The Unexpected Pregnancy

CHAPTER TWO

HARRIET found a note pushed through the door when she got back to End House.

‘Harriet, if you’re here for the week will you want me on Monday as usual? Regards, Stacy.’

Harriet was more than capable of looking after one small house for a week, especially on her own, without the mayhem Dido created in their London flat. But because Stacy Dyer was a single parent who needed the money Harriet rang to ask her to come in as usual.

After spending the rest of the day in the sunshine in the back garden Harriet had an early night, and next morning, in contrast to the hectic rush of London routine, she read in bed for a while before getting up to enjoy a leisurely bath. But as she lingered over breakfast later she felt a touch of panic. What was she going to do for the rest of the day, let alone the rest of the week? After all her fine talk about living here it was a bit of a blow to find she’d had enough of it already. Living alone here on a permanent basis was very different from odd weekends away from London.

Harriet faced the truth as she washed her breakfast dishes. Her knee-jerk reaction to James’ offer had been ill-advised. She might never get another as generous. And, painful though it was to part with End House, she needed the money as security now she was alone in the world. She would stay until the weekend to save face, and then sell End House to James Devereux.

Harriet found an old cagoule in the closet, put money in the pocket and went off with an umbrella to the village stores to buy a Sunday paper. By the time she got back the sun was out, and she could hear Livvie’s voice reminding her that a garden needed weeding whether she was selling the house or not. Armed with fork and trowel, and a large waste bag for the weeds, Harriet prepared to do battle. End House gave directly onto the street in front, but owned a sizeable garden at the back, with apple trees and flowering shrubs. The laurel hedges were still reasonably neat, courtesy of the man who’d always helped her grandmother, but now Harriet could no longer afford to keep him the lawn needed mowing, and the herbaceous borders were fast getting out of hand.

Harriet got to work, but after only half an hour or so she was sweating and grubby, her neck ached, and only a discouragingly small portion of border was weed-free. She went indoors, gulped down a glass of water, and then set to it once more, determined to clear at least as much ground again before she took another breather. One thing was certain, she found, panting as she tugged and pulled, she’d hit on a sure way to kill time. Gardening looked a lot easier on television. She got to her feet at last to stretch her aching back, and groaned silently in frustration when she saw James Devereux strolling along the side path towards her.

‘Hello, Harriet.’

‘Hi. You’re still here, then.’ Oh, well done, Harriet. Top marks.

‘Interviews this week,’ he said briefly. ‘Am I interrupting?’

‘No, I’ve just finished. Did you want something?’

He looked at her levelly. ‘I just called in to say hello.’

Or to put pressure on her about the sale, more likely. Reminding herself that this was a good thing now she’d made her decision she smiled brightly. ‘Come inside. I’ll just dispose of this stuff first.’ Harriet put her gardening tools away and led her visitor into the kitchen. ‘Would you like a drink, or some tea?’

‘Tea would be good.’

Harriet washed her hands and filled the kettle, wishing that her shorts were longer and less encrusted with mud and sweat. ‘Do sit down,’ she told him as she hunted out teapot and cups.

James took one of the rush-seated chairs at the table, watching her objectively as she laid a tray and put tea bags in the pot. ‘You were the same height at thirteen. I remember those long legs of yours.’

She glanced up in astonishment as she filled the teapot and splashed boiling water on her wrist in the process.

James leapt from his chair at her anguished gasp. ‘Did you scald yourself?’ he demanded, seizing her hand.

‘Not much,’ she said faintly. ‘It’s just a drop or two.’

James turned the cold tap on in the sink and held her wrist under the water. ‘You’re trembling,’ he said gently, and put his arm round her. ‘Shock, probably.’

If so he was making it a whole lot worse. She could feel the heat of his body through the thin shirt, a faint aura of citrus and spice mingled with the scent of warm male skin—and he’s Tim’s brother, she reminded herself in horror, limp with relief when James released her and turned off the tap.

‘That’s better. Sit down, Harriet.’ He put the lid on the pot, poured tea, passed a cup to her, and sat down at the table. ‘Why didn’t Tim come down with you for the weekend before going off to Paris?’

‘I needed time on my own to make my mind up about the house,’ she told him gruffly, utterly floored by the discovery that James Devereux was a man she was attracted to. At least, her body was. Her brain flatly refused to believe it.

James eyed her downcast face thoughtfully. ‘If you change your mind and sell the house to me, Harriet, you could buy a flat of your own. Tim tells me you’re tired of sharing with your friend.’

