by Nina Milne
CHAPTER TWELVE
Six weeks later
GABBY SMILED AT her grandmother, making her usual surreptitious check on how well she looked.
But today Lucille returned her scrutiny with interest. ‘You look peaky,’ she said. ‘Is everything all right?’
‘Of course. I’ve just been busy at work and...’ Busy with Zander, stacking up a whole pile of treasure trove memories...
‘Busy with Zander?’
Sometimes she wondered if her grandmother could read her mind. ‘Yes.’
‘How are you feeling about the wedding?’
Gabby knew how she should feel: relieved. Relieved because the wedding would mark the end of an interlude she knew couldn’t continue. Already the lines had been blurred too much. The fun fling was no longer a charade, but it was still a temporary job with an end date. That date had almost arrived and it was better this way—to end on a high note before the inevitable fizzle-out factored in.
But now she needed to answer Lucille’s question. ‘Nervous. But relieved that the charade is coming to an end.’
Lucille raised a delicately arched brow and her blue eyes clouded with sudden worry. ‘You’re sure that the charade is still a charade?’ she asked, her voice gentle.
‘Of course. Zander will pay me the final instalment after the wedding and that will be that.’
The idea caused her more than a touch of discomfort. A part of her wanted to refuse to accept it; another part knew she couldn’t. Not when it was her grandmother’s well-being at stake. Plus the money grounded her, made her remember that it was a job.
Her grandmother poured the tea, a lapsang souchong blend, into delicate blue-and-white china cups and Gabby reached out to accept hers. She looked into the light brown depths and suddenly her stomach gave a small lurch. Frowning, she put the cup down. This was her favourite tea—a smell and taste she associated with her grandmother and long, happy chats. But now it smelt...wrong. And her tummy definitely told her not to imbibe.
‘You do look peaky. A bit pale and—’
‘Excuse me, Gran.’ Gabby bolted for the bathroom, sat on the loo seat and fought the nausea. She looked across at the gilt-enamelled mirror—she did look peaky. Pasty, even. With a very unattractive green tinge to her pallor. Nice.
Touching her tummy, she thought back over what she’d eaten in the past day—nothing that would cause this.
A small strand of an idea began to niggle at the edges of her brain. A shadow of doubt wriggled and writhed as she did some frantic calculations. Not possible. She hadn’t had a period for a while, but she was on the pill so she could not be pregnant—the possibility was not worthy of any thought. She’d assumed it was simply due to her normal life being tilted on its axis.
No period.
Feeling sick.
Coincidence.
Yet the doubt persisted through the ensuing conversation with her grandmother, through the rest of the day, and through the supermarket trip where the jars of pickled eggs seemed to call to her.
For God’s sake.
Pausing in the pharmacy aisle, she picked out a pregnancy-testing kit.
* * *
Zander stood outside the Roman Baths, one of the city’s most enduring historical spots, where Gemma and Alessio’s wedding ceremony and reception were to take place, and reminded himself that today was a happy day. A day when his sister would wed his best friend.
But it was also the day that marked the end of his fling with Gabby. They’d decided to enjoy it and then stay at her place for their final night together.
Although... A stray thought entered his head—a thought that kept wriggling its insidious way past logic and common sense. Did it have to end today? Yes, the job had ended...but could they extend the fling? Prolong their time together for real?
Bad idea.
Gabby wanted love, marriage, Mr Right, a family—and God knew she deserved that chance. He couldn’t offer her any of that.
The limousine pulled up and he stepped forward to open the door. Gabby climbed out—literally stopping him in his tracks.
‘Wow. Wow. Just...wow.’ The dress—a miasma of silver and white, a tapestry of lines that accentuated her slender shape—fell to the pavement in a swirl of elegance. Her chestnut hair was swept up in what he suspected was a deceptively simple chignon, her hazel eyes enormous in a delicately made-up face. ‘And wow again.’
Her generous lips, enhanced by a deep red-brown colour, turned up in a smile. ‘Right back at you,’ she said. ‘James Bond, eat your heart out.’
