The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

  And all the time he could see Laurie’s face, a pale, perfect oval framed by that glorious soft, thick, shiny hair the colour of dark, moist peat. Her eyes were hazel, but when she was angry they fired gold and green sparks, and when she was aroused they went a wonderful soft smudgy green, and her mouth would yield to his touch, her lips swelling slightly and becoming rosy from his kisses, and afterwards her smile would be gentle and mellow and loving—

  He frowned. She hadn’t looked like that for a while. It had all lost its spontaneity, and the sparkle seemed to have gone out of their relationship.

  What relationship? Apparently they didn’t have one any more, he thought bitterly, slamming down the report unread. Damn her, where was she?

  He left the study, prowling round the house, his temper fraying at the edges. He made a drink—just tea, he’d had too much alcohol and coffee in the past few days and he was feeling jaded and rough around the edges.

  If only he could sleep, but there was no way. Between Laurie and the jet lag, he was stuffed. Maybe a long, hot soak in the bath would help. He went upstairs, and as he turned off the landing light a chink of light under the attic door caught his eye.

  Someone must have left the light on—Laurie, probably, searching for a suitcase. He opened the door at the bottom of the narrow little stairs and reached for the switch, but the stream of gold came from further up. He nearly didn’t bother, but something prompted him to go up.

  There were three rooms up there, cluttered and untouched. The whole floor was filled with a load of old junk, really, things they’d bought and outgrown the need for, old family things they didn’t have the heart to throw out. He hadn’t been up here in months—years, probably. He never needed to.

  But someone had, because everything had been cleared out of one of the rooms, and it was almost empty.

  Empty, except for a desk, a chair, a filing cabinet and a telephone—and a dangling flex with a bare, glowing bulb on the end.

  He stared round, utterly confused, and slowly crossed to the chair, running his fingers thoughtfully over the back of it. It was his old desk chair, too upright to sit at for long, but ideal for working at the computer. Better than the one he had now, in fact, although not as good looking.

  Still, that wasn’t everything.

  He looked around at the room, puzzled. It looked like an empty office after a business had moved out. Odd scraps of paper here and there, barren and lifeless, the heart gone out of it.

  He sat down and went through the desk drawers, but they were empty. The filing cabinet?

  Also empty. He checked the bin, but all there was in it was a bit of stamp edging and an old envelope with a frank mark on it—a frank of a firm in Scotland.

  William Guthrie Estate Agents, Inverness.

  Estate agents? Why was she corresponding with estate agents?

  Unless it was a clue to her whereabouts—

  He tore the place apart, searching every nook and cranny again, and then pulled the desk out from the wall. Nothing. Then, behind the filing cabinet, he saw a sheet of paper.

  His hand wouldn’t fit, so he grasped the cabinet and shifted it, then plucked the paper from its hiding place. It was dusty and wrinkled, handwritten, a mass of jottings and calculations of figures. Figures that looked like the turnover of a business. Figures that made him blink.

  Laurie’s business?

  Doing what? Maybe she was working as a homefinder? Hence the letter from the estate agents. No. She’d never earn that much.

  He glanced at the back of the desk, and there, suspended halfway down the back of it, hanging by a corner, was a yellow sticky note. He peeled it off, and sat down on the desk thoughtfully.

  William Guthrie, it read, and a number, and jotted below were the words ‘Little Gluich’.

  A house? Had she for God’s sake bought a house in Inverness?

  With what?

  He looked again at the figures on the sheet of paper, and shook his head slowly. With that, maybe. With her apparently very healthy income. Unless she was renting.

  He looked at his watch. Ten minutes past midnight. Almost nine hours to kill before he could reasonably ring the estate agents and find out what the hell was going on.

  If they’d tell him, of course, which was by no means a foregone conclusion. He’d have to play the guileless, rather daffy husband, and just see how much he could get out of them. He’d play it by ear.

