Her Nine Month Confession

by Kim Lawrence

  ‘She bumped her head, slipped chasing the cat. Now let’s have a look...it’s not deep,’ Elizabeth said, brushing a mass of auburn curls from the squawking kid’s head. ‘But it simply won’t stop bleeding and Emmy doesn’t like the sight of blood. But she’s a brave girl, aren’t you, my darling?’ she crooned.

  The brave girl gave another ear-splitting bawl. Was it normal for a kid to be that loud? Ben, who had been his parents’ only mistake, wasn’t sure.

  ‘I didn’t know Lara had a child,’ he said, struggling to make himself heard above the din. ‘Is she visiting, or have they moved back from the States?’ he asked, pretending a polite interest he didn’t feel. Though he’d felt mild surprise when the news of the wedding had reached his ears six months after the event.

  Lara Gray was the last person he would have imagined marrying young, she’d been a bit of a wild child, but then what did he know? Her sister had always seemed like the last sort of person who’d spend the night with a man and leave before he woke.

  But she had.

  To wake and find the pillow beside him empty should have been a relief. Yet finding her gone, leaving nothing but the elusive scent of her perfume, scratches on his shoulders and a pearl earring, he’d been furious. While recognising his response as irrational and disproportionate, Ben had struggled to shrug it off. Even now, three years later, the sight of a red curl could flip his mood.

  He didn’t like being used, and he’d always hated bad manners.

  Sure, Ben, you’re getting worked up after nearly three years over bad manners...what did you want from her, a thank-you note?

  Ben’s ego was not fragile and there had been occasions in his life when he would have liked to fast-forward past the morning-after scene. Yet when he had reached across, anticipating contact with warm womanly skin, and found nothing but a cold indent his anger had almost, but not completely, masked that initial gut reaction...loss.

  It was no use pretending otherwise—the timing had been bad. He’d known it but he’d still done it. He’d known that his personal life, in the immediate future, was going to be subjected to public scrutiny. His on-off engagement when it came out was going to sell papers, but if it had got out that he’d fallen straight into another relationship, or at least into another bed...was it fair to expose Lily to that sort of smutty tabloid speculation?

  You had to laugh at the irony—not that he had. But then what man wouldn’t feel a little raw if he’d woken up and found that the woman who had awoken dormant chivalrous instincts—and who just happened to be the best sex he’d ever had—had walked out? But then life was a learning curve and he’d moved on.

  He’d rationalised the event. Lily had been what he’d needed, when he’d needed it. He’d just been surprised really—she’d always seemed so...sweet. Well, good for her. Clearly she had her mind firmly focused on her career and sex was strictly recreational. He’d met any number of women with that pragmatic attitude; he’d dated more than a few.

  ‘Lara?’ Elizabeth, blowing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes, looked up, appearing surprised by the comment. ‘Lara doesn’t have children. This is Lily’s little girl.’

  ‘Lily is married?’ Ben, who had never been one to wrap up unpalatable truths in pretty packaging, found himself not analysing too deeply his powerful gut response to this news.

  ‘No, she isn’t married. Lily is a single parent. I’m very proud of her,’ she added defensively, explaining, ‘She moved back to the village. She works part-time at the college and I help out when I can.’

  Ben struggled to take on board all the information and the surprisingly strong emotions it shook loose.

  So no big acting career, no glamorous red carpets, no name in lights, just... He looked at the child, who had stopped crying. Tears trembled on the ends of her sooty lashes as she returned his look with one of deep suspicion through eyes that were a deep blue.

  Cobalt blue.

  He stiffened as somewhere in the back of his mind the seeds of a crazy suspicion sent out tentative roots.

  ‘That must be a struggle.’ His sympathy elicited a nod.

  ‘Oh, I love helping... Just hold still a moment for Granny. Emmy is a total sweetheart but Lily...’

  ‘M...Mummy...’ Ben watched the child’s lower lip tremble ominously before she gave another sniff, her small rounded chin jutting pugnaciously as she yelled, ‘Want Mummy now!’

