by Emma Darcy
He shook off the thought. Stupid to spoil the pleasure of this day. Besides, their relationship was just as good out of bed as in it. He couldn’t ask for a more companionable partner. Nothing was going to affect that. With a baby on the way, they’d have even more to talk about and plan for.
Smiling, he dialled his mother’s telephone number.
She answered on the second ring. “Cynthia Davis,” she rattled off as though in a hurry.
“It’s Matt.”
“Hello, dear! I’m just off to the Bridge Club. Can we chat this evening instead?”
Bridge Club, View Club, an Asian cooking course—Thai, Chinese, Vietnamese—weekly Tai Chi sessions...his mother had certainly thrown herself into activities these past few months, making good her promise to establish a new life for herself. Matt was delighted at the efforts she had made to pick up and pursue interests.
“No, I’ll be busy this evening,” he answered. “I thought you’d like to know Peta’s pregnant with your first grandchild.”
“What? Already!” she gasped.
“You could say, ‘Congratulations,’” Matt teased.
“Of course. Congratulations, dear. To both of you,” she gushed. “Though it is early days, Matt. I do hope...well, you are old enough to know what you’re doing.”
He grimaced...still the doubt about his rushing into marriage with Peta. And now parenthood. “It is what we want, Mum,” he assured her.
“Oh, it’s lovely news, dear. My first grandchild. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if it was a girl? I’d be able to buy all the things I couldn’t buy for a boy. What a thrill!”
He laughed. “I can’t guarantee a girl.”
“No.” She laughed at herself. “Don’t mind me. It doesn’t really matter as long as the baby’s healthy. I’ll love it anyway. My first grandchild.”
It was good to hear the pride and pleasure in her voice.
“Have you thought of any names yet?” she asked hopefully.
“No. Maybe we’ll do that tonight.”
“Well, tell Peta I’ll call her tomorrow since you’re busy tonight. Lots of love to both of you, dear.”
“Thanks, Mum. Have a good bridge game.”
She sighed. “I won’t be able to concentrate now. Never mind. I’ll have happy thoughts.”
On that uplifting note, Matt was happy to end the call. He walked over to the door leading into his secretary’s office, opened it and stood there, smiling benevolently at the woman who had advised taking his mother to the health farm.
Rita Sutcliffe was in her early fifties, a widow who’d been out of the work force for years before Matt took her on as his secretary, mostly because she could actually spell, partly because she’d brought up five children which proved considerable organisational skills, as well as having a wealth of common sense which appealed to him.
Her health farm idea had been a stroke of genius. So much good had eventuated from it, both for himself and his mother, he’d be forever grateful to Rita. Apart from which, she was a thoroughly nice person who always had his best interests at heart, both personally and professionally.
“Would you like a week at the health farm, Rita?”
“What?”
“Make your choice. It’s either that or a nine month’s free supply of Belgian chocolates.”
“What?” she repeated, unable to make sense of this sudden rush of beneficence.
“Well, I can’t give out cigars. I’ve given up smoking and it’s not politically correct.”
He could see her mind go clickety-click as she added it up and grinned sheer delight at him. “A baby.”
“Fatherhood, here I come!”
“Good for you! And Peta! I’m so pleased for you.” She laughed. “And for me! I’ll take a raincheck on the week at the health farm. I’ll need it after the chocolate deluge at Christmas.”
“Fine! Mark it into the calendar and I’ll foot the bill.”
’What about flowers?”
“You want flowers, too?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “For the mother-to-be. I think at least a dozen red roses is in order. Shall I call a florist for you?”
“No. Not roses.”
He frowned, not liking the reminder of Peta’s restriction. That cheating bastard in Rome would never have given her a child. Nevertheless, Matt didn’t want even a whiff of a memory of him around Peta on this special day. Roses were out. Yet the idea of flowers appealed so strongly he was reluctant to discard it. Why shouldn’t he send them? She was his wife. She was carrying his baby.
“Can I get blue flowers at this time of year?” he asked. Rita always knew that kind of stuff.
“Irises. Though you can’t count on having a boy, Matt,” she added wisely.
“What’s pink?”
“Carnations, tulips...”
“Tulips,” he decided. They were more unusual than carnations and without any romantic connotations. “Blue irises and pink tulips. Get a bunch of each delivered, Rita, and have them put on the card—To celebrate our boy or girl!”
“Signed... Love, Matt?” Rita queried, writing the message down.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Yes.” Then realising Peta might think it glib—though it wasn’t—he hunted for other words, trying not to sound any false note with her.
“No,” he said slowly. “I think... From Daddy.”
Rita laughed. “One besotted father coming up.”
It restored Matt’s good humour. Peta would readily accept a gift on behalf of their child and derive pleasure from it. He was on safe ground there. As long as he held on, chances were he’d win everything in the end.
“When are you planning on giving up your job?” Megan asked.
“I haven’t thought about it,” Peta blithely replied. She’d only been working the domestic flights since she and Matt had returned from their honeymoon. Having been granted the transfer, it seemed wrong to give notice of leaving immediately.
