The Unexpected Pregnancy

by Catherine George

  ‘We’ve had a great time, Mummy.’ With reluctance Harriet gave Robert to his mother. ‘Are you going home now?’

  ‘No, I’m due at the vicarage first.’

  ‘Can you take Robert there with you?’

  ‘I don’t normally, but I’ll just have to for once. I just hope the vicar isn’t writing his sermon today.’ She gave Harriet an uncertain smile. ‘Would you mind if I gave Robert his lunch here, first?’

  ‘Of course not. In fact,’ added Harriet on impulse, ‘why not leave him here with me afterwards?’

  ‘I can’t do that! It’s taking advantage.’

  ‘No, it’s not. If he gets restless I’ll take him for a walk in his buggy.’

  ‘If you’re really sure, that would be great,’ said Stacy thankfully. ‘I’ve got my phone, so just ring me if there’s a problem.’

  When his young mother left later Robert showed a moment of lip-trembling doubt when she kissed him goodbye, but he cheered up when his new friend took him back into the garden. Harriet built brick towers again for a while, but when the blue eyes began to droop she laid the little boy down on the blanket with his teddy, opened an umbrella to shade him from the sun, then stretched out beside him, content just to watch over the child as he fell asleep.

  ‘Mum, Mum?’ he sobbed when he woke up, and Harriet picked him up, cuddling him close.

  ‘She won’t be long, my darling,’ she assured him. ‘How about some juice?’

  Blessing efficient Stacy for leaving a beaker of his favourite tipple ready in the kitchen, Harriet took the tearful little boy inside to find it, and cuddled him on her lap, deeply relieved when he stopped crying to drink.

  ‘What a good boy you are,’ she said fervently, and then sniffed at him in deep dismay. ‘Now this,’ she told him, ‘is where you make allowances for an amateur, Robert Dyer. I’ve never changed a nappy before.’

  He gurgled, and clutched a lock of her hair as she bent over him, but made no objection to lying on the changing mat his mother had left ready. Harriet had watched closely when Stacy changed her son, but in actual practice found that, like gardening, the process wasn’t as easy as it looked. Due to much chuckling and wriggling it seemed a very long time before Robert was clean, fragrant and put back together again. Flushed with success, Harriet praised him extravagantly, balanced him inexpertly while she washed her hands, then sat him on her lap and gave him a biscuit.

  ‘Where’s Stacy?’ demanded a voice from the open doorway.

  Harriet jumped up in fright, clutching the child protectively at the sight of a thin, furious youth she’d never seen before.

  Robert beamed, and the boy darted forward, arms outstretched.

  ‘Hand him over!’ he yelled.

  Robert burst into tears at the loud noise, and burrowed his face against Harriet’s neck.

  ‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her arms tightening round the child. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

  ‘I’m Greg Watts, Robert’s dad. Give him to me!’ He tried to snatch his child, but Robert held onto Harriet, sobbing piteously when he dropped his biscuit.

  ‘Don’t be an idiot, man,’ she said, standing her ground. ‘Can’t you see you’re frightening Robert to death? Stacy left him in my charge so I’m holding onto him until she comes back.’

  ‘You’ve no right. I’m his father,’ he said, his voice cracking, but as he made another lunge for the child James Devereux strode through the open door, seized Greg by the scruff of his neck and marched him outside, then came back to check on Harriet.

  ‘Are you all right?’ James demanded.

  ‘I’m fine, but Robert’s very upset.’ She kissed the sobbing baby and cuddled him close. ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’ll ring Mummy and ask her to come right now. James, you didn’t hurt the boy, did you?’ she said anxiously.

  ‘Of course not. Greg says the child is his, but who’s the mother?’ he added.

  ‘Stacy Dyer, my cleaner.’

  ‘Give me the number and I’ll ring her. Then I’ll get Greg back in here and read the Riot Act.’

  James’ lecture was so effective Greg Watts was trying to choke back tears when Stacy raced in, wild-eyed and distraught.

  ‘Greg, what on earth have you done?’ she wailed.

  The young man stared in horror at her bruised eye. ‘Oh, God, Stace, did I do that? I’m sorry! You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I just wanted to see Robert.’

