‘Oooohhh Vincent.’ Emma buried her head in his chest and started crying again.
‘What is it? What’s wrong? Tell me, Emma.’
‘I’m pregnant,’ Emma howled.
‘What?’ Vincent’s jaw dropped.
‘I’m sorry, Vincent. I really am.’
He stared down at her. ‘A baby!’
Emma couldn’t talk, she was so upset.
‘It’s all right, love. Stop crying.’ Vincent cuddled her close. ‘Let’s get out of here.’ He led his weeping wife out to the car.
‘Come on now, Emma, I know it’s an awful shock and not what we’d planned, but we’ll get used to the idea,’ he said, weakly. ‘We would have had children at some stage. We’d agreed that.’ He was trying to be positive about it. But it was a shock. He’d thought that pill thing guaranteed freedom from pregnancy from the way Jane and Emma raved about it. So much for that idea, he thought as he sat in the car with his arms around Emma. He should have used johnnies.
‘It won’t be so bad, Emma. Look at Ben and Miriam, their kids are nice little things.’ The thought of Miriam bursting out of her navy crimplene trouser suit made Emma cry even harder. She’d be like that soon. Not in a navy crimplene trouser suit. Never that. But soon her clothes wouldn’t fit her and she’d have to get bigger sizes and she’d be FAT. It was a horrible thought. Another thought struck her. Childbirth was supposed to be excruciatingly painful. How would she cope with that? It was bad enough if she got a headache. Tentacles of fear squeezed her insides. This was a nightmare. One that wasn’t going to go away.
‘Just take me home, Vincent,’ Emma wept. ‘My life is over.’
‘Nonsense. Of course your life isn’t over, you silly girl. This is great news. Your father will be thrilled. He’s dying to be a grandfather,’ Pamela Connolly said soothingly as she tried to comfort her distraught daughter. It was two weeks since Emma had found out about her pregnancy and she’d broken the news to Pamela, who’d returned from a spring break in England.
‘I don’t want to have a baby, Mum.’ Emma glared at her mother frustratedly. Why would no-one listen to her and believe her when she kept saying she didn’t want this child? Mrs Munroe and Miriam had dismissed her fears and assured her she’d be fine once she got used to the idea. They’d been thrilled. Full of delight for her. And her mother was just the same. Fierce resentment surged. She didn’t want this child. Nothing was going to change that. Not Mrs Munroe or Miriam or her mother or father or even Vincent who was at his wit’s end over her misery.
‘You’re better to have your children when you’re young, darling. You have the energy for them when they’re toddlers and then, before you know it, they’re all grown up and you’ve a whole new life for yourself.’ Pamela was brisk. She observed her daughter, noting Emma’s pale pinched expression and the dark circles around her eyes. She did feel sorry for Emma. It was tough being brought to earth with a bang. A honeymoon baby was always a bit of a shock. She knew her daughter had been looking forward to having fun, and entertaining and riding her lovely new mare. Emma was not one for responsibilities. Pamela was well aware of that.
Well unfortunately responsibilities were part of life and life was tough. It was time for her darling daughter to grow up.
‘I hope, dear, that you’re not making life miserable for Vincent?’ Pamela arched a perfectly plucked eyebrow. Emma hung her head and said nothing. What did her mother want? For her to go around singing Que Sera, Sera like Doris Day and pretend that she was over the moon with happiness. If she couldn’t be dejected in front of Vincent, who could she be dejected in front of? He was her husband. She didn’t have to put on an act in front of him.
‘Now that’s not fair, Emma,’ Pamela rebuked sternly. ‘You can’t think of yourself all the time.’
‘Oh for God’s sake, Mother, leave me alone!’ Emma exploded. She hadn’t driven all the way from Glenree to Foxrock for a lecture. She wanted sympathy and she certainly wasn’t getting any. Why did everyone think she should be thrilled to be pregnant? Was she some sort of a freak because she hated the idea? Did no-one understand how she felt?
She was always as regular as clockwork. She had a twenty-eight-day cycle come hell or high water. Now it was thirty-three days – five days over – and Ellen was very scared. Maybe worry had stopped her period from coming. If she could forget about it and relax, it would arrive.
