Expecting His Love-Child

by Carol Marinelli

  ‘You, Millie, will say nothing—I will do the talking.’

  ‘I don’t know what…’ Her voice was lost in the ferocious crowd. A man, presumably one of Levander’s sidekicks, took her trolley as Levander walked her towards the waiting journalists. For all the world it looked like a protective arm around her, but it was more of a vice grip. She could feel the tension in his fingers as they dug into her shoulder. She was still reeling with shock as a microphone was thrust into her face, the sea of faces blurring as question after question hit.

  ‘When is the baby due?’

  ‘Do you have plans to settle here in Australia?’

  ‘How long have you known?’

  ‘When were you planning to tell Levander?’

  Helpless, aghast, she looked up at Levander. The news she had wondered over and over how best to deliver was already public property. And the blows just kept coming—each revelation, each turn of events tumbling her further into confusion. Until Levander took control. Somehow, despite the slight grey tinge to his complexion, he appeared utterly unruffled, even the tiniest bit bored with the whole circus as he authoritatively addressed the hungry crowd.

  ‘You will understand that my fiancée is tired after such a long journey.’

  She opened her mouth to protest, to correct him, but his fingers tightened their grip around her waist—and thank God they did, Millie thought. Because otherwise her legs might have crumpled beneath her.

  ‘Contrary to the scurrilous reports in your paper this morning…’ Levander eyeballed one particular journalist, and Millie noticed the colour drain out of the poor woman’s face as Levander continued with his response. ‘We are both thrilled at the news that we are expecting a baby.’

  ‘So you two are engaged?’ Remembering her training, the journalist thrust a small tape recorder under Levander’s nose.

  ‘I believe that is what the word fiancée indicates.’

  His sarcasm was biting—not that it stopped them. Microphones jostled for space as another burst of rapid fire hit, and Millie wanted to duck for cover, actually leaning into Levander as somehow, despite his loathing, he shielded her.

  ‘What about your family?’ a voice boomed above the rest, and the babble hushed as they awaited his answer.

  ‘Delighted—naturally—and looking forward to the event.’

  ‘Which is when?’

  ‘Enough questions. My fiancée is clearly exhausted.’

  And without another word he marched Millie out of the airport to a sleek black car waiting on the no-standing zone outside. Her luggage and her precious paintings were being loaded into the boot. When the driver opened the back door, for a second Millie wanted to turn and run—the photographers and the chaos in the arrivals lounge were infinitely preferable to facing Levander. Getting on a plane and heading for home even after a twenty-four-hour trip was way more appealing than getting into the car and facing him now. His anger was palpable as he snapped his orders to her.

  ‘Get in.’ Levander’s words were like two pistol shots, and that once beautiful mouth was pale and taut as he spat the words out and took a seat. Only then did she realise how much she was shaking. While the driver finished loading her belongings into the boot they were alone for a few seconds, and she tried to regain control—tried to assert herself with this impossibly distant stranger.

  ‘You had no right to say that I was your fiancée, Levander. No right at all.’

  ‘No right?’ He gave a low, mirthless laugh. ‘You have no idea how many rights I have, Millie. And I intend to exercise each and every one of them.’

  As the driver got into the car he leant closer towards her, and for a second she thought he was going to kiss her again, recoiling at the thought of another feigned show of affection. But the disgust in his eyes told her he felt the same, and his breath was hot with fury as his harsh whisper hit her ear.

  ‘Some reading material for the journey,’ he said, handing her a newspaper.

  The bottom fell out of her world as she read the article, bile rising in her throat as she saw in print the hundred conversations that had taken place over the past few weeks with Janey, her friend. Private words, spoken in confidence as she’d struggled to come to terms with the fact she was pregnant, were all distilled into the most potent of poisons. Tiny fleeting thoughts that had entered her troubled head were neatly typed in black and white for the world to see, and worse—far worse—for Levander to read…

  ‘Oh, God, Levander. I never—’

  ‘Save it,’ he hissed, calling for his driver to get going, then leaning back on the leather seat and reading over her shoulder as tears coursed down her cheeks. ‘This bit’s my personal favourite…’ He jabbed his finger at a paragraph.