  Much to Harriet’s surprise the child had fallen asleep on her shoulder. ‘He’s fine,’ she assured the girl, handing him over with care. ‘He was a bit frightened by all the fuss, that’s all.’

  ‘Miss Dyer should really call in the police,’ James told the boy sternly. ‘You obviously intended to abduct the child.’

  ‘No!’ The boy stared at him in utter dismay. ‘I just wanted to take Robert home to my mother for a bit, Mr Devereux. Stacy wouldn’t let me near him last night.’

  ‘If you behave like this I never will, either,’ she snapped, glaring at him over her son’s damp curls.

  ‘Don’t involve the police, love, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll never have a drink again if you let me see more of Robert. I’m not like your dad, Stacy, honest. I would never hurt you or my boy.’

  She nodded slowly. ‘I know that, Greg.’

  There was silence for a moment while the young pair gazed at each other, oblivious of the other two.

  ‘You can load the buggy in the car and I’ll drive you home, Stacy,’ said Harriet at last, but the girl shook her head firmly.

  ‘No way, Harriet. I’ll wheel Robert, and Greg can carry my things.’

  The boy’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I give Robert his tea?’

  ‘Yes. And his bath, if you like.’ She fastened her sleeping son in his pushchair, and turned to Harriet. ‘After all this fuss do you still want me on Thursday?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She eyed Harriet’s pallor anxiously. ‘You look shattered. I’d better make you some tea before I go.’

  ‘No need, I’ll do that,’ said James quickly.

  Stacy smiled shyly at him. ‘OK, Mr Devereux. Come on, then, Greg.’

  The boy looked at Harriet in remorse. ‘I’m really sorry. I know Stacy works here on Mondays so I came round to apologise for last night. I didn’t expect to find Robert here. When I saw him on your lap I just lost it.’

  ‘Because Stacy left your son with a stranger instead of with you,’ Harriet said with understanding.

  ‘Which gave you no right to terrorise Miss Verney, my lad,’ said James sternly.

  ‘I know that, Mr Devereux.’ Greg pulled a face. ‘When Dad hears about this I’ll probably get a shiner to match Stacy’s.’

  ‘He won’t hear it from me,’ James assured him, relenting.

  When the young pair had finally departed with their son James drew out a chair. ‘You look exhausted, Harriet. Sit down. Is there anything to drink in the house?’

  ‘Wine in the fridge.’

  ‘No brandy?’

  ‘There might be some in the cabinet in the other room.’ She got up, but James pushed her down again.

  ‘I’ll look.’

  Surprised by an urge to lay her head down on the table and howl once she was alone, Harriet combed her fingers through her untidy hair, brushed soggy biscuit crumbs from her T-shirt, and managed a smile when James returned with a bottle of cognac and two crystal brandy snifters.

  ‘My grandmother’s emergency kit,’ she informed him.

  ‘I think we can definitely class this as an emergency.’ He poured a small quantity into each glass and handed one over.

  Harriet took a cautious sip from hers, shuddering a little as the fiery heat hit her. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. Greg gave me rather a shock.’

  James nodded. ‘I know. That’s why I was so rough with the kid.’

  ‘It probably taught him a lesson.’ Harriet smiled ruefully. ‘When Stacy said the child’s father had hit her I vi
sualised some bruiser with fists like sledgehammers, so Greg came as something of a surprise. It was sad, really. Robert was delighted to see his daddy until Greg frightened him by yelling at me. How do you know Watts Senior, by the way?’

  ‘You probably know him as Frank. He’s the head gardener up at the house. I’ve known young Greg all his life.’

  ‘His father must be good at his job. It all looked very perfect when I was up there the other day.’ Harriet sighed. ‘Poor Greg. I’m glad Stacy relented towards him.’

  ‘Talking of relenting,’ said James lightly, ‘did you tell Tim you had lunch with me?’

  ‘Yes. For once he was lost for words.’ She grinned. ‘I was pretty surprised myself.’

  ‘That you shared a meal with the ogre and survived?’

