Wanting

by Penny Jordan

  Her aunt seemed tense and almost nervous over breakfast. She kept darting glances at Heather, and Heather suspected she was probably worrying that she might break her promise. ‘Look, I won’t put a foot outside the garden,’ she assured her affectionately. ‘Stop worrying.’

  They were doing the washing up together when her aunt said suddenly, ‘Heather, you know that I love you as though you were my own, don’t you? I always wanted another daughter, and you’re very precious to me… to us both. If I thought…’ she broke off, and Heather wondered if she was trying to talk to her about Neil. There was no need, she could guess how torn her aunt was, wanting what was best for both of them.

  ‘Everything will work out,’ she told her, trying to sound comforting. ‘You just wait and see….’

  She was rewarded with a rather vague smile, and when she waved her aunt and uncle off an hour later she was left with the distinct impression that something was worrying the former.

  Neil had already gone, and knowing Dr Barnes of old and his addiction to the golf course, Heather guessed he wouldn’t be back until much later in the afternoon. Not that she minded. It was almost a luxury to have the house and garden to herself. The air was warm with the promise of summer to come, her uncle’s well-tended garden a mass of blooms. The new leaves on the chestnut tree were freshly green, and after she had finished tidying her room, Heather gazed out at it, tempted to go and lie in the sun.

  Her body had changed during her pregnancy, and she studied it thoughtfully as she slipped off her clothes and took clean panties and dress from her wardrobe. Her breasts felt slightly tender, her nipples darker, her skin silky smooth. The thought of holding Race’s child in her arms made her tremble with longing; there was an unmistakably primitive pleasure to be found in the knowledge that her body was flowering with Race’s child, she acknowledged wryly, still finding it vaguely surprising that she should be capable of such earthy thoughts and desires. She had always thought of herself as cool, even perhaps genuinely not capable of finding much pleasure in sex, until she met Race. Now barely a night went by without her aching for him; without her longing to wake up and find herself in his arms.

  Suppressing a sigh, she dressed slowly, enjoying the feeling of the cool cotton against her skin and the freedom from the restriction of her bra. The cotton did little to conceal the shape of her body, but it scarcely mattered; she had plenty of time to get changed before Neil was due back.

  A book she had got for her aunt from the library caught her eye and she took it into the garden with her, using the cushion off one of the garden chairs as a pillow for her head as she stretched out beneath the shelter of the chestnut tree, lulled by the smooth sound of the breeze amongst the leaves. It was blissfully relaxing just lying here, suspended between waking and sleeping, the warm, growing scent of the garden all around her, birdsong a distant and pleasing refrain, the ground warm beneath her fingers, the sun warm on her skin.

  She didn’t know what woke her. One moment she had been deeply asleep, the next she was wide awake, conscious that something had disturbed her tranquillity.

  ‘Hello, Heather.’

  Her eyes shot open, her body tensing in disbelief.

  ‘Race?’ He was standing in front of her, long, muscled legs clad in faded denim, a cotton shirt open almost to the waist, his eyes shadowed and remote as he studied her recumbent form.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Looking for you.’

  ‘For me? But….’ Her thoughts whirled in disjointed disorder. Had Jennifer broken her promise to her? Why had Race come? Had he thought it might be amusing to pay a visit on her while he was in the area? She gasped suddenly as the baby kicked—hard.

  ‘Heather? Heather, are you all right?’ He was down on his knees beside her, his fingers curling against her shoulders in the old, remembered way. She would know Race’s touch anywhere, she thought achingly; even without seeeing his face her body would recognise him.

  ‘I’m fine,’ she assured him, ‘the… the baby kicked,’ she added huskily, unable to look at him. ‘What are you doing here, Race?’

  ‘I saw your photograph in the paper. I have some friends who live near Gloucester. I’ve been spending a few days with them and I saw it.’

  ‘So Jen didn’t….’ Heather bit her lip, and saw his face harden into anger.

