Her Sister's Baby

by Alison Fraser

  Should everything ‘go pear-shaped,’ however, she hoped Cass would step in to sort things out and ensure the baby was well looked after.

  Pen didn’t say how. Or precisely what things would need sorting. She just accepted Cass would somehow make it all right.

  Perhaps she believed her final message—‘Tell Tom I really did love him’—would be like waving a magic wand.

  Perhaps she thought by signing it, ‘Always, your loving little sister’ the past would tug at Cass’s heartstrings and stop her feeling used.

  Cass read the letter a second time and the threat of tears receded. Three years and she’d hardly seen Pen, and yet, here she was, expecting her to clear up the mess she’d left behind. The presumption angered Cass and that was before she noticed the postscript scribbled on the back of the letter.

  ‘P.S. Sorry about the Dray business but he really wasn’t right for you. Too mean and moody by half, and I should know. Still sexy, though, so watch out!!!’

  It reopened old wounds and left Cass wondering for what exactly was Pen apologising. The phrasing also jarred.

  ‘Too mean and moody by half, and I should know.’

  Why should Pen know? And was that ‘still sexy’ merely banter or a remark based on firsthand experience?

  Cass shook her head. No, Tom’s crazy idea couldn’t be true. She didn’t want to believe it, and yet—

  ‘Hello?’ a voice from the other side of the cubicle interrupted her thoughts. ‘Dr Barker, is that you?’

  Cass didn’t recognise the speaker and called back, ‘Yes, who’s that?’

  ‘Student Nurse Clemens,’ came the nervous reply. ‘Sorry to bother you, but your…um…friend asked me to check you were okay.’

  Cass muttered a silent curse, and, flushing the toilet for show, emerged to find a young girl, hovering anxiously. She was vaguely familiar.

  Cass said, ‘I’m fine,’ and they traded fixed smiles before the embarrassed girl scuttled into the cubicle.

  Washing her hands, Cass counted slowly to ten before leaving the toilet.

  She was still furious, however, as she approached the booth.

  ‘All right?’ he enquired, rising slightly.

  ‘How dare you do that?’ she snapped at him, and stretched for her shoulder bag.

  He guessed her intention and, with frighteningly fast reactions, took it from her, preventing her from leaving.

  ‘I was worried,’ he replied heavily.

  ‘Like hell,’ she grated out between clenched teeth. ‘Give me my bag back!’

  ‘Sit down first!’ he instructed.

  Cass seethed in frustration as he placed the bag on his side, out of her reach. Any other pub in any other part of London, and she might have created a scene until he gave it back. But the bar was filling up with doctors and nurses and students, and she certainly didn’t want the notoriety of being witnessed in a violent argument with some man.

  She sat but she was literally shaking with anger.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry.’ He tried to take the heat out of the situation. ‘You’d been gone a long time and I was concerned. I simply asked the girl when she was entering the ladies—’

  ‘The girl is a nurse,’ she replied heavily, ‘a student nurse over whom I nominally have authority. Checking up on me in the toilet, I’m sure, has made me rise immeasurably in her esteem.’

  He raised a mild brow. ‘I didn’t realise your dignity was of such importance to you.’

  Cass glared back. He made her sound pompous and she wasn’t. It was just hard enough gaining professional respect as a doctor, if you were young and female.

  ‘Remind me to swan into your boardroom one day,’ she retaliated, ‘and see how happy you’d be, your personal life intruding into your professional.’

  He didn’t seem fazed by the idea, murmuring, ‘I’d survive.’

  As chief executive, he probably would. As chief executive, he could do what he damn well pleased.

  ‘I suppose they’ve ceased being surprised by your personal life,’ she muttered back.

  His eyes narrowed in the first sign of annoyance. ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Work it out.’ Cass didn’t feel like spelling out the obvious.

  ‘There’s nothing particularly untoward about my personal life,’ he claimed frankly. ‘I date women, and if I like them, I sleep with them, no expectations on either side. I believe that would be regarded as fairly normal in this day and age.’

  So smooth, Cass thought, so untroubled by conscience or morals. He had it all taped.