  Harriet flushed. ‘I don’t think of you as an ogre.’

  ‘Liar!’

  ‘All right, a bit, maybe. When I was young.’

  ‘You’re young now, Harriet.’

  ‘Older than I was. You don’t scare me any more.’

  He frowned. ‘Did I scare you in the past, then?’

  ‘Of course you did!’ She drained her glass. ‘You blamed me every time Tim disobeyed your orders.’

  ‘Because I knew he was obeying yours instead.’

  ‘Mine were always suggestions, not orders.’ Harriet gave him a straight look. ‘And Tim only fell in with them when they appealed to him. You must surely know by now that he goes his own sweet way.’

  ‘I do.’ He got up. ‘But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, I still feel protective towards him.’

  ‘And you’re convinced I’m going to hurt him in some way.’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘Do you really believe I’m sneaking into other men’s beds behind Tim’s back?’

  His eyes flared dangerously for an instant. ‘Are you?’

  They stared at each other in taut silence for a moment.

  ‘I don’t have to answer to you, James,’ she said hoarsely, and turned away.

  He moved round the table and turned her face up to his. ‘Tears, Harriet?’

  She jerked her head away, blinking hard. ‘Would you go now, please?’

  ‘Harriet, I’m sorry. I’ve no right to question your private life,’ he said wearily.

  ‘No, you haven’t.’ Harriet reached blindly for a sheet of kitchen paper to mop herself up, and James caught her in his arms, pressing her face against his chest as he smoothed her hair.

  ‘Don’t cry, little one,’ he said, in a tone that brought the tears on thick and fast. For a few blind, uncaring moments Harriet sobbed with abandon, but as she calmed down she grew aware of James’ heart thudding against her own, and pulled away in panic.

  ‘It’s just reaction to all the drama,’ she said thickly, knuckling the tears away. ‘Go away. I’d rather cry in private.’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t cry at all,’ he said huskily. ‘Particularly when I’m to blame.’

  She turned to face him, careless of tousled hair and swollen eyes. ‘The man you saw with me at the theatre is an old college friend, and Tim was perfectly happy about it. It’s absolutely none of your business, James Devereux, but just for the record I don’t sleep around. Now let’s drop the subject.’

  For once James looked at a complete loss. ‘Harriet—’

  She held up an imperious hand. ‘Look, I’m tired. Could you just go now?’

  On his way to the door he paused, and turned to look at her. ‘On an entirely different subject, Harriet, I need an assistant gardener to help Frank Watts. If I offered the job to his son, my bar manager could move here to End House and young Greg could take Stacy and the boy to the garage flat,’ he added. ‘Think about it. I’ll be in touch.’

  She stood utterly still for a while after he’d gone, staring at the door James had closed so gently behind him. Clever devil, she thought resentfully, then gave a wry little laugh. He might think he was persuading her in the one way certain of success, but he’d actually given her the perfect, face-saving way out of a dilemma. She could now sell End House at a very good price without revealing her change of heart. And no one need know that living alone there on a permanent basis had lost its appeal after only a day or two.

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE drama of the afternoon left Harriet with no enthusiasm for a trip to Cheltenham to see a film, as she’d intended. Instead she stretched out on the cane sofa in the conservatory after supper, trying to read. But, restless for reasons she refused to analyse, she gave up after a while and went out to water the flowers in the herbaceous borders instead. She spotted a gap in the hedge she hadn’t noticed before, made a note to point it out to James and, reluctant to go back indoors on such a beautiful evening, she fetched her phone and sat on the rustic seat at the end of the garden to ring Dido.

  ‘About time,’ her friend said indignantly. ‘Don’t you ever look at your messages?’

  ‘I’ve had distractions.’ With suitable drama Harriet described her adventures of the afternoon.

  ‘Wow!’ said Dido, awed. ‘You must have been scared to death.’

  ‘Not really. He was only a kid. Anyway Tim’s brother came charging to the rescue—’

  ‘Are we talking the famous Jed here?’

  ‘That’s the one! He’s down here doing staff interviews for Edenhurst.’

  ‘And he just happened to be on hand in your hour of need? How come?’