  Millie couldn’t have read it if she’d tried, her eyes were swimming with tears. But she knew without looking what he was referring to: that horrible night when she’d explored her options out loud, the fleeting moment when she’d examined the possibility of ending the pregnancy and getting on with the scattered fragments of her life. How cold, how emotionless it sounded as he read it aloud to her—how devoid of the desperation that had made her voice tremble as she’d sobbed the appalling thought to Janey. Though what trashy journalist worth his salt, what friend greedy for a quick dollar, would bother to add in the convulsive tears that had followed, to say that even before she’d finished talking she’d shaken her head in hopelessness, knowing for her it could never be an option?

  But how could a man like Levander possibly understand?

  ‘Maybe we should cut this out and save it for the first page of the baby album?’ Back in his hotel room, still the onslaught continued, his contempt so palpable it was like being slapped.

  ‘Don’t say that,’ Millie begged.

  ‘Oh, but you were the one who did,’ Levander threw back at her coldly.

  ‘I know it must have been awful to find out like this—’

  ‘You know nothing,’ Levander sneered. ‘Is this all true—what is written?’

  ‘No…’ Millie attempted, then gave a helpless shake of her head. ‘Some if it. I did say some of it…’

  ‘All of it, perhaps?’ Levander interrupted. ‘Don’t lie to me here, Millie.’

  ‘I’m not,’ Millie gulped, still frantically looking for an out. ‘Papers make up stuff—exaggerate things…Surely you of all people would know that?’

  ‘They would not dare.’ He halted her attempt, his voice curiously calm now. Only it did nothing to soothe her, each word he delivered backing her further into her miserable corner. ‘This newspaper I have already sued—already forced to print a retraction when they were less than accurate with their reporting. Two years ago they accused me of sleeping with the wife of one of our rivals—the truth was we had met for lunch twice, as she was planning a surprise party for him. That surprise party nearly cost her her marriage. They have been waiting to get me ever since, and I know they would not go to print unless they could account for every word. So tell me, Millie, and I would appreciate the truth—did you or did you not consider withholding the news about the baby from me? Consider that you would just raise the baby without my knowing?’

  She had—the night she had performed her pregnancy test, when her whole world had spun out of control, yes, she’d thought about it—about if she was actually pregnant never letting him know. But almost instantly she’d dismissed the idea, and now, sitting on his sofa, hearing the accusation in his voice was more than she could bear. ‘I did—but I’m here, aren’t I?’

  Levander didn’t respond, just hurled another question. ‘And did you also consider terminating the pregnancy?’

  Millie ran a dry tongue over her lips, a fresh batch of tears threatening. Her attempts to hold them back were rewarded with a running nose, and she gave a rather ungracious sniff before she finally answered, in the shakiest of voices, ‘For about two minutes.’

  The look of absolute disgust on his face told her exactly what he thought of her response.
/>   ‘And while you were so—you will forgive me if I quote,’ he checked nastily, picking up the hateful paper and reading loudly, each word like a hurtling knife aimed in her direction. ‘While you were so “confused and vulnerable”, it says that your friend Janey kindly pointed out to you that, given my extreme wealth, you and the baby would be well looked after, and that there were “plenty of women who would give their eye teeth for a regular maintenance cheque from a Kolovsky”.’

  ‘They were her words.’ Millie shivered.

  ‘But, “I’m here, aren’t I?” were yours,’ Levander cruelly pointed out. ‘Here to arrange your regular cheque, Miss Andrews? Here to make sure that your future is secured?’

  ‘I’m here to tell you that I don’t know what to do…’ The tears were coming now, and the fear, the misery, the utter bewilderment of the past sixteen weeks was nothing compared to the horror of facing Levander in this mood. ‘I’m here to tell you that I’ve messed up our lives and that I’m having a baby.’