Tim, she thought irritably, should keep his big mouth shut. ‘It’s a tempting prospect,’ she agreed.

James leaned forward. ‘But frankly it astonishes me that you and Tim haven’t set up house together long before this. Are you waiting to get married first?’

Harriet paused for a heartbeat, and then raised dark, demure eyes to his. ‘I’m old-fashioned that way.’

James sat back again, frowning. ‘And how does Tim feel about that?’

‘He agrees with me.’

‘This time you really do amaze me! No wonder he’s talking about a wedding soon.’

She looked him in the eye. ‘Frankly I’m surprised you’re such a keen advocate of marriage.’

‘Don’t be put off by my example.’ His face shadowed. ‘You and Tim are soul mates. Madeleine and I were not. But I apologise for snapping at you on the subject yesterday, Harriet. Tim would create hell if he knew I’d upset you in any way.’

‘You didn’t,’ she assured him. ‘Have some more tea.’

James shook his head and got up. ‘I must go. How is your hand now?’

‘Fine.’

‘Good. Be more careful in future.’

And to Harriet’s surprise he took himself off, leaving her mystified as to why he’d come to see her again. Surely not just to apologise for a remark he’d had every right to make! He’d made no further attempt to persuade her into selling, and if his aim was to sound her out about wedding plans he was out of luck. She smoothed her reddened wrist, reliving her physical reaction to James Devereux’s touch. At the mere thought of it a shiver ran through her entire body, right down to her toes, but she shook it off angrily. He was Tim’s brother, for heaven’s sake.

During the evening Tim rang up for a chat before his departure for Paris on business, astonished when she told him she’d seen his brother on three occasions so far, one of which had entailed a picnic lunch in the Edenhurst folly.

‘Which reminds me,’ she said, militant because she felt guilty for a sin not even committed, ‘in future don’t discuss my personal affairs with all and sundry.’

‘I do nothing of the kind,’ he said indignantly. ‘But if you mean End House, Jed asked about it so I told him.’

‘He wants it as staff accommodation for Edenhurst.’

‘Pretty urgently if he’s popping in on you all the time.’

‘Thanks a lot!’

‘You know what I mean, Harry.’

‘I do know. By the way, dearest, he asked why you and I aren’t living together right now.’

He whistled. ‘And what did you say to to that?’

‘I made it clear I disapprove of cohabiting before marriage,’ she said primly.

‘You’re kidding me!’ Tim gave the uproarious laugh that always had Harriet joining in. ‘I do love you, Harry.’

‘I love you, too. Enjoy yourself.’

Harriet put down the phone, unsurprised that Tim had no idea how miserable she felt under all the banter. Their relationship was unique and very special to them both, but secretly it was very different from the one they made it out to be. Usually she had no problem with this, but today she had experienced James Devereux’s touch for the first time. And found it was a dangerously inflammable sensation never experienced before with any man, including Tim. Especially Tim. Yet in the circumstances she had to try and forget it had ever happened. If she could.

Stacy Dyer arrived at nine on the dot the following morning, complete with black eye and a baby boy fast asleep in a pushchair.

‘I had to bring Robert with me today,’ she said anxiously. ‘Do you mind?’

‘Of course I don’t mind!’ Harriet smiled down at the sleeping child. ‘He’s gorgeous, Stacy. Have some coffee before you start. How did you get the shiner?’

Stacy wheeled the pushchair inside and sat down at the kitchen table. ‘His dad did it,’ she said, flushing.

Appalled, Harriet added a dollop of cream to a mug of strong coffee and passed it to Stacy.

‘Thanks.’ The girl stirred sugar into the steaming liquid and sipped it gratefully. ‘Yummy! I love real coffee.’

Harriet gave her a searching look. ‘What happened, Stacy?’

‘Greg came round last night when Mum was out, wanting to see Robert. He’d had a drink, so I wouldn’t let him. We had a bit of a struggle when he tried to get past me and he caught me on the cheek with his elbow. So I told him to get lost.’

‘I’m not surprised!’

‘He didn’t mean to hit me. He’s not like that.’ Stacy sighed, depressed. ‘But I won’t let him come near Robert if he’s had a drink. I had enough of that with my own father. Not that Greg drinks much, he can’t afford it, but he gets frustrated because he can’t get a full-time job, and I won’t get a place with him until he does.’

‘How old is he?’