  ‘No, damn her, she didn’t,’ he said harshly. ‘She wouldn’t even give me your address, or tell me where you were.’

  What had he wanted to know that for? Had he felt guilty about her, perhaps? What did it matter now? The baby kicked again and she placed her hand automatically over the small bump.

  ‘God, Heather, why didn’t you tell me?’

  She didn’t pretend not to know what he meant, or to deny his words, and was glad she hadn’t seconds later when he said hoarsely, ‘When I saw that damned photograph, saw you like this…. I knew the child must be mine. I damn near tore the place apart looking for you. I got your address from the newspaper offices, and I drove down yesterday, but you weren’t here. I saw your aunt.’

  So that was why her aunt had been so unhappy! She had connived with Race so that he could talk to her alone.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ Race repeated slowly. ‘Didn’t you think I had any right to know?’

  ‘Not really,’ she said quietly. ‘Let’s face it, it was an accident… my responsibility, because I’m sure you thought that I would have… taken precautions. There didn’t seem any point in telling you,’ she added musingly.

  ‘No point? Damn you, Heather!’ he suddenly shouted, grasping her shoulders, ‘that’s my child you’re carrying, mine! So don’t tell me there wasn’t any point. Why did you decide to go on with the pregnancy?’ he asked curtly, looking away from her. ‘You could have….’

  ‘Had an abortion?’ She was angry now. ‘Yes I could have, and I suppose from your point of view that would have made life much less… messy. But you don’t need to worry, Race. I absolve you totally from all responsibility. I could have had an abortion, but I didn’t choose to. I have enough money to support myself and my child, and….’

  ‘A cousin just ready and waiting to marry you?’ he said harshly. ‘Oh yes, I know all about that. Well, you might be noble enough to “absolve” me from all responsibility, Heather, but what about my child? Will he or she feel the same way, will they be able to forgive me, or you for that matter, for denying it the right to two parents? Oh, I know it’s the fashion for women to take charge of their own lives, do their own thing, bring up their own children on their own. Very nice—for them, but does anyone take into account the views of the kids? Do you know that ninety-five per cent of children of divorced parents, secretly, deep in their hearts, want their parents to get together again?

  ‘I know what it’s like not to have a father, Heather. My mother was the forerunner of the modern woman. She chose to have her child alone; her lover was a married man, and she told me once she didn’t particularly love him, she just felt the time had come when she had to submit to the biological urge to reproduce. Is that what you’re going to tell our child? Not that it was conceived in love, but out of a “biological urge”? Well, I’m not going to let you. You and I are going to get married, just as soon as it can be arranged. No,’ he said sharply when she would have interrupted, ‘listen to me. That’s my baby growing inside you, and I’ll see you in hell before I’ll let you deny me my child. We’ve got some very enlightened judges these days—there are ways I could make you share the child with me, and you know it. Is that what you want? Because I warn you I’m not prepared to simply disappear and let you have it all.’

  Marriage to Race! Heather’s mind couldn’t absorb it. She wanted to refuse; wanted to tell him that she didn’t want him without his love. But what about her aunt and uncle? They knew now that Race was the father, wouldn’t they want her to marry him? Her aunt would, she knew, although she would never try and influence her decision. And there was Neil to consider. He loved her,
but once he saw her as the wife of another man….

  And then there were her own feelings…. Didn’t she secretly long to be Race’s wife? Wasn’t there a small part of her that clung to the hope that somehow he might come to love her? Perhaps in marriage, sharing their child, love would take root and grow.

  ‘Race, I’ll have to have time,’ she protested hesitantly. ‘I….’

  ‘No.’ His voice was thick with suppressed emotion. She had never dreamed he would feel like this. Or had she? Had she always suspected that if he found out about the baby, he would come after her? ‘We’re both responsible for our child, Heather,’ he said unsteadily. ‘We’ve created it, and we owe it our love, both of us,’ he underlined. ‘You must want it or you wouldn’t have let your pregnancy continue. Don’t you love your child enough to want it to have two parents, to know the security of a proper family unit? You lost both your parents, you must know what that does to a child, just as I know what it’s like to grow up without a father. Either you marry me, or I’ll take you to court to take the baby away from you, and I’ll find someone who will marry me!’