Her tone was light, but he frowned, suddenly sure that something was off. Was she a little pale? ‘Are you nervous?’
Another smile, and yet it didn’t reach her eyes, and it was accompanied by a small, almost hard laugh.
‘Nope. The attention will be on Gemma and Alessio. Plus half the guest list are super famous, so I’ll be able to fly under the radar.’
He studied her expression, saw that the words were sincere, but sensed that the idea of a celebrity bash wasn’t the issue here. Which was odd in itself. What was bothering her? The fact that this day marked the end of their interlude? Did Gabby want to prolong their time together, too? If so, was that good or bad?
The questions tumbled around his brain.
‘We’d better go in,’ she said. ‘You’ve got your best-man duties to attend to. I’ll be fine with your family.’ As they entered, she looked around. ‘This is beautiful.’
Now he knew something was wrong—because this was way more than ‘beautiful’. The Roman Baths were exquisite, magical with ambience, the stone walls and arches imbued with history. Guests milled around the edges of the deep blue rectangle of water that twinkled in the torchlight that cast a golden mist on the ancient surroundings. Yet Gabby’s words sounded mechanical, flat—utterly unlike her usual self. And where were the facts, the research, the historical information?
But before he could respond, his family surged forward and the moment was lost. He and Gabby hugged everyone, and then he needed to go and help usher in guests with Alessio, who radiated happiness and joy.
‘This beats anything! It’s better than racing, better than winning, better than being on the podium spraying champagne.’
‘I’m glad for you—but you make damn sure you look after my sister, OK?’
‘I will.’ Alessio’s tone was überserious now. ‘I mean it, Zander. I promise. I’ll be there for Gemma for the rest of our lives.’
The words twisted something in him, reminding him that once he’d believed that and been wrong. He hadn’t been able to sustain love, hadn’t been strong enough to figure out a way forward.
Then music struck up. The orchestra’s notes hung in the air with a haunting beauty as Gemma walked forward on Frank Grosvenor’s arm and all the guests fell silent. As he listened to Alessio and Gemma enunciate their vows, Zander hoped with all his heart that it would work out, that they could achieve what he hadn’t been able to.
Once they had been declared husband and wife, and with the help of the ushers, Zander encouraged the guests up to the terrace, where waiters circled with drinks prior to the sit-down meal to be held in the Georgian grandeur of the Pump Room.
Then he moved across to where Gabby stood in the shadows, a glass of orange juice in her hand, staring into space.
‘Hey. Are you OK?’
‘I’m fine.’
‘Well, you don’t look it.’ A slight sheen of moisture beaded her brow, and her skin seemed to have taken on a greenish tinge. ‘You look like you need to sit down.’
‘I said I’m fine.’
But she swayed, and he reached out to steady her, taking the glass from her hand and stepping forward to shield her from prying eyes. ‘Are you going to be sick?’
‘No... Oh, God. I don’t know. Probably not...but maybe. I’ll head to the bat
hroom.’
‘I’ll come with you.’ His hand on her back, they wended their way through the guests to the restaurant, where the staff were scurrying in a hive of activity.
Gabby headed at speed towards the bathroom and Zander waited, aware of a tightness across his chest, an elusive feeling that he was missing something important.
When Gabby emerged she looked marginally better. ‘I’m OK. I wasn’t sick. Usually if I just sit down for a bit I can will it away.’
‘“Usually”?’
There was a beat and then another. ‘I meant whenever I feel nauseous...ever since I was a child. I’m fine now.’ But her hazel eyes skittered away.
‘OK.’ Again there was that sense he was out of the loop. And now he went with his instinct. ‘If you say so. But I don’t believe you. I know something is wrong and I think you should tell me.’
‘Stop...’
The word was too low, too urgent, and now real panic took hold of him. ‘Tell me. Are you ill?’ Shades of Claudia. He took her hands in his, shocked at how cold her fingers were. ‘Tell me. I’ll sort it out.’
