The Doctor's Baby Bombshell

by Jennifer Taylor

  Now it was too late to get back what she’d lost. Ben may still be willing to help her, but she knew that his concern was for their child rather than for her. Oh, she didn’t doubt that he was sorry she was ill, but all he probably felt for her now was sympathy, and who could blame him? When she had rejected his love two years ago, she had hurt him so much, destroyed any feelings he’d had for her. Although that night they had spent together had been a magical experience for her, she doubted if it had been the same for Ben when he had seen it as a way to finalise their relationship.

  Even if she’d thought there was a chance that he still cared about her, it wouldn’t be fair to act upon it, knowing that one day she might break his heart all over again if she died. She really couldn’t do that to him. She would protect him just as fiercely as she would protect their unborn child.

  Ben arranged the cups on the table and sat down. Zoë hadn’t uttered a word, although he sensed it wasn’t his choice of coffee that had caused her silence. He frowned when he saw the sadness on her face. Whatever was going through her mind, it wasn’t anything cheerful.

  ‘It was a bit hairy this morning, wasn’t it? We don’t see that many knifings in Dalverston, thankfully enough.’ He summoned a smile when he saw that he had her attention. She had so many weighty issues to contend with that his heart quailed at the thought of what she must be going through, but if he could help her even a little bit by remaining up-beat, that’s what he would do. ‘They tend to happen more often in the cities—Manchester, Liverpool, London—Paris even?’

  ‘We certainly saw our share in Paris,’ she replied, and Ben breathed a little easier when he realised that he had successfully distracted her.

  ‘Really? It’s obviously a global problem. Mind you, although we don’t deal with many knifings, we do see a lot more cases of drunkenness. Binge drinking is rife in the town and the consequences can be quite horrific at times too.’

  He took a sip of his coffee, hiding his shudder. He hated lattes and couldn’t think why he’d bought it. He grimaced. Oh, yes, he could. He’d been more concerned about what to get for Zoë than what he had wanted himself.

  ‘It was the same where I worked. So many youngsters set out to get themselves drunk and end up in a real state. It doesn’t make any sense to me.’

  ‘Me neither. I guess it’s an age thing.’ He cupped his ear, grinning when she looked at him in surprise. ‘I thought I heard someone muttering about the younger generation. It can’t have been me. I’m way too young!’

  ‘Oh, yes?’ Zoë retorted. ‘Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you just celebrate another birthday? Was there enough room on the cake for all the candles?’

  ‘Ouch! You know how to hit a guy where it hurts.’ He clutched his heart, feigning anguish, then realised how easy it was to turn in a sterling performance. His heart did ache, although not because of his age. Knowing what Zoë was going through hurt unbearably.

  There was no way he would admit that so he hammed it up for all he was worth. ‘I’ll have you know that I’m in my prime so you can stop casting aspersions, Dr Frost.’

  ‘In your prime? Really? I would class thirty-five as being middle-aged.’

  ‘Middle-aged,’ he spluttered, not having to feign indignation this time.

  ‘Mmm. The old three-score-and-ten remit. If you halve it, it makes thirty-five, ergo middle-age.’

  She was the picture of innocence as she sat there sipping her coffee. Ben shook his head at being so cleverly outmanoeuvred. ‘Well, I don’t feel middle-aged. In fact, there’s very little I can’t do now that I could do when I was sixteen.’

  ‘How about skateboarding?’ she asked sweetly.

  ‘Skateboarding?’

  ‘Yes. Surely you remember that time we were in the park and you begged that kid to let you have a go on his skateboard. What was it you told him?’ She pretended to think for a second, her eyes gleaming with laughter as she continued. ‘Ah, yes, that you were junior champion when you were at school, although I must say that you looked a bit rusty to me.’

  ‘Oh, that was below the belt! Just because I experienced a bit of difficulty getting back into the rhythm…’

  ‘A bit of difficulty!’ Her silky brows arched. ‘You ended up with two cut knees and a badly bruised elbow, Ben. Oh, and you also had a massive bruise on your—’

  ‘OK, OK!’ Ben held up his hand, not wanting to be reminded of his badly bruised backside as well. He hadn’t been able to sit down properly for over a week and didn’t relish reliving that humiliating episode. ‘Maybe I did exaggerate my prowess just a little.’