  ‘A child who knows her own mind.’

  Elizabeth laughed. ‘She certainly does, not at all like Lily. She was always the easy one. Lara, now that was another story. Mummy will be home soon, darling, five more sleeps. Hard to explain time to children.’ Elizabeth gave a grunt as she successfully taped down a sticking plaster to the child’s forehead. ‘All done.’ She clapped her hands.

  Ben watched as the kid followed suit, clapping her chubby little hands. His brain was working but his thoughts kept coming up against a big brick wall. He couldn’t see past it because there was nothing to see. He was making the classic mistake of trying to make the facts fit a theory. In this case a totally crazy theory!

  The tension that had climbed into his shoulders eased a notch as he recognised the trap he had almost fallen into. His mouth twisted into an ironic self-mocking smile. A lot of people in this world had blue eyes; presumably the kid’s father had been one of them.

  A moment later his smile vanished. As the child continued to squirm in his arms he caught a glimpse of something. A nerve beside his mouth jumped. Blue eyes were not unique, but how many people beside his own mother had that distinctive birthmark? he asked himself, fighting the urge to lift the child’s hair to examine the pigmented crescent closer.

  ‘M...M...Mama...’ The kid caught hold of his tie and shoved the silk into her mouth.

  Who did she call dada?

  ‘Don’t do that, Emmy, you’ll choke.’ Her grandmother prised the soggy cloth from her mouth and directed an apologetic smile at him. A look of concern crossed her face. ‘Sorry about... Are you all right?’

  Ben inhaled, dredging deep into his inner resources to force his features into something that passed for a smile. ‘I had words with my grandfather.’ It suddenly seemed a long time ago.

  The explanation was accepted by Elizabeth, who held out her arms for the child, the furrow between her brows deepening as he made no move to react.

  The question he’d refused to acknowledge slid into his head. Was the child...his child? His daughter?

  This was surreal...

  It was impossible!

  His eyes slid to the baby in his arms and she looked back at him, solemn and serious, then with a grin as she grabbed his soggy tie again.

  ‘Mine!’

  Ben felt something break loose inside him and swallowed, reluctant to put a name to the uncomfortable emotion that tightened like a band across his chest.

  ‘No, Emmy! Sorry, Ben...’

  This time Ben reacted to the extended arms. As he handed the child over he breathed in the scent of her hair and felt the smooth softness of her cheek. He swallowed. It simply wasn’t possible.

  Of course it was and he knew it.

  Elizabeth took a moment to disentangle the determined chubby hands from the tie, ignoring the shrill yell of frustration when she succeeded.

  ‘Your grandfather misses you, you know.’

  Ben shook his head to clear the loud static buzz in his brain. ‘He hides it well.’

  This was one of life’s crossroad moments, when choices changed lives...his life...a life he liked the way it was...the life he had chosen. The inner struggle didn’t last long, though the resentment of finding himself in this position deepened.

  Knowing for sure he had fathered a child was not news he would welcome, but it was preferable to not knowing, to live with that question mark.

  His shou
lders squared with decision as he masked his feelings behind a casual smile.

  ‘So you’re babysitting?’ Losing the battle to maintain objectivity, he struggled to keep the disapproval he felt out of his voice. He never had understood why people had kids if they couldn’t wait to farm them out.

  ‘Actually I have her all week, don’t I, darling?’ Elizabeth, her expression doting, tucked a shiny curl behind Emmy’s ear as the child’s head dropped on her shoulder. ‘Lily won a prize in a competition,’ she explained. ‘A week’s holiday in the sun.’

  His jaw clenched. So motherhood hadn’t cramped Lily’s style.

  ‘She was going to refuse it.’

  Sure she was, Ben thought, hiding his disbelief behind an interested smile.

  ‘I all but had to tie her up to get her to the airport, but it’s just what she needs, a bit of sun. She’s basically put her whole life on hold, but that’s never healthy. I keep telling her, she has to have a life outside of Emmy. But does she listen?’