  ‘It’s with whom you sleep that might be the issue.’

  ‘Yes, well, admittedly my judgement could be faulted on occasion.’

  His eyes lingered on Cass, making the remark personal to her.

  ‘I expect it could,’ she responded, ‘if it included your brother’s wife.’

  She matched his cool but inside her was a hard, painful knot of anger.

  He barely reacted. A flicker of pulse at his temple, a tightening of the jaw line.

  ‘Is that an accusation or a question?’

  ‘Whichever.’

  ‘Well, if it’s an accusation, I assume you have some grounds for making it, and, if it’s a question, could you make it more specific?’

  Cass had been praying for a flat denial, not this double-talk. She felt a little sick inside. She masked it with contempt.

  ‘Were you sleeping with my sister?’ She wondered if that was specific enough for him.

  The eyes narrowing on her face said it was, although he clearly didn’t like the question. No outrage, of course, just that upper-class disdain.

  ‘Does she say so in her missive?’ He arched one of those straight dark brows and Cass wanted to pick up the heavy glass ashtray and do him damage.

  How had she ever loved this man? How had she once been so blind as to believe him worth loving?

  ‘What do you think?’ She meant to leave him guessing.

  She meant to leave him full stop as she stretched a hand for her bag, only to have him grab her arm and force her to sit once more.

  ‘I think,’ he replied heavily, ‘that perfectly healthy young women do not write farewell letters before they die in childbirth. Therefore I think your sister had reason to believe she was at risk and wrote to her nearest female relative to, somewhat optimistically, ask her to care for her baby should Tom discover it wasn’t his… Am I warm?’

  He had the gist, although Pen hadn’t asked her outright to care for the baby—only to make sure it was cared for—and Cass was more interested in what he’d as good as admitted.

  ‘You knew,’ she accused, ‘didn’t you? That the baby wasn’t Tom’s… That the baby was yours.’

  She finally hit a nerve, beating a tattoo at the side of his temple, and, for a moment, the hand gripping hers became painful, before he removed it altogether, as if touching her was suddenly distasteful to him.

  ‘I knew—know no such thing,’ he grated back, ‘and, if you imagine that I’ll look after the baby permanently, you and Tom are sadly mistaken. So, unless you have something else to say…’

  He raised his glass to drain it.

  Cass stared at him in surprise. It was the last solution she’d imagined, him looking after her sister’s baby.

  Charcoal suit, silk shirt, tie loosened at the collar but every inch the businessman and as masculine as they came. Bright as they came, too. Just not new man material.

  He’d obviously said his piece, as he rose to his feet and, handing over her bag, waited for her to follow.

  Cass could have stayed, just to make a point, but she felt her presence would have already stirred enough curiosity on the hospital grapevine.

  It was still light when they left the pub. She thought he’d walk away but he didn’t, saying instead, ‘I’ll give you a lift.’

  ‘No, thanks.’ She’d had enough emotional battering for the day. ‘It’s quicker by tube.’

  ‘Probably.’ He didn’t argue.

&nbs
p; They exchanged looks, waiting for the other to say goodbye; oddly, now it came down to it, neither seemed in a hurry to get away.

  Cass had a question to ask. It had been in her mind since the funeral, and weighed heavier with each day passing. But did she really want to know the answer?

  ‘Listen, about the baby—’ she began impulsively, then dried at his surprised look.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I—I…where is she now?’

  A frown etched on his forehead as he considered his answer. It was hardly encouraging when it came, a simple, ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m concerned for her, of course.’ Did he think she had no feelings at all?

  It seemed so, as his mouth thinned into a sceptical line. ‘She’s been dealt with.’

  Dealt with? It was a horrible expression when applied to a baby.

  ‘In what way?’ Cass demanded.

  ‘Don’t worry, she’s been fed and watered,’ he drawled back.

  Was that meant to be reassuring? Cass didn’t think so. She bit her lip to stop herself asking whether her niece was being held and rocked and loved. He would only mock.

  She confined herself to an unemotional, ‘Babies need stimulating, even in the first months of life, or their ability to bond is impaired.’

