by Mary Birk
Not wanting to surrender the warm bundle, he said, “I’ll carry him upstairs.”
She glanced over at where Miranda was standing looking at them.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea. I rather think you’ll be missed down here. I’ll just take him up.” She reached toward him, and he handed her the baby. As her hand brushed his, he felt that current of electricity again she seemed to carry with her. She gave him a brief smile, a smile that held no warmth for him. Polite, nothing more.
Well, she certainly had gotten over him quickly. Now she could go to Grainger with a clear conscience. She could tell herself she’d tried to make it work with Michael’s father, but since it hadn’t, she could go back to the other man’s bed—a bed that was still probably warm. And Andrew Grainger could look forward to wondering if she’d be as faithless to him as she’d been to Reid. A woman that beautiful was hard to keep to oneself, as Reid had learned the hard way.
He watched her walking up the stairs. When he turned, he saw Meg taking her leave from the other guests to follow her sister and the baby upstairs, and he went over to say goodnight. He and Meg had been friends, and despite the unfortunate circumstances, he was glad to see her again. Because he hadn’t been able to bear communicating directly with Anne during the pregnancy, Meg had been his only source of information about what was going on. She kept in touch with him by email, sending him updates on the pregnancy, despite him never giving her any response beyond the barest acknowledgement of the message.
He’d lived for those emails, even if he couldn’t bring himself to let the extent of his interest show when he responded. He’d been paralyzed by the situation. He’d known by then Anne was seeing Grainger again, but there was still the possibility, however slim, the child she was carrying could be his own. He had the feeling Meg had known how much he’d needed to hear from her, because she went on sporadically sending messages, even when his responses were less than encouraging.
He knew the exchanges by heart.
After the ultrasound:
Meg: We just got back from the doctor. All is well with the baby. Also, he told us the sex of the baby. Anne asked me to see if you want to know. Do you?
Reid: Yes.
Meg: It’s a boy.
Reid: Thanks.
Later, when Anne was six months along:
Meg: I’ve moved in with Anne at her condo for the time being, so she won’t be alone when she’s here in town. Her cell phone number is the same, but I’m attaching her new home phone number at the bottom of this message. I know it would mean a lot to her if you would call.
Reid: Thanks.
Of course he hadn’t called. He couldn’t. Then:
Meg: Can you send a buccal swab from the inside of your mouth to the lab at the address below? We need a sample of your DNA to have ready to do the test after the baby is born.
Reid: I’ll send it directly.
Then, finally:
Meg: Baby boy born today (Thanksgiving here in the States). Anne and baby doing fine at UCSF Medical Center, Room 311. Paternity test is being done on a rush basis. Expect results in 1-3 days.
Reid: Thanks.
He’d gone through the motions of his life while he waited, tormented by the suspense. Although he’d made up his mind things were over between Anne and him, he still wanted the child to be his. He didn’t want another man’s child to have inhabited that body he’d loved so much.
Where was she when she went into labor, he wondered. With Grainger? Certainly the happy couple had been spending that American holiday together. From the note on the flowers Grainger had sent her, Reid knew he’d been with Anne for the baby’s delivery. Reid couldn’t stand the thought of Andrew Grainger sharing that ultimate intimacy with his wife. His wife. God, would he never stop thinking about her that way? Even after everything she’d done?
He’d checked his email constantly for news from Meg on the testing, but nothing from her appeared on the message queue. On the following Saturday afternoon, he’d gotten back from a run, during which he’d tried to exhaust himself into some semblance of calm. He went to the refrigerator, snagged a bottle of beer, and went to check the computer. When he saw there was an email from Meg, he hesitated. He knew whatever it said would change his life.
He took a swig of beer, sat down, and clicked to open the message.
Meg: Congratulations. You have a son. Lab will send a copy of the results directly to you in sealed confidential envelope. Attached is his photo.
His child. Thank God. He almost wept.
