For Pleasure...Or Marriage?

by Julia James

  She glanced down at the bump. It was far too large now even for modelling maternity wear. Advertisers always fought shy of showing women in the final stages when, no matter how well-designed, no maternity clothes could be flattering, only revealing. In any case, she’d be too tired to do any modelling now. At the time she’d been glad of the opportunity, even if it had come out of the blue via another of the girls who’d modelled the Levantsky collection.

  A haunted look came into her eyes suddenly.

  If I hadn’t done that assignment Markos would never have found out about the baby.

  Because she would never have told him. She knew that with a dull, drear certainty.

  Opening the book, she did not immediately start reading, but looked out to sea instead, glad of her sunhat and the dark glasses taking the glare off her eyes. The tide was out and the beach was thronged with families and children enjoying the seaside.

  She felt tired, but that was not surprising. The last stage of pregnancy would be like that, she knew, having assiduously read every pre-natal book she could find. She also knew it was important to keep as mobile as she could, so she made her twice daily constitutional up and down the seafront, and swam every other day as well, even though she was slowing down now. The water was comfortable, reducing the feeling of being so heavy. If the tide weren’t so far out she would have gone in the sea now. Perhaps she would do so later, she thought, when it was closer in again.

  She folded a hand over her swelling belly, as if to cradle her baby. It was strange to think of it upside down inside her, and she could distinctly see the outline of a foot every now and then. There was no activity now, though. That might be a sign, she had read, that she would get peaceful afternoons. Conversely, judging by the bouncing that regularly went on close to midnight, she wouldn’t be able to look forward to early nights.

  She let her thoughts run on quite deliberately, about the daily details of pre-natal life, and what was likely to happen once the birth was over. She was booked in to the local maternity hospital. Her bag was already packed, just as the books advised, and she had the numbers of three local taxi services, all of whom were willing to do either the scheduled run on her due date or an emergency one beforehand if necessary. Later, when winter came, she would buy a car. It was fine strolling around town in the summer, but in the winter it would be a different matter. Besides, local transport wasn’t brilliant, and with a small child in tow having her own car was going to be essential in such a predominantly rural area. Some of the other mums she knew lived out of town, and if she wanted to keep in touch she’d need to be independently mobile.

  She watched a group of children set up a game of beach cricket a little way away. Independence was going to be her watchword, she knew. Even with friends, and a supportive midwife and health visitor, she would have to rely on herself.

  A pang went through her, but she put it aside. She could not afford to indulge in such things. She had remade her life and now she must live it.

  You did the right thing. You know you did. There was nothing else to be done.

  The familiar mantra formed in her mind.

  Everything you said to him was true. You’ll be perfectly all right on your own. You don’t need him to sacrifice himself.

  And it would have been a sacrifice, she reminded herself mercilessly. Everything Markos had said, during both those horrible descents on her, had made that pitilessly clear. And how could she ever forget what he’d said to her that last morning in his apartment, when he’d trampled on her frail, pathetic hopes so completely? For Markos, the worst thing in the world would be to get trapped into marriage by a pregnant mistress.

  And that’s what I did. It was my ignorance about the Pill that got me pregnant. That’s the situation I’m in, and that’s the situation I have to work out in the best way possible.

  Her expression hardened.

  And I don’t need Markos to marry me out of an unwilling sense of responsibility to a baby he never wanted by a woman who never meant anything to him.

  The pang came again, deep and agonising, as it always did when she made herself face up to the truth, sliding deep within her like a knife to the heart. It had hurt so much, facing up to the truth about Markos, but she had known it had to be done. For so long she’d lived in some kind of blind fantasy, adoring a man to whom she had never mattered. Then the veils had been ripped from her eyes and she had seen the truth of what she had become.

  The pain of leaving him had been agonising, but it had been essential. For her self-respect, for her sanity; above all, for the child she carried.

  Her face shadowed again. In her head she heard her own ruthless condemnation echoing harshly.