  ‘Well, as you can see…’ utterly unmoved, he stood there ‘…I already know.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Save it for later,’ Levander sneered. ‘Save it for our child when it learns how to read.’

  ‘Stop it,’ Millie sobbed, placing her hands over her ears, hysteria rising in her voice. ‘Please, just stop it. I never meant for those things to be printed, and I never, ever want the baby to hear them.’

  ‘Drop the drama, Millie, it does not move me.’ His voice was eerily calm, but his face was menacing as he stepped in closer, his two hands removing hers from her ears and pushing them down by her sides, pinning her against the wall, not with his strength but his hatred. ‘Tell me, have you cancelled your gym membership yet?’

  ‘What?’ She had no idea where he was going, her mind a blizzard of thoughts attempting to focus on his strange question.

  ‘You told me that night you pay for your membership but you don’t go…’

  ‘So…?’ Her eyes darted, looking for an out, looking at anything other than him—the wall preferable to the sheer loathing in his eyes.

  ‘I find that lazy.’

  ‘I don’t understand…’ Millie whimpered, feeling his hot breath on the shell of her ear, feeling the bristling emotion emanating from him, shivering with misery at all they had become. ‘I don’t understand what you’re saying.’

  ‘Then allow me to explain better. When I sign for something, when I pay for something, when I set my mind to something, I make the most of it—every time.’

  ‘What does my gym membership have to do with this?’ Millie asked. But she knew what was coming, and wanted to slam her hands over her ears again as he spat out his demands.

  ‘I am telling you that I am not lazy, Millie. Don’t think for a minute you get a cheque from me and I make an occasional visit.’

  ‘I wasn’t th—thinking that at all…’ Her teeth were chattering so violently she could barely get the words out.

  ‘Don’t think I pay my membership and then forget, or I am too busy to come. I am there every time.’ He was there now, right in her face as he made himself beyond clear, his accent more pronounced in his anger. ‘Making use of all facilities, making sure I get full use—’

  ‘No!’ Millie shook her head at what he was surely implying, but Levander just laughed in her face. ‘You think I talk about you? You think I could want you after reading this filth? I am talking about our baby—I am in that child’s life now, whether you like it or not. So get used to seeing me, Millie. Get used to it quickly—because I am in your life now, every day.’

  Emotion and exhaustion, coupled with a good dose of the morning sickness that had her feeling so wretched, so weak, washed over her. She couldn’t even attempt to argue with him—to thrash out the details that she knew had to be sorted. She just wanted to close her eyes on the horror, to find somewhere safe where she could lick her wounds and regroup.

  ‘We’ll talk about this later…’ Somehow she found her voice, somehow she managed to look at him, her red, bloodshot eyes trying and failing to recognise the man she’d thought she once knew. ‘You do what you have to, Levander, and I’ll do what I can. But right now I’m going to my hotel…’

  ‘You’re staying here.’

  ‘After the way you’ve just spoken to me? You really think that I’m going to stand here and attempt to defend myself to you when you’ve clearly already made up your mind?’

  ‘You have no choice,’ Levander retorted. ‘There are photographers, press down in the foyer. You really think they will just let this story go?’

  ‘Why the hell are they so interested?’ Millie flared. ‘What does it have to do with them?’

  ‘I am a Kolovsky!’ Levander shouted at her for the first time—and it was almost a relief. Raw anger was easier to face than the simmering hatred that had greeted her at the airport. ‘I am one of the wealthiest single men in Australia—my life is their interest. Do not pretend for a single moment longer that you didn’t know that. Now, if you choose to go down there and make matters worse instead of better then I will not stop you. I wish you luck getting past them and into a taxi. I wish you luck checking into another hotel and trying to get the sleep you clearly need…’

  He had a point, Millie realised, recalling the frenzy of the press at the airport. The thought of facing them without Levander to control them wasn’t particularly appealing.

  ‘Go to bed.’ He must have sensed her hesitate and he seized on it, his voice more reasonable now. ‘Go to bed and I will not disturb you. Rest, and then, when we have both calmed down…’

  ‘When did you find out?’ For the first time she got to ask a question—strange the details that mattered when chaos reigned. ‘Did they call you to confirm…?’