‘You’ve given me too much change, Ellen,’ Bonnie Daly said sweetly, as she handed Ellen back a ten-shilling note.
‘Oh . . . oh . . . sorry.’ Ellen was flustered. She hoped her father hadn’t noticed.
‘And how is Emma settling in to our little backwater?’ Bonnie inquired.
Nosy cow, Ellen thought grumpily. She wished Bonnie Daly would shag off and leave her alone. ‘She’s settling in fine.’
‘And your mother tells me, she’ll be hearing the patter of tiny feet before the end of the year. Isn’t that wonderful news?’ Bonnie gushed.
Ellen’s heart started to pound.
‘Great news,’ she managed to say. If she was pregnant, she’d have to leave Glenree. Bonnie Daly would have a field day. Sheila would never be able to hold her head up in the town again. It was a huge disgrace to be expecting a baby before marriage. Chris would have to marry her. But would he? Ellen didn’t dare think about it.
‘No sign of you taking the plunge?’ Bonnie smiled coyly, knowing full well that Ellen had no prospects.
‘The sea’s too cold and I can’t swim.’ Ellen scowled. ‘Now you must excuse me, Mrs Daly. I’ve some figures to do.’
Rude hussy, Bonnie Daly thought crossly as she marched out of the shop. The cheek of Ellen Munroe, snubbing her like that. No wonder she hadn’t got a ring on her finger. What man would have a moody madam like her?
Please let Chris ring, she prayed. He hadn’t been in touch for the past few days. The weekend was coming up. Surely he’d phone to make plans. They were having such fun. He was wonderful to be with, so attentive and charming. He had class. He took her to expensive restaurants. He took her dancing. He made her laugh with his dry humour and caustic comments. He always wanted to be out and about. He was popular and well known around town and, although Ellen was having a hectic, exciting time, there were times when she’d much prefer to be on her own with him. To talk to him, and listen to him tell about his great plans for his own company. The company she was going to work in as his secretary. She wanted to be close to him, in every way. She’d never felt like this about a man before.
Joseph, her ex, had never taken her over, mind, body and soul, the way Chris had. She hadn’t spent all her waking hours thinking about him. On reflection, Ellen had to admit that, when Joseph had walked out on her, it was her pride rather than her heart that was injured. Ellen knew she’d never have any pride with Chris. He had her heart. He’d had it from the moment he’d looked into her eyes and smiled that devil-may-care smile. She’d always sneered at the idea of love at first sight – before she’d met him. But it had happened to her. Absolutely!
Miriam said that it was infatuation. But she didn’t understand. Ellen knew it wasn’t infatuation. The feelings she had for Chris overwhelmed her completely. He was all she wanted. Her days and nights were filled with thoughts of him. It was crazy and she knew she wasn’t being rational. Just as she knew that Chris, with his reputation as a womanizer, was not the man she should fall in love with. She knew she was heading for trouble. She knew she’d never have a minute’s peace with him. For every hour of ecstasy she’d had with him, she’d had days of misery. Days when she waited patiently and in vain for him to phone. Days when she knew she was just an afterthought in his life.
If only she knew how he really felt about her. When they made love he told her he loved her and she wanted desperately to believe him. But when she was alone and waiting for his call, all her fears and anxieties surfaced. Did he not want to be with her? How could he let two or three days go by without phoning her? Did that mean that for three whol
e days he didn’t once think of her? And, if that was the case, how could he be in love with her? Because she was so obsessed she couldn’t stop thinking about him, morning, noon or night. She couldn’t wait to hear his voice on the phone. Or be with him and feel his arms around her. That surely was love and why could he not feel the same?
When, in despair, she’d pour her heart out to Miriam, and ask her questions she couldn’t answer, her sister-in-law would sigh and say, ‘Ellen, I don’t know, love. Why don’t you just end it now and stop tormenting yourself? Love isn’t something that torments. What you have with him isn’t love.’
‘It is, it is. He’s busy, up to his eyes. He’s going out on his own soon. When this is all over things will be different.’ She’d make excuses for him, trying to find reassurance in them herself.