But why was he relieved? Didn’t this just mean he would be tortured for the next twenty years or so with having to be in contact with Anne? If the child had been Grainger’s, that would have been the end of it. No matter what. Still, he had to admit he was thrilled. He’d clicked on the picture. Tiny little dark-haired boy. Eyes squinting. His son. He typed back to Meg.
Reid: Wonderful news. Name?
Meg: Anne wants to know what you prefer. I’m attaching a list of her ideas, but she says she is open to what you want.
He opened the list. He’d been thinking about names. None of the names she’d listed was the one he’d thought of for the child’s first name.
Reid: How about Michael Charles Reid? Michael for your family’s name, and Charles for my father?
He finished his beer while he waited for Meg’s reply. Still nothing on the computer. He went to the refrigerator and got another beer. He was so excited he couldn’t sit still. Maybe he should call Meg. It would be faster. No, she was still probably checking with Anne. Maybe Anne didn’t like his idea. Then he saw his computer flash with a notification he had a message. He clicked on it.
Meg: She loves it. Will you call her? She is so happy and would love to talk to you. I’m emailing another photo of him.
Reid: Thanks for the photo. I’m sending Anne another cheque. I haven’t seen any of them cashed, though, and am wondering if they haven’t gotten to her. Please let me know.
Meg didn’t reply. That was her last email to him. He figured she was disappointed in him. Well, there was nothing he could do about that. He wasn’t going to call Anne.
The next day, he’d called and told his parents about the baby. He could tell they were shocked his wife had been pregnant, and he hadn’t mentioned it for the entire pregnancy. But they recognized his inability and unwillingness to talk about it, and after they got over the surprise, just conveyed their happiness at the news.
He flew to San Francisco to see the child and managed to escape without being with Anne for more than thirty seconds, then flew directly from there to Paris for a conference where he was scheduled to speak. When he got back, his mother informed him of the Christmas and christening arrangements. After getting over his initial shock that Anne was coming, he thought this would work out for all of them. Civilized. They would be civilized.
*****
Approaching Meg on her way to the front stairway, he knew instantly she was furious. She kept her voice low, but her eyes flashed with anger. “Anne told me you want an annulment.”
“It’s for the best.”
“You’re being such an idiot. You’re going to lose her for good this time.”
He felt himself bristle at her tone. “There’s nothing left for us to lose.”
Meg shook her head. “After Michael was born, and you knew he was your child, she was so sure you’d call. Watching her wait for that call every minute of every day and night was one of the saddest things I’ve ever seen. Then you came to see Michael and ignored her. If there’d been any more of her heart to break, that did it. Then, when your mother called, she got her hopes up again. She was so sure it meant you wanted to be with her.”
He said nothing, thinking of that visit to Anne’s condo. Waiting in the living room for Meg to tell Anne he was there, he’d been overwhelmed by the number of congratulatory floral arrangements filling the room. His eye was automatically drawn to the largest one. He’d flipped open its card. Andrew Grai
nger, of course. That hadn’t surprised him, but the rest of the message had sent him into shock. When he’d been ushered in by Meg to see Anne and the baby, he’d shoved the present he’d brought his wife deep into his coat pocket.
Now he made himself focus on what Meg was saying.
“It’s so hard for me to believe you can be like this after you were so kind to me with what I was going through with Graham.” He could feel her disappointment in him. “I can’t figure out how you can act so horribly to a woman who’s been totally devoted to you.”
He kept his voice low enough so they could not be overheard. “Devoted women don’t need a paternity test to see which man impregnated them.”
Meg glared at him. “That’s a contemptible thing to say.”
He shrugged. He wasn’t going to apologize for telling the truth.
“Andrew tried to warn her against accepting your mother’s invitation when you didn’t call her. But we all said, no, if Terrence was going to tell her he didn’t want her, he wouldn’t let her go to goddamn Scotland with her whole family to tell her. He wouldn’t be that much of a total shit. But you are. And that display in there with that girl. Goddamn you to hell, Terrence Reid. You don’t deserve Anne, and you sure as hell don’t deserve that sweet baby.” She whirled away from him and marched upstairs.