  Unless, of course, he made a personal visit. He glanced at his watch again. He wouldn’t sleep, not a chance, and by the time he’d phoned Luton and booked a flight, driven over there and hung around, then hired a car at the other end and driven to Inverness, it would be nearly as quick to drive.

  He took the little yellow note and the envelope and the calculations, flicked off the lights and went into his room, tipping his suitcase out ruthlessly on the bed and repacking. He’d need wash things, a towel perhaps, and thick, warm clothes. Nothing too formal, and nothing much. He didn’t intend to be there long.

  He left the house before twelve-thirty, wondering whether he was chasing about the countryside after a total red herring, but he couldn’t just sit there and twiddle his thumbs. He needed to see her, and he needed to see her now.

  He hit the almost deserted A1 within minutes, and headed north, pulling over at Scotch Corner for coffee at five, then pressing on again. It got much slower in the rush hour, and he reached the outskirts of Edinburgh and stopped briefly for a late breakfast, stocking up on enough coffee to keep him awake and making Inverness by one.

  He parked the car in a multi-storey and asked someone the way to the estate agents, then wound his way through the streets until he found it.

  He caught a glimpse of himself in the window as he entered the office. He looked shattered, his eyes red-rimmed, his mouth a grim line. Good grief. If he didn’t lighten up, they’d think he was an axe-murderer! He forced his shoulders to relax as he pushed the door open and went in.

  The office was almost deserted. A young woman sitting behind a desk looked up with a friendly smile. ‘Good afternoon, sir. Can I help you?’

  He dropped into the chair opposite her and treated her to his most persuasive confused-little-boy grin. ‘I hope so. I’ve driven all the way here from London to join my wife, and I can’t find the directions she left me. They must have fallen out of the car door pocket when I stopped for breakfast. She’s just taken on a property from you—at least, I hope it was you. Your name rings a bell. I hope I won’t have to trawl round all the agents.’

  He dragged a hand through his hair and tried to look as if everything was against him. Not hard, under the circumstances.

  ‘What was the name, sir?’ she asked him, and his heart thumped with anticipation. So far, so good. She hadn’t told him it was confidential information and sent him packing, at least.

  ‘Ferguson. She moved very recently—the last couple of days. I feel such an idiot for losing the directions—I’ll blame it on the jet lag. I’ve just got back from New York,’ he explained with a rueful smile. Maybe she’d fall for the exhaustion theory and feel sorry for him.

  Or not. She was shaking her head. ‘Ferguson—that doesn’t ring a bell, sir, I’m sorry.’

  He thought rapidly. ‘How about her maiden name? She sometimes uses it for business,’ he lied wildly. ‘Laurie Taylor. I think the property’s called Little something.’

  The woman’s face cleared. ‘Oh, yes, of course, Ms Taylor. She picked up the keys of Little Gluich yesterday morning. I couldn’t forget her—she had a dog with her, a real teddybear.’

  He pulled a wry face. ‘That’s right—Midas—our golden retriever. He’s a bit friendly, I’m afraid.’

  She laughed, mellowing, and Rob realised with grim satisfaction that she was falling for his charm. Just give me the directions, he thought desperately, before someone with more sense of client confidentiality emerges from the woodwork and everything grinds to a halt.

  ‘No problem, Mr Ferguson,’ she said wit
h a smile, and he felt relief course through him. ‘I think we’ve still got a copy of the details we prepared, they’ll have the directions on. Here. It’s a lovely little property—really cosy. I hope you find it all right. Give us a ring if not and speak to Mr Guthrie when he comes back from his lunch break.’

  She handed him a set of details from the filing cabinet and smiled again, her face dimpling. She was a sweetheart—totally out of order giving him the information, but a sweetheart for all that. He could have hugged her, but thought better of it.

  ‘You’re a lifesaver,’ he told her. ‘I tried to ring but I couldn’t get her on the mobile, and I don’t even know if she’s got the phone connected at the house. All that fell out of the door with the directions.’