  As Elizabeth chuntered on the image of Lily in a bikini set up a string of images that Ben, despising his lack of control, breathed his way through. He came out the other side feeling resentful and furious at his lack of self-control. Even if this wasn’t his kid, he had nothing but contempt for a parent who put their own selfish needs ahead of their child.

  ‘That’s an unusual birthmark she...?’ He watched for any sign of reaction to his question on the housekeeper’s face. Either she was the world’s best actress or didn’t know either.

  ‘Emmy... Emily Rose.’ Her grandmother brushed aside a hank of burnished hair from the child’s forehead and touched the small mark near her right temple. ‘It looks like the moon, doesn’t it?’

  Jumping to conclusions in his business was often the difference between success and failure. Sure, gut instinct came into it, but you had to gather data, sift through the evidence, calculate the probabilities before you made a call.

  Ben never jumped to conclusions, and now was not a good time to start. In his experience the best way to kill crazy ideas was throw facts at them.

  Clutching at straws, Ben?

  Ignoring the inner ironic voice, he asked casually, ‘How old is she?’

  ‘Two. She was actually due on the twins’ birthday but Lily took a tumble and she came a month early.’

  ‘My mother has a birthmark similar to that one, or she did.’ His mother had had it removed while they were doing her first facelift.

  ‘How is your mother?’ Elizabeth asked politely.

  Ben, who knew the question was inspired by good manners not genuine interest, shrugged. ‘I’ve no idea.’ Then, acting on an impulse that he had no control over, he touched a shiny curl before drawing his hand back as though burnt. ‘Her hair is just like her mother’s.’

  And her eyes were just like his. But it wasn’t just her eyes: the angle of her childish jaw, the birthmark... In contrast to his slow, measured words, Ben’s brain was firmly on fast-forward now. If ever there was a moment to retain the clear objectivity he was famed for, this was it.

  Objectivity!

  What was the point in objectivity when the truth was staring him in the face? He took a deep breath, his shoulders straightening. Unless someone offered him concrete proof to the contrary, this was his child.

  Elizabeth nodded, gave a nostalgic smile and sighed. ‘I used to love brushing the girls’ hair when they were little. They grow up so fast.’

  ‘It’s very...’ He paused, the muscles in his tanned throat working as he pushed away the intrusive image of curly red strands brushing his chest and belly. The memory darkened his eyes to midnight blue.

  ‘It’s glorious,’ continued the fond grandmother. ‘It’s from my husband’s side,’ she confided. ‘They have a lot of redheads, Irish skin and hair. They always burned in the sun. Not that this little one will have the same problem,’ she said, touching the child’s rosily golden cheek.

  Though he felt as though he were bleeding control through every pore he somehow managed to sound casual enough not to make alarm bells ring as he scanned the toddler’s face and commented casually, ‘She’s inherited her father’s colouring?’

  He watched the older woman’s expression grow shuttered.

  ‘I don’t know. Lily doesn’t talk about him.’ Her eyes lowered, hiding her expression as she transferred the weight of the now-sleeping child from one shoulder to the other.

  I bet she doesn’t, he thought grimly. But she would. When she got back, he’d be waiting.

  Why wait?

  ‘Your room, should I...? Jane is around somewhere?’

  ‘I’m not staying, but I’d love a cup of coffee before I head off.’

  He lingered another half-hour and, over a coffee, extracted the information he needed. A firm believer in choosing your own battle ground and the advantage of surprise, Ben saw no reason to wait around while Lily sunned herself on some tropical beach.

  He wanted to see her face when he turned up. He wanted to hear the truth from her own lips, even if it was nearly three damned years too late!

  Pushing away the image of those lips parting as his mouth crashed down on them, he strode purposefully from the building.

  * * *

  It wasn’t until an hour later that he realised why the island paradise sounded familiar.

