The Baby Question

by Caroline Anderson

  Except, of course, that he’d been going back to New York today. He sighed again, punched the pillow and was just going off when his mobile rang. He answered it, expecting it to be Mike, but it was Laurie.

  ‘I’m back,’ he told her. ‘I’ve been in the office. I’ve only just stopped work—I’m in the penthouse. I’m sorry I didn’t ring you. I forgot to get your number out of the case.’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I didn’t really expect you to phone, you never do. I just wanted to know that you were all right.’

  ‘I’m fine. Tired, but I’m OK.’

  ‘Good. Sleep well.’

  ‘You, too.’ He hesitated. ‘I miss you,’ he said, but she’d gone. It was probably just as well. There was such a thing as being too honest.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  BUSINESS was brisk—so brisk that she didn’t really have time to miss him, but still, she did.

  She wondered if he was missing her. As she’d put the phone down on Monday night—well, Tuesday morning, really—she thought she’d heard him say so. He’d said something, but she hadn’t quite caught it. It could have been ‘miss you,’ but it was unlikely. After all, if he’d missed her, he would have remembered to phone, wouldn’t he, instead of immersing himself in work again the moment he was back?

  No. He’d probably meant to miss her, but hadn’t managed to fit it into his schedule, knowing Rob. Oh, well.

  She settled into her new daily routine quickly. After all, it was much like her old one, just in a different place, and because of the cold and the snow there was no chance to walk the dogs in the morning as she’d walked Midas every day before she’d started work in London.

  She made time to take them out during the warmer part of the day, though, and she played with them in the snow, although she was largely superfluous because they seemed to enjoy playing with each other better and she had the feeling they were only humouring her.

  The snow was starting to thaw, but very slowly, and only where the sun hit it. The snowman they’d made was shrinking day by day, and as the weekend grew nearer she wondered if he’d still be there when Rob came back—if he came back. He’d sounded a little less certain as he’d been leaving, and now he was in New York. She knew that from his emails.

  There was an element of reproach in them, she noticed with wry humour. He made sure she knew what he was doing every day, and she was sure he was visiting her website.

  On Thursday morning she checked her email and found a message from him.

  ‘Taken over a new company. It needs a website. Can we discuss it this weekend? See you Saturday morning. Rob.’

  She messaged him back. ‘No. Weekends are sacred. See you Saturday. Laurie.’

  She’d see, she thought, just how serious he was about their relationship. If he brought the website up, she swore she’d kill him—but not until he’d made love to her at least a dozen times. She discovered she was looking forward to it with eager anticipation.

  Not just the lovemaking, but the whole weekend. She stole some time away from her desk on Friday to go to Inverness and shop, and she bought all sorts of wonderful things for Saturday night.

  She wasn’t sure how long he’d be with her, or how tired he’d be. Was he flying straight in from New York to Glasgow, or driving up from London? She didn’t know, he hadn’t mentioned it. He might be flying from London. She looked on the Internet. There were several options, any of which he could take.

  And he hadn’t mentioned what time on Saturday morning, of course, so she didn’t know when to expect him, but she doubted he’d leave New York before close of business. That would be too much to expect.

  She changed the sheets that evening, just in case he arrived early in the morning and caught her on the hop, and then had a bath and went to bed fizzling with anticipation tinged with a tiny bit of dread. What if it didn’t work? What if last weekend had been a fluke? What if—so many what ifs.

  She didn’t sleep for ages, then the dogs woke her at five, barking furiously and scratching at the door.

  Surely he couldn’t have arrived so soon? She stumbled out of bed, shoving her hair back off her face so she could see out of the window, but there was no moon and it was impossible to see anything.

  Her heart racing with anticipation, she went downstairs and let the frenzied dogs out of the kitchen—just in case it was someone else—then, tugging her dressing gown tighter round her, she opened the front door.

  The dogs threw themselves out, wagging and barking furiously, leaping up and licking him, and she leant back against the wall and smiled.