  ‘No idea. He was just passing, I suppose. What’s new with you?’

  In triumph Dido announced that she’d been given a pay rise, and told Harriet to be back in good time on Saturday. ‘I’m in a party mood, so I’ve asked some people round to celebrate. Make sure Tim comes, too.’

  After she’d rung off Harriet sat staring down the garden, not too thrilled about going back to plunge straight into one of her friend’s parties. The flat would be filled to overflowing with glossy, perfectly groomed people who worked for the same famous cosmetics house as Dido. No one would leave until the small hours, and before getting to bed there would be an argument, as usual, when Harriet insisted the mess had to be cleared up first.

  Then something Dido said came back to Harriet. Why had James appeared at her back door at just that particular moment? She curled a lock of hair round her finger as she tried to think of him objectively. If she’d met James Edward Devereux for the first time this week as a stranger, would she have been attracted to him on a purely man/woman basis? She bit her lip. She might have hero-worshipped him when she was a child, but she’d never thought of him in that way before, and right now the worrying answer was yes. Tim would laugh his head off when she told him—not that she would tell him. He wouldn’t understand. Nor would she blame him. She didn’t understand, either.

  Harriet was on her way to bed when the phone rang, and because only one person ever rang her that late she chuckled as she lifted the receiver.

  ‘Some people keep respectable hours, Tim Devereux.’

  ‘Wrong brother, Harriet,’ said James coolly.

  ‘Oh—sorry. Hello.’

  ‘I had a word with Frank Watts and told him that if Greg wanted a job I’d see him tomorrow afternoon. I made no mention of accommodation, obviously.’

  ‘Will you give Greg the job even if I don’t let you have End House?’

  ‘Of course I will!’ said James impatiently. ‘I’m ringing at this hour because it would obviously help if I knew your decision about the house before I see him, Harriet. Think about it overnight. I’ll call round in the morning for your answer.’

  Harriet locked up and went upstairs to lean out of the open bedroom window, the nostalgic, summer scent of roses reminding her that her grandmother would have strongly approved of James Devereux as the purchaser for End House. Olivia Verney had been very fond of Tim, but Harriet knew she’d had enormous respect for the brother who’d worked so hard to provide security for him.

  Next morning Harriet was up early. After a shower she creamed her skin with one of the free sa
mples that often came her way from Dido, brushed her hair until it shone, and instead of tying it back left it to cascade in loose waves to her shoulders. As the final touch she made her face up in City style, instead of the sole smear of moisturiser it had made do with since her arrival. Once she agreed to sell End House to James Devereux she might not see him again for ages and sheer pride urged her to leave him with a better impression than the tear-stained creature of yesterday.

  The best Harriet could do from the limited choice of clothes she’d packed was a short ecru denim skirt and jacket and a vest top in a caramel shade that toned well with her hair. And instead of meekly waiting in for whenever James deigned to arrive she went on her usual trip to the shops to buy a paper and her daily pint of milk. She walked back slowly through sunshine that had a heavy, sultry feel to it, and found James, as she’d hoped, waiting on the rustic seat at the end of the garden, formal in a lightweight dark suit. He got up to take her carrier bag, and gave her a look that made all the primping and fussing worthwhile.

  ‘Good morning, Harriet. You’re obviously going somewhere.’

  ‘I’m off to Cheltenham later on. I intended to yesterday, but after all the commotion I didn’t feel like it. Do come in.’ Harriet unlocked the door, switched on the kettle and motioned him to a seat at the table. ‘I take it you’d like some coffee?’

  ‘Thank you. How do you feel this morning? Any ill effects from yesterday’s episode?’

  ‘No.’ This time she was ultra-careful as she poured boiling water into the cafetière. ‘I’ll leave the coffee to mature a bit,’ she said, putting the tray on the table. ‘But I’ll get to the point right now. I accept your offer for End House. Your moral blackmail worked perfectly.’

  The striking eyes narrowed as they met hers. ‘Blackmail?’

  She smiled cynically. ‘You know exactly the right buttons to push, James Devereux. You knew I’d cave in once you brought Stacy and the baby into the equation.’