  ‘Race….’ There was a dark violence in his eyes that shocked her, leaving her feeling helplessly unable to withstand him. ‘Race… without love…’ she protested, silenced when he said harshly, ‘Oh, but there will be love, won’t there, Heather? Love for our child,’ and then he bent his head slowly and placed his hand gently on the swollen mound of her stomach, his lips warm against her skin through the thin cotton of her dress.

  A strangely unfamiliar emotion rose up inside her, a yearning desire to hold him close and cradle him in her arms as though he were as vulnerable and helpless as their child. She lifted her hand, her fingers stroking softly through the thick darkness of his hair.

  ‘Heather, say yes.’ His voice was muffled against her skin, and she knew that she was lost and had been from the moment she opened her eyes and saw him looking down at her.

  ‘Yes,’ she said dryly, ‘for the….’

  ‘Heather!’ She looked up to see Neil striding across the lawn towards them, his face tight with anger and jealousy. ‘Heather, what….’

  Race got up with one swiftly lithe movement, but Heather couldn’t help flushing as she thought how they must have looked to Neil, Race practically cradled in her arms, his head against her breast.

  ‘You must be Neil,’ Race said affably before Neil could speak. ‘Race Williams… your cousin-to-be, and…’ he glanced down at Heather and smiled mockingly, ‘father-to-be, apparently, as well.’

  ‘You… bastard!’

  The bitterness behind the harsh expletive shattered the warm peace of the afternoon and Heather got up clumsily, hating herself for causing Neil pain and intending to go after him and explain, but Race’s fingers on her wrist stopped her, his expression tightly angry as he said, ‘Let him go, Heather. Sooner or later he’s going to have to come to terms with the fact that you and the baby are both mine….’

  Which was a rather strange thing to say, Heather thought afterwards, because while Race undoubtedly wanted his child, he surely did not want her. Or had his comment been motivated by pure male sexual jealousy?

  Race remained until her aunt and uncle got home, and Heather could tell by the anxious way in which her aunt looked at her that she was worried about Heather’s reaction.

  ‘I told your aunt and uncle I intended to marry you,’ Race told her as he stood by her side. ‘Why did you let them think I wouldn’t want my child, Heather?’

  ‘Because I thought that to want a child one must first intend to conceive it,’ Heather said dryly. ‘Many men in your position wouldn’t have wanted it.’

  ‘But you didn’t even give me the chance to find out, did you? I suppose that’s why Jen was so cagey every time I asked about you, although I admit it took me a few weeks to discover that you’d actually left London and given up modelling.’

  And if he had really wanted her he would have come looking for her the moment he came back from Scotland, Heather thought bitterly. But then hadn’t she known that all along?

  Once Race had got her consent to their wedding he lost no time in making the arrangements. They were to be married by special licence at the local church. Less than a week was hardly adequate time to arrange a wedding in normal circumstances, but in their case there was scant need for any of the normal fuss. Jennifer and Terry were coming down from London. Jennifer had confirmed to Heather that Race had asked her about her, ‘but I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you.’

  ‘You did the right thing,’ Heather assured her.

  ‘Just as you are doing now,’ Jennifer commented. They were both in the room they had shared as girls, Jennifer had arrived just before lunch, and at three o’clock Heather was going to become Mrs Race Williams. ‘Mum told me she felt guilty because she let Race see you,’ Jennifer continued. ‘She’s worried that you might be marrying him against your will.’

  ‘Not against my will: rather against my better judgment,’ Heather said wryly, adding inconsequentially, ‘Neil’s taking it very badly.’

