnant?”
She hadn’t expected this; she’d pushed all thought of her inability to conceive from her mind. Mark’s abrupt broaching of the subject left her momentarily speechless. And try as she might, she couldn’t decipher his expression.
“Pregnant?” she squeaked, then cleared her throat, returning her voice to a more normal pitch. There was no point in prevarication. “No. I’m not pregnant,” she declared with such finality that he didn’t raise the possibility again. He did, however, harp on her health to the extent that by the time he was ready to leave she was on edge.
“Promise me you’ll see a doctor?” he asked as he stood by the door, his overnight bag in hand.
She shook her head. “There’s no need.”
“Just a checkup?”
“Mark”—she sighed—“I had a checkup last spring. I’m fine.”
“For my sake?”
“No! You’re making a mountain out of a molehill. Now, if you’d leave already, I could get some sleep!” The last thing she wanted was for him to leave, but a drawn-out farewell promised to devastate her.
“Promise you will rest?”
“Yes, Mark,” she drawled, rolling her eyes toward the ceiling.
“And I’ll see you Thursday?”
“Yes.” This more gently.
“Be good,” he murmured and was gone.
With the exception of a nervous stomach she felt fine by Thursday, having convinced herself that several days’ pampering was all she needed. It puzzled her that she was apprehensive about this week’s party, more so than the last. Her only possible excuse lay in her relative unfamiliarity with this group of potential donors. But Bob and his wife would be there again, and, of course, Mark. Her stomach fluttered at that thought in a way that was far from nervous. Though he had to leave again for a prescheduled meeting in Savannah on Friday morning, he’d rearranged his plans for Thursday afternoon so that he was able to drive in earlier. That gave them time to talk before the guests arrived, to fill each other in on the week’s events.
“You look better today,” he was quick to comment.
Deanna chuckled. “I should hope so. I slept through most of Monday and even some of Tuesday. I’m sure your week had to be more interesting.”
Relieved by her apparent revival, he dropped the issue. Deanna, however, was unable to do so as easily, because as the late afternoon wore on into early evening she felt queasy. And her dilemma was a twofold one—coping with that queasiness and simultaneously hiding it from Mark.
She was at least temporarily successful on both counts. Slowly sipping her wine, she prayed that it would either settle her stomach or numb her to her uneasiness. She nibbled on an hors d’oeuvre or two, but didn’t dare eat more. And she was pleasantly surprised and infinitely grateful when it turned out that Mark knew several of the guests she didn’t. He easily took that added weight from her shoulders.
She managed to appear composed and charming through the cold strawberry soup that was served first, even survived the shrimp mornay without much more than a twinge. She purposely made light of Mark’s growing concern.
“You’re not eating,” he murmured beneath his breath.
“You sound like my father.”
“I’m serious, Deanna. Are you okay?”
“I think my insides are a little too stirred up to eat.” She pacified him with a quick smile.
A few minutes later he reached under the tablecloth for her hand. “God, you feel clammy. Are you sure you wouldn’t like to lie down for a while?”
“I can’t just run out of here, Mark. Besides, it’s nothing. I’ll be fine once I get some coffee into me.”
She didn’t make it that far. Just before dessert was served, at a point where, as hostess, her absence could be easily explained, she quietly excused herself, walked smoothly from the room, breaking into a run only when she was well out of sight
She reached the bathroom in time to be violently ill. When Mark suddenly materialized beside her she felt neither embarrassment nor humiliation, only relief and a wealth of gratitude. He seemed to know exactly what to do and say … as well as what not to say. It was no time for “I-told-you-so’s.”
When she’d lost all there was to lose he helped her freshen up. “Why don’t you rest here for a few minutes?” he suggested softly. “I’ll cover for you.”
She wouldn’t hear of it. “No. I really feel much better now. As long as I don’t eat, I think I’ll be fine.”
Mark didn’t argue. Had she studied him closely she would have seen the tension in his jaw and
known that the argument would come later. But her main concern at the moment was forgetting that she’d been sick, and she did feel greatly improved. Even her legs didn’t wobble much when she stood to return to the dining room.