  Some fathers are not worth having.

  She would not wish that on any child—growing up with a father who had not wanted it to be born, had never regarded its mother as worth marrying, had even required proof that the baby she carried was genetically his.

  No, a single-parent family might have its disadvantages, but it would never tear her child apart emotionally, never torment it with the knowledge of a father not wanting it, or its mother.

  Her eyes strayed to the children playing cricket with their parents. Laughing and having fun, a family together. United and happy.

  She looked away, back down to her book. A heaviness crushed her suddenly. If it was a boy, she would play beach cricket with him, she thought fiercely. He wouldn’t need a father! He’d be fine without one—just fine! Loads of children grew up without fathers these days; it was perfectly normal.

  After all, hadn’t she grown up without either of her parents?

  But you had your grandparents—they were your family.

  She felt her heart tighten. She’d grown up without parents because of a tragic accident, not because someone had deliberately deprived her of them.

  But I’m not depriving my child of a father! I’m keeping it safe from a father who would only cause grief!

  And anyway, Markos had gone. Walked out without a word. He wasn’t coming back. She’d turned him down and he wouldn’t offer again. He was probably off in some exotic location, staying in a fancy hotel or one of his half-dozen apartments round the world, with some gorgeous female to keep him company, to adore him…

  The knife twisted again in her heart. She ignored it.

  Markos was gone from her life. She was on her own. Her and her baby.

  Markos wanted neither of them.

  The sun was lowering to the west, but it was far from sinking yet. The beach was emptier, with many of the families wending their way back to their holiday accommodation for tea, but there were still a good few enjoying the last of the day. The tide had come in, and Vanessa had had her swim, wading into the water feeling more like a walrus than a woman. But she didn’t care about how she looked. At this late stage of pregnancy she was fit and healthy, and that was all that mattered. Bobbing gently in the water like some kind of inflatable was very soothing.

  She’d emerged, hair matted and salty, but not caring about that either. She’d let the warmth of the late afternoon dry her stretched maternity swimming costume, and then pulled her trousers up over it without even attempting to change on the beach. She would have a shower when she got back to the house, clean up properly then. Gathering her rug and her bag, she made her way slowly up the beach.

  Gaining the promenade after an even slower ascent of the stone steps from the beach, she glanced at her watch. Her new holiday tenants were arriving this evening. The agency she let the flat through had told her they had said they would not be there before seven, so she had plenty of time. The upstairs flat had been cleaned thoroughly that morning, when the previous holidaymakers had left, and Vanessa had made the beds, set out a tea-tray, and put fresh flowers on the table and a couple of pints of fresh milk in the fridge, as she always did for new arrivals.

  It was no problem having people upstairs. Most were families, and the sounds of children were merely a foretaste, she knew, of what he

r own life would bring shortly. This week, it was booked for a couple with an eight-year-old and a ten-year-old, travelling down from London that afternoon.

  Back at the house, she put her sandy beach things in the kitchen sink and went to have her shower, sluicing and soaping off the salty water and lathering her hair into thick suds. Then she rinsed everything off and dried herself on a towel that seemed to be getting smaller every day.

  She had just dressed herself in fresh clothes, a loose, cool cotton day-pyjama set in mint-green, and combed out her long tangled hair, when the doorbell rang. It wasn’t seven yet, but perhaps the traffic had been lighter than expected. She padded heavily out of the bedroom, which overlooked the patio garden, and went to open the front door.

  ‘Come in,’ she said. ‘You must have had a good run down from Lon—’

  Her voice dried completely, and she felt her hand spasm on the doorframe where she stood.

  Markos stood outside.

  He was carrying a suitcase.

  She could only stare. Every thought seemed to have drained from her. All except one.

  It was the least relevant to anything but the immediate present, but it was the only thing that came to her.

  ‘I’ve got people arriving at any moment,’ she said blankly. ‘For my holiday flat.’

