The Baby Question

CHAPTER TWO

SHE heard the car before she saw it, grinding slowly down the track towards the house and disturbing the peace and tranquillity of her little hideaway.

A neighbour, come to welcome her? The postman?

From her vantage point in the office over the garage, she peered down at the drive a little warily. ‘Who is it, Midas?’ she asked, her voice instinctively lowered, and the dog whined and stood up on his back legs, his front paws on the windowsill, and watched with her.

The ghostly silver bonnet of Rob’s Mercedes nosed through the gateway, its headlights gleaming dully in the fading light, and her heart sank as the car crunched over the gravel and came to rest beside her much more modest Ford.

How on earth had he found her? She’d been so careful, cleared everything away without trace, or so she’d thought. Even the attic she’d left spotless—hadn’t she? There must have been something lying around, some little clue. Blast. She’d always known he’d find her in the end, because he didn’t give up on anything, but she had hoped for a few more days—maybe even weeks—to sort her thoughts out.

And now he was here. Still, maybe he’d ring the bell and go away if she didn’t show herself. Her heart pounding, she sank back away from the window and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him down beside her. He whined in protest and tried to jump up again, but she hung on tight.

‘Midas, no,’ she whispered. ‘Be quiet, there’s a good boy.’

He whined again, recognising the sound of the car, and she wrapped her hand round his muzzle and stroked him with the other hand, trying to calm him. ‘Good boy. Hush now. Maybe he’ll go away.’

She snorted softly under her breath. Not a chance, and the dog knew it. Just in case, though, he was determined to bark a greeting, and she had to hang on to his muzzle and pet him constantly to keep him quiet. Still, at least she hadn’t got the lights on in the office, although the glow from the computer was probably visible. She reached out a hand and switched off the monitor, and her little office sank into gloom. Heavens, it was later than she’d realised, but she’d been so busy.

Edging up to the window, she peered down onto the drive and watched.

Rob got out of the car and straightened, then looked around, his eyes narrowed, scanning for clues. First he checked out her car, then he went over to the cottage and knocked on the door before turning the handle and going in.

Damn him! she thought, fuming. How dare he just walk into her house! She crossed to the other side of the room, peeping through the roof-light to get a better view.

She could see him going from room to room, flicking lights on, prowling. She imagined him fingering the things left by the owners, things he’d never seen before. She’d hardly been here long enough to put her stamp on anything except the bedroom and bathroom. Everywhere else was just as she’d found it, because she’d brought practically nothing with her yesterday except the contents of her office, a few clothes and the dog.

She’d wanted to get away from her old life, have a fresh start, and now he was all over it, touching it, imprinting himself on it so it would no longer be hers alone, the safe haven she’d wanted it to be.

Safe haven? What was she thinking about? He was hardly dangerous! She made it sound like he was a serial killer instead of her husband of five years. She must be going crazy. But even so, she felt somehow violated.

No. That was too strong. Invaded, then.

She watched him moving around, doing his tour of inspection. It didn’t take long. There were only the two rooms downstairs, one at each end, and the stairs running from side to side with the bathroom behind them. Above were two bedrooms, hers and the store, and a big cupboard full of all sorts.

Surely to goodness he couldn’t be much longer, she thought, the adrenaline surging through her body and making her heart race.

He wasn’t. He emerged from the front door, shrugging down inside his coat collar against the bitter wind, and she moved back a little from the window, her heart pounding with suspense. Maybe he’d think he’d come to the wrong house and would go away.

Or not.

He looked up at the window, his eyes seeming to fix on her face, and even from this distance she could see their piercing cobalt blue. She shrank back into the shadows, getting a better grip on the wiggling dog.

He could hear his master coming, hear the crunch of footsteps on the stones and the squeak of the handle as the door opened at the bottom of the stairs. A blast of icy air invaded their cosy little hideaway and Midas whimpered and squirmed in her hands.

The stairs creaked under a firm, steady tread, and Rob’s head appeared over the top step, his eyes assessing.

‘Hello, Laurie,’ he said, and the dog, displaying a singular lack of judgement, hurled himself out of her arms and hit him in mid chest.