At the bedroom door she turned back. “Thanks, Mark.” She smiled softly up at him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you just now.” Self-sufficiency was one thing, and had its own set of rewards, she realized. But being able to depend on another human being, having that other human being there when you needed him—that was just as beautiful. Somehow, in her move to break from the past, she’d overlooked that.
“You’d have lived,” he murmured with a look of resignation as he cocked his head toward the door. “Lead on.”
The rest of the evening was as uneventful as Deanna had wanted it to be. Though still weak, she felt much better. The fact that Bob Warner kept an eagle eye on her she attributed to the jealousy Mark had suggested. Mark himself stayed close beside her all evening, watching her keenly, playing the solicitous dinner partner to perfection. He was for all intents and purposes the ideal host, in spite of the thin line of tension that made him graver than usual.
This gravity was never heavier than when the door closed at last and they were alone. Knowing what was coming, Deanna bowed her head, walked to the nearest chair and sank down, letting her weariness cushion her against the imminent attack. It was surprisingly brief.
“All right, Deanna. Will you see a doctor tomorrow or do I have to drag you?”
“It’s just some kind of bug, Mark. Nothing to get upset about.”
“Well I am upset! Now what will it be … willing or unwilling?”
His mind was set. Lifting her head to look at him, Deanna couldn’t miss the rock hardness of his brown-eyed gaze. Nor could she miss the thick auburn hair brushed to docility, the jaw clean-shaven and strong, the lips of thin and manly set. She loved him so much. He had to have her best interests at heart
“I’ll go.” She capitulated in a low whisper.
“What was that?” He arched one brow, having obviously heard the first time but demanding greater conviction.
She gave it helplessly. “I’ll go!”
10
Deanna sat stunned in the backseat of the car, still unable to believe what the doctor had just told her.
“Where to, Mrs. Hunt?” Henry’s voice broke through her daze.
Her eyes met his in the rearview mirror. “Uh, home, I guess.” Then she added on impulse, “But will you take the long way, Henry? It’s a beautiful day.”
Indeed it was, with the sun shining brightly along the light stone-and-glass face of the city. She rolled down her window and let the breeze blow the soft tendrils around her face to complement her gentle smile.
Pregnant! She was actually pregnant! How many years she’d waited, wanted to hear those words! Mark had been right after all. He’d known the signs better than she had. But no—that wasn’t it. She’d just refused to read them for fear they’d prove to be a false alarm.
As the car wound smoothly through the curving tree-lined streets skirting the central city, she tried to sort out her thoughts. Pregnant She was overwhelmed by its unexpectedness, terrified by its magnitude. Somehow, though, nothing could blunt the abundant joy she felt. To be carrying a child, a love child, Mark’s child—it gave the word luxury another meaning.
Henry could only drive around for so long. When he pulled up at the hotel, though, Deanna still wasn’t ready to go inside. In spite of the fatigue, which the doctor had said would pass, and the intermittent nausea, for which he’d given her a prescription, she felt positively glowing and wonderfully alive. She had her own very precious secret growing inside and she would have liked nothing more than to scream it to the world.
That, unfortunately, she couldn’t do. In fact, there was apt to be all hell to pay in terms of her image as the saintly Hunt widow. Her image … right now she couldn’t have cared less! This was her life, her child. Somehow she’d find the answers for everything.
“Tell Irma I’ll be in for lunch a little later,” she told Henry when he helped her from the car. “I’m taking a walk.”
Wasn’t this how so much of her new outlook had begun—that walk she’d taken on that rainy afternoon? Now it was a radiant noontime. There were people all about, walking more leisurely in appreciation of the glorious weather.
She made an aimless circle through the downtown streets, ambling slowly, smiling all the way, thinking no further than the delight of the moment Pregnant! She still couldn’t believe it! What would Mark say?
Up to this moment she’d taken her pregnancy as a kind of personal victory, made doubly sweet because of the years she’d thought herself barren, the weeks she’d thought herself unworthy of Mark and his future. Mark had truly brought her to her full potential, she mused as she turned and headed toward home. What was to be done now? What would he want to do?
She was unprepared for the air of confrontation that hung heavy in the suite when she arrived. No sooner had she let herself in, closed the door behind her and turned, than she gasped, eyes widening instantly to take in both men.
“Mark … Bob … what are you two doing here?”
