by Kim Lawrence
‘A mixed blessing being so bright?’
She nodded at his perception. ‘Sometimes,’ she confessed. ‘She milked me dry for details about your family. I hadn’t realised until recently how much she wanted to know about her father. If I had…who knows?’ She gave herself a sharp mental shake; it was never useful to reflect on paths you hadn’t taken. ‘I think she wants to interrogate you now.’
‘You scare me.’
‘I said she could stay up late to see you again—if you’d like.’
His smile deepened. ‘I’d like. Annabel wanted to fly over, but I said it was probably better to play things slowly. I don’t want to overwhelm her.’
‘Charlie isn’t easily overwhelmed,’ Rachel said drily. ‘But I think slowly is the best way to play this.’
‘That looks marvellous.’ Christophe breathed in the aroma appreciatively as the waiter placed his steaming dessert before him. ‘Are you sure you’re not tempted?’ He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation of the calorific delight.
Rachel grinned as he attacked the mammoth-sized portion with the enthusiasm of a schoolboy. ‘I imagined we’d be dining somewhere very French,’ she teased. The restaurant he’d brought her to specialised in traditional, unglamorous English cuisine.
‘What could be more glamorous than a steamed suet pudding?’ he asked indignantly, spoon poised halfway to his mouth. ‘I have a weakness for English nursery food; do I have the expression right?’
She nodded. ‘You have, only I imagine a cardiologist might have another name for it.’
‘A little of what is bad for you occasionally can do no harm, Rachel.’
She was in a position to dispute that. A little of Ben had been very bad for her. Her concentration was shot to hell. It was getting hard to disguise the fact that she had no appetite. She had decided, rather harshly, that her face was looking quite gaunt tonight. As for sleep, she’d forgotten what it was to do anything other than toss and turn. It wasn’t going to last, of course, she knew—she reminded herself of this fact a hundred times a day—only it didn’t help.
She was just grateful for her premature return to Albert’s office. Mr Arden apparently no longer had need of her services—or so the curt office memo had informed her. Pity he hadn’t explained this to his father before she’d been subjected to that horrific interview, which got more bizarre and surreal every time she reconstructed it in her mind. She’d seen Ben just once in the distance; there had been no mistaking his broad back or the sound of Sabrina’s high-pitched giggle.
‘Will you have coffee?’ Christophe asked for the third time.
‘Sorry, I was miles away.’ She unfolded her white knuckles from the wine glass and forced herself to smile. She wasn’t about to tell him where she’d been or with whom. She listened as he patiently repeated himself.
‘I do a passable coffee. Would you prefer to go back to my place? It will give you more time with Charlie.’
It was after midnight before she said goodnight to Christophe. She was only halfway up the stairs when the doorbell rang once more. He must have forgotten something, she decided, skipping back down the stairs two at a time.
‘What’s…?’ The smile died dramatically as she recognised the tall figure who loomed out of the darkness. ‘Go away!’ Despite her determined attempts to close the door in Benedict’s face the large size eleven got in the way. A well-muscled thigh followed the foot and she found herself thrust back against an unattractive umbrella stand which stood in the hallway.
‘Don’t bother closing that door—you’re leaving,’ she said grimly.
‘Not until you’ve done a bit of explaining.’
‘You’re the one who should be explaining. What do you think you’re doing barging in here?’
‘I waited until Fauré had left. I thought that was very considerate of me.’ Benedict’s affable expression was somewhat spoilt by the waves of anger emanating from his lean body.
‘You’ve been skulking out there waiting!’ she accused, going cold all over at the thought. ‘Spying on me!’ she squeaked in outrage.
’I know.’
Whatever he knew it didn’t seem to be affording him much pleasure. In fact the pulse that visibly throbbed in his forehead looked about ready to pop. Explosive described fairly accurately his state of mind at the moment.
‘I’m happy for you. At least I would be if I had the faintest idea what you were talking about.’ She picked up the assorted umbrellas and placed them back in the Victorian stand.