  He smiled again, treating her to the full wattage, and she went pink and dimpled again. The phone rang, and with an apologetic smile she turned to answer it. He made his escape, heading back to the car park with a geographical instinct honed over years of visiting strange places, then slid behind the wheel and opened the slim folder containing the information he was after.

  It looked charming, he thought. A little croft house, white-painted, snuggled down in a crease in the hillside with a glimpse of the sea in the distance. No wonder it had appealed to her. He wondered what Little Gluich meant. Nothing, probably.

  He read the directions, located it on his road atlas and pulled out of the car park. Just one more hour, and he’d be with her.

  He wound his way north, crossing an estuary on a bridge—the Firth of something. Cromarty? Moray? One or the other. Cromarty, he thought. He’d done Moray on the way out of Inverness. He saw seals swimming off the shore and more basking on rocks near the wreck of a ship, then turned north again onto a little road that headed over the hills towards Tain.

  And there it was, or at least there the turning was. He couldn’t see the house from the road, there was a kink in the hill, but he turned down the track and winced as his car grounded on the stony grassy hummock in the middle.

  Tough. He lurched and bumped his way down, and round a little bend, and there it was, a thin plume of smoke curling from the chimney in welcome. A car was outside—nothing flashy, nothing like the BMW in the garage at home, but hers, as she’d put it.

  He felt a flutter in his chest as the adrenaline kicked in. Fight or flight?

  He’d never backed away from anything in his life, and he wasn’t starting now. He wanted his wife back, and he was going to have her.

  All he had to do was talk her into it…

  CHAPTER TWO

  SHE heard the car before she saw it, grinding slowly down the track towards the house and disturbing the peace and tranquillity of her little hideaway.

  A neighbour, come to welcome her? The postman?

  From her vantage point in the office over the garage, she peered down at the drive a little warily. ‘Who is it, Midas?’ she asked, her voice instinctively lowered, and the dog whined and stood up on his back legs, his front paws on the windowsill, and watched with her.

  The ghostly silver bonnet of Rob’s Mercedes nosed through the gateway, its headlights gleaming dully in the fading light, and her heart sank as the car crunched over the gravel and came to rest beside her much more modest Ford.

  How on earth had he found her? She’d been so careful, cleared everything away without trace, or so she’d thought. Even the attic she’d left spotless—hadn’t she? There must have been something lying around, some little clue. Blast. She’d always known he’d find her in the end, because he didn’t give up on anything, but she had hoped for a few more days—maybe even weeks—to sort her thoughts out.

  And now he was here. Still, maybe he’d ring the bell and go away if she didn’t show herself. Her heart pounding, she sank back away from the window and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him down beside her. He whined in protest and tried to jump up again, but she hung on tight.

  ‘Midas, no,’ she whispered. ‘Be quiet, there’s a good boy.’

  He whined again, recognising the sound of the car, and she wrapped her hand round his muzzle and stroked him with the other hand, trying to calm him. ‘Good boy. Hush now. Maybe he’ll go away.’

  She snorted softly under her breath. Not a chance, and the dog knew it. Just in case, though, he was determined to bark a greeting, and she had to hang on to his muzzle and pet him constantly to keep him quiet. Still, at least she hadn’t got the lights on in the office, although the glow from the computer was probably visible. She reached out a hand and switched off the monitor, and her little office sank into gloom. Heavens, it was later than she’d realised, but she’d been so busy.

  Edging up to the window, she peered down onto the drive and watched.

  Rob got out of the car and straightened, then looked around, his eyes narrowed, scanning for clues. First he checked out her car, then he went over to the cottage and knocked on the door before turning the handle and going in.

  Damn him! she thought, fuming. How dare he just walk into her house! She crossed to the other side of the room, peeping through the roof-light to get a better view.

  She could see him going from room to room, flicking lights on, prowling. She imagined him fingering the things left by the owners, things he’d never seen before. She’d hardly been here long enough to put her stamp on anything except the bedroom and bathroom. Everywhere else was just as she’d found it, because she’d brought practically nothing with her yesterday except the contents of her office, a few clothes and the dog.