  ‘What a welcome,’ she said when she could be heard over the kerfuffle, and he looked up at her and grinned, and her heart flipped over.

  ‘You’re early,’ she said, and his grin tipped into a grimace.

  ‘I caught the early flight to Boston, then the connection to Glasgow. I’ve been travelling for twelve hours. Take pity on me.’

  ‘You love it.’

  He snorted softly and reached for her, drawing her into his arms and hugging her hard, sighing against her hair. ‘It’s good to be here,’ he said, and kicked the door shut behind him. His case was on the floor where he’d dropped it, and the dogs were sniffing round it and checking out his ankles and legs, just in case he’d been anywhere interesting.

  ‘Do you want a drink?’ she asked, but he shook his head.

  ‘I could do with using the bathroom, then all I want to do is sleep. Go back to bed and wait for me.’

  He dropped a kiss on her hair and released her, and she went upstairs and snuggled back under the covers. She heard water running, then him talking to the dogs for a moment, then the stairs creaked and he was there, slipping into bed beside her in the dark and taking her into his arms.

  His skin was cool and slightly damp from the shower, but his mouth was hot and hungry, and his hands moved slowly over her, setting fire to her body inch by inch.

  ‘I’ve missed you,’ she confessed, and his arms tightened slightly round her.

  ‘I’ve missed you, too. It’s been a long, hard week.’

  She slid her hands up and cradled his face. He hadn’t shaved—deliberately? she wondered. Whatever the reason, she was pleased. She laid her mouth against his and nibbled gently at his lower lip, tugging at it with her teeth and bringing a low groan from deep in his throat.

  ‘You’re asking for trouble,’ he murmured warningly.

  ‘Mmm,’ she said, and did it again. He bit her back, just gently, but hard enough to excite. Then his tongue stroked the tiny bruise, soothing it yet making it worse.

  She couldn’t help the little moan of need, and it just encouraged him. He moved on, his mouth hot and wicked, trailing over her body and leaving fire in its wake. Finally she could stand it no longer, and she gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into him, desperate for him to stop and yet to go on, to do more, to finish what he’d started so very, very cleverly.

  ‘Rob—’

  ‘Shh. It’s OK. I’m here.’

  He took her mouth again, trapping the cry of relief as he entered her, but the relief was short-lived, replaced by a burning need that threatened to consume her. She could feel the fine tremors in his body, feel the rigid control as he held back, waiting for her, leading her higher until she felt the first ripples starting.

  He must have felt them too, because he groaned and stepped up a gear, releasing that devastating control and driving them both over the edge with a savage shout of triumph. Then he collapsed against her, his head on her shoulder, his chest heaving, sweat breaking out over his skin as he rested for a moment before shifting his weight slightly off her.

  He didn’t move far. She wouldn’t let him. Instead he slumped to the side, his arms wrapped firmly round her, cradling her against his chest as he recovered. She could hear his heartbeat slowing, feel the lassitude creeping over him as he relaxed against her.

  ‘I love you,’ she said, and because she was so close to him she felt the tiny flicker of tension in
him at her words.

  ‘Good,’ he said. That was all. Not ‘I love you, too,’ just ‘Good.’

  Stupidly, she felt hurt. She shouldn’t have done. After all, she’d left him, not the other way round, and it was pushing it to expect him to be too open with his feelings. Last weekend, yes, because he’d thought she was going back with him. Now, though, it was a different story, and although she could understand, still she found it hurt.

  She blinked away the stupid tears. She wouldn’t do that to him—not cry and make him feel guilty. It wasn’t fair. Oh, damn.

  ‘I need the loo,’ she said, wriggling out of his arms and heading for the door. She was in the bathroom before the first sob broke, but he must have heard her because he followed her in, turned her into his arms and held her while she cried.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, sounding genuinely remorseful. ‘I didn’t mean to hurt you. Come back to bed.’

