The Gift of Loving

by Wilson, Patricia

  His gaze seemed to be unable to leave her face or body and he stood away from her, his whole being held stiffly.

  'You are well?'

  'Yes. I've got over the morning sickness. It was only the first three months. I—I manage to get a lot of exercise and the doctor sees me every week. It's not necessary but he said that you—you...'

  'Insisted? Yes, I did.'

  'You needn't have,' Lucy assured him quietly, looking away. 'I'll take care of myself. I have the baby to think about. I know I have to be careful. You needn't worry that I'll do anything to jeopardise -'

  'Perhaps I am more concerned about you than the baby,' he murmured intensely. 'I have been very worried about you.'

  'You're very strong-willed,' Lucy informed him in a softly bitter voice. 'All that worry and yet you were able to stay away and contain it. I admire you.'

  He was by her side in two strides, his hand on her arm, holding it tightly. 'Lucy!'

  She pulled away, upset at his nearness. If he had been here all the time she wouldn't have minded but now he had come suddenly and she was so very pregnant, so ungainly.

  'Let me go, Guy,' she whispered. 'You don't need to be near me. I'm not a very pretty sight and the plan is going well. There's no need any more to -'

  'For pity's sake! If you were not like this I would shake the life out of you!' he raged. There was so much suppressed violence in him, in his voice, in his taut body, that Lucy went pale, her lips trembling.

  She felt very vulnerable, utterly defenceless.

  'Faint again and I will see to it that you stay in bed for the rest of the time,' he threatened, his arms coming round her.

  'I'm not going to faint. Perhaps you could manage not to shout so much? I've been reading that unborn babies can hear music. What do you imagine he's hearing now? You sound like Etna!' Her voice was stiff and she threw her head up proudly, meeting his gaze. She was holding herself like stone, afraid to let any part of her touch him, and his face softened as he glanced down at her.

  'So you have decided that you are carrying my son after all?' he asked in a suddenly indulgent voice.

  'Yes!' she informed him in as cold a voice as she could manage. 'The plan worked. It will all be over soon and I'll be on my way.'

  His grip tightened, his face icing over and cold dark eyes stared into hers. 'Maybe I will want three more!' he rasped acidly. 'If I do, I will renew your contract!'

  Surprisingly, he stayed close. He went to his office in Paris daily but the long absences seemed to be over. He might just as well have been away, though, because he never actually came close to her. He was more like a cool, polite stranger and she began to think that the times he had held her and whispered passionately to her were imagination. If she hadn't been carrying his child she would have been sure of the fact.

  Veronique was there often and by this time she was fairly close to Lucy and Lucy was glad of her company. She had Andre to talk to too and he was improving her French. Madame Gatien watched over her severely but Guy was always in her thoughts.

  She was crossing the hall one day as Guy was coming out of his study and his face was so stony as he saw her that she knew he couldn't bear to look at her. She hurried out of the house, never glancing back, tears blinding her eyes, and at first she didn't see Andre.

  He was by the lake, throwing stones as far as his arms would throw and she dried her eyes quickly before he could turn and see her.

  Before she was near him he bent to find more stones and in a sort of slow-motion terror she saw his feet slip on the mud, his small body sliding into the lake, the tall bulrushes hiding him almost immediately.

  'Andre!' She began to run, ignoring the stitch in her side that came like a dagger. He was already out of her sight and she plunged into the dark, cold water without any hesitation, grasping his sleeve and managing to lift his head clear of the entangled weeds.

  She was screaming for help, hanging on to him although he seemed to be so heavy with the water in his clothes and suddenly, like a miracle, Guy was there, lifting Andre to the bank.

  She could see Veronique and Madame Gatien running too and Guy rapped out orders to them.

  'Take him, Madame Gatien! He is cold and shocked. Veronique, get out my car quickly!'

  He lifted Lucy out but she was stiff, cold, the stitch in her side worse than ever and as her feet touched the bank she swayed dizzily.

  'Guy! I feel—feel ill. The baby!'

