by Emma Darcy
“How’s that?” he asked, placing a glass full of crushed ice tinted with amber sherry in front of her.
“Great! Thank you.”
“My pleasure. Now tell me what you fancy for dinner. I’m cooking tonight.”
Nina took a sip of her drink as she tried to formulate the best way of telling him their time together was curtailed.
“You just sit there and relax and I’ll prepare everything,” he went on, letting her know he was not going to crowd her.
“We’re not going to have much time together, Jack. I have an appointment to fit a wedding dress in Sally’s showroom at seven o’clock and I have to feed Charlotte before then. If you don’t want to bother—”
“No, I’m not going to let you fall into bad eating habits.” He shook his head at her in frowning concern and checked his watch. “Five forty-two. I can have a proper dinner cooked by six-thirty. What time do you usually feed the kid?”
“Six o’clock.”
“How long does it take?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Then we should slot the meal in nicely before you have to go to work. I’ll clean up afterwards.” His face lit with inspiration. “You can leave the kid with me. Save any distraction while you work.”
His off-the-cuff suggestion left Nina confounded. She had been winding herself up to test his attitude over minding the baby and he’d whipped the mat out from under her feet, so to speak. Her disbelief and confusion must have been written on her face. Assuming he was about to get a negative response, Jack instantly proceeded to argue his case.
“I am a responsible adult, Nina. You can safely leave the kid in my care. I promise if I’m worried about anything, I’ll come to you. How does that sound?” he asked eagerly.
She was stunned. “I…well, if you think—”
“Trust me,” he commanded, his green eyes boring directly into hers, unwavering in his sense of purpose, insistent that she accept his word.
Nina took a deep breath. Far be it from her to protest his offer or dampen his eagerness to please. The focus of his caring was still centred on her, but did that matter if it motivated him to spend time looking after Charlotte?
“All right,” she agreed. “If you’re sure you don’t mind.”
He grinned as though he’d won a lottery. “Glad to be of help.” Vitality bubbled from him as he danced to the refrigerator, swinging its door open wide to peruse the contents. “How about a big, juicy steak?”
“A small one for me, please.” She wasn’t sure she could eat anything. Jack was not only taking over, he seemed to be turning everything around.
“Salad, jacket potatoes?”
“Yes,” she agreed dizzily.
It was a relief to hear Charlotte’s first tentative cry—something normal, expected, and no problem knowing what to do about it. “I’ll have to leave you to it, Jack,” Nina said quickly, slipping off the stool.
A louder, “Hey! Did you hear me?” cry told Jack where she was going. He swung around to catch her attention as she headed for the hall. “Are you, um, self-conscious about breastfeeding, Nina?” he asked somewhat diffidently. “I mean, would you mind bringing the kid out here so we can be together?”
Like a real family.
The thought zinged through Nina’s mind, ballooning the hope, edging it with a silver lining. Her smile sparkled. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
His smile positively scintillated. “Great!”
Nina didn’t exactly dance down the hall, but her heart certainly jigged. Once in the bedroom she swooped on the capsule, picking Charlotte up in mid-wail and twirling around with her. “Your daddy wants us with him,” she whispered gleefully.
Charlotte returned an arch look and spluttered.
Nina laughed and carried her over to the change table, performing a swift nappy change as she wondered what to do about her own clothes. Her top would have to come off. Then she remembered the lovely silk Christian Dior dressing gown Jack had given her for her birthday over a year ago. Its dramatic black and white print wouldn’t clash with her make-up. Besides, Jack would recognise it and feel pleased she was wearing it.
Nina could hardly believe how well everything was going. The tension of testing Jack was completely wiped out. When she returned to the living room, he fussed around, making sure she and the baby were comfortable in one of the armchairs, offering to fetch anything they needed and emitting all the pleasure of a proud dad as he watched Charlotte in action.
“This kid sure knows what it wants,” he commented, a warm, appreciative gleam in his eyes.