  ‘I don’t know why I bother with that lock,’ she said with a sniff.

  He glanced at the bathroom door in surprise. ‘I didn’t know you did. Want me to mend it?’

  She shook her head and gave him a rather watery and lopsided grin. ‘No. You wouldn’t be able to bring me tea in the bath then.’

  He chuckled and hugged her tighter against his side, then released her and followed her upstairs. Once back in bed he pulled her into his arms and kissed her gently.

  ‘I do love you,’ he murmured, and she snuggled closer.

  ‘Good,’ she said, hesitating a heartbeat before adding, ‘because I love you, too.’ She could feel his smile against her temple. He kissed her again, his lips warm against her face, and with a smile still on her lips, she fell asleep.

  He slept until midday. She left him there and went down and fed the dogs, made coffee and sat in the kitchen and wished he’d wake up, but he was tired and she guessed he’d been having early breakfast meetings and late evening meetings and worked half the night, as well as working all day.

  She wished he wouldn’t push himself so hard. Apart from the fact that it left no time for them, he was going to kill himself, and she wasn’t sure she was strong enough to sit back and watch him do it.

  She made some preparations for their evening meal, starting the soup, peeling the vegetables and making the base for the pavlova and starting it off in the oven.

  There was still no sign of him, so she took the dogs out into the garden and let them rip around a bit. It had thawed again in the night, the wind shifting round to the south-west, warmed by the gulf stream. All they needed was a little rain and the snow would be gone, she thought, and she’d see how right Iain McGregor was about the ‘small sticky place,’ although after last night maybe the ‘wailing of women’ was closer to the mark!

  She heard her name and looked up, and he was leaning out of the window, looking rumpled and sexy and heart-stoppingly loveable.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous,’ he called, and she couldn’t stop the little smile of pleasure at seeing him.

  ‘Morning, gorgeous, yourself,’ she replied, walking back to the house and standing on the drive beneath, looking up at him. ‘Are you going to get up today?’

  ‘I might—depends if I get a better offer,’ he said softly, and she laughed.

  ‘Not a chance. I’ve got coffee on.’

  ‘I know, I can smell it. I’ll be down in a moment. I’ve already washed.’

  She went back inside with the dogs, and he ran down the stairs moments later, dressed in a fresh white silk shirt and trousers so beautifully cut they should have had a government health warning on them. A jumper was knotted round his shoulders, emphasising their breadth, and the whole package was enough to take her breath away.

  She slid a mug of coffee across the table at him and cocked her head on one side. ‘Breakfast?’

  ‘Lunch? I can’t remember when I last had a decent meal. I hate aeroplane food and lunch yesterday sort of got overlooked—I left the office at twelve, and breakfast was so early I don’t even want to think about it.’

  She chuckled. ‘How about a BLT?’

  ‘I thought you were vegetarian?’

  ‘I am. You aren’t, though, so I bought you bacon. I know you love bacon sandwiches.’

  His eyes warmed and he gave her a lopsided little smile. ‘A bacon sandwich would be wonderful,’ he said softly. ‘Thanks.’

  He watched her while she cooked, humming under her breath and throwing things together with swift, economical movements. She looked good, he thought. Calm and composed, relaxed.

  She hadn’t been relaxed earlier, she’d been hurt and unhappy, and he felt a pang of guilt for upsetting her, but he’d just been wary about giving too much away. He might as well not have bothered, because she’d got it out of him anyway in the end.

  He gave a silent laugh. She knew he loved her anyway, so what was the point of trying to deny or disguise it?

  ‘Here you go.’

  She slid a piled-up plate across the table at him and sat down, one leg tucked up under her bottom the way she always did. She had a smaller plate, with what looked like salad in the sandwich, and she picked up one half and bit into it. She had beautiful, even teeth, he thought, almost translucent white, saved from perfection by a little chip on the corner of one of the top ones.

  She’d come off her bike as a teenager, showing off, she’d told him, and he’d had an image of a sparkling, leggy girl with a row of admiring boys lined up to watch her with lecherous grins on their faces.