He staggered back, righted himself against the wall and ruffled the dog’s fur affectionately while Laurie tried to quell the thundering of her heart and compose herself to deal with him without hysterics.

‘Hello, mutt,’ he said, pushing the dog down out of the way and climbing the last few stairs. He looked around, his eyes like twin blue lasers scanning the sophisticated computer equipment, the notes pinned up on the wall, the collection of mugs by the keyboard.

‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ he said blandly, but it didn’t fool her for a second. She wondered what the chances were of her hustling him out before it was too late.

Huh. It was already too late. She sat down in front of the computer, blocking his view of her desk, or trying to.

‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and not give in to the anger building in her. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone? He knew she was all right, she’d only just spoken to him less than twenty-four hours ago! Why come here to persecute her?

‘Interesting set-up,’ he said, ignoring her question and continuing his inspection of her pinboard. ‘What’s the business?’

‘Mine,’ she said, not willing to share even the nature of her business with him, never mind the intimate details he’d try and winkle out of her. ‘It’s mine, and it’s private. I repeat, what are you doing here, Rob?’

His eyes met hers, red rimmed with exhaustion but determined, the blue of his irises touched with flint. ‘I would have thought it was obvious what I was doing here. I’ve come to take you home,’ he said softly, and her traitorous heart kicked against her ribs.

She snorted. ‘Not a chance. I told you, I want to think.’

‘You can think at home.’

‘No, I can’t. I just want this time to myself. You should have rung, you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve got nothing to say to you at the moment, and I want you out of here. This is my house, my office, my life.’

‘And you’re my wife.’

‘Am I?’ she asked bluntly, and he recoiled a fraction, as if she’d struck a painful blow. Good, she thought, ruthlessly crushing her guilt. She was fed up with him taking her for granted. She stood up, gathering the cups together and standing waiting by the top of the stairs. She gestured for him to go down, but he just smiled and took her chair at the desk, turning on the monitor and tapping keys on her computer and opening files, flicking through her personal business with ridiculous ease and a casual disregard for her privacy.

‘Leave it alone! That’s nothing to do with you,’ she fumed, ready to dump the dregs of the cups on his head, and he spun round in the chair and fixed her with those piercing eyes.

‘You’re a web designer,’ he said slowly.

‘Ten out of ten. Out.’

He unfolded himself from the desk and stepped closer, looking down into her face searchingly. ‘There was no need for you to leave. You could have told me you wanted to do it,’ he said, his voice seductive, almost convincing.

‘I wanted it to be mine,’ she said, and he gave a tiny huff of laughter.

‘Mine again. You seem to be using that word a lot. Whatever happened to ours?’

‘Yours, you mean.’

His eyes narrowed and he searched her face, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know what’s eating you, Laurie, but we’ll talk about it when you come home.’

‘I’m not coming home,’ she repeated emphatically, but he just smiled.

‘Oh, I think you are.’

That was it. She lost it. Without another thought, she dumped the contents of the mugs on his head and stomped off down the stairs, leaving him swearing under his breath and brushing ineffectually at his clothes. A smile tugged at her mouth, but she suppressed it. It was a childish thing to have done, but he’d provoked her beyond endurance, and she wasn’t going to laugh it off. God forbid he should think she wasn’t serious about this. She was done being dictated to.

He was right behind her, his temper barely under control, and she felt a tiny frisson of anticipation. She hadn’t seen him really angry for ages, but she knew she could trust him not to hurt her, and right then she was spoiling for a fight.

She marched over to the cottage, just half a stride ahead of him, and he was through the door behind her before she had time to slam it in his face.

‘It won’t work, Laurie,’ he said grimly, following her into the kitchen with the dog at his heels. ‘I’m not going without you.’

‘Well, I’m not going, and you’re not staying, so it’s going to be a bit tricky, really, isn’t it?’

‘I mean it,’ he said, his voice taut with determination, all that earlier gentle coaxing gone, banished no doubt by the coffee dregs in his hair and the cold bite of the wind and her failure to succumb to his authority. ‘I’m not just walking away from this,’ he went on. ‘You’re my wife, and if you think you can just run off like this without talking about it, you’re mistaken.’

‘I hardly ran off.’