Sometimes, alone in bed, she’d acknowledge the truth of Miriam’s words and vow to end it. To get on with her life and find someone who would value her. But then he’d phone and make her laugh and they’d meet and she’d know that he was the one she wanted to be with. Chris only had to look at her with his intense blue-eyed gaze and her stomach would tighten in knots of delicious anticipation. Making love with him satisfied every fibre of her being. Ellen could think of no greater pleasure. Each time they dated they’d ended up at his house, in bed. After that first night he’d used French letters. She’d insisted. But deep down, Ellen knew it was too late for all that. She was knocked up and she was in deep trouble. No matter how hard she pretended she wasn’t. The shrill ring of the phone made her jump. She picked up the heavy black receiver willing Chris to be at the other end. Her heart was pounding.
‘Hello?’ she said hopefully.
‘Hello, Ellen, would you bring me home a pound of streaky rashers when you come back at lunchtime? And would you bring me an oxtail? I’m going to make some soup for poor little Emma. Vincent tells me she isn’t eating a thing, God love her. I know what it’s like, especially with your first child. It’s a worrying time. All the fears and uncertainties. We must be kind to her. I’ve told Miriam to make a fuss of her and try and reassure her. She might listen to Miriam. They’re closer in age.’ Sheila was in full spate. Her words twisted like a knife in Ellen’s heart.
She knew she’d be able to cope with the physical side of pregnancy, the labour and the birth. But what she dreaded more than anything else was telling her mother and father. They’d never forgive her.
Please Chris, ring me. Please, please, please, she be-seeched as her mother launched into a litany of the kind of advice she intended giving Emma.
‘I have to go, Ma. I’ve a queue,’ Ellen fibbed five minutes later as the flow continued unabated. She hung up and felt she was going to be sick. The phone rang. She snatched up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘Is that the butcher’s?’ Ellen felt a lump in her throat. Her eyes smarted with tears.
‘Yes,’ she murmured.
‘This is Mrs Nugent. I want four gigot chops and a pound of round steak when he’s delivering this morning.’
‘Certainly,’ Ellen responded heavily. There was a knot of pain right in the middle of her breastbone. How could emotional feelings be so physically painful, she wondered dully as she took a note of the order. If only he’d ring and put her out of her misery. Ellen could stand it no longer. She picked up the phone and dialled Chris’s office number. Only to be told by his secretary that he was out of the office meeting clients and would be gone for the rest of the day.
What am I going to do? she thought in panic.
‘Any more orders?’ Mick stuck his head into the little cubicle, where she sat on a high chair surveying the shop through a plastic partition.
‘Ellen, Ellen, are you listening to me?’
‘Sorry, Da.’ Ellen felt so tempted to blurt out her fears. Her father was a kind man. He wouldn’t turn on her, surely. If only she could tell someone.
‘Any more orders? Eamonn’s off on the delivery round.’
‘Just Mrs Nugent. Four gigots and a pound of round.’
‘Right.’
Ellen watched her father take his big knife from his belt as he walked over to the big wooden table where he chopped the meat. Imagine if she told him. There’d be ructions. Maybe she was mistaken, she thought forlornly. It was best to say nothing to anyone, until she found out one way or the other.
‘You’re a shit, Chris Wallace.’ Suzy Kenny took a sip of her white wine and stared coldly at the man sitting in front of her.
‘I’ve been called worse.’ Chris grinned. His vivid blue eyes smiled into hers. ‘Maybe you could reform me.’
‘I don’t know if I’d want to.’
‘Oh come on! You know you can’t resist a challenge,’ he teased. Suzy laughed and he knew he was halfway there. He’d bumped into her quite by accident and, although she’d been snooty enough at first, he’d persuaded her to have lunch. She was looking very elegant in her powder-blue suit, her sunglasses perched atop her blonde bouffant. Suzy was always so groomed, unlike Ellen who, although she looked very curvaceous and sexy, never seemed to get her look together. You could take Suzy anywhere, any time. He’s forgotten how provocative Suzy’s cool ‘keep your distance’ air could be.
‘How about dinner tonight?’ he invited.
‘Can’t. I’m seeing someone tonight.’ Suzy drew on her filter-tipped cigarette and exhaled a long thin stream of smoke.
‘Tomorrow then?’
‘I’m going to the pictures with Alexandra, a friend of mine.’
‘I remember her.’ Chris frowned. He had never got on with Alexandra Johnston. ‘Cancel it.’