  He studied her briefly before replying, ‘If I need a textbook on child rearing, Doctor, I’ll purchase one. However, if you’re about to volunteer some practical help…?’

  Would he accept it? Somehow Cass doubted it.

  ‘I would if I could,’ she said on the defensive, ‘but I do have a career, one I’m working very hard to establish.’

  She sounded pompous again and half expected him to make capital out of it.

  Instead he took it at face value, saying, ‘I realise that and I didn’t come here to persuade you otherwise.’

  ‘Then why?’ Not to play postman, Cass was sure of that.

  He took a moment to answer, considering his words first. ‘I’d hoped your sister might have given positive confirmation of Tom as the father, but, from your reaction, she obviously hasn’t.’

  ‘No,’ she agreed, ‘that honour’s still up for grabs… Pity neither of you wants it.’

  It was a throwaway remark but he caught it and the flash of anger on his face told her she’d gone too far. She turned away from him, only to be pulled back by a hand on her arm.

  ‘You’re so sure I slept with your sister—why is that?’ he challenged harshly.

  Cass wasn’t so sure but the very question fuelled her suspicions. ‘You have yet to deny it.’

  ‘Oh, and that makes it conclusive? Or is it knowing what a friendly girl your sister was?’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Well, let’s just say had I wanted it—’ his mouth twisted ‘—the offer was there.’

  True or not, it struck Cass as a vile thing to say.

  ‘You’re such a bastard, Dray Carlisle—’ She tried to jerk free.

  He wouldn’t let her, grabbing her other arm to drag her closer. ‘Really. You didn’t think so once. Remember?’

  He held her roughly, his hands bruising, his chest a rigid wall against hers, yet it made no difference: her body was suddenly alive.

  ‘I remember nothing!’ she threw back.

  ‘Liar!’ He bared his teeth, half laugh, half growl. ‘Let’s see, shall we.’

  Oblivious of passers-by, he gathered her into his arms and, lowering his head to hers, kissed her hard on the mouth.

  Equally oblivious, she pushed at his chest, fingers digging into flesh, body straining, resisting even as her lips parted and her eyes closed, even as a helpless moan came from her throat until she was kissing him back, tasting him as he tasted her, responding to a need so fundamental it defied pride or sense.

  When he finally raised his head away, it was to murmur into her hair, ‘I remember. I remember all of it: the touch of you, the sounds you made, the way we were together…’

  ‘Don’t.’ Cass trembled, remembering it too, as he moved his lips from her temple to her cheek, seeking her mouth in another deeply sensual kiss that had her arms sliding round his neck.

  She shut her eyes once more and let her mind play tricks. It was three years ago. She loved this man and he loved her. He’d used the actual words. Made it all seem right, this frightening, consuming passion they had for each other.

  Now past and present merged and, raising his head, he gazed down at her as if his eyes could reach her very soul. How could he have looked at her like this and not felt something?

  She shook her head in denial. ‘It was never real.’

  ‘Wasn’t it?’ A hand lifted to smooth her cheek. ‘You and I—it feels real to me, Cassie.’

  Cassie? Another echo from the past. Once he had called her that and she’d liked it, but that girl had gone.

  Yes, she remembered. The trouble was she remembered it too well. For three weeks she’d lived in a fantasy world, her head in the clouds, her heart tripping over. Then suddenly she’d been brought crashing back to earth. It seemed he’d grown bored and moved on. Perhaps if he’d told her to her face, she could have borne it better. But he’d left Pen to do his dirty work. The pain of it had left her stricken, heartbroken. That was her reality.

  With no wish to relive it, she killed any errant desire for him, and, when he made to kiss her again, turned her face away.

  ‘There is no you and I, Dray,’ she dismissed in a cold, hard voice. ‘There never was. There’s just sex and I’m not that desperate at the moment… Still, I’ll bear you in mind, if you like.’

  The last she added to sound indifferent, as if she could take or leave him.

  She heard the sharp intake of his breath as his head jerked back, saw the tenderness go from his eyes, felt the hands suddenly hurting on her waist, but she didn’t care. It was only a fraction of the hurt he’d once inflicted on her.