  Zoë hooted with laughter. ‘Exaggerated it a lot, you mean. You were hopeless!’

  ‘All right, so it was a daft thing to do. Can I help it if I wanted to impress you?’

  ‘Impress me?’

  ‘Yep. I thought you’d be so bowled over when you saw me whizzing along like poetry in motion, you’d be putty in my hands.’ He laughed, deliberately turning it into a joke although every word was true. He had wanted to impress her and he had failed miserably for his sins.

  ‘You crafty devil! I’m glad you made a pig’s ear of it now. It serves you right.’

  She smiled at him, the warmth in her eyes making him feel all tingly inside. It was as though all the bad times had disappeared and they were back to how they’d been at the beginning, two people on the brink of falling in love…

  Ben picked up his cup, forcing down a glug of the milky coffee. They couldn’t go back and he wouldn’t want to even if they could. It had been too painful and he didn’t intend to repeat his mistakes. They had to look to the future, although heaven alone knew what the future held in store.

  All of a sudden the fear he had tried so hard to keep in check all day reared its ugly head and he knew that he had to get away before Zoë realised how he felt. He stood up abruptly, forcing himself to smile when he saw her look at him in surprise.

  ‘I’ve just remembered that I need to phone the office to confirm you started today. If I don’t do it now, I might not get another opportunity. You stay and enjoy your coffee. There’s no need to rush back.’

  He didn’t wait for her to reply, didn’t want to know if she had seen through the lie. Although he did need to contact the office, it could have waited. He made his way to the lift, deciding that he may as well hand over the information in person. It would give him breathing space, time to get back on track.

  He sighed as he stepped into the lift. Would he ever get back on course again, though? Having Zoë here was already having an effect on him and it would continue to do so throughout the coming months. They hadn’t discussed what would happen after the baby was born, but there was no way that she was going back to Paris. He refused to be shut out of his child’s life until he was needed.

  His heart sank as the implications of that thought hit him. He would be needed if anything happened to Zoë, but he couldn’t allow himself to wonder if her treatment would work. Their baby needed a father and a mother and, please, heaven, he or she would have both of them around for a very long time. Closing his eyes, Ben did something he hadn’t done for ages—he prayed. He didn’t pray for himself—that would have been a waste. Every prayer needed to be directed to the woman he had once loved more than life itself, and their precious child. He wanted them both to be safe.

  It was a long day and Zoë was exhausted by the time they got back to the apartment. Ben had moved out of the flat they had shared into a new apartment overlooking the river. It was bright and airy, with pale wooden floors, oodles of white paint and gadgets galore, but she preferred the old place. The apartment might be beautiful, but it had no soul. It looked like somewhere Ben came to sleep, but it didn’t look like his home.

  The thought nagged at her as she followed him into the sitting room. Apart from the cardboard boxes that she’d stacked up in one corner, the room was immaculate. There were no magazines lying on the chrome-and-glass coffee-tables, no knick-knacks, nothing personal belonging to
Ben. It looked like a room featured in a glossy magazine and it worried her to see the way he had been living.

  ‘How long have you lived here?’ she asked as Ben slumped down onto one of the black leather sofas.

  ‘Almost two years. I bought it soon after you left for Paris,’ he told her, picking up the remote control to switch on the plasma screen television. It came zooming up out of its hiding place, an all-singing, all-dancing media unit in stainless steel that Zoë had hated on sight, and she frowned. Ben had liked old furniture in the past, items that were full of character, so what had brought about such a massive change in his taste? And what had happened to the things they had bought together at various flea-markets and antique shops?

  ‘What did you do with all our old furniture?’ she demanded, not giving herself time to consider the wisdom of what she was doing.

  ‘I got rid of it.’ He switched on the news, lowering the sound as he looked at her. ‘One of the nurses needed some stuff so I gave most of it to her and I sold the rest on the internet.’