Hands thrust deep in his jeans pockets, he looked down at her with open contempt. ‘And I don’t suppose you went to see my father either?’ he said in a voice calculated to wither hardier blooms than Rachel.
She turned to face him, a red brolly still clutched in her bloodless grip.
‘Did you think he wouldn’t tell me?’ Benedict noticed she’d gone bluish around the lips. The floor was hard, unyielding mosaic tile; he’d have to move fast if she fainted.
‘Actually I didn’t think he would,’ she confessed eventually. Her head was spinning. Stuart Arden wasn’t the sort of man who did anything unless he thought he could get something out of it. For the life of her she couldn’t imagine what advantage he imagined this confession would give him.
‘Why the hell did you go to him, not me?’ he demanded in an anguished voice. He swept an impatient hand through his hair—hair that had been soaked by the light summer shower. Dampness made his shirt cling to the contours of his upper body, emphasising his powerful physique.
Rachel’s confusion deepened. For some reason he seemed to think she’d instigated the interview. Was it possible that Sir Stuart had, for his own reasons, made her the instigator?
‘I know you’re angry, and I don’t blame you, but you can’t blame me.’
‘Blame you?’ he echoed blankly. The deep red coloration seeped slowly until it covered every scrap of his skin she could see. ‘Is that what you think of me?’ he asked hoarsely. ‘You thought I’d be angry?’
‘Well, you are angry, aren’t you?’ she pointed out, somewhat mystified by his reaction.
‘Because you didn’t tell me, not because you’re—’
‘But couldn’t this have waited until morning, or better still Monday? I really do think you’re overreacting, Ben.’ Her thoughts raced as she tried to quell the rising sense of panic. If he came in, if he touched her… She had no will-power where he was concerned. One thing she knew she couldn’t do was say goodbye again.
‘You think I’m…’ Words appeared to fail him at this point. ‘I’m sorry if my emotional outburst offends you but it’s not every day I learn I’m about to be a father. Perhaps you can be blasé about it, having been there once, but this is the first time for me.’
It was Rachel’s turn to be rendered speechless. She tried to interpret his words first one way then another way, but the meaning kept coming out the same.
‘You think I’m…? Your father told you I’m…?’
‘For once in his life my father did the decent thing. Something you obviously don’t think I’m capable of.’
The irony struck her as being hilariously funny. She laughed, a wobbly giggle that swiftly crossed the border into hysteria. In her youth she’d had to overcome this embarrassing response to moments of high emotional drama. Laughter had frequently caused offence at numerous delicate moments and she could see she hadn’t lost her knack—he looked ready to throttle her!
‘You find this situation funny?’ he enquired coldly.
She gasped for breath. ‘I’m hysterical, you idiot!’ she gasped. She clutched her aching stomach muscles as tears began to run down her cheeks.
‘Do you prefer right cheek or left?’ he asked, touching her chin and examining each profile in turn. ‘Isn’t that the traditional remedy?’
‘You w-wouldn’t dare!’ She hiccuped as she gradually regained control. He didn’t deny or confirm this accusation, just smiled in what she considered to be a sinister manne
r.
‘Didn’t you think I had a right to know? Didn’t you think I was sufficiently involved to be informed?’ he grated sarcastically. ‘You’ve already deprived one child of her father. I can’t believe you were going to do it again. Well, whatever plans you had, Rachel, you’d better include me.’
‘This is ridiculous, Ben. Will you listen to me?’
‘I’ve accepted you think I’m some lightweight party animal with no depth, but did you really imagine that I wouldn’t care if a woman was carrying my child?’
The way his eyes ran over her body and came to rest on her flat belly with a fierce, possessive expression made her feel…excited? That’s sick, Rachel—stop it! she told herself firmly. This wasn’t the time to forget this pregnancy was a fantasy spun by a devious, warped mind.
‘Or did you just not take my feelings into consideration?’