‘Certainly not,’ Suzy said coolly.
‘Saturday then,’ Chris persisted.
‘I’m booked up for the weekend.’
‘You’re a busy woman,’ Chris said dryly.
‘That’s me.’ Suzy stood up. ‘Thanks for lunch.’
‘I’ll call you.’ Chris stood up politely.
‘Whatever.’
Her air of indifference infuriated him. Challenged him. Excited him. He’d seduced her once. He’d do it again if he put his mind to it. Suzy was no pushover. Not like Ellen, the thought came unbidden.
Chris watched his former girlfriend glide out the door of the restaurant, watched by every man there.
She could play hard to get all she liked, Chris reflected. She’d be his again if he wanted her. He had no doubt whatsoever on that score. She was cool though, very cool, he thought admiringly as he paid the bill. And he liked it. He was feeling a bit smothered by Ellen lately. She was falling for him and, while it was very nice and very flattering, he didn’t want her to get too serious. He had no intention of settling down yet. The thought made him feel claustrophobic. Maybe he’d cool things with Ellen for a while. She’d be expecting him to phone to make plans for the weekend. Maybe he’d give it a miss this weekend and catch up on some paperwork.
He’d phone her on Monday and arrange to see her midweek. He knew she’d be upset. His heart softened. Ellen was a loving, giving woman, if only she could distance herself a bit and be cool about it. Not be clinging and emotionally demanding. He found that hard to handle. Chris sighed. Women, he loved them, but they certainly were complicated creatures.
‘You had lunch with him!’ Alexandra shrieked down the line. ‘I’m coming straight over. I want to hear everything.’ Alexandra Johnston was Suzy’s best friend and she knew all about Chris.
Suzy smiled as she hung up. She wrapped a towel turban-wise around her blonde hair. She’d fibbed when she’d told Chris she was seeing someone this evening. But if he thought she was going to fall headlong into his arms, he had another think coming. Not that she didn’t want to fall headlong into his arms. She most certainly did. When he’d dumped her, she’d been in bits. She’d lost half a stone in a week. She couldn’t sleep. She couldn’t concentrate on her work. Her boss had called her into his office and told her she’d have to sharpen up. All her letters had mistakes in them. Suzy had wa
nted to tell him to piss off, her heart was broken and all he cared about was his piddling letters.
Chris thought he’d bumped into her by chance today, little did he know that she’d staked him out and followed him into town and pretended to bump into him. A girl in love had to take desperate measures, and she was in love. She was crazy about the bastard. Suzy bit her lip. Maybe she’d overdone the not interested bit. Maybe he wouldn’t call.
‘No! He’ll call. You played a blinder. You handled him perfectly,’ Alexandra assured her half an hour later as they sat by the fire drinking dry Martinis.
‘I don’t know.’ Now she was racked by self-doubt.
‘I’m telling you, Suzy, you keep putting him off and he’ll be panting for you. You play your cards right and you’ll be Mrs Chris Wallace yet. Trust me. Have I ever led you astray?’ Alexandra popped a black olive into her mouth.
‘Do you think so? Really?’ Suzy felt much more hopeful.
‘I certainly do. Men like him need to have women falling at their feet. You play cool with him. Keep your distance. Don’t let him sleep with you this time and I promise you he’ll have a ring on your finger before you know it,’ Alexandra said confidently. ‘How did he look?’
Suzy’s eyes took on a dreamy faraway look. ‘Gorgeous. You know when he smiles at you and looks into your eyes and you feel you’re the only woman on the planet?’
‘Hmm.’ Alexandra was dubious. ‘Don’t let him get to you. The strategy is to keep him dangling.’
‘I know.’ Suzy sighed. ‘I just wanted him to take me back to his place and go to bed. It’s very hard to keep your distance when he turns on the charm. I really miss sleeping with him.’
‘Don’t let your hormones rule your head, ducky. There’ll be plenty of time for that when he’s hooked.’
‘I know. You’re right. I’ll play it cool like I did today. Once bitten, twice shy.’
‘That’s my girl. Now pour me another drink and have one yourself and let’s devise a strategy that will ensure that Mr Chris Wallace pops the question.’
Giggling, Suzy complied.
Promises, Promises Page 10