She gave a small half laugh. ‘I don’t think you can sort this out, Zander. Not even you.’
‘Then I’ll help. Tell me what it is.’
‘I... I’m sorry, Zander. This isn’t the time or the place, but...’ Gently she took her hand from his. ‘I’m pregnant.’
‘Pregnant?’
The word echoed, reverberated up to the lofty grandeur of the ceiling, off the iconic Georgian chandelier and flew, ping-ping-ping, from one fluted pillar to the next. It caused a sonic boom that vortexed around him, filled with the one word on repeat.
Pregnant.
It resounded in a sonorous toll.
Pregnant.
The meaning of the word sought entry to a brain desperate to block it out. Eventually he forced his vocal cords into action and looked down at Gabby, sitting on an elegant dining chair, surrounded by crystal and silver and pristine white napkins.
‘But you can’t be.’
He recognised the stupidity of the words even as he uttered them. Gabby wouldn’t lie and she wouldn’t make it up. Had Julia been right—had this all been an elaborate set-up? His own folly dawned on him. He’d accepted that she was on the pill, hadn’t given any other protection a thought. Yet he couldn’t believe he’d got it so wrong—anyway, she looked as shell-shocked as him.
‘Well, I am. I told you the truth in Sintra. I am on the pill. It turns out that it’s to do with that herbal remedy I was taking for anxiety—apparently in a low number of cases it can counteract the pill. It does say so in the small print. Ironic, really. All my research, all my planning, and I didn’t read the small print.’
Zander wished he could think, but his brain felt as if it was encased in a gluey mix of sludge, each thought coming in slow motion. As she spoke, he had backed away from her and was now a foot away from the table. He recognised the stricken look in her eyes, looked away, caught a glimpse of his expression in an ornate gilded mirror. Horror had redrawn his features into a caricature of repudiation.
Too many emotions swirled inside him—along with the memory of Claudia, who had wanted a family. It had been Zander who had insisted on caution, on waiting. Now her voice echoed in his brain.
‘Zan. I think we should go for it. I know we’re young, but that’s OK. Let’s start a family—not a business.’
And he’d resisted, prevaricated, knowing his own dream would be given up, would flicker out before ever catching light. Then illness had struck and all their energy had been for the fight and then acceptance. Claudia hadn’t ever got to hold a baby in her arms...and now Gabby would.
Gabby was carrying his baby.
The whole idea jarred in his brain and he felt something inside him shattering—illusions, plans, certainties. All were coated with a layer of guilt. It was all he could do to remain still, not to run from the room with its Regency splendour.
Gabby rose to her feet. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t want to tell you now—not like this...not at the wedding. I know this isn’t what you want.’
Her hand went to her tummy, lay flat over it almost as if she were protecting the baby from his reaction, from his words. The gesture dispersed the fog, cut through the sludge. None of this was the baby’s fault. Zander’s guilt and emotion, his past behaviours, failures and fears, had nothing to do with the miraculous being growing in Gabby’s womb.
‘Don’t apologise. Of course you had to tell me. Why didn’t you tell me before?’
‘Because I didn’t know how, and it didn’t seem fair before the wedding. But...now you know. We’re having a baby.’
Now he knew.
Images streamed through his brain. A baby with chestnut hair like Gabby’s...another with dark blonde hair like his, hazel eyes...blue, grey...so many permutations and possibilities.
Then panic broke in, short-circuited the connection and dispersed the images. How could he be a dad? He wasn’t a family man; he was a businessman. And in his case the two were mutually exclusive. But that wasn’t this baby’s fault.
He had to focus. This was his baby. That was the precious being he needed to think of now. Not himself. Right now the two most important people on the planet were Gabby and the baby.
‘Now I know,’ he repeated.
‘Know what?’
A voice behind them. Zander spun round to see Julia walking towards them, a vision in a red-and-black gown.
‘Know that we need to be on wedding duty,’ he improvised quickly.