“I’ve never seen a pregnant air hostess.”
“I won’t be showing for a while, Megan,” she quickly reasoned. “And I could use the money to buy things for the baby.”
“You could sell that motorbike.”
Peta bridled at the critical note in her sister’s voice. “It’s handy for getting through the traffic to and from the airport.”
“I thought you told Matt you didn’t want to hang on to your career.”
“So I did. And I meant it. But I haven’t had the baby yet, Megan.”
“Well, you don’t want to take any risks when there’s no need.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! I’m not a fragile flower.”
“Sorry. It’s just... I know how much this means to you. I want everything to go right. For Matt, as well. You will consider his feelings...”
“Megan, stop being a worrywart. Matt’s fine. He’s over the moon about the baby. It is what we got married for, after all.”
“Peta...” A sigh. “...Don’t you yet realise...” She hesitated.
The doorbell rang.
It was a good excuse not to hear any more well-meant but tiresome advice. “Got to go, Megan. Someone’s at the door.”
“Well...have a happy night.”
“We will.”
Brimming with confidence, Peta opened the door to a delivery boy whose arms were loaded with flowers.
“Mrs. Matt Davis?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“For you.” He grinned and passed over the flowers—a bunch of blue irises and a bunch of pink tulips. “Congratulations, Mrs. Davis.”
“Thanks,” she said dazedly, not having expected flowers. The memory of the rose debacle was still sharp, making her feel uncomfortable about the gift.
The accompanying card, however, instantly cheered her... Matt, being a daddy.
Consider his feelings...
Megan’s advice echoed in her ears. Not that she needed it. Matt had the same feelings as herself about starting a family. A boy or a g
irl... she smiled in delight The flowers were perfect. She took great care and pleasure in arranging them in a bowl to set on the table as a centrepiece for their special dinner tonight.
It turned into the happiest of times together. Somehow, because of the baby, there was an extra warmth between them, a closer intimacy. They were sharing the miracle of a new life starting, Peta reasoned.
Over dinner, they tossed names at each other, laughing over some, seriously considering others. It was fun. It was magic.
Matt suggested they start looking for a house in earnest. His Bondi apartment was no place for a baby. They discussed what areas might be suitable, trying to keep his travel time to work within an acceptable limit. He didn’t mind her keeping on her job for a while, though once they found a property they both liked, Peta wanted to spend all her time on turning it into their home.
Wonderful plans...
And when they finally went to bed, Matt was so tender, so caring, caressing and kissing her stomach, her breasts...the feelings he evoked there were exquisite... the gentle sucking... Peta cradled his head, imagining holding their child, feeling the bond of love that would form...
She forgot Megan’s advice.
She didn’t consider Matt’s feelings at all.
She thought only of the baby she would have.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
“MATT...”
His subconscious heard the fear in Peta’s voice even as he struggled awake. The light was on, which had to mean morning hadn’t come yet. He squinted at her. She was holding on to the doorway, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“What is it?” he asked, alarm jabbing through his mind.
“...I’m bleeding.”
Bleeding...
At six weeks!
The next few hours were a blur of pain. Matt did his best to remain calm and comforting. The trip to the hospital and dealing with the Casualty staff was a nightmare, begging for immediate help, frantically filling out forms, waiting to hear, willing everything to be all right, fearing the worst...and Peta inconsolable when told she had miscarried.
Never had Matt felt more futile. There was nothing he could do to help. Nothing. And his own disappointment and grief cut deep. Their baby had become very real to him over the past month, with all the plans they’d made for it...their son...or daughter. Suddenly, heartbreakingly, it was not to be.
“It’s nature’s way of saying something was wrong,” Peta’s doctor said, meaning it kindly, but it only made matters worse.
Peta took it personally, as though the miscarriage was somehow her fault, though the doctor assured her it wasn’t and there was no reason not to try for another baby after she’d given her body some recovery time. She was too distraught to listen to reason. She retreated inside herself, shutting Matt out, unwilling or unable to share their loss with him.
So it continued for days afterwards. She didn’t go back to work though she insisted Matt should, more because she didn’t want him with her than any caring for his business. Not that she said it. He felt it. There was very little communication from her... no desire to reach out and touch...no sharing. She was listless, lifeless, dead inside, barely recognising Matt’s presence. Or anyone else’s.
Megan tried to talk to her. No response. Her mother came to visit. It did no good. She was wrapped in sorrow and the shield was impenetrable.
For Matt it was a very black time.
His mother sympathised but had no useful advice to offer. His secretary commented that there seemed to be a high rate of miscarriages on first pregnancies these days and put it down to a lingering hormonal imbalance from many years on the pill. Matt couldn’t repeat that to Peta. She was blaming herself as it was and there was no medical proof for Rita’s theory. Nevertheless, it was an explanation that made sense to Matt and gave him more hope that time would resolve whatever problem had occurred.
Three weeks passed and Peta’s depression did not lift. She refused to seek medical help. Attempts at offering compassion, tenderness, understanding won only blank-eyed stares. In bed, she kept so rigidly to her side, the message projected was loud and clear...leave me alone. She literally shuddered away from any caress, freezing him into isolation.