*****
The night seemed interminable. Reid glanced around at the group in the drawing room, pared down as it was by attrition. Pippa and her husband had excused themselves for an early night, and Lance and Darryl left to go play video games. Dunbaryn had been recently fitted with a fully equipped media room at the far end of one wing of the house, a natural attraction for that age group. Reid had never been able to interest himself in video games or spending hours looking at television. Growing up at Dunbaryn for him had been largely a life spent outdoors or with books. And right now the only room of any interest to him was the one where his child was sleeping with his faithless wife.
Michael would probably grow up spending a lot of his time in California unless Anne was agreeable to letting the boy live here for greater portions of time. She would have to understand the boy would need to be here, be educated here, so he could get to know Scotland and Dunbaryn.
He felt a feminine hand on his shoulder and saw Miranda perching herself on the arm of his chair. She handed him a brandy.
“Are you all right?”
“Aye.”
Miranda’s voice was just above a whisper. “Thank God she went upstairs early.”
“She was tired.”
“How much does she want?”
“For what?”
Miranda rolled her eyes. “To go away.”
“We didn’t discuss that.” He tried to keep his annoyance from showing.
“I doubt if she’ll go away without making you pay dearly.”
“She’s entitled to a comfortable life, and I don’t begrudge her that. She works hard, but her resources aren’t the same as mine. Michael should have comparable homes with both his parents. I can afford it, and I expect to help her.”
Miranda laughed. “She certainly saw you coming.”
Reid gave Miranda a cold look. “I won’t have that kind of talk about my child’s mother.”
“I was just teasing.”
“Whatever has happened between us, Michael’s mother is entitled to respect.”
“I’m sorry.”
He swallowed. “I’m sorry I snapped at you. This is harder than I thought it would be.”
“I shouldn’t have said anything. It’s none of my business.”
“Let’s not talk about it. I’m not at my best right now.”
“Why don’t we go over and sit with the others?”
Maybe that’s what he needed. He took his drink and followed her. They took seats on the over-length gold sofa that matched the one across from them where Rafe Kensington sat beside Lady Flora. Miranda retrieved her drink from the ottoman between the sofas that acted as a coffee table. Reid’s father was passing around his impressively large humidor to those who were interested, including Rodney and George Greene, while the Countess, who stood nearby, watched indulgently.
The Earl grinned. “You ladies don’t mind if we smoke in here, do you?”
The Countess laughed. “Darling, we will gladly endure your clouds of smoke for the pleasure of your company. If we said no, I’m sure we’d lose you to the library.”
The Earl smiled at her. “An understanding wife is a treasure beyond belief.”
George and Rodney joined the Earl in lighting up, and soon the smell of cigar smoke mixed with the pine fragrance of the Christmas tree.
Reid leaned back on the couch and watched distractedly. He had no interest in cigars. It was hard enough for him to run at the same pace he’d been able to do fifteen years ago, and he wasn’t about to make it harder on himself. He wished he could go for a run now, but this snow made it impossible. There was nothing like hard physical exercise to get his mind off Anne. In the morning, he’d go to the gym that had been set up on Dunbaryn’s lower level. Meanwhile, he’d have to rely on brandy.
Lady Flora spoke up. “Charles, do you have any thin cigars? I’d love to try one if you do.” Her smile showed a dimple Reid had never noticed before. She seemed to be enjoying the Christmas gathering of her family, past and present, more than she had in years.
How odd it must be to have your ex-husband and current husband at the same Christmas house party. But of course, they’d done it many times before, and usually George Greene brought his current wife or girlfriend. Would he himself ever be able to get to the point where he could spend Christmases with Anne and Grainger, even for Michael’s sake? But at least then, he would see her occasionally. A flash of loneliness went through him with the thought of having to spend the rest of his life missing her. She wouldn’t miss him at all—he could tell from how she’d been at dinner. She hadn’t paid any attention to him at all. He told her it was over, and. instantly for her, it was.