  ‘I read it an hour ago.’

  It took a moment for it to sink in, for her to realise how low the press had really stooped, the shock tactics they were prepared to use. She might have landed in Melbourne to face that greedy crowd alone. And even if Levander’s greeting had been less than cordial, even if his words had been reprehensible, she was grateful that despite his own shock he’d been there for her.

  ‘I was going to tell you.’

  ‘Just go to bed, Millie.’

  Only she couldn’t now. The massive impact that had hit was receding, but aftershocks were rippling in. ‘I really thought she was my friend…’ Rubbing her fingers on her temples, Millie struggled to take it all in. ‘I trusted Janey. I can’t believe—’

  ‘It is done,’ Levander interrupted. ‘Now it is time to fix it.’

  ‘Can we?’

  ‘I will think of something,’ Levander answered. ‘When you go to bed I will speak with the public relations people and work something out. Tonight we will have dinner with my family. At least if we put on a united front for now…’ His voice trailed off. Perhaps he was realising she was too dammed exhausted to take it all in, too bone-weary for out-loud musings. ‘Get some sleep, Millie; just try not to think about it now.’

  With a tired nod she headed to the bedroom, peeled off her clothes and sat on the edge of the bed in her bra and knickers, wondering just what the hell she should do—how on earth it had come to this, how she could possibly tell her parents what had happened since her arrival in Melbourne. She jolted as yet another aftershock hit.

  ‘Oh, no…’A whimper of horror escaped her lips as the implications of the very public demise of her reputation became all too apparent—as the appalling realisation hit that her parents would probably already have read a similar article in the UK, would be reeling in horror at the thought of their daughter landing on the other side of the world to this nightmare.

  They already knew.

  Everyone knew.

  That was why the immigration officer had given her such a hard time. He had known she was pregnant—had known because he’d read about it…

  ‘I need to borrow your phone…’ Her tear-streaked face appeared at the door. She didn’t even
notice he was standing where she had left him, talking on his mobile.

  ‘Of course.’ He gave a bemused nod. ‘Is the one by your bed not working?’

  ‘It’s an international call…’ Mille started, then understood the confusion behind his question. The richest, most eligible bachelor in Australia clearly didn’t give two hoots about his phone bill.

  Perhaps he heard her numerous attempts, understood that in her emotional state the international code to the UK might not come easily to mind, because after a few moments he came in, dialled in the number, and turned to go. He halted as she literally crumpled at the sound of her mother’s hysterical voice.

  Seeing her standing in just a bra and knickers, shivering in her own misery, hearing her shaking voice begging her mother to calm down, for the first time he wasn’t thinking about the baby, nor was it the vile words in the article that consumed him. For that moment it was her. Her pain, her anguish, was so raw, so deep, even Levander couldn’t remain unmoved. He placed a hand on her shoulders for support as she doubled up with the pain of it all.

  ‘Mum, please,’ she begged, over and over. ‘It’s not that bad. I’m fine—the baby’s fine. I know—I can’t believe what’s happened…You have to calm down. I can hear Austin getting upset. Please, Mum, it really isn’t as bad as it seems…’ But clearly Mrs Andrews didn’t believe her daughter; Levander could hear her cries as Millie attempted to reassure her.

  ‘I don’t know why Janey did it either. She’s been acting a bit strange recently—I thought she was a bit jealous about my paintings. But whatever her reasons, it’s done now…’

  Again his conviction wavered. The anger, shame and humiliation at being the last to know, the sheer panic that had propelled him to the airport, dimmed a touch as he started to see things from Millie’s side.

  Her best friend had betrayed her. Her whole life was under the microscope. Though for him it was the wretched norm, for Millie it must be like awaking to a nightmare. Seeing her pale, shellshocked face, listening to her try to sound upbeat for the sake of her mother, he felt something inside him shift—and not just towards her. Guilt flickered in for the way he had spoken to her, for the anger he had unleashed towards the mother of his child.