Nina’s stomach curled. Her breasts were highly sensitive at the moment. The tiny mouth sucking at her nipple sharply reminded her of many nights of love with Jack. Was he remembering, too?
The sense of intimacy being so strongly generated suddenly alerted Nina to the realisation it was still very early days in this new situation between them. “Tell me what’s been happening to you, Jack,” she invited quickly. “Your work and everything.”
The conversation flowed smoothly enough, Jack very aware of keeping her at ease with him. The eight months of separation and the reason for it had to be laid to rest before they could really go forward. Nina couldn’t be sure Jack’s current attitude would last past the first flush of being together again. Charlotte would inevitably become more intrusive.
By the time Nina finished tending to Charlotte’s needs and had changed back into her clothes, Jack had their meal ready. She carried the capsule out to the living room, setting it down near the cane lounge. Charlotte was still awake, happily crowing to herself, and Nina wanted to keep an eye on her, making sure it would be all right to leave her with Jack.
Surprisingly, Nina found she had a hearty appetite. She thoroughly enjoyed her dinner, relaxing in Jack’s company while they ate. He even persuaded her into telling him about Charlotte’s bath, chuckling at her description of the baby’s initial stiffening at the touch of water and Nina’s interpretations of the startled expressions on her face.
It was the kind of shared fun they used to have, and Nina was in buoyant spirits as she prepared to leave for her appointment. A last-minute check on Charlotte completely shattered her happy bubble of optimism. The tiny fists were clenched, and her face had the screwed-up air of concentration that Nina recognised only too well.
“Oh no! Not now,” she groaned.
“What’s wrong?”
“Charlotte is working up to dirtying her nappy. What am I going to do?” she wailed, frantically checking the time. “I can’t be late. I’ll have to come back and clean her up after I let Juliette in. If Charlotte starts crying—”
“Stop worrying.” Jack gripped her shoulders to calm her agitation, and his eyes beamed confident assurance at her. “I’ll take care of it. I trust I’ll find everything I need in the bedroom? A clean nappy, baby oil, tissues, talcum powder?”
“Yes, but—”
“I can do it, Nina. Leave it to me. You go on and attend to business. Not a problem.”
“You’ve never done anything like this, Jack,” she cried, horrified at the idea of throwing him in at the deep end with a mess that would surely turn his stomach.
“Had a practice session this morning,” he asserted. “I’m an expert.”
“What?” Incredulity blitzed the horror.
“Maurice Larosa has a new baby son. That’s why I was visiting the hospital. I got his wife to give me nappy-changing lessons,” he said smugly. “I bet I can do it as good as you.”
She shook her head dazedly. Jack taking nappy-changing lessons?
“Now, off you go.” He good-humouredly turned her towards the connecting door to Sally’s house. “I’ll take charge here.”
She went.
She wondered if Maurice’s son had dirtied his nappy or simply wet it. There was a huge difference. Huge! As a test for having the intestinal fortitude for hands-on fatherhood, Charlotte was certainly supplying a hardliner. Nina had to acknowledge
there was a terrible fascination in finding out if Jack could really handle it and still come up smiling.
CHAPTER TEN
JACK was curious. And intrigued. How did Nina know the kid was doing heavy business? He couldn’t see any telltale signs. The baby bomb was looking up at him as placid as you please, big eyes widely alert as though reviewing the conversation it had heard and checking Jack out before accepting him as substitute minder.
“I’m your dad, kid,” Jack advised. “Better get used to me.”
The little face suddenly assumed a belligerent expression. The tiny arms stopped waving and straightened out, hands clenching.
“Want to fight, huh?”
No reply. A gathering of concentration on internal matters, eyes narrowing, face going red. Several seconds passed. It dawned on Jack that the kid was pushing. Then the job was done. Relief came. Relaxation. A look of blissful peace. Jack chuckled. It was so obvious.
“Good to get rid of that lot, eh?”