  ‘There’s been a change of plan,’ he answered. ‘I’m the new tenant.’

  ‘Excuse me?’ Her voice sounded faint.

  ‘You can phone the agency if you want. It’s all been arranged. The other family changed their minds. They’ve gone somewhere else on holiday.’

  ‘What?’ Vanessa was still stupefied.

  ‘I offered them a five-star holiday in the Mediterranean if they’d agree to let me have their let for the fortnight.’

  ‘You did what?’

  ‘I offered them a five-star—’

  ‘But why?’

  She could feel herself leaning against the doorjamb. The space around her seemed to be coming and going. And everything in the entire universe was focussing on the man standing on her doorstep.

  He was looking at her. There was something different about him, but she couldn’t tell what. All she could tell was that there was a pain around her heart, a tearing, biting pain.

  ‘Why?’ she said again, faintly.

  ‘I wanted to be near you,’ he said.

  His eyes were resting on her. They were dark, and grey, and they were looking at her from a place they had never looked at her from before. The pain got worse.

  ‘This was the only way I could think to do it. The only way you couldn’t throw me out again.’

  Her eyes flashed.

  ‘You don’t seriously think I’m going to let you move in upstairs, do you?’

  ‘I won’t be a nuisance to you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll look after myself—’

  ‘Aren’t Taki and Stelios going to do that, then?’ she jibed.

  ‘They’re on holiday. I can survive without them. I know you don’t think I can. But I can. I can survive without anyone, Vanessa. Anyone—except for one person. One person that I find, after all, that I cannot survive without. Not for a day, Vanessa. Not for a lifetime.’

  His eyes were holding hers, streaming into hers. She felt the faintness grow, drumming at her from very far away, but coming closer, louder. There were clouds rolling towards her, muffling everything.

  She felt her fingers slipping from the doorjamb. The weight of her body was tipping forward, the drumming in her ears was drowning through her…

  ‘Vanessa!’

  He caught her as she slumped, taking her weight against him even though he staggered slightly as he did so. Tossing his suitcase inside the hallway, he propelled her inside, then with all his strength he lifted her and carried her into the living room, coming down onto the sofa with her still in his arms.

  ‘Vanessa! Oh, God, Vanessa!’

  He scooped her torso against him, Greek bursting from him in his agitation.

  She came to with a low moan and tried to straighten, pushing back her tangled hair with one hand.

  ‘Don’t try and move! Just rest. Wait. Don’t move.’

  She didn’t move. She just stayed where she was, her shoulders carried by his arms, her hip on his lap, her distended abdomen pressed against him. His body was warm, and hard, and so very, very familiar. It was his scent, his hands on her, his touch.

  ‘Markos…’

  Her voice was very faint, very tired.

  ‘Markos.’

  She turned her face into him and his arms tightened around her. The pain was tearing and biting, slaying her.

  He was stroking her hair, soothing his hands along it and murmuring to her. She didn’t know what he was saying, but the words flowed over her like a cool stream, like a warm balm, like arms drawing her to him, holding her, folding her. She lay there, being held by him, his hand on her hair, her face resting against the strong wall of his chest, inhaling the familiar scent, the touch and feel of him, his very being.

  Markos. The man who was most dear to her. The man she had loved so much.

  The man she still loved. Whom she would love for ever.

  The truth of it blazed in her heart, unquenchable. She had never stopped loving him. Could never stop loving him.

  Markos, who had come back for her. Come back to her…

  She felt the tears start to slide from her silently, slipping one by one from her eyes, which could see nothing. She felt their moisture bead against her cheek, soak into the taut fine cotton of his shirt. And still he held her, and held her.

  And now he was talking. She heard the words and understood them, low and resonant through the strong wall of his chest.

  ‘Let me stay, Vanessa. It’s all I ask. I won’t trouble you or make demands on you. I just want to be near you, as close as you will let me be. Please don’t turn me away. Please don’t shut me out of your life. Please let me be near to you.’