  ‘Why?’ She sat down on one of the matching black leather armchairs, not that it had arms, just three sides all the same height. It was the sort of chair she loathed, difficult to get comfortable in and even more difficult to get out of, and she wished with all her heart that Ben had kept the lumpy old armchair that had been her favourite place to curl up after a busy day.

  ‘Because it wasn’t needed.’ He swept a hand round the room. ‘This was the show flat and it came with all the furniture included. There wouldn’t have been room for the other stuff even if it had suited this place, which it wouldn’t have done.’

  ‘I see.’ Zoë did see, saw a lot more than he was admitting, in fact. Had Ben decided to make a clean sweep, get rid of everything so he wouldn’t have any reminders of their life together?

  She guessed it was true and it grieved her to know how much she must have hurt him if he’d preferred to rid himself of any trace of her presence. Standing up, she headed for the kitchen because there was no way she could apologise or make things right. She had to remain emotionally detached if she was to get through the next few months. ‘I’ll make a start on dinner. I take it there’s food in the fridge.’

  ‘I stocked up at the weekend, but I’ll cook, Zoë. You sit down and relax.’

  ‘I’m not an invalid, Ben.’ She waved him back to his seat, hurting inside and angry with herself because she couldn’t afford to feel this way. ‘I am perfectly capable of cooking us a meal.’

  ‘Fine. It’s up to you.’

  Ben sank back onto the sofa, turning up the volume so he could listen to the news. Zoë didn’t say a word as she went and hung her coat in the hall closet. Like everything else in the apartment, it was state of the art: she pressed a button, the door opened and the light came on, and she hated it too. She much preferred the old coat rack they’d had, the one with the wobbly leg and what Ben had claimed was woodworm, although she had always disagreed with him. As she’d pointed out on many occasions, she had never, ever seen a worm climbing up the coat rack!

  Zoë smiled wistfully as she closed the closet door. It was an old joke and one they had enjoyed many times in the past too. They’d had a lot of fun together, shared the ups and downs of daily life until Ben had wanted to make it permanent. Would she have left if he hadn’t suggested marriage? she wondered as she opened the chiller side of the glass-and-stainless-steel refrigeration unit—nothing this spectacular could be called a fridge!

  Probably not, she conceded, taking out a couple of lamb chops and some tiny new potatoes. She had been terrified by the thought of making a legal commitment, yet they’d been committed to each other, hadn’t they? They hadn’t needed a marriage licence to be truly a couple—they’d been that anyway. And yet the moment Ben had mentioned marriage and the future, she’d taken flight. How stupid she’d been to run away from something so good.

  A tear trickled down her cheek and she dashed it away. She had dinner to prepare and prepare it she would. It was the least she could do for Ben in return for his kindness and the love he had once showered on her.

  Ben paused in the kitchen doorway, feeling his heart contract when he saw the tear slide down Zoë’s cheek. He felt like crying too, crying for the way she was suffering, for her fear as well as the fear he felt for her, but it wouldn’t be fair. Zoë had enough to cope with without him going to pieces. Taking a deep breath, he went into the kitchen.

  ‘I’ll set the table. Do you want to eat in here or in the dining room?’

  ‘Here’s fine by me, but you choose.’

  ‘We’ll eat in here then.’

  He laid two places for them, smoothing out the linen mats and lining up the cutlery with military precision. Zoë was grilling the lamb chops and he looked round when he heard the smoke alarm start beeping.

  ‘Damn!’ She swore softly as she flapped a tea-towel beneath the alarm. ‘This thing is really sensitive.’

  ‘It is. You need to use the extractor fan when you’re cooking.’ Leaning past her, he flicked a switch and the fan whirred into action, sucking up the smoke in a trice. ‘There you go.’

  ‘Thanks.’ She turned the chops over, casting a wary eye ceilingward in case the spitting fat set off another ear-splitting blast.

  ‘You should be safe enough now. The extractor is pretty efficient. It should be able to cope with your cooking, not to mention your toast making. That will be the ultimate test, of course.’