  Absurdly he felt jealous because he hadn’t been one of them. She must have been lovely. She was lovely now, certainly, and she’d been lovely at twenty-one.

  She’d be lovely at sixty, he thought, but he wasn’t sure he’d be around to see it. The thought was extraordinarily painful.

  ‘Penny for them,’ she said round a mouthful of sandwich, and he laughed and shook his head.

  ‘No. You’ll get an inflated ego.’

  She smiled at that, blushing slightly, and he felt a rush of desire. It must have showed in his eyes, because the smile softened and her lips parted a little breathlessly. He wondered how soon he could decently hustle her back to bed, and decided decency had nothing to do with it. She was his wife. If he wanted to make love to her, it was nobody’s business but their own.

  ‘How about a little rest after lunch?’ he suggested softly, and her smile widened.

  ‘Sounds good.’

  The rest of the sandwich nearly choked him.

  It had been a wonderful weekend, she thought. He was flying from Edinburgh to Gatwick first thing on Monday morning, and would have to get up at three, so they had an early night.

  No great hardship, she thought with a smile. They seemed to have spent a great deal of time in bed over the weekend. They’d walked the dogs on Sunday morning, though, taking them down to Dornoch and letting them run on the beach while they strolled hand in hand just above the surf line, and they’d had lunch in a pub on the way back while the dogs slept, exhausted, in the back of her car.

  And amazingly, she thought, he hadn’t once mentioned work except over lunch in the pub, to tell her how busy he’d been and where he was going next week.

  London for the first couple of days, then Paris, then Hong Kong on Thursday and Friday and back in time to go to London again for Monday before heading back to New York on Tuesday.

  ‘So you won’t be here next weekend,’ she said, perversely disappointed.

  ‘No. I can’t. Come to Hong Kong with me. You love Hong Kong.’

  She shook her head in regret. ‘I can’t leave the dogs, and anyway, I don’t have time. Too much to do.’ It wasn’t strictly true, but she didn’t want him to think she could just drop everything and be at his beck and call. He had to believe in her new life, and he wouldn’t if she was too ready to abandon it every time he crooked his little finger.

  ‘Maybe another time,’ he suggested, and she made some noncommittal reply and changed the subject.

  They’d gone back to the cottage, made
love again because they just couldn’t seem to get enough of each other, and then after supper they’d gone back to bed so he could sleep before setting off for the airport.

  Not that he slept much. She tried to remember when they’d last been so hungry for each other, but she couldn’t. Still, she wasn’t complaining. It was wonderful to spend so much time with him—quality time, real time, not coexisting as they’d done for the past eighteen months or so. It seemed a little perverse that now, when she’d left him and was seriously considering whether she could ever live with him again, they seemed to be getting on better than they had for years—possibly ever.

  She woke at two thirty when his alarm went off, and they made love again before he tore himself reluctantly out of bed and left her. She got up at seven to let the dogs out, and went into the kitchen to make herself a cup of tea.

  There, propped up against the kettle where he knew she’d find it, was a CD in a plastic case, a sticky note pasted onto the front of it. ‘Have a look at this when you have time, and talk to me about it. We’ll bounce ideas around. Thanks for a wonderful weekend. Love you. Rob.’

  She looked at it curiously. What was it?

  The new company, she realised. She’d forbidden him to discuss it, and he hadn’t, but he’d left her the information anyway. She called the dogs back in, ran the bath and ate her toast while she wallowed, then went over to the office and put the CD into the computer.

  It was interesting. Very interesting. She’d heard of the company, but their current website was atrocious and needed a good swift kick up the rear. It was just the sort of challenge she thrived on, and she found her mind chewing away at it while she got on with her other work.

  He rang her at lunchtime to tell her he was back, and she told him her ideas.

  ‘Sounds good. Can you put together something for me to look at?’ he asked, and she agreed.