‘Same age as me. I fell for Robert while Greg and I were still in school.’ Stacy shrugged philosophically. ‘At the moment cleaning is all I can do, but I go to computer classes two evenings a week, so by the time Robert starts nursery school I’ll be able to try for office jobs.’

‘How about Greg? Is he trained for anything?’

‘He’s got a couple of A-levels, but he likes to be outdoors, so he does whatever garden jobs he can get.’

‘It’s not easy for either of you, then,’ said Harriet. ‘Look, Stacy, there’s no need for you to do any cleaning today—’

The girl eyed her in dismay. ‘But I want to. Please! I’m sorry I had to bring Robert, but I couldn’t leave him with Mum in case Greg came back. She’d have given him what for over my eye, and Robert gets terrified when people shout.’

‘Bring Robert any time you like,’ Harriet assured her. ‘But for pity’s sake take it easy. If you feel rough at any point pack it in.’

Robert woke up while his mother was finishing the sitting room. Stacy changed his nappy with swift efficiency, but when she fastened her son back in the buggy the move met with heartbroken protests.

‘Why don’t I take him out in the garden?’ suggested Harriet. ‘Would he like to sit on a blanket for a bit in the sun?’

‘He’d just love it,’ said Stacy, and kissed her son’s wet cheeks as she popped a floppy cotton hat on his fair curls. ‘Thanks, Harriet. I brought some toys for him to play with.’

There was a sticky moment when Stacy left her son with his new playmate, but Robert soon decided that he liked sitting on a rug in the sunshine. His tears dried like magic when Harriet began building a tower with plastic bricks. He scooted nearer, demolished them with chuckles of delight, and made imperious demands for a repeat performance. Harriet obeyed, laughing, time and time again, and felt quite sorry when Stacy came out at last to say she’d finished for the day.

‘We’ve had a great time, Mummy.’ With reluctance Harriet gave Robert to his mother. ‘Are you going home now?’

‘No, I’m due at the vicarage first.’

‘Can you take Robert there with you?’

‘I don’t normally, but I’ll just have to for once. I just hope the vicar isn’t writing his sermon today.’ She gave Harriet an uncertain smile. ‘Would you mind if I gave Robert his lunch here, first?’

‘Of course not. In fact,’ added Harriet on impulse, ‘why not leave him here with me afterwards?’

‘I can’t do that! It’s taking advantage.’

‘No, it’s not. If he gets restless I’ll take him for a walk in his buggy.’

‘If you’re really sure, that would be great,’ said Stacy thankfully. ‘I’ve got my phone, so just ring me if there’s a problem.’

When his young mother left later Robert showed a moment of lip-trembling doubt when she kissed him goodbye, but he cheered up when his new friend took him back into the garden. Harriet built brick towers again for a while, but when the blue eyes began to droop she laid the little boy down on the blanket with his teddy, opened an umbrella to shade him from the sun, then stretched out beside him, content just to watch over the child as he fell asleep.

‘Mum, Mum?’ he sobbed when he woke up, and Harriet picked him up, cuddling him close.

‘She won’t be long, my darling,’ she assured him. ‘How about some juice?’

Blessing efficient Stacy for leaving a beaker of his favourite tipple ready in the kitchen, Harriet took the tearful little boy inside to find it, and cuddled him on her lap, deeply relieved when he stopped crying to drink.

‘What a good boy you are,’ she said fervently, and then sniffed at him in deep dismay. ‘Now this,’ she told him, ‘is where you make allowances for an amateur, Robert Dyer. I’ve never changed a nappy before.’

He gurgled, and clutched a lock of her hair as she bent over him, but made no objection to lying on the changing mat his mother had left ready. Harriet had watched closely when Stacy changed her son, but in actual practice found that, like gardening, the process wasn’t as easy as it looked. Due to much chuckling and wriggling it seemed a very long time before Robert was clean, fragrant and put back together again. Flushed with success, Harriet praised him extravagantly, balanced him inexpertly while she washed her hands, then sat him on her lap and gave him a biscuit.

‘Where’s Stacy?’ demanded a voice from the open doorway.

Harriet jumped up in fright, clutching the child protectively at the sight of a thin, furious youth she’d never seen before.

Robert beamed, and the boy darted forward, arms outstretched.

‘Hand him over!’ he yelled.

Robert burst into tears at the loud noise, and burrowed his face against Harriet’s neck.

‘Who are you?’ she demanded, her arms tightening round the child. ‘What are you doing in my house?’

‘I’m Greg Watts, Robert’s dad. Give him to me!’ He tried to snatch his child, but Robert held onto Harriet, sobbing piteously when he dropped his biscuit.