  ‘He’ll get over it,’ Jennifer assured her cheerfully, with sisterly hard-heartedness, ‘and it’s better this way. I honestly believe he’d practically convinced himself that the baby was his. I gather he and Race didn’t hit it off too well?’

  ‘Not really,’ Heather admitted. ‘Neil’s going away almost immediately after the wedding—to Switzerland, to do some photography. A group of them are going.’ She thought of Sue Reynolds from the camera shop; she was going too. Perhaps Neil would find solace with her. She hoped so.

  Heather had chosen to wear a simple cream dress for the ceremony. Nothing could hide her pregnancy, and she didn’t intend to try. The baby was due in just over three months, and she prayed as she walked down the aisle on her uncle’s arm that she was doing the right thing. Race was waiting for her, tall and dark, virtually a stranger; and fear coiled round her heart as she thought of how arid her life could turn out to be. Race could and would seek consolation elsewhere if need be, but what about her? Knowing how much she loved him, Heather knew it was impossible for her to find love with anyone else.

  She would just have to gamble on the child she carried bringing them closer together. After all, as Race had told her only last night,’ they were sexually compatible and he had no intention of their marriage being merely a paper one.

  ‘But what about love?’ she had said huskily, and just for a moment a spasm of pain had crossed his face as though he too were putting aside old dreams.

  Then he said, mockingly, ‘We shall have to make do with our love for our child, won’t we?’

  They were going away for a brief ‘honeymoon’. Heather hadn’t wanted to, but Race had insisted. He needed a holiday, he had told her coolly, and this was the time of year when he always visited his villa in the Cayman Islands. ‘We’ll cut it short this time—stay a fortnight instead of a month.’ He had also insisted on accompanying her on her hospital check-up, something she had always refused to let Neil do, and had questioned the doctor closely about any dangers there might be in her flying.

  He had spent three days with her before the wedding, taking her out, talking to her about his plans for the future, and she had learned that he only intended to stay with the television company for a year. ‘I want to concentrate more on my writing,’ he had told her as they drove along the narrow Cotswold roads, ‘but you needn’t worry that we might be facing penury; I have several other directorships.’

  It had been on that drive that Heather had seen the house. She had been map-reading and they had lost their way, taking a wrong turning and finding themselves on a winding country road, bordered by stone walls over which they could see glimpses of fields. The house was slightly set back from the road, Elizabethan and neglected, a battered ‘For Sale’ board outside. Perhaps it had something to do with her pregnancy, Heather didn’t know, but she had been consumed with a desire to restore it to what it had once been, to lavis
h love and care on it and bring it back to life. Her aunt had been right when she had said that she was born to be a wife and mother. She didn’t miss her London life in the slightest. Some women needed the challenge of a career, some had a creative urge they needed to fulfil, but Heather knew her desires would always be rooted in her home and family.

  She had found herself thinking about the house when they returned to her aunt and uncle’s, wondering if she hadn’t married Race whether she could have afforded to buy it. Probably not. But London wasn’t the place to bring up a child, not to her. She wanted her child to experience the same country childhood she had loved.

  The cold presence of Race’s ring as he slid it over her finger brought her back to the present. Her heart thudded. It was over, they were man and wife. The church bells pealed, music filling and swelling inside the small church. Heather noticed that her aunt was crying as she walked back down the aisle on Race’s arm. She felt the baby kick and wanted to laugh.

  ‘That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile properly all week.’ She glanced at Race, surprised to see how grim he looked—but then it couldn’t have been easy for him either. At least she loved him; he had nothing apart from his sense of responsibility towards their child. As they stepped out into the sunshine a shiver of fear went through her. Had she done the right thing? Only time would tell.

  CHAPTER NINE

  AS there was no direct flight from London to the Cayman Islands they were flying from Heathrow to the Caribbean and then taking the inter-island flight to the island where Race had his villa. The island was one of the smaller ones, he told her as they boarded their flight at Terminal 3, St James’s, and one of the delights of the Caymans was that because of their relative inaccessibility they were still largely unspoiled.