  She watched as his expression changed to anger at being thwarted. Too bad. Had he really believed she’d be fooled twice?

  ‘Don’t bother,’ he finally snarled in response. ‘I prefer my women more exclusive than a revolving door.’

  ‘What? Like your brother’s wife, for instance?’ she sneered back, attacking him rather than her sister, and wrenched free from his arms.

  She didn’t wait for a reply but marched away, blind with rage, trembling with fury, and didn’t look back. She wiped at her mouth until she could taste only bitterness.

  She would not forget the past.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  A FORTNIGHT later Cass stood on the step of North Dean Hall and composed herself before ringing the bell. It was just possible he was at home, although unlikely, mid-week. He would be at work, making another million.

  When no one came, she rang again. Eventually a bolt was drawn back behind the heavy double oak doors, and Mrs Henderson, the housekeeper, appeared.

  ‘Yes?’ The woman seemed flustered.

  ‘It’s Cassandra Barker, the late Mrs Carlisle’s sister,’ she said helpfully. ‘I telephoned last week.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Mrs Henderson recalled their brief conversation and finally recognised her. ‘I’m afraid Mr Carlisle’s not at home. Was he expecting you?’

  ‘Not specifically today. I was in the area and came on the off chance to see my niece.’

  She tried to sound casual, though inside she felt anything but. She’d spent a week fretting over how exactly the baby had been ‘dealt with’, then another worried by the discovery that her niece was currently living at North Dean Hall.

  ‘If that’s all right?’ Cass smiled disarmingly at the older lady.

  Mrs Henderson managed a smile in return but still seemed distracted. ‘I imagine so…I can’t think Mr Carlisle would mind.’

  Fortunately she was talking to herself.

  Cass, of course, knew Drayton would very much mind. It didn’t stop her stepping inside.

  ‘If you come through to the drawing room—’ Mrs Henderson led the way ‘—I’ll bring some
refreshments, then fetch the baby… She’s asleep at the moment.’

  ‘Don’t waken her on my account,’ Cass replied as they entered the room. ‘I can wait.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure…’ Mrs Henderson looked relieved. ‘Would you like tea or coffee?’

  ‘Coffee.’

  The housekeeper nodded, then left Cass alone.

  Cass could have sat down but she preferred to stand. In fact, she paced restlessly around the room.

  She’d got past the first hurdle but still felt tense. She was here on false pretences. Had Dray imagined she would call like this, he would have warned Mrs Henderson to bar her from the house.

  Nor was Cass certain she was doing the right thing. Her hospital contract had come to an end and just yesterday she’d heard from a practice in Slough, willing to train her as a family doctor. Her career was progressing as planned. She could move out of London and start a new life. She didn’t have to take along any unnecessary baggage.

  The trouble was the very words—unnecessary baggage—had her feeling sick at heart. Applied to a baby, they ranked alongside Dray Carlisle’s ‘dealt with’ and made her no better than he was.

  Perhaps she was worse. What did a businessman like Dray know of the needs of an infant? But she knew. She understood that a child shouldn’t be passed round like a parcel because the address on it wasn’t too clear. Yet, so far, she had done nothing about it, apart from one call last week and it had simply confirmed the child’s whereabouts.

  Even now she’d come with reluctance, driven by a guilty conscience and a need for reassurance. After Pen’s death, she’d allowed Dray Carlisle to shut her out. But since Pen’s letter, she hadn’t been able to stop thinking of her little niece. She still had no idea what Pen would have wanted her to do, but she had to do something. Perhaps if she saw the baby was well cared for, that would be it and she could let it go.

  Cass waited ten, then fifteen minutes, before deciding she could stand waiting no longer. She walked along the corridor to the kitchens at the side of the house, guided by the sound of crying.

  A pram stood in one corner, empty. The wailing came from Mrs Henderson’s arms, a small red-faced bundle screaming the house down. On a surface lay a puddle of milk and an overturned baby’s bottle. Along from it was a kettle, almost ready to boil.