The Bachelor's Baby

by Liz Fielding

  For a smile like that, he’d have swum the Atlantic.

  ‘Hi,’ he said.

  ‘Hi.’

  ‘I think I slept the clock round.’ It wasn’t quite a question, but she answered it for him anyway.

  ‘Very nearly. You woke just before midnight, drank a pint of water and got into bed. When I say woke, your eyes were open but I don’t think anyone was at home.’

  ‘I don’t remember,’ he admitted.

  ‘You were tired.’

  ‘If I was in bed with you naked and I don’t remember, sweetheart, I was comatose. Were you naked, too?’

  ‘That’s for me to know and you to wonder about,’ she said, never missing a beat, but her cheeks warmed a little; his blood heated in response as his imagination filled in the gaps. ‘You look better for the rest,’ she said, firmly changing the subject.

  He ran a hand over his jaw. ‘I look terrible. I need a shower and a shave. Maybe then we could try it again to, you know, jog my memory?’

  The delicate flush deepened and she turned quickly away. ‘You can’t remember where the bathroom is?’

  Then she stilled, glanced quickly back, and for a moment they were both remembering. Not the passion, the need, the total recognition of two people in tune for one perfect moment in time. But afterwards. The way he’d stormed up to the bathroom looking for confirmation of overheard gossip, confirmation that she was pregnant. They were remembering his anger. What he’d said.

  He remembered with shame, barely recognising the man he’d been.

  ‘First door on the left,’ she prompted, after a long pause, when he still didn’t move. Then, ‘Are you staying, Jake? I’ll have to let Dorothy know about dinner…’

  ‘Do you need me to stay?’

  Amy felt the excitement, the pleasure, the joy of his return trickle away. He was asking, which was an improvement, but nothing else had changed; he still wanted to go.

  ‘No, Jake,’ she said. ‘As you see, the mercy dash was quite unnecessary.’ She smiled and thought her face would crack with the effort. ‘Welcome, but…’

  ‘Unnecessary. If you’re sure? It’s just that I didn’t tell anyone what I was doing. It was the weekend—’ He glanced at his watch. ‘I should put in an appearance at the office before the rumours start flying. You know how it is. The boss goes missing for twenty-four hours and everyone thinks the company’s going down the pan and panics.’

  ‘I understand. You have responsibilities.’

  ‘It’s my company, Amy.’

  ‘You like to be in control.’ It wasn’t a question. She didn’t expect an answer. The one she got surprised her.

  ‘So do you,’ he said.

  ‘No…’ Then, ‘Well, maybe.’ She extended a hand to him and when he took it she squeezed lightly before pushing him away. ‘If you want something to eat before you leave,’ she said, turning back to her computer, ‘Dorothy will see to it.’

  ‘Amy.’ She continued to stare at the screen but he could see her reflection, the tightening jaw, the swift blink that betrayed her battle against tears. ‘It’s me, not you. I’m the problem. You’re everything a man could hope for, desire…’

  ‘If a man was capable of commitment.’

  ‘You don’t understand…’

  ‘No?’ She turned then and he saw that she’d lost the battle, that her cheeks were damp. But her mouth was soft. ‘Maybe I would. If you told me.’ She waited, and when he didn’t move, turn away, she pressed on. ‘Whatever happened to you, however much you were hurt, you don’t have to let it rule your life. You can change, take control—’

  ‘I am in control.’

  ‘No, darling, you just think you are. You’re walking a line someone else drew. You can step off it any time you want.’

  ‘It’s too late. I am what fate made me.’

  ‘You can be whoever you want to be. You choose. You can be a man who by some accident of fate creates a child, an inconvenience to be brushed aside, forgotten as easily as your parents forgot you.’

  He felt his blood run cold. ‘I’ll never forget—’

  ‘Or you can be a father.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘You know what it means,’ she said. ‘Deep down where it matters. A father is someone to hold a tiny hand when a child takes her first steps. A father is always there, someone to cling to when she’s scared, someone to cheer her on at school sports day and cuddle her when she comes in last. He frets when she’s out on her first date with a boy he just knows is going to break her heart, because he was once that same boy. And he’s there, with an arm to support her, to lead her down the aisle on the biggest day of her life.’

  ‘I don’t know how to do that! How do you learn that when no one has ever been there for you?’

  ‘You just reach out, Jake…there’ll be someone there to take your hand and show you the way.’

  And if he did? There would be no going back. No putting back together the carefully constructed fac¸ade that he’d built to protect himself. It would be like stepping into the dark. Never had the prospect appeared more enticing. Or terrifying.

  Amy watched his internal struggle. She could see the battle warring behind eyes darkened with remembered pain. Hampered by her leg, she was unable to go to him, touch him, hold him, comfort him. She should have stayed in bed with him, been there when he woke to hold him, show him that love wasn’t something to fear, that it didn’t steal your soul, but filled it with sweetness…

  She’d told herself that it wouldn’t be fair. Wouldn’t be playing by the rules. Maybe, though, she’d been afraid, too. Just a little bit terrified that she’d been fooling herself and that he wouldn’t want to wake up and find her at his side.

  That was new. The uncertainty, the fear that she’d got it all wrong. Beside her, the phone began to ring. She ignored it for as long as she could, trying to keep Jake focused on what she’d said. Not for her, but for him. But the drilling sound was too much and she snatched it up. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Miss Jones? Maggie Simons, Jake’s secretary. We appear to have, er, lost him. I wondered if you could help?’

  ‘Yes. He’s here.’ She tossed the phone to him. ‘Saved by the bell. It’s your secretary. The outside world is looking for you.’

  ‘Maggie… I’m sorry… Yes, I know I should have left a message… All right! I’ll be there.’ He hung up. Looked at her. ‘I have to go.’

  ‘Sure you do. You’ll find the number for the local taxi firm on the fast dial.’ Amy’s voice was brisk, bright; she was apparently more interested in what was on the screen in front of her as she mentally pushed him away.

  The first time she’d done that he’d been confused. Now he knew exactly what she was doing and he finally understood how much it was costing her. And for once in his life he wasn’t thinking in financial terms.

  ‘I’ll be back, Amy.’ Her fingers were flying over the keyboard and she didn’t turn round. ‘I’ll be busy for a day or two, but if you need anything, anything at all, just call me. And stay off buses,’ he added, just a touch desperately. Anything to regain her attention. ‘Take a taxi to the clinic. Anywhere. I’ll open an account.’

  That did it. ‘Anything. Anywhere.’ She swung round to face him. ‘How easy life must be when you can just open an account and write a cheque at the end of the month to clear away all your problems.’

  He’d got her attention and more. She’d finally let the mask slip and shown him a glimpse of the pain he’d caused her, let him see far more than she’d ever intended. The flash of heat from her eyes was like the heat from an oven door opened quickly to check on a cake, then closed. A blast of warmth, the promise of something wonderful.

  ‘I can’t promise…’ He heard the mean little words, words he’d heard all through his childhood and which were somehow ingrained on his soul. ‘But I’ll try to get down at the weekend.’

  Try? Amy heard the word and knew that it was over, because if their situations were reversed she’d have to be t
ied to her desk to keep her from flying to him the moment she could. Nothing would keep her away. But a promise would mean commitment.

  And finally she heard what he’d been saying since the moment they’d met. Acknowledged that he’d already gone way beyond anything that he’d ever bargained for. That this was as good as it was going to get.

  ‘Why, Jake?’

  For a moment the gentleness of her voice fooled him. Then he realised that this was no casual question. There was no smile, just a silence stretching on and on like a rubber band being pulled to breaking point.

  ‘Why?’

  Repeating the question had been a bad idea, as like a rubber band it flipped back and stung him.

  ‘If it’s so hard for you, why would you bother coming back at all?’

  She was absolutely still, waiting, insisting he answer. Inside Jake’s head, the cogs were whirring, disengaged. He knew what he had to say but it was as if the words were some foreign language.

  When the silence became so thick that it was a presence in the tiny room, she made the smallest movement, scarcely more than a lift of her fingers. ‘I’m sorry, Jake, I’m going to be busy this weekend.’

  ‘Amy—’

  But she had already turned back to her computer.

  Amy’s fingers moved automatically over the keys as she stared blindly at the screen. Yet even now he hadn’t moved, was still waiting, as if expecting her to swivel round on her chair and say, Just kidding.

  She hit the keyboard randomly, not caring what mayhem she was causing to her records, just needing him to see that it wasn’t going to happen.

  Just needing him!

  Say something! Don’t just stand there, do something!

  After a moment she heard him move, but not towards her, not to take her in his arms, to hold her, promise her that he would never leave her again. Instead he turned and headed for the bathroom. Yes, well, he certainly could do with a shave. That was really important. Far more important than her, or their baby.

  As the bathroom door snapped shut she slammed her hands down on the keyboard. ‘Stupid!’ she said, through the wash of tears. ‘Stubborn.’ She blinked, saw her reflection against the suddenly darkened screen. Overlaying it was a flashing message. ‘Fatal error, fatal error…’

  She’d been so sure that she’d been getting through to him. When he’d started on the decorating she’d been certain that the reinforced concrete barrier he’d built around his heart was beginning to weaken. When he’d held her, his cheek pressed against the baby they’d made, she’d been so sure that it was about to crack.

  The fact that he’d felt it necessary to put the entire world between them had seemed to suggest that he knew it, too.

  And a man who’d flown across the Atlantic because he’d heard she’d had an accident had to be feeling something a little deeper than guilt, surely? Guilt could have been dealt with long distance. A phone call would have reassured him.

  But it was clear that Jake Hallam was a man with a cast-iron will, and it would take more than her or the baby she was carrying to bend it. Or maybe she’d just been fooling herself all along.

  Well, she couldn’t complain that he hadn’t warned her.

  He had. Loud and clear.

  And she’d been listening. But she’d heard so much more than the harsh, take-it-or-leave-it words. She’d been listening, not with her head or any of those ordinary, rational senses that alerted the brain to switch to self-preservation mode. She’d been listening with her whole heart, finely tuned instinct and that other, unquantifiable sense that had never before failed her.

  They had all agreed that there was a lot more to this man than fine bone structure, eyes that could melt permafrost and sexual magnetism so powerful that every nerve cell in her body had fallen in, lined up and leapt to attention. Something buried deep had cried out to her.

  And she’d seen so much more behind his eyes than hot, velvet-dark desire. Need. A yearning ache to be loved.

  Or thought she had.

  Holding him as he’d slept, she’d been fooling herself. Whatever had happened to Jake Hallam to make him the way he was had utterly confounded her capacity to ease.

  Worse, she’d cracked, demanded answers when he had none. And now she had to make some plans for the weekend, just in case the guilt that kept bringing him back insisted he check…

  She had been in control. Totally in control. She’d taught herself to need no one. Falling in love with Jake had changed her, and until this moment she hadn’t realised how much.

  All those fine words about coping on her own. He hadn’t believed her. She’d torn up his cheque, diverted the housekeeper he’d sent to her, but he hadn’t been convinced. He was right.

  She was the one bending to his idea of this relationship, not the other way around. He had changed her far more than she had changed him.

  Well, that was something she could stop right now. She grabbed her stick, stood up, and for a moment couldn’t catch her breath to shout, scream. Anything. Then, as she crumpled to the floor, she realised someone had to be making that noise.

  Jake shut the bathroom door, leaned back against it. She’d done it. She’d finally called his bluff. Demanded he make a choice. There was to be no more turning up unannounced to help out, no more lively suppers over the kitchen table, no more quiet evenings when all he had to do was look up to see her, reach out a hand to touch her, knowing that she was there.

  Not without some declaration of future intent.

  He found himself smiling. He’d thought he’d been doing just what he wanted, but he’d been fooling himself. She’d been calling all the shots. She still was…

  A dull thud interrupted his thoughts. The sound of something heavy falling. And his heart turned over.

  He’d dragged on Amy’s robe and wrenched the door open before her yell of pain exploded onto his eardrums, was at her side before Dorothy had started up the stairs. ‘Amy, what is it? What happened?’ Her mouth was working but no sound was coming out and he turned to Dorothy, hovering in the doorway. ‘Call Dr Maitland. And an ambulance. Now!’ Amy was tugging at his arm. ‘Don’t fret, sweetheart. It won’t be long. I knew they should have kept you in hospital… Did you hurt yourself when you fell? Your head? Did you—’

  ‘Jake!’

  ‘Ohmigod, it’s the baby! The baby’s coming early—’

  ‘Jake, shut up and listen!’ Amy shouted, tears of pain squeezing from beneath her lids as she tried to make him understand. ‘It’s the other leg!’

  He stared at her, uncomprehending. ‘You hurt the other leg when you fell?’ he said.

  ‘No, it’s cramp, you idiot! I’ve got cramp!’

  ‘Cramp?’ He rocked back on his heels and stared at her. ‘Cramp? Is that all?’

  ‘All?’ She was in agony and he thought it was nothing? Normally she would stamp and stretch and walk it off. But she needed at least one good leg for that. ‘All?’ she yelled, the finely honed control snapping as she lashed out, beating at him with her fist. ‘Don’t just sit there, do something! Now—’

  The word was choked off as he finally realised what she was saying, grabbed hold of her foot and, propping it against his shoulder, pushed down hard against it, rubbing the knotted muscles in her calf with smooth, firm strokes. Eventually, the muscles began to relax and Amy slumped back on the floor, gasping for air.

  ‘Is that better?’ he asked anxiously.

  ‘Just peachy, thanks,’ she replied, deeply ironic. Then, ‘You do a nice line in panic. It’s just as well you didn’t volunteer to be my prop and mainstay when I go into labour.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I thought…’ He continued to massage her calf muscles. ‘Or maybe not.’

  ‘Not, I’d say.’ She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. ‘You can stop doing that now.’

  ‘A warm bath would help,’ Jake suggested, taking no notice. He was enjoying the hands-on therapy to her leg and was in no particular hurry to stop. This was so much easier than w
ords… ‘Or a shower, if that would be easier.’ He glanced up, met her gaze. ‘I’d be happy to share,’ he offered. ‘Just as a precaution, you understand, in case the cramp returns.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘And I appreciate the sacrifice, but I’d rather keep the hippo at the waterhole routine to myself.’

  He lifted her beautifully arched foot from his shoulder and kissed her instep with as much ceremony as if it was the hand of a duchess. ‘A very pretty hippo,’ he said, and would have reached out to run his hand over the smooth curve of her belly. But her cool green gaze warned him that such liberties were no longer to be tolerated. And she was right. It was time for him to put up, or shut up. He let his hand fall to his side. ‘A beautiful hippo.’

  That raised a wry smile. ‘Gracious. Charming. But you still take your shower solo. Sally!’ She looked over his shoulder and he turned to see Dr Sally Maitland standing in the door.

  ‘What’s up here, then?’ she said.

  ‘Absolutely nothing. Totally false alarm. I’m really sorry—’

  ‘Oh, please don’t apologise, Amy. I wouldn’t have missed Mr Hallam in his fluffy pink bathrobe for the world.’

  ‘It’s not my—’

  ‘It looks terrific with the designer stubble.’

  ‘Don’t tease him, Sally. He’s got jet lag.’

  Jake stood up. He could take a little teasing; there were more important things than his dignity. ‘Amy had a fall, Sally.’

  ‘I didn’t fall. I just sort of crumpled up.’

  ‘And the screaming?’ he enquired. ‘You were simply rehearsing for the big day?’

  She glared at him. ‘I had cramp and I couldn’t do anything about it. In my place you’d have screamed.’ She turned to Sally Maitland. ‘I’m absolutely fine.’

  ‘I’m delighted to hear it. But if you’ve no objection I think I’ll check on the baby. Since I’m here. No, stay right where you are.’

  She knelt down, got out a small ear trumpet, hoisted Amy’s shirt up, ignoring the muttered, ‘This is nice…’ moving it over the baby until she found what she was looking for.