He recalled Nina’s description of the range of expressions reflecting the kid’s reaction to a bath and shook his head in amusement. Who would have thought personality was developed so young? He could see there might very well be a fascination in watching it grow. Maybe besotted parents weren’t as foolish as he’d thought. On the other hand, it was patently ridiculous to let a pint-sized infant rule the roost.
He picked up the capsule and carried it into the bedroom. No point in lifting the kid out until he had to. Stuff might run down its legs. He put the capsule on the bed and examined what Nina had laid out on the change table. He figured a towel and a wet washer might be useful and fetched them from the bathroom. Nappy-changing carried unsuspected dangers. Maurice’s kid had gone off like a fountain this morning, hitting him in the face before he could block the spray off with the absorbent pad.
Having assembled everything within easy reach, Jack felt supremely competent and confident as he gathered up the danger zone and moved it to the change table, holding the little body horizontally to prevent possible leakage. Mission successful. Jack grinned triumphantly as he unsnapped the fasteners on the terry-towelling body suit, freed the tiny feet from it, and pushed the garment up out of the operation area.
“Got to hand it to your old dad, kid. Think ahead. That’s what you have to do in this life to avoid mishaps.”
The response from her pursed lips was a spit-and-splutter raspberry.
“No respect,” Jack chided. “You’ll have to watch that, kid. I’m supposed to be the authority in your life. You don’t want to start off on the wrong foot.”
The odour started rising as Jack unfastened the plastic tabs on the nappy. It was incredibly foul. Worse than rotten egg gas. Jack’s throat convulsed as he fought against gagging. Manfully he peeled down the front section of the nappy. The source of the smell revealed itself in all its slushy, yellow-green horror.
“Yuk! No wonder you wanted to get rid of that!”
A gurgle denoted agreement.
Jack hastily but carefully removed the liner that contained most of the mess, burying it in a heap of tissues. He set to work cleaning up the kid’s bottom. The stuff had oozed everywhere. Tissues, he decided, were a great invention, but he was glad he’d had the foresight to have a washer and towel on hand to do a proper job of removing every putrid smear.
The assault on his olfactory nerves lessened as they got used to the stench. Or he got rid of it. One way or another, it wasn’t too revolting after a while. Not the most pleasant of jobs, Jack reflected, but paint stripper wasn’t pleasant, either, and it was an unavoidable adjunct to his work with furniture. Some things just had to be done.
He did, however, gain an insight into the fixation parents had about potty-training. There was definitely reason behind their madness. Cause and effect. He appreciated how important—indeed, obsessive—the issue could become when a person was faced with this every day. Jack resolved to be more sympathetic to potty-training discussions in future.
“That does it,” Jack informed the kid, having achieved absolute cleanliness.
He slid a fresh nappy under the pearly white bottom, positioning it with well-trained precision. A bit of baby oil, a shake of talcum powder, and all was sweetness and light. Gently moving the tiny legs apart in order to bring up the front piece of the pad, Jack was suddenly struck by the irrefutable fact he was looking straight at unfamiliar territory.
Maurice’s kid had recognisable equipment. A boy was a boy. This was…a girl.
Jack blinked. Somehow she didn’t look right. It took him a second or two to realise he’d never seen what a girl looked like before the age of puberty. No sisters. No girl cousins, either. Having been in a boys’ boarding school from age seven, he simply hadn’t been exposed to a young girl’s anatomy.
Not that it changed, he reminded himself, but it obviously got more disguised. This was…so bare. It gave him a funny feeling—a strong rush of tenderness mixed with a fierce urge to protect.
A girl. A daughter…
Jack shook his head in bemusement. Was this what the father-daughter thing was about? A girl looked so vulnerable. She needed a dad to keep her safe from the bad guys. Mothers were fine. Mothers were irreplaceable, he amended, the memory of Nina breastfeeding still highly vivid and captivating. But fathers definitely had their role to play in looking after little kids.