In sheer desperation one evening, Matt tried to goad her into an argument, anything to spark some life back into her. He’d cooked them dinner and persuaded her to sit down to it but the way she picked carelessly at the food felt like a further rejection of him.
“It’s not the end of the world, Peta,” he jabbed, his voice sharp with frustration.
He might not have spoken for all the awareness of him she showed. No tilt of her head. No flicker of an eyelash. Her hand idly stirred a fork around her plate and there was no discernible interruption to the movement. She had blocked him out.
Matt could feel his stress level climbing and couldn’t stop it. His heartbeat accelerated. Driven to force her into paying attention, he crashed his fist down on the table.
It startled her into looking at him.
“I said...it’s not the end of the world,” he bit out fiercely.
She wearily turned her head away.
Blood pounded through his temples, drumming the need to attack on any ground, do whatever had to be done to re-establish contact. “I thought you were a fighter, Peta,” he flung at her. “I thought if something knocked you down, you’d get up, dust yourself off, and barge straight on with living.”
No response.
“This giving up...it’s defeatist and destructive. Do you think I don’t feel the loss, too? That it’s only you...bleeding?”
For Matt, the ensuing silence stretched into unbearable tension. Their entire relationship was on the line. If she couldn’t show him some shred of humanity, there was nowhere left to go.
Finally she broke it.
“If you want a divorce, just say so,” she said in a dull, flat voice.
It was a killing stroke.
Even so, Matt fought against it. “You didn’t tell me I only had one shot at a child with you, Peta. As I recall it, we made a bargain to try for four.”
Her head jerked in anguish. “I can’t go through this again.”
“Life is about taking risks. If you’re not prepared to face them, you might as well be dead.” His voice was shaking with the turbulence inside him. He scooped in a quick breath and challenged her again. “Is that what you want? To crawl into your hole and die because you lost the first round?”
She turned to him, her eyes water-bright and wounded. “I took the risk of marrying you, of trying to make a dream happen. And this is my punishment for it.”
“Punishment!” Disbelief burned into a sense of outrage. The jealousy he’d tried to suppress came pouring out in a fiery torrent. “What? Because you married me instead of the Latin lover who sucked you into giving him your heart to break?”
She flinched and he took savage satisfaction in striking her on the raw.
“I suppose if you’d lost his child, you would have sought comfort in him and there wouldn’t have been any sense of punishment at all. In fact, it’s me you’re punishing, for not being the man you really wanted.”
“Don’t!” she cried in a pained little voice.
“Don’t what?” he whipped back at her, hating the sense of being used and discarded. Offering him a divorce as though their marriage meant nothing! The frustrations she’d stirred poured into a bitter tirade. “Don’t send you roses? Don’t throw the truth in your face? Don’t touch you because your body is only a vessel for a baby which I failed to deliver on?”
“Stop it!” She clapped her hands over her ears.
It was the most inflammatory thing she could have done. Adrenalin pumped through Matt. He was on his feet so fast, his chair slammed onto the floor. He picked her up, hoisted her over his shoulder and strode for the bedroom, ignoring her wild struggle to escape from him, his whole body raging with the need for some grain of satisfaction out of all he’d given to make their marriage work.
“Fight as much as you like, but you will listen to me!”
He hurled her down on the bed, pinned her body there with his own, lifted her arms above her head and held them with a steely grip. “Cheat!” he snarled, revelling in the shock on her face.
“No...” she moaned.
“Yes! You made a lifelong commitment to me and here you are welshing on it within three months! Wanting to take off my wedding ring and walk away!”
She rolled her head in protest. “I didn’t say that!”
“It wasn’t me who brought up divorce, Peta.”
“I only meant...”
“What?”
“I might not be able to carry a baby full term. You want a family...” Tears welled into her eyes. “It’s what you married me for.”
“I married you for you,” he cried vehemently.
“Please don’t make me,” she sobbed, trying to squirm out from under him. “It would be rape, Matt.”
Rape! If she’d smashed a fist into his face it couldn’t have jolted him more. Yet the next instant he realised he was hard, his body having reacted to the volatile energy coursing through him. She was squirming away because she was frightened of his erection, recoiling from his supposed lust for her, the lust she had once said was mutual.
He picked himself off her and rolled onto the other side of the bed, deflated, defeated, drained of any will to fight on, horrified by the reaction he had unwittingly drawn from her. She moved into a scrunched-up huddle, shaking and weeping.
For a while he felt dazed, guilt, regret, shame, chasing through his mind. He was not a violent man. He’d only wanted her to talk to him. Physical force was anathema to him. For her to actually fear him, accuse him...it was the blackest hole Matt had ever fallen into.
Gradually reasoning returned, telling him he’d been driven by some survival instinct, natural enough in the circumstances. He’d fought...and he’d lost. Peta didn’t want him anymore. Not for anything.
He was conscious of his heartbeat slowing to a sluggish rate. His interest in life was reduced to zero. Nevertheless, life would go on. For both of them. Though it was clear it could only be in separate ways. Touching was impossible now.