One was on his feet as quickly as the next, advancing on her with concern—no, anger. In a moment of déjà vu Deanna recalled a similar scene when she’d returned to find Mark in a fury. He wasn’t much calmer now.
“Well?” He planted himself before her, legs wide in determination, hands on his hips.
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “I thought you were back in Savannah?”
“Fool that I was, I was worried. I decided to stay over here at the hotel last night and called Savannah first thing this morning to cancel my meeting. Then I took the elevator up here to make sure you’d gone to the doctor. I was waiting very patiently until your sidekick here showed up.” He cocked his head toward Bob, but his eyes never left Deanna. “I asked you if it was a possibility and you told me it wasn’t!”
Deanna was still trying to grasp the fact of this unplanned tête-à-tête and Mark’s uncanny knowledge when Bob coralled her attention. His attitude was blatantly condemnatory.
“How could you have done this, Deanna? You’re the showpiece of the foundation!”
Gripped by a sudden and overwhelming anger, Deanna was speechless. To have her bubble of excitement burst in such a cold and insensitive way was unfair! But before she could vent her indignation Mark beat her to the punch. He turned to face Bob.
“Showpiece? The woman is flesh and blood, not a statue on a pedestal!”
“Whatever,” Bob retaliated in a low, rumbling voice. “She’s very important to the image of the foundation. How does it look now that she’s publicly taken up with someone and is pregnant with his child to boot!”
Deanna’s head flew back to Mark, her stomach churning as she heard his low-seethed “She’ll be married to me before anyone knows anything! It’s my child and I take full responsibility for it. I may not be the foundation, but I believe I have some rights here!”
“Wait just a minute!” Deanna screamed, holding her shaking hands palms out, stepping back unsteadily. She looked from man to man, unbelieving of what was happening. She paused to try to catch her breath, but found that to be impossible, so she went on anyway. “I’d like to know what you both think you’re doing! I’m not some total imcompetent whose future needs to be mapped out for her. At least … not anymore!”
“That was what I thought,” Bob broke in, “until this happened. Where was your common sense? It’s simple enough for a woman to prevent this kind of thing nowadays!”
She saw red. “What an ignorantly chauvinistic thing to say! And you really don’t know the facts, Bob.”
“Okay, Deanna,” he granted, “I have to admit that you may be new at this. What with Larry’s condition, you didn’t have to worry about becoming pregnant.”
Her breath caught in a soft hiss as time was suspended for an instant. “What
did you say?” she whispered tremulously. Mark took in her pallor before following her gaze to Bob’s face.
“I’m sorry.” Bob scowled. “I’m sure it’s hard to think back on that. It nearly broke Larry’s heart to discover he was sterile.”
“My God!” she mouthed the words, finally understanding how truly mistaken she’d been about her own capabilities. “Sterile? I … I never knew.” She was far too shocked to derive any satisfaction from Bob’s sudden remorse.
“He never told you?” he asked more quietly.
She shook her head, her eyes wide, her vision blurring. “Did he … did he know all along?”
“No. He had tests only after you’d been married for several years. I guess he didn’t have the courage to tell you.”
Clutching her middle, she looked down to the floor. “All these years I thought I was the one who couldn’t have children … .” She pressed a fist to her mouth, but wrenched it out to hold Mark off when he started to put his arm around her. Sensing her need to work something out, he stepped back.
Deanna wasn’t sure whether to break down or explode. It seemed a toss-up, given the maelstrom of emotions that twisted her insides. How could Larry have kept the truth from her? But he was gone now and couldn’t answer the question. Frustrated, she turned on Bob.
“You seem to be privy to all sorts of information that by rights you shouldn’t know. If it wouldn’t be too rude of me to ask, how did you come to be here this morning?”
“When I called here Irma told me you’d gone to the doctor.”
“Surely she didn’t name the doctor … ?”
“No.” He shifted his stance uncomfortably. “I checked with Dr. Renswicke.”
“Our family doctor … clever. And when he said I didn’t have an appointment with him … ?”
“He knew the name of your gynecologist Wolson’s office confirmed that you’d been there. No, they wouldn’t pass on any news … but it was easy enough to guess, given the circumstances.” He shot a wary glance toward Mark, then looked back to Deanna. “At least you knew which doctor to see.”
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