“Don’t you worry, Charlie girl,” he told his daughter as he covered her up and fitted the nappy firmly with the tabs. “Any bad guy is going to have to get past me, and I’m no pushover.”
She made a popping sound with her mouth.
“Blowing me a kiss, huh?” He grinned as he put her feet in the body suit and did up the press studs. “There you are. All snug. How about another kiss?” He gave her tummy a little tickle as he leaned over and made a popping sound with his lips.
She gazed at in him in wide-eyed fascination. Jack prompted her with a repeat demonstration. She caught on and gave it right back to him.
“That’s Daddy’s girl!”
He suddenly heard the drooling indulgence in his voice and jolted upright, appalled at how quickly, how insidiously he had been drawn into baby drivel. It was a highly sobering experience. Never in his worst nightmares had he imagined himself succumbing to such soppy nonsense.
He eyed the kid with glowering suspicion. There was a power here that had to be resisted. No kid was going to turn him into a blathering idiot. No, sir! He was master of his own behaviour.
“Back to your capsule, kid,” he commanded, picking up the thimble-sized piece of dynamite and transporting it to the restricted area where it belonged, doing no harm and coming to no harm.
“A place for everything and everything in its place,” Jack recited sternly, ignoring the wail of protest as he dealt with the mess on the change table.
The wailing continued. Jack set everything to rights in the bedroom, then carried the capsule out to the living room. There was still the cleaning up to do in the kitchen. The kid was demanding more attention. Jack recognised the conflict of interests and decided it had to be nipped in the bud.
“Listen up, kid,” he addressed his demanding daughter in the voice of paternal authority. “You and I need to come to an accommodation.”
It got through to her. She stopped wailing and gave him her attention.
“The human race rubs along best if people consider each other,” Jack explained. “I’m not going to have your mother come back to dirty dishes in the sink. You’ve had your time quota from me. It’s your mum’s turn now. So quit being selfish.”
A spit-and-splutter raspberry.
Jack wagged his finger at her. “No more lip from you, young lady. I’ll put on some music. We can both listen to it while I do the work. That’s it. Your dad has spoken.”
A satisfactory silence followed this little homily. Jack hummed happily to himself as he selected the Beatles anthology album from Nina’s collection and slid it into her disk player. Proper instruction and education.
That was the trick, he decided. He turned the volume down low on the sound system, considering delicate eardrums, and started off Charlie girl’s musical education with a gentle blast from the past.
“How’s that, kid?” he asked on his way to the kitchenette.
No reply. Totally enthralled with the new experience.
Jack congratulated himself. He was wise to the baby game. Kids could dominate a relationship in no time flat. They looked helpless and cute, but they were really dyed-in-the-wool tyrants, given free rein. Things had to be kept in proportion. There had to be respect, discipline, an understanding of limits.
It was really quite simple to handle, once one appreciated the power game being played. As the old saying went, it was the hand that rocked the cradle that ruled the world. Anyone who let the kid in the cradle do the ruling was asking for trouble.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“IT WILL be done first thing in the morning,” Nina assured Juliette Hardwick for the umpteenth time, barely restraining herself from pushing the bride-to-be out the door.
“Don’t worry, Juliette,” Sally chimed in, having joined them to do her public relations priming of the client. Sally never missed a trick in delivering the dream. “I’ll bring you the dress myself tomorrow evening. You’ll look absolutely perfect on your wedding day.”
“You don’t think I’ve got too thin, do you?” came the anxious question.
More lingering, Nina thought in exasperation, desperately eager to get back to Jack and Charlotte. Jack must have coped somehow, since he hadn’t come looking for assistance, but it could be pride holding him back. Nina was full of trepidation at what she would find when she returned to her flat.
Sally soothed and flattered, and finally Juliette bid them good night and left. The door had barely closed behind her when Sally grabbed Nina’s arm, detaining her from dashing away on the instant. Her bright hazel eyes gleamed with the need to know.