  She felt Guy's arms sweep her up and then everything was black, nothing left at all. She remembered the car, Veronique beside her.

  She remembered her own voice calling to Guy telling him over and over that she was sorry, that she couldn't help it. She remembered the hospital corridors and Guy's face like marble, cold and set, his lips edged with white. He never seemed to look at her and his hand held hers as he walked beside the trolley, his fingers hurting. She told him that but he did not seem to hear.

  CHAPTER TEN

  LUCY was in a narrow, white bed, flat powerful lights in the ceiling.

  There seemed to be a lot of people there too, all of them busy but it was hazy, unreal.

  'There is no miscarriage, Monsieur le Comte. The shock of her experience has brought on the birth but only by a week or so, it was almost due.'

  She could see the doctor, his rather round face reassuring, but Guy was out of her range of vision, only his deep voice assuring her that he was there at all.

  'How is she?' His voice sounded harsh and Lucy felt a wave of dread. If she had lost his child, their child...

  'Weakened somewhat and, as I say, shocked. She is less fragile than she looks, however, and there are great resources of strength in a woman at this time that as a mere man never fails to astonish me.'

  'I want—I would like to stay.'

  'When everything is ready we will bring you back in. For now, though -'

  Pain tore through Lucy, bringing a cry from her lips that she could not stop and instantly a cool hand was on her wrist, a sympathetic face leaning over her.

  'Doctor!' the nurse called, but Lucy's cry had already brought action and Guy came too, his face so drawn that for a second Lucy just stared at him. Pain came again in a blinding rush and sweat broke out on her face, her hand reaching out instinctively to the nurse for help.

  It was Guy's strong hand that grasped hers, his dark eyes filled with shock.

  'I am staying!' The words seemed to be forced through stiff lips and the doctor shrugged.

  'Perhaps you had better. We seem to have arrived at the crucial time a little more quickly than I anticipated. You will need a gown and mask.'

  She needed him to be there but his presence filled her with anguish.

  This was the end, or nearly so. She was bearing this pain for Guy, for his son, for a child she would be forced to leave. Between bouts of savage pain she looked at Guy as he watched her intently, only his eyes visible above the mask. He was afraid, she could see it.

  Would his son have the same eyes, dark and deep? Would he have Guy's dark hair, his superb strength? Some of those things she would never know.

  Tears came into her eyes and Guy wiped them away.

  'Lucy!' His voice was husky, almost trembling, his grip on her hand tight.

  'I'll manage it, Guy. You'll have your son,' she moaned, her voice rising as more pain slashed through her.

  'Use the pain!' The doctor's voice was almost over her head. 'It has a purpose. Use it! Push!' His voice became exasperated. 'You will have to leave, monsieur. She cannot seem to concentrate with you here.'

  'She needs me!' Guy's voice was taut, anguish in it, but the doctor was adamant.

  'It is difficult for her, the first child, her shock. Sometimes,

  monsieur, at times like these a woman even hates her husband for a little while, the pain is great but do not worry, she will love you again when the baby arrives.'

  Behind the mask Guy's face was white, his eyes stark as he looked at Lucy, but she was too involved to see anyth
ing, an almost animal cry of pain leaving her lips, and Guy was persuaded outside as the doctor came back to her.

  'Now, ma chere! Let us get down to some hard work,' he announced grimly.

  It was a boy, beautiful, perfect, and Lucy lay exhausted as he was placed in her arms.

  'We have done it, madame,' the doctor announced, as he grinned down at her cheerfully, his mask hanging around his neck. ' Mon Dieu! I am worn out.' His eyes looked sympathetic as his smile softened. 'It was not easy, I know. Your first child, the shock. It will not be like that next time, I promise.'

  There would be no 'next time', Lucy thought, her eyes on Guy's son.

  The time would be quick now, the days soon over, and she would never see either of them again. She could not even cry now; her emotions were drained, the prize after such pain not hers at all.

  Guy came a little later but while the doctor was still there, his eyes on Lucy even as the door was opened for him.

  'A little time only, monsieur,' the doctor said as he left. 'She is exhausted. It was a difficult birth.'