‘Oh, so this is all about you, is it?’ Hands on her hips, she let her scornful glance travel to the top of his dark head. ‘Your fragile male pride.’
‘Miss French, are you all right?’ Clad in pyjamas, the occupant of the ground-floor flat opened his door. ‘It’s just I heard some noise…’ The retired accountant had to take a step back to see Benedict’s face. He pushed his wire-framed spectacles up his thin nose and devoutly hoped Miss French wouldn’t want any help.
‘I’m really sorry we disturbed you and Mrs Rose,’ Rachel began, wiping away the last remnants of moisture from her face. That might be the last time she laughed in a long time, she thought bleakly.
‘I told her not to have the second bottle of wine. She gets a little…shrill when she’s over-indulged,’ Benedict said in conspiratorial undertones. ‘We’ll take ourselves upstairs. Do you need a hand, my love?’ he enquired solicitously.
Rachel gritted her teeth and looked from the confused face of her neighbour to Benedict. If she didn’t want to include half the neighbourhood in her troubles she didn’t have much choice.
‘I can manage, thank you,’ she said from between clenched teeth as she shrugged off the hand on her elbow which was much more to do with restraint than solicitude.
The door upstairs was still ajar and she ducked under Benedict’s arm as he held it open. ‘Thank you,’ she grated sarcastically. ‘God knows what he thinks now. He saw me go out with one man and come back with another!’ she fumed.
‘Worried about your reputation, Rachel? It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?’
‘I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of.’
‘I’m pleased to hear it, because if you had…’ He gave a thin-lipped smile and his eyes glittered as he let his glance dwell on her face. ‘Shall we just say it saves me the bother of ruining his expensive dental work?’
‘If I decide to sleep with the entire English soccer team it’s nothing to do with you! Clean up your own act before you start interfering in mine.’
‘Are you trying to tell me it’s my debauched reputation that’s behind your decision to keep me in the dark?’ he enquired cynically.
‘What gives you the idea I’m even slightly interested in your reputation?’ she enquired scornfully.
‘I’m crushed,’ he remarked, looking anything but. ‘I’ve spent all my adult life polishing my depraved image. Is Charlie asleep?’ he asked, looking around the room.
Rachel nodded reluctantly; after her late night Charlie had gone out like a light.
‘She met Fauré?’ His eyes touched the large elaborate bouquet on the dining table and his lip curled contemptuously. ‘A little ostentatious,’ he commented, with a quirk of one dark brow.
‘They got on very well.’ She wasn’t about to tell him that Charlie’s approval of Christophe had contained a significant rider: ‘I don’t like him as much as Ben.’
‘You decided it was too complicated to cope with two fathers at the same time?’
‘You’re not my child’s father, Ben.’
‘Prospective father, if you’re going to be pedantic.’
‘I’m not pregnant, Ben.’
‘Can’t you do any better than that?’ His scorn was corrosive enough to strip metal. ‘Don’t treat me like a fool, Rachel.’
‘It’s the truth.’ What else could she say to convince him?
‘Did you enjoy single parenthood so much you want to go through it again? Or are you hoping Fauré will accept this child as his too? If you have any ideas along those lines, Rachel, drop them now.’
She embraced the anger; it was easier to cope with than impotence. ‘I shouldn’t really blame you for sounding like a tinpot dictator. I suppose your father has always spoken to your mother like that. But if you use that tone with me once more, so help me…’
For the first time she saw a flicker of amusement. Momentarily it lifted the sombre expression on his strikingly handsome face.
‘What’s the joke?’
‘After you’ve met my mother you’ll understand.’
‘I’m not going to meet your mother.’
His expression was the visual equivalent of a patronising pat on the head and she wanted to scream very badly. The only thing stopping her was the child sleeping in the next room.
‘I suppose you were relying on the fact that I’ll be leaving the country. You mistakenly thought that Dad would be on your side as he was so anxious to warn me off you. You miscalculated; one thing he feels passionate about is family!’