  ‘So I’ll cancel everything for the next, what...three days?’ Another person might have sounded stressed, but his PA was her usual serenely unflappable self. Considering he’d contacted her on his way to the airport and told her to free up his calendar.

  ‘Better make it four.’

  ‘All right, four. Will you be staying at the house or shall I book you in somewhere?’

  ‘House?’ The question produced a frowning response.

  ‘Have you changed your mind about putting it on the market?’

  It finally clicked. She was talking about the property he’d inherited last year from his great-uncle.

  ‘For now. I’ll check it out, see if it’s worth staying there.’

  The flight took for ever. When they finally landed at the private airstrip he arranged for his bag to be dropped at the house, while he headed straight for the hotel that Elizabeth Gray had described as a paradise.

  And a prerequisite of paradise was temptation.

  Ben lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the sun. He was jet-lagged. No, actually, he’d been jet-lagged when he arrived at Warren Court twelve hours ago. Now walking in totally inappropriate handmade leather shoes along the deserted white sand beach still wearing the same suit, he had gone way beyond mere jet lag.

  He was operating on a combination of adrenaline and anger. The hours that had passed since his discovery had not reduced the latter, but the delay had worn his patience to a single-cell thickness.

  With his eyes still on the horizon, he dropped down into a crouch and balanced on his heels, examining the sand for the light indents he had followed from her beach bungalow. A redhead was not so difficult to track down, especially when generous tips were involved. A muscle tightened in his chiselled jaw as his efforts were rewarded. The footprints were still there, but they were now heading out to the water.

  Straightening up, he altered course, heading towards the towel that lay in a crumpled heap a few feet away. As he picked it up his nostrils flared at the faint but distinctive scent of rose impregnating the soft fabric. He gave a snort of self-disgust as his libido gave a hefty kick.

  He still remembered that scent; he remembered everything.

  Ignoring the sizzling slither of heat that licked along his nerve endings, Ben muttered under his breath and clenched the fabric in his hands. He levelled his steely gaze at the head of the figure far out in the water. Too far given the luridly painted warning signs along the beach that informed of currents behind the
reef.

  If this day had carried a convenient warning sign he might have stayed in bed. Ben’s entire body clenched in anticipation as the figure in the water began to swim towards the shore.

  * * *

  Behind her the water appeared clear azure blending almost seamlessly into the sky. Ahead of her it was turquoise and clear as crystal. The warmth was totally seductive and though she had only intended to stay out for a few minutes she had quickly lost track of time. She was enjoying swimming lazily, though kept in mind the maid’s story of the tourist who, after a boozy dinner, had ignored the warning signs or probably not seen them and tragically drowned because he’d ventured past the protective reef.

  One of the things she had noticed about motherhood was it made a person very aware of their own mortality and a lot more risk averse. Not that she’d ever been a massive risk taker—well, only once!

  Seeing the shore through a watery haze and pretty much spent, Lily paused and, holding her chin up, felt for the sandy bottom, acknowledging the toe contact with a sigh of relief. She bounced along for a few feet, spitting out water before she could place her feet flat on the sand. With the water at shoulder level she walked her way down to waist level, aware as she did so that she wasn’t alone. There was a figure on the beach.

  She assumed it was one of her fellow guests. This stretch of beach, though not private but because of its remote inaccessibility, was used almost exclusively by the guests at the beach resort. Lily lifted one hand in greeting while she pushed her wet hair back from her face with the other and blinked away the water from her eyelashes.

  Then her vision cleared.

  For a moment shock wiped her mind as she refused to accept what she was seeing. Her heart thudding with adrenaline-fuelled speed, she closed her eyes, wiped away the moisture with her hand and opened them again.

  He was still there, the man in the incongruous dark suit, tall, dark and terrifying familiar. He returned her stare with incredible eyes, the colour rare but not unique—she saw that colour every day.

  The last time she’d looked into those eyes she had melted. She didn’t melt now, she froze. Every muscle and nerve fibre went into shock. Her brain shut down, a protective response to a situation where she had no other defences to fall back on.