His father extended the humidor to his lone female partaker, showing her where the cigars she was interested in were situated. “The small ones don’t have the same flavor, though. If you’re going to try one, these over here are much richer.”
“I’m game. You choose one for me.”
The Earl cut off the end off the cigar he selected and handed it to her.
Rafe Kensington frowned. “Do you really think you should, Flora? They can’t be particularly good for you.”
“Oh, let me have some fun.” Lady Flora, her diminutive figure dressed in an elegant green silk dress, looked a little incongruous holding the big cigar. “I’m sure it’s better than cigarettes. I’ve given those up. Or at least I’m trying to. So much pressure from the health authorities, and as a matter of fact, from my family, including you.”
“For God’s sake, everyone knows cigarettes are bad for you.” Rafe shot his wife a disapproving look.
George Greene offered Lady Flora a light for her cigar, which she accepted. She took a puff then exhaled the smoke slowly.
“Very good.” George said, his voice showing his amusement. “You almost look like you know what you’re doing.”
Lady Flora laughed and started choking on the smoke. When she regained her breath, she looked at the Countess. “It’s quite nice. Strong, but nice. Juliette, you don’t want to try?”
“I’ve tried them. Charles is so proud of his collection he talks me into it every once in a while. I just can’t develop the taste for it, although I enjoy the smell of his cigar smoke.” She put her hand on her husband’s arm. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’m just going to run up and check on Anne and her sister and see how the baby’s doing. I want to see if the christening gown fits. Why don’t you show Rick your new map, chérie?”
The Earl nodded. “An early Christmas present from my beautiful bride—dates back to the seventeen hundreds.”
Reid’s head snapped around toward his mother and watched as she started to
leave the room. He caught her eye, and the Countess came over to him.
She whispered. “I’ll let you know how they’re doing when I come back down.”
He inclined his head slightly in thanks. When he turned back to the conversation, he saw Rafe give his wife and her cigar a look of annoyance. Then the man turned his attention to his marital predecessor. “So, Greene, are you about finished harassing my wife on the arrangements for the disposition of the Lodge? I can’t believe it’s gone on this long.”
“Rafe, stop.” Lady Flora remonstrated. “This is not the time.”
George was unruffled. He leisurely exhaled the smoke from his cigar and looked down at them from where he stood by the fireplace. “I wasn’t aware I was harassing her. These are business negotiations. Am I annoying you, Flora?”
Rafe waved his hand in the air, as if to clear away the smoke. “Why the solicitors cannot handle it on their own is a mystery to me. If you or your solicitor want to discuss things, it should be with Flora’s solicitor, not her.”
Lady Flora intervened. “Rafe, I explained this to you. There are a lot of parcels and structures included in the Lodge properties, and they had to be evaluated. Not just on a monetary basis—there are other factors to consider. Please let’s not discuss this now.”
But her husband wasn’t finished. “You had to make sure Lance wouldn’t get anything, didn’t you, George?”
George’s voice was neutral, not taking the bait. “This property was always to go to my children with Flora, not yours. I expect you’ll be taking care of making sure your own son inherits something from you. How’s that going, by the way?”
“Both of you, please stop now. We are guests here.” Lady Flora’s eyes flickered uncomfortably over to where Reid’s father was showing his recent acquisition to Rick and Dianne.
Reid had been occupied with his own thoughts and listening to the conversation with only half of his attention. However, when Miranda chimed in he was brought back to what was happening in the group around him.
She sounded petulant. “Daddy has a point, Mum. Of course, we’re all fond of Lance, but I can’t see how his interests even enter in to the equation. Daddy doesn’t have any obligation to Lance. Why you need to fight about it makes no sense to me.”