  The words flowed over her and into her, and as she heard them the heaviness of her body seemed to lighten. And more, far more than the heaviness of her body.

  The tears slid from her eyes, faster now, until there was a stream soaking into his shirt, pouring down her cheeks, and she pressed her face closer to him.

  The hands soothing her hair moved, cupping around her cheeks, feeling their wetness.

  ‘Vanessa! Don’t cry—don’t cry!’

  He held her face away from him, his own stricken.

  She gazed up at him through blurred vision, her lashes wet, the tears flowing silently from her, and as she gazed the last of the heavy feeling turned to the sweetest lightness.

  His thumbs smoothed the tears spilling from her eyes.

  ‘Please don’t cry. I didn’t want to make you cry. I didn’t want to upset you, or hurt you any more than I have already. I’ve been so stupid, such a brute. You must hate me, and have every reason for hating me, but please don’t cry. Just let me stay close to you and take care of you, our baby. Let me be a father to our child—even if you don’t want to marry me or be my lover ever again, at least let me take care of you and our baby. I’ll do anything. Anything I can. Anything you’ll let me.’

  She gazed up at him, her vision still blurred. And yet for the first time she seemed to see clearly.

  ‘Do you mean that, Markos?’ she said. Her voice was tremulous. ‘Do you really mean that?’

  ‘Oh, God, with all my heart, Vanessa. With all my heart.’ His voice sounded as choked as hers.

  He closed his eyes a moment, then opened them, searching deep into hers.

  ‘Will you forgive me?’ he asked, his voice low. ‘Will you forgive me for being such a blind, stupid, arrogant fool? I treated you so badly. I took you for granted, took everything you gave me, and everything you said about what I’d done and what I am was true. I’m guilty of it all. I just didn’t know. I didn’t know until you walked out and left me just how much I needed you. And when I found out about the baby, thought you must have gone to another man, I was so twisted up inside I couldn’t see straight. I couldn’t see what anyone could have seen! And then, when Leo and Anna sent me back here again, I was even worse to you. I said such stupid, cretinous things to you. Can you ever forgive me? I was a fool, a complete fool, and if what I said then has made me lose you now, then I…then I…’

  He came to a halt, his breath shuddering.

  ‘Oh, Markos,’ she breathed, her eyes softening, glowing like candles, illuminating the dark that had been all around him.

  Slowly she reached up her mouth to kiss him. Slowly she felt her lips touch his, felt the long, low release that her touch brought him—and her.

  Then she sank back into his arms, her head cradled against him. Peace filled her. He held her to him, bowing his head to brush his lips against her hair.

  For a long, timeless moment he just sat there, holding her close to him, close to his heart.

  Then, slowly, he started to speak again. The words came from very deep inside, from a place he had never wanted to look into again.

  But now he did, taking the contents out of the darkness where they had lain so long and bringing them into the light, where they could finally shrivel and die.

  ‘It was when you told me why you didn’t want me to have anything to do with our child. That it would be better off without me for a father. A father who had never wanted his child to be born, who had never wanted to marry its mother, who hadn’t even believed the child was his, who’d treated its mother as nothing more than a mistress…’He paused a moment, inhaling a heavy breath. ‘Your words chilled me. To the bone.’

  He was silent a while. She said nothing, giving him the time he needed.

  ‘You see, you could have been describing my father. My mother—’ his voice hardened unconsciously on the word ‘—my mother had been my father’s mistress. She’d worked in a bar, at one of the Greek holiday resorts. My father picked her up, wanting nothing more than to amuse himself, the way he always did. She was ambitious; she wanted him to marry her. But to my father she was just a good-time girl, the kind who slept around with any Latin lover who took her promiscuous fancy. Not the kind of woman you married. The kind of woman you married was a respectable Greek girl, a virgin, protected and well-dowered, well-connected.

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