‘Don’t be an idiot, man,’ she said, standing her ground. ‘Can’t you see you’re frightening Robert to death? Stacy left him in my charge so I’m holding onto him until she comes back.’

‘You’ve no right. I’m his father,’ he said, his voice cracking, but as he made another lunge for the child James Devereux strode through the open door, seized Greg by the scruff of his neck and marched him outside, then came back to check on Harriet.

‘Are you all right?’ James demanded.

‘I’m fine, but Robert’s very upset.’ She kissed the sobbing baby and cuddled him close. ‘Oh, sweetheart, don’t cry. I’ll ring Mummy and ask her to come right now. James, you didn’t hurt the boy, did you?’ she said anxiously.

‘Of course not. Greg says the child is his, but who’s the mother?’ he added.

‘Stacy Dyer, my cleaner.’

‘Give me the number and I’ll ring her. Then I’ll get Greg back in here and read the Riot Act.’

James’ lecture was so effective Greg Watts was trying to choke back tears when Stacy raced in, wild-eyed and distraught.

‘Greg, what on earth have you done?’ she wailed.

The young man stared in horror at her bruised eye. ‘Oh, God, Stace, did I do that? I’m sorry! You know I wouldn’t hurt you for the world. I just wanted to see Robert.’

Much to Harriet’s surprise the child had fallen asleep on her shoulder. ‘He’s fine,’ she assured the girl, handing him over with care. ‘He was a bit frightened by all the fuss, that’s all.’

‘Miss Dyer should really call in the police,’ James told the boy sternly. ‘You obviously intended to abduct the child.’

‘No!’ The boy stared at him in utter dismay. ‘I just wanted to take Robert home to my mother for a bit, Mr Devereux. Stacy wouldn’t let me near him last night.’

‘If you behave like this I never will, either,’ she snapped, glaring at him over her son’s damp curls.

‘Don’t involve the police, love, please,’ he pleaded. ‘I’ll never have a drink again if you let me see more of Robert. I’m not like your dad, Stacy, honest. I would never hurt you or my boy.’

She nodded slowly. ‘I know that, Greg.’

There was silence for a moment while the young pair gazed at each other, oblivious of the other two.

‘You can load the buggy in the car and I’ll drive you home, Stacy,’ said Harriet at last, but the girl shook her head firmly.

‘No way, Harriet. I’ll wheel Robert, and Greg can carry my things.’

The boy’s eyes lit up. ‘Can I give Robert his tea?’

‘Yes. And his bath, if you like.’ She fastened her sleeping son in his pushchair, and turned to Harriet. ‘After all this fuss do you still want me on Thursday?’

‘Of course I do.’

‘Thanks.’ She eyed Harriet’s pallor anxiously. ‘You look shattered. I’d better make you some tea before I go.’

‘No need, I’ll do that,’ said James quickly.

Stacy smiled shyly at him. ‘OK, Mr Devereux. Come on, then, Greg.’

The boy looked at Harriet in remorse. ‘I’m really sorry. I know Stacy works here on Mondays so I came round to apologise for last night. I didn’t expect to find Robert here. When I saw him on your lap I just lost it.’

‘Because Stacy left your son with a stranger instead of with you,’ Harriet said with understanding.

‘Which gave you no right to terrorise Miss Verney, my lad,’ said James sternly.

‘I know that, Mr Devereux.’ Greg pulled a face. ‘When Dad hears about this I’ll probably get a shiner to match Stacy’s.’

‘He won’t hear it from me,’ James assured him, relenting.

When the young pair had finally departed with their son James drew out a chair. ‘You look exhausted, Harriet. Sit down. Is there anything to drink in the house?’

‘Wine in the fridge.’

‘No brandy?’

‘There might be some in the cabinet in the other room.’ She got up, but James pushed her down again.

‘I’ll look.’

Surprised by an urge to lay her head down on the table and howl once she was alone, Harriet combed her fingers through her untidy hair, brushed soggy biscuit crumbs from her T-shirt, and managed a smile when James returned with a bottle of cognac and two crystal brandy snifters.

‘My grandmother’s emergency kit,’ she informed him.

‘I think we can definitely class this as an emergency.’ He poured a small quantity into each glass and handed one over.

Harriet took a cautious sip from hers, shuddering a little as the fiery heat hit her. ‘Thank you for coming to my rescue. Greg gave me rather a shock.’