  ‘Cheek!’

  She cast him a baleful look and he grinned at her, wanting to enjoy these moments while they could. A time might come when they couldn’t find much to joke about and he wanted to store up the good times in readiness for then.

  ‘It’s true, Zoë. Every single morning when you made toast our old smoke alarm used to get its daily workout. We got through more batteries than I could count!’

  ‘I like my toast well done,’ she told him huffily.

  ‘There’s well done and there’s well done,’ he retorted. ‘Toast used to be served in varying degrees of blackness ranging from charcoal to cremation.’

  ‘You never complained,’ she pointed out. ‘You were happy enough to eat it no matter what colour it was. So long as you didn’t have to get up first and make breakfast, you didn’t care.’

  ‘True.’ He held up his hands in defeat. ‘You’ve got me there. When it comes to getting up of a morning, I need a cup of coffee before I can function properly.’

  Zoë laughed. ‘Heaven only knows how you’ve managed since I left.’ She broke off and he saw the colour rush to her cheeks. ‘Sorry. I’m assuming an awful lot, aren’t I?’

  ‘That there’s been no one else around to burn my toast?’ He shrugged, knowing that he couldn’t lie to her. ‘You assume correctly. I haven’t lived with anyone else, although I can’t claim to have been celibate these past two years.’

  ‘Oh. Right. Well, that’s your business, of course.’

  She picked up the pan of potatoes and went to the sink to drain off the water. Ben saw her wince when some of the hot water splashed the back of her hand.

  ‘Here, use the lid. It’s got drainage holes in it.’ He offered her the lid but she didn’t appear to see it and his heart sank when he saw the tears that were trickling down her face. Had she scalded herself that badly?

  He took the pan from her and turned her round while he checked her hands. They looked all right to him but she was still crying silently, as though she hated the fact that she was showing any sign of emotion. Did she really think she had to present a brave face all the time? he wondered sadly. Didn’t she know that he understood how scared she must feel?

  He drew her into his arms, hoping that in some small way he could provide the comfort she needed. Maybe they weren’t going to share their lives again as they had done before, but he could share this with her, share her pain and her fear. Zoë might believe that she needed his help only for the sake of their baby, but he knew differently. At the present moment she needed hi
m too!

  The thought was just too poignant. Ben didn’t pause to think as he bent and kissed her. He knew that Zoë wouldn’t listen if he tried to explain that he wanted to be there for her so he would show her through actions rather than words that he cared. It seemed to work because she immediately responded, kissing him back with a hunger that bordered on desperation.

  Ben lifted her into his arms when he felt her body press against his in a way he recognised only too well. It took him just a few moments to carry her into his bedroom and lay her down on the bed but even that was too long. This may have started with him wanting to comfort her but all of a sudden he needed comforting too. He needed to be close to her and for a few precious moments know that she was safe in his arms.

  He stripped off her clothes and stripped off his own, letting them fall on the floor. Zoë’s eyes were closed but her arms reached up and enfolded him when he went back to her. There was no hesitation as she pulled him down to her, no reason for him to doubt what they were doing. It wasn’t a case of it being right or wrong but necessary. Zoë needed him to allay her fears and, by heaven, that’s what he intended to do!

  Ben kissed the scar on her left breast and felt her shudder. At any other time he knew she would have felt embarrassed about her recent surgery, but her need was too great for feelings like that to intrude now. Ben certainly wasn’t put off by what he saw, although he did grieve for what had once been perfect and wasn’t as perfect any more. Her breast would never look the same again, but in his heart he knew it didn’t matter. He was just grateful that Zoë had been given a chance to beat this terrible illness.

  He kissed her there again, then kissed her other breast and her mouth, and then there was no way he could hold back any longer. He needed to be inside her, give her the comfort they both needed so desperately. Their love-making was more intense than anything he had experienced. Conscious of the baby in her womb, he made love to her with a gentleness he hadn’t believed himself capable of before. It was love-making in its purest form, a joining of their souls as well as their bodies.