  She’d wanted to get away from her old life, have a fresh start, and now he was all over it, touching it, imprinting himself on it so it would no longer be hers alone, the safe haven she’d wanted it to be.

  Safe haven? What was she thinking about? He was hardly dangerous! She made it sound like he was a serial killer instead of her husband of five years. She must be going crazy. But even so, she felt somehow violated.

  No. That was too strong. Invaded, then.

  She watched him moving around, doing his tour of inspection. It didn’t take long. There were only the two rooms downstairs, one at each end, and the stairs running from side to side with the bathroom behind them. Above were two bedrooms, hers and the store, and a big cupboard full of all sorts.

  Surely to goodness he couldn’t be much longer, she thought, the adrenaline surging through her body and making her heart race.

  He wasn’t. He emerged from the front door, shrugging down inside his coat collar against the bitter wind, and she moved back a little from the window, her heart pounding with suspense. Maybe he’d think he’d come to the wrong house and would go away.

  Or not.

  He looked up at the window, his eyes seeming to fix on her face, and even from this distance she could see their piercing cobalt blue. She shrank back into the shadows, getting a better grip on the wiggling dog.

  He could hear his master coming, hear the crunch of footsteps on the stones and the squeak of the handle as the door opened at the bottom of the stairs. A blast of icy air invaded their cosy little hideaway and Midas whimpered and squirmed in her hands.

  The stairs creaked under a firm, steady tread, and Rob’s head appeared over the top step, his eyes assessing.

  ‘Hello, Laurie,’ he said, and the dog, displaying a singular lack of judgement, hurled himself out of her arms and hit him in mid chest.

  He staggered back, righted himself against the wall and ruffled the dog’s fur affectionately while Laurie tried to quell the thundering of her heart and compose herself to deal with him without hysterics.

  ‘Hello, mutt,’ he said, pushing the dog down out of the way and climbing the last few stairs. He looked around, his eyes like twin blue lasers scanning the sophisticated computer equipment, the notes pinned up on the wall, the collection of mugs by the keyboard.

  ‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ he said blandly, but it didn’t fool her for a second. She wondered what the chances were of her hustling him out before it was too late.

&
nbsp; Huh. It was already too late. She sat down in front of the computer, blocking his view of her desk, or trying to.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and not give in to the anger building in her. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone? He knew she was all right, she’d only just spoken to him less than twenty-four hours ago! Why come here to persecute her?

  ‘Interesting set-up,’ he said, ignoring her question and continuing his inspection of her pinboard. ‘What’s the business?’

  ‘Mine,’ she said, not willing to share even the nature of her business with him, never mind the intimate details he’d try and winkle out of her. ‘It’s mine, and it’s private. I repeat, what are you doing here, Rob?’

  His eyes met hers, red rimmed with exhaustion but determined, the blue of his irises touched with flint. ‘I would have thought it was obvious what I was doing here. I’ve come to take you home,’ he said softly, and her traitorous heart kicked against her ribs.

  She snorted. ‘Not a chance. I told you, I want to think.’

  ‘You can think at home.’

  ‘No, I can’t. I just want this time to myself. You should have rung, you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve got nothing to say to you at the moment, and I want you out of here. This is my house, my office, my life.’

  ‘And you’re my wife.’

  ‘Am I?’ she asked bluntly, and he recoiled a fraction, as if she’d struck a painful blow. Good, she thought, ruthlessly crushing her guilt. She was fed up with him taking her for granted. She stood up, gathering the cups together and standing waiting by the top of the stairs. She gestured for him to go down, but he just smiled and took her chair at the desk, turning on the monitor and tapping keys on her computer and opening files, flicking through her personal business with ridiculous ease and a casual disregard for her privacy.

  ‘Leave it alone! That’s nothing to do with you,’ she fumed, ready to dump the dregs of the cups on his head, and he spun round in the chair and fixed her with those piercing eyes.