‘Oh, I know all about your father’s concern for his family. I’d say he’d go to any lengths to preserve it. Can you imagine your father as a cosy grandfather, Ben?’ Anyone would think he wanted to believe his father’s story.
‘This is about us, not my father.’ He pushed aside her dry observation impatiently.
‘Would that were true.’
‘He said you didn’t intend telling him. He said you were very depressed and you just blurted it out.’
“‘He said! He said!”’ she mimicked, wishing the unscrupulous old man were here so she could tell him exactly what she thought of him. ‘You’re not listening to me, are you? How could I be pregnant?’
If he paused long enough to think he’d see that it wasn’t possible. ‘I told you the first time it was safe and then we took precautions.’ She was annoyed that the reference made her flush like a schoolgirl, not a thirty-year-old mother. ‘Besides, it was only three weeks ago.’ The argument was pretty watertight, she thought, giving a relieved sigh. The relief proved premature, however, as she listened to Benedict proceeding to punch holes in her neat logic.
‘The only fail-safe form of contraception is abstinence—we’ve not been very abstemious.’
Greedy, she decided, was a more accurate description; the thought brought an unwelcome reminder of the fact that some things hadn’t changed. She still felt greedy. She lowered her eyes self-consciously before the scorching recognition surfaced in her eyes.
‘And these days a testing kit can tell you if you’re pregnant when you’re hours late.’
‘I wouldn’t know.’
‘I have friends who were desperate to get pregnant. Tom could have written a consumer column on kits that tell you when you should or shouldn’t and others that tell you when you are or aren’t. Or did you just know? Some women do.’
‘Stop it!’ she yelled, placing her hands firmly over her ears. ‘I’m not pregnant! Your father was lying.’
‘He can, and does, but why would he lie now? And why this lie? What would he have to gain?’
At last! Here was her opportunity to explain. ‘He thinks if I get pregnant you won’t leave the firm and you won’t leave the country.’ Even to her own ears the idea sounded preposterous.
‘Is that the best you can do, Rachel? Why would he think that? I can’t think of a better place in the world than the Creek to bring up a child.’
She would like to be watching when Benedict revealed this to his father. It wouldn’t make up for what he’d done, but it would certainly help! Despite all his father’s underhand tactics Benedict still had no intention o
f continuing with his legal career! At any other time the irony might have made her smile.
‘Charlie will love it too,’ Benedict continued persuasively. ‘After we’re married…’
‘Married?’ she echoed hollowly.
‘I’ve no desire to be a part-time father, Rachel.’ He looked at her as if he were stating the obvious and sank his fingers into the dark hair above a forehead pleated in a deep frown.
The gesture was implicitly weary; she could almost see him physically push aside the fatigue as his hand fell away. She had to do the same with the warm, mushy feelings that made her a push-over where he was concerned. He’s tough, girl; he doesn’t need you to mop his tired brow! she told herself.
‘What happened to the “include me in your plans, Rachel”?’ she enquired pointedly. ‘Suddenly it seems as if I don’t have any say in the matter.’
‘Not a pleasant feeling, is it?’ His resentment seemed momentarily overridden by concern as he examined her pale face. ‘For God’s sake, woman, sit down before you fall down.’
‘Will you stop that? I don’t want to sit down!’ she snapped as he all but manhandled her into an oak carver chair she’d inherited from her aunt. Her hands curved around the smooth, worn wood of the arms; the solid familiarity was strangely comforting.
‘You have to look after yourself,’ he said gruffly, backing off.
This, she realised, was Benedict’s version of the kid-glove treatment. She ignored the wistful sigh somewhere in the back of her mind. If this were for real it might be quite nice to be cherished by Ben Arden. The idea of carrying his child for real was dangerously seductive. Ever since his father had planted the germ of the idea she hadn’t been able to stop imagining.
‘I’m not ill!’
‘Pregnancy isn’t an illness,’ he agreed gravely. ‘Did you have an easy time with Charlie—any problems? I saw the scar.’