‘Yes, you do. It’s time to move the guests in here for dinner. I came in to double-check the seating plan.’
She moved back to the entrance and Zander took Gabby’s hand as she rose. ‘We need to talk.’
Gabby nodded. ‘But not now.’
‘And, Gabs? Everything will be all right.’
Right now he wasn’t sure how—all he knew was that somehow he had to make it so. Even if he had no idea how. Even if the idea of fatherhood was making his skin clammy with sheer, unadulterated terror.
* * *
Gabby walked by Zander’s side back to the gaiety and hum of chatter and laughter, the pop of champagne corks, the vibe of celebration, and tried to focus on the part she was here to play. She was no longer sure what that even was—everything was surreal as her emotions corkscrewed.
Sharing the news had brought a modicum of relief along with a surge of misery. Saying the words had made it real, but the initial horror on Zander’s face and his gesture of repudiation had hurt, even though she understood it.
He’d been taken by surprise. But he’d recovered enough to tell her everything would be ‘all right’. Whatever that meant.
‘Gabby, come over here for a photo,’ she heard Gemma call out, and she walked over, pinned a smile to her face.
She looked at the Grosvenors with the sudden realisation that they were related to the baby growing inside her, and the idea sent her emotions into free fall again. But somehow she pulled herself together, and she kept herself together over the next few hours.
She tried to appreciate the grandeur of the Pump Room, the classical melodies played so beautifully by the orchestra, the Georgian banquet that drew gasps of awe from the guests.
Once the meal was over the guests moved into yet another room. Music struck up again and the bride and groom took to the floor. Gabby felt her chest constrict as she watched, seeing the love in Gemma’s and Alessio’s expressions, the protective, almost reverent way Alessio held his bride, and she blinked back tears. What if this never happened for her?
Then Gemma turned and gestured to her. ‘Come on. Family on the floor next!’
Laura and Frank moved forward and started to dance, their movements so attuned to each other, the smiles on their faces only for each other. Julia was dragged forward by Freddy and Heidi,
and soon the three of them were dancing, laughing together.
‘Zander, come on!’
Gabby realised there was no choice, and put her hand into his proffered one. They stepped on to the floor. His arm encircled her waist and she felt his reaction, his small intake of breath, and knew he was realising the fact that inside her was the start of a baby. Their baby.
As they swayed together to the music, she allowed worry and anxiety to dissipate in the awe-inspiring knowledge that she and Zander had created the beginnings of a new life. She let him hold her close, and rested her head on the solid wall of his chest.
They stayed until the end, waved off the bride and groom, said farewell to the rest of the family, gave a hug to the sleepy children—and then they were back outside, where a chauffeur-driven car waited to take them home.
‘What would you like to do?’ Zander asked.
‘We’d better stick to the plan. Go back to mine. But...’ She hesitated. ‘Would you mind sleeping on the sofa bed?’ She might have no idea where they would go from here, but she knew the fun fling was definitely over. ‘Tomorrow we’ll talk.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GABBY OPENED HER eyes and tried to orientate herself... And then slowly memory seeped back in. She was pregnant. In seven or eight months she’d be a mum. In all her dreams this was not how she’d imagined it. The plan had been to find Mr Right, get married, buy a house—provide her baby with two loving parents, security, a happy family life, siblings...
Well, that plan had gone...dispersed into wisps of illusion. Touching her tummy, she pushed away the feeling of inadequacy, of not being good enough.
‘I’ll figure it out, baby. I promise,’ she said aloud.
And she would. Somehow. And the first step towards that was to talk to Zander.
A tantalising aroma wafted into the room and she used the bathroom, then pulled on her clothes with the realisation that she was ravenous.
Two minutes later she entered her lounge and crossed the room to the kitchenette, seeing that Zander had already packed away the sofa bed in the lounge and had set up the circular foldaway table. A vase of flowers was in the middle, surrounded by slate place mats, knives, forks, chocolate spread, fresh lemons... The air was permeated with the smell of bacon sizzling.