James nodded. ‘I know. That’s why I was so rough with the kid.’

‘It probably taught him a lesson.’ Harriet smiled ruefully. ‘When Stacy said the child’s father had hit her I visualised some bruiser with fists like sledgehammers, so Greg came as something of a surprise. It was sad, really. Robert was delighted to see his daddy until Greg frightened him by yelling at me. How do you know Watts Senior, by the way?’

‘You probably know him as Frank. He’s the head gardener up at the house. I’ve known young Greg all his life.’

‘His father must be good at his job. It all looked very perfect when I was up there the other day.’ Harriet sighed. ‘Poor Greg. I’m glad Stacy relented towards him.’

‘Talking of relenting,’ said James lightly, ‘did you tell Tim you had lunch with me?’

‘Yes. For once he was lost for words.’ She grinned. ‘I was pretty surprised myself.’

‘That you shared a meal with the ogre and survived?’

Harriet flushed. ‘I don’t think of you as an ogre.’

‘Liar!’

‘All right, a bit, maybe. When I was young.’

‘You’re young now, Harriet.’

‘Older than I was. You don’t scare me any more.’

He frowned. ‘Did I scare you in the past, then?’

‘Of course you did!’ She drained her glass. ‘You blamed me every time Tim disobeyed your orders.’

‘Because I knew he was obeying yours instead.’

‘Mine were always suggestions, not orders.’ Harriet gave him a straight look. ‘And Tim only fell in with them when they appealed to him. You must surely know by now that he goes his own sweet way.’

‘I do.’ He got up. ‘But in spite of that, or maybe because of it, I still feel protective towards him.’

‘And you’re convinced I’m going to hurt him in some way.’ She looked at him challengingly. ‘Do you really believe I’m sneaking into other men’s beds behind Tim’s back?’

His eyes flared dangerously for an instant. ‘Are you?’

They stared at each other in taut silence for a moment.

‘I don’t have to answer to you, James,’ she said hoarsely, and turned away.

He moved round the table and turned her face up to his. ‘Tears, Harriet?’

She jerked her head away, blinking hard. ‘Would you go now, please?’

‘Harriet, I’m sorry. I’ve no right to question your private life,’ he said wearily.

‘No, you haven’t.’ Harriet reached blindly for a sheet of kitchen paper to mop herself up, and James caught her in his arms, pressing her face against his chest as he smoothed her hair.

‘Don’t cry, little one,’ he said, in a tone that brought the tears on thick and fast. For a few blind, uncaring moments Harriet sobbed with abandon, but as she calmed down she grew aware of James’ heart thudding against her own, and pulled away in panic.

‘It’s just reaction to all the drama,’ she said thickly, knuckling the tears away. ‘Go away. I’d rather cry in private.’

‘I’d rather you didn’t cry at all,’ he said huskily. ‘Particularly when I’m to blame.’

She turned to face him, careless of tousled hair and swollen eyes. ‘The man you saw with me at the theatre is an old college friend, and Tim was perfectly happy about it. It’s absolutely none of your business, James Devereux, but just for the record I don’t sleep around. Now let’s drop the subject.’

For once James looked at a complete loss. ‘Harriet—’

She held up an imperious hand. ‘Look, I’m tired. Could you just go now?’

On his way to the door he paused, and turned to look at her. ‘On an entirely different subject, Harriet, I need an assistant gardener to help Frank Watts. If I offered the job to his son, my bar manager could move here to End House and young Greg could take Stacy and the boy to the garage flat,’ he added. ‘Think about it. I’ll be in touch.’

She stood utterly still for a while after he’d gone, staring at the door James had closed so gently behind him. Clever devil, she thought resentfully, then gave a wry little laugh. He might think he was persuading her in the one way certain of success, but he’d actually given her the perfect, face-saving way out of a dilemma. She could now sell End House at a very good price without revealing her change of heart. And no one need know that living alone there on a permanent basis had lost its appeal after only a day or two.

CHAPTER THREE

THE drama of the afternoon left Harriet with no enthusiasm for a trip to Cheltenham to see a film, as she’d intended. Instead she stretched out on the cane sofa in the conservatory after supper, trying to read. But, restless for reasons she refused to analyse, she gave up after a while and went out to water the flowers in the herbaceous borders instead. She spotted a gap in the hedge she hadn’t noticed before, made a note to point it out to James and, reluctant to go back indoors on such a beautiful evening, she fetched her phone and sat on the rustic seat at the end of the garden to ring Dido.