  She heard the words but it didn't really register in her mind and she was still gazing entranced at her son when Guy sat beside her.

  'Lucy?' His voice sounded hoarse and she glanced up.

  'It's all right. He's perfect. He's exactly like you.'

  'With blue eyes and a bright red face?' Guy's smile was strained as he looked at the small being in Lucy's arms and his hand came out to touch him tentatively, his finger tracing the velvet skin.

  'His face is red because he had to work very hard to come into the world,' Lucy said quietly. She looked almost solemnly at Guy.

  'What are you going to call him?'

  'I thought we would name him together.' Guy sounded uncertain, hesitant, and she supposed he didn't want to hurt her, to remind her that this was almost the end, and that she would have to leave the baby behind when she had fought so hard to get him.

  'Gerard,' she said quietly, looking away as he stared at her in surprise. 'I know it was your father's name, Veronique told me.'

  'What about your own father's name if we are to name him after fathers?'

  'Eric?' She looked away again. 'My father was English.'

  'So is our son, partly so.'

  'Only for now,' Lucy whispered, her eyes closing. 'He's going to be a French count. He probably won't even know he has English blood.'

  It was hurting so much to talk normally when she wanted Guy to take her in his arms, to tell her she had given him a beautiful baby, to tell her he loved her.

  'Lucy!' His voice sounded ragged, as if something tore at him, but she kept her eyes closed in case she pleaded with him to love her, to let her stay forever.

  'I'm very tired, Guy,' was all she said.

  'What about this, madame?' Madame Gatien came in leading two smiling maids who were carrying a rocking-chair. 'I knew it was somewhere in the house, in some unused room.' She beamed on Lucy and Lucy's face lit up with pleasure.

  'Oh, Madame Gatien! It's just perfect! How did you know I wanted one?'

  'I have seen you rocking the baby back and forth as you fed him. It is instinctive, good for both mother and child. I have three children of my own, now, of course, grown up,' she explained, marshalling the two interested maids to the door of Lucy's room and closing it firmly behind them. 'I used to rock them too.'

  It was hard to believe how the housekeeper had changed, Lucy thought. She was her constant champion, looking almost ready to intervene on Lucy's behalf if Guy was at all morose.

  He was almost constantly moody now and hardly ever at home.

  Sometimes she thought he regretted the whole thing and didn't want the baby and that hurt almost as much as the knowledge that he didn't want her either.

  She moved to the rocker that had been cleaned and polished with loving care in the kitchens and Madame Gatien used the excuse to hurry to the small room next door that was now a nursery, coming back with Guy's son in her arms.

  'Four months, madame. How the time has flown. He will soon need a nurse so that you can take your place beside the count when he travels.'

  Lucy smiled wanly but said nothing. Yes, he would soon need a nurse and then he would not need her at all, and neither would Guy.

  She smiled down at the baby as Madame Gatien left very reluctantly. Gerard Eric. Guy had insisted, and for some reason he also insisted upon calling him Eric even though Lucy complained that it didn't suit him one bit.

  On the odd occasion that he had come in when she was feeding the baby he had rapidly left as if the sight of the baby at her breast embarrassed him. Perhaps it reminded him she was still necessary, still had to be here?

  Lucy sighed and began to feed the baby, who reacted hungrily, nuzzling against her contentedly. It was her only consolation and that for very little longer; tears filled her eyes. How could she leave him? She began to rock gently and the small eyes closed dreamily.

  She did not hear the door open and it was only a slight sound that alerted her to the fact that she was not alone. Guy stood watching her; there was a faint flare of colour on his cheekbones, and his lips were tightened.

  'I didn't know you were here,' Lucy said quietly. 'I'm afraid I can't stop, it's feeding time. If it embarrasses you perhaps you could come back later?'

  'I need an appointment?' His eyes swept over her. lingering on her breasts. 'It does not embarrass me,' he said in a strange, husky voice.

  'Perhaps, being but a man, it would do, but you make it seem so natural.'

  'It is natural,' Lucy said solemnly. 'It's good for both of us.'

  'So I am informed.' Guy ran his hand along the back of his neck as if he was tired and she noticed how strained he looked, how strained he had looked for ages, come to think of it.

  'Are you having any trouble?' she asked softly. 'Any business trouble, I mean?'

  He walked over to the window and looked down at the gardens, glad apparently to be able to have his back to them. His laugh was hard.

  'I am glad you decided to clarify that. No, I am not having any business problems.' He swung round. 'I have been talking to the doctor. He believes it would be good if you could continue to feed the baby yourself, as long as you can. What do you think of it? I know that originally I said it would be for only a little time but -'

  'Thank you. I'd like that,' Lucy said quietly, her eyes determinedly on her son, the chair never faltering in the steady rocking. He had been asking the doctor how long it would be necessary for her to stay, perhaps not in so many words but clearly he wanted to know.

  'What do you mean, thank you?' Guy asked explosively. 'You are -'

  'Odd, peculiar? I know,' Lucy managed quietly, her quiet voice seeming to infuriate him more because he strode across, towering over her.

  'Ciel! Will you stop that rocking and look at me!'

  She made no move to obey and he rasped her name, his voice threatening.

  'Lucy!'

  'You forgot to call me Lucinda,' she pointed out softly. 'You even say Lucy now when you're angry, which is most of the time. I can't

  really understand why you're angry, Guy. Everything is exactly as you planned, just as you wanted it.'

  'Is it?' She didn't look up and he came down on one knee in front of her, his hands grasping the chair, stopping the even movement, and she looked up then, expecting rage. In fact she had been trying to make him angry, anything rather than the moody, polite way he had all the time now. He was so distant from her, as if there had never been any time when he was near.

  He wasn't glaring at her though, his eyes were on her breast, his face flushed and his eyes darkened.

  'Will you stay?' he asked without looking up.

  'I'll stay as long as he needs me.' She had no doubt at all about what he meant. The doctor had probably given him a lecture on the benefits of breast-feeding.

  'It may be a long time,' he murmured, his eyes still on her breast and the small being who sucked hungrily. 'You are perhaps afraid that if y
ou go I will call him a small monster and act accordingly?'

  He meant when she went not if. Her hand stroked the small head so close to her.

  'How could you? He's beautiful.'

  'Yes. He is.' His hand captured hers, raising it to his lips, and she looked down at the two dark heads so close to her, response searing through her body. Loving him was a sweet agony, an endless torture.

  He bent his head and his lips brushed her breast close to the baby's head, his hand sliding into her blouse to curl around her other breast and caress it.

  'Guy!' Pleasure shot through her like a pain. It was almost barbaric, erotic, but his lips followed his hand, his tongue stroking across her skin.

  'Don't stop me!' he muttered thickly. 'I am sick with wanting you.'

  His hands grasped her waist and the baby murmured, his senses alert to the change in Lucy. It seemed to bring Guy to his senses too and he stood, moving away, his flushed face now pale.

  'I'm sorry, Lucy. Forgive "me,' he said hoarsely. 'Sometimes I cannot seem to help myself. Deep inside you there must be a witch.'

  She wished there were. She would put a spell on him and never leave. Her body was shuddering with feeling, bitter-sweet pain, and she rocked back and forth, tears in her eyes, trying to be calm for the baby's sake.

  When she was near she sometimes bewitched him, that was what he had meant, but it never brought him to her willingly and when she was gone he would forget. She looked into the clear blue eyes of her son, seeing his face through a blur of tears. He would forget too, Guy would see to that. It would not be convenient to have a child constantly asking for his mother.

  In the afternoon, Veronique arrived. She was a regular visitor, delighted with the baby, and they settled down to tea when the baby finally slept.

  'He is beautiful and so like Guy,' Veronique said with a contented sigh. 'I sometimes wondered if he would ever marry, if the name would die out with him. His distrust of women began at an age when he was utterly vulnerable to them. I suppose he has told you?'

  'No. I haven't pried into -'