by Liz Fielding
‘Excellent,’ she said, after a moment. ‘No problems here.’ Then she turned to Jake. ‘Do you want to listen in?’
‘To the baby’s heart?’ His own skipped a beat. ‘Can I?’
‘Be my guest,’ she said, oblivious to Amy’s ‘I don’t believe this…’ and moved back so that he could take her place at the listening end. ‘At the clinic we can put it on audible monitor, but this is good.’
He listened for a moment to the gentle, squishy beating of the baby’s heart. ‘Not just good, it’s amazing,’ he said. Then he heard something else. ‘What’s that?’
Sally listened for a while, then smiled. ‘Hiccups.’
‘You’re kidding?’ She shook her head. ‘Really?’ And he grinned. ‘My baby has hiccups?’
Amy waved. ‘Hellooo,’ she said. ‘I’m still here.’
‘Maybe we should leave you there,’ Sally told her with mock severity. ‘I warned you to stay off that knee.’
‘I just stood up—’
‘And just fell over,’ Jake interjected.
Sally intervened. ‘Promise to do exactly as you’re told and I’ll ask Mr Hallam to pick you up and put you back on your bed.’ She looked him up and down. ‘Pink bathrobe notwithstanding, he looks up to the job.’
‘I think he’s demonstrated that to everyone’s satisfaction,’ Amy said through gritted teeth.
‘Don’t worry, Sally,’ he said. ‘I’ll make sure she behaves herself.’
‘I think it’s a bit late to be worrying about either of you behaving yourselves. But, whatever you get up to, make sure she stays off that knee,’ she said. And departed.
Neither of them moved until the front door slammed shut. Then Jake said, ‘Put your arms around my neck and I’ll carry you through to your bedroom.’
‘I can—’
‘Just do it!’
Amy clasped his neck, felt the sinews tighten beneath her hands as he lifted her and then she was in his arms, held close, her arms draped over his broad shoulders. It occurred to her that being independent, capable, in control, had its downside.
Maybe she should just… No. Nothing would induce her to pretend to be a helpless airhead. But there was no reason not to enjoy the moment, and she let her cheek fall against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, a solid counterbeat to her own, as he carried her along the landing.
When he put her down, she felt positively lightheaded.
‘Are you going to behave yourself and stay there?’
She came within a whisker of a giggle and a Make me. The idea had a great deal to commend it, not least the fact that he’d have to stay right by her side. Day and night.
Maybe she had hit her head when she fell…
‘Go and take your shower, Jake,’ she said, before she could weaken. ‘I’m not going anywhere for a while and you’ve got to be somewhere else.’
She held her breath. If he went now, that was it. No more fooling herself. For a moment she thought he was going to say something, but instead he raked his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing up in a dishevelled ruff.
‘If you’re sure. You’ve got Dorothy—’
‘Yes, I’ve got Dorothy.’
‘And I’ll be here when the baby arrives—’
‘No.’
‘You don’t want me with you at the birth? I won’t be much use, but—’
‘No. I don’t want you to come back, Jake. Not unless you’re planning on staying.’
‘Where to, guv?’ the taxi driver asked. ‘London, is it?’
Jake’s head knew he should be in London, dealing with a dozen loose ends he’d left dangling in his crazy dash home. Nothing, no one had ever precipitated that kind of reaction from him before. Business first, second and third. Anything else, anyone else, had always come a poor runner-up. He’d learned his priorities in his cradle. As the runner-up.
There was just one problem with that. He didn’t want to go. If Amy had responded to his invitation to double up in the shower, he wouldn’t be going. Not today. Not tonight. But he’d still be leaving in the morning and she knew it.
There had been no mistaking her warning glance when he’d reached out on automatic to gently place his palm over the infant lying safe beneath her breast. It had had all the power of a hand-off from a rugby prop forward.
And it had hurt just as much. A warning of how it would feel if he could never return, never touch her, never hold her again. Was that the pain people called love? How could you tell that it was real? That it would last? How could he say the words when he didn’t know?
The driver was waiting.
‘No. Take me to Maybridge.’ Amy was right. A man had to get his priorities right. ‘I need to see a man about a cradle.’ He took his cellphone from his overnight bag and called Maggie.
‘Jake, for heaven’s sake, where are you? I’ve set up a video conference—’
‘Maggie,’ he said, cutting her off. ‘Do you remember that conversation we had about what would happen if ever I happened to fall under a bus?’
‘I was speaking metaphorically.’
‘Well, metaphorically, it’s just happened.’
‘Oh. Oh, I see. Well, you sound in remarkably good spirits, considering,’ she said, laughing. ‘How do you feel?’
‘In shock. Put back the video conference an hour and call a meeting for this evening, will you? I’ve got anything up to eight weeks to change my life.’
And make a cradle.
Dorothy put down the iron as Amy walked slowly into the kitchen, leaning on her stick. ‘Mr Hallam isn’t staying for dinner?’
‘No, Dorothy. He’s gone back to London. For good.’
‘Oh, my dear…’
‘And, much as I’ll miss you, I’m afraid it’s time for you to go too.’
CHAPTER NINE
NINTH MONTH. Nearly there! The baby’s head should drop into the pelvis ready for the birth so you can breathe a little more easily. Which is good. You may have a tendency to ‘leak’. Which is not. And there may be Braxton Hicks contractions to add a little extra uncertainty to your life.
AMY had been joking about looking like a hippopotamus. A big mistake. She didn’t only look like one, she felt like one. She was slow and ungainly and, although she hadn’t seen them for some time, she just knew her ankles were swollen.
Her knee wasn’t enjoying all the extra weight, either. She’d never take the simple act of running up and down stairs for granted ever again. Dorothy had warned her, but she’d refused to listen.
Well, she’d been refusing to listen for months. No more fooling herself. She’d given Jake an ultimatum and he’d made his choice. And she could take care of herself.
Big joke. Just getting cereals and orange juice for breakfast was hard work.
She perched on a kitchen chair that no longer seemed large enough to encompass her bottom, sipped her orange juice and immediately needed to visit the bathroom. As she made her way slowly upstairs, she finally admitted that Jake was right about extending the house.
With the growing baby making even the most basic call of nature an increasingly frequent, if mostly unproductive nuisance, a downstairs lavatory was fast rising to number three on her wish list.
She wanted her body back!
She wanted Jake.
She opened the nursery door, reminding herself how much he’d cared, how far he’d come from the man who’d thought a cheque would get him off the fatherhood hook. He’d read the books, bought magazines, knew as much about what a baby needed as she did. Maybe more.
She fumbled in her pocket, took out her phone and, abandoning all pride, she called his office, asked to speak to him.
‘Miss Jones? Maggie Simons, Jake’s secretary. Can I help?’
‘He’s not there?’
‘No, I thought…’ She stopped. ‘Is it urgent? Can I give him a message if he phones? The baby’s due very soon, isn’t it?’
‘I certainly hope so.’
‘Is there anything I can
do?’
‘No, but thanks for offering. No need to tell Jake I called. There’s no message.’ And she hung up.
Maggie didn’t immediately replace the receiver. In front of her she had the final account from the Garland Agency for the services of Dorothy Fuller, awaiting her signature. It was a month in arrears and had come the slow way from the accounts department. The housekeeper had left Upper Haughton nearly seven weeks ago. And if Jake wasn’t there, it meant that Amy Jones was on her own.
She could try Jake’s mobile, leave a message, ask him what he wanted to do about it. Or she could call Dorothy Fuller and find out what the devil was going on. It required an executive decision. Since she was the only executive available, she made one.
Amy snapped the little cellphone shut. That was it. She blinked back a sudden wash of tears. No point in crying. Crying for Jake was like crying for the moon.
She could have had him if she’d been prepared to compromise, take him on his terms. Instead, she’d stubbornly stuck to her own. All or nothing. If he’d finally got the message and chosen ‘nothing’ it would be pitiful to complain that she was lonely.
Even her baby, too cramped now for aerobics, was quiet. With a sigh, she picked up Jake’s poetry book and, settling on the futon, began to read out loud.
‘You’ve done a great job.’ Mike ran his hand over the cradle. ‘If you ever want to give up the corporate high-wire, I’ll take you on as an apprentice any time.’
Jake grinned. ‘That’s a compliment, isn’t it?’
‘You bet.’
‘Well, thanks for the after-hours loan of your workshop. I’m sorry I’ve been under your feet for so long.’
‘You’re welcome. But you look tired. You should go home to Amy and let her wrap you in a little loving care.’
‘I had to get my life in order. Finish this. I couldn’t have done this without you. Wouldn’t have known where to start.’
‘If I’d left you to your own devices your baby would be at school, along with any number of little brothers and sisters, by the time it was finished.’
‘Brothers and sisters?’ Mike’s only response was to gently rock the cradle. ‘You haven’t told Amy about this, have you? I want it to be a surprise.’
‘Your secret is safe with me. But you’re running out of time.’
‘I know. I’d better get on. Run me through the finishing process again.’
‘Finishing is what really takes the time,’ Mike said, taking a sheet of finest sandpaper from the rack. ‘Time and love.’
‘Love?’
‘What else? Isn’t that why you chose to make the cradle yourself, rather than buying an antique?’
‘Amy! What on earth are you doing here?’ Vicki exclaimed. ‘The baby’s due in a week. You should be at home with your feet up.’
‘At home staring at four walls while my neighbours take it in turn to call in and “keep me company” on a rota basis? I need something to do before I go crazy.’
‘You could knit.’
‘I’ve got calluses from knitting. And it’s not my fingers I need to keep busy. It’s my mind.’
‘Believe me, sitting with your feet up being made a fuss of will seem like bliss in retrospect when you’re being kept awake all night by a crying baby.’
‘Oh, thanks. As if the entire neighbourhood pitying me for a poor abandoned woman isn’t enough, you have to pile on the agony.’
‘Abandoned?’ Vicki frowned. ‘What do you mean, abandoned? Jake’s with you, isn’t he? I mean, I saw him this morning at Mike’s workshop. I’ve seen him there most mornings this week. We’ve been rushed off our feet because of the holiday, and I’ve been coming in early—’ Amy, who had taken an instant dislike to a display of candles and was twitchily rearranging it, lost control of her fingers and they crashed to the floor. Neither of them moved. ‘You didn’t know?’
‘No. I haven’t seen him since he came racing back from the States when Willow told him about my stupid accident. He said he’d try to get back, but, hell, Vicki, if it was that hard—’
‘You told him not to bother?’
‘No. I told him I had other plans.’
‘And he believed you?’
‘I’ve no idea. I decided I needed a weekend of pampering at a health farm and I took Willow along for company.’ She shrugged. ‘Actually, I told him not to come back at all, unless he planned to stay. I didn’t want to become just another one of those loose ends he had to tie up.’ Loose ends he’d had time to plait, splice, tie up in a fancy Turk’s Head knot. Apparently he’d been doing it in Mike’s workshop. She’d thought Mike was a friend. And Willow must have known, too. She bent to pick up the fallen candles.
‘Leave it, Amy, I’ll do it.’
‘No, I can manage. The baby’s head’s dropped and I can bend again. Well, after a fashion.’ And anything was better than confronting Vicki’s sympathy. ‘Is he there now? Jake?’ What did pride matter?
‘He left about half an hour ago.’
‘Not that you were taking any particular notice.’
‘It would have been hard to miss him. He backed that yellow estate up to the side door. He and Mike loaded something into it. I don’t know what it was, though. He’d put a sheet over it.’
‘How like a man. The entire courtyard were doubtless hanging out of their doors and windows—’
‘In December? You’ve got to be kidding.’ Vicki took the candles from her, helped her to her feet. ‘Go and sit down. I’ll call a taxi to take you home.’
‘No.’ She straightened. Eased her back. ‘I’ve booked a pick-up for five o’clock, but don’t worry, I won’t get under your feet. I’m going to turn out my office.’
‘What?’
‘I’m restless, need something to do. I was going to turn out the cupboards at home, but Dorothy left them fit for a centre spread in one of those lifestyle magazines.’
‘Oh, I see. You’re nesting.’ Vicki bit down on her lip to keep from smiling. ‘Well, don’t overdo it. Not unless you’re planning on giving birth on your desk. We’ll be here if you need anything.’
She was exhausted. Her knee was aching, the niggling ache in her back was getting unbearable. She’d done exactly what everyone had told her not to do. Too much. But as the taxi pulled into the lane everything suddenly changed. The cottage light was on.
Jake! It had to be Jake. He was back, and the aches fell away from her and the world was a vivid, wonderful place again.
She burst through the back door, her heart on her sleeve, determined not to leave him in the slightest doubt about how glad she was to see him. No more take-all-the-time-you-need, no more holding him at arm’s length with her I-can-wait, Miss-Cool-as-a-cucumber act. She wasn’t cool, she was hot, sizzling hot, and she couldn’t wait another moment. She wanted him, needed him, loved him and it was time to put her own heart on the line and let him know.
‘Jake?’ She kicked off her boots in the mud room and pushed open the kitchen door. Dorothy, her face slightly flushed, hands floury, looked up from the kitchen table and smiled.
‘Hello, dear. I’m just making an apple crumble. When you weren’t here, I popped in to see Mrs Cook and she gave me some lovely Bramleys…’ She spread the topping over a dish of stewed apple. ‘You go in and settle yourself by the fire and get warmed through. I’ll have a cup of tea for you in a minute.’
‘Dorothy…’ Disappointment temporarily glued her throat. ‘What on earth are you doing here? I thought you’d be working for someone else by now.’
‘I’ve had offers, but nothing that tempted me. At my time of life I pick and choose my jobs. I like to be really needed. Of course, Maggie, Jake’s secretary—’ she covered the crumble and put it in the fridge, then reached for the kettle ‘—insisted you really needed me. She offered me a very nice little bonus.’
Not Jake? He’d left it to his secretary? ‘Dorothy—’
‘It was a pity I had to turn her down, but I’d already decided to retire, you se
e. I’ve sold my house and I’m buying that little cottage at the end of the lane. This is such a friendly village.’ She set the kettle on top of the Aga. ‘The paperwork went through today.’
For a moment Amy believed her. Then she said, ‘You told me you live with your son and daughter-in-law and you take these little jobs to get out from under their feet.’
‘Did I? Oh, dear, I’d forgotten that. You won’t tell Maggie, will you? She thought it was such a clever idea to buy the cottage so that I could be near you.’ She wiped up a few stray crumbs. ‘And I do so irritate Susie, with my fussing.’
‘Maybe, but I bet she’s always glad to see you back.’ And Amy hugged her. ‘I am. The village hasn’t been the same without you.’ But her pleasure in Dorothy’s return couldn’t compete with her disappointment. For one blissful moment she had thought that everything was going to be all right. Now, the low ache in her back returned with a vengeance, every pound of extra weight dragging at her.
‘There’s a casserole in the oven, any time you’re ready.’
‘I’m not hungry just now. Maybe later.’
‘Right, well, you go and put your feet up. I’ll bring you a cup of tea and then I’ll get off. I’m playing bridge at the vicarage tonight.’
‘Better wear a bullet-proof vest, then.’ She had just reached the hall when something occurred to her.
‘Dorothy? How did you get in?’
‘I let her in.’
For a moment she thought she heard Jake, could swear that he was behind her, that she could feel his breath on her neck.
She was hallucinating. That was it. She’d spent the day cleaning every corner of her office and she’d overdone it. And she’d just experienced giddy euphoria followed almost instantly by deep-in-her-boots disappointment. Her blood pressure was probably through the roof and she was hearing things.
‘Dorothy?’ she repeated.
‘You shouldn’t have sent her away.’ Amy spun round. She wasn’t just hearing things, she was seeing them… Jake reached behind her, closed the kitchen door. ‘Not without telling me. If I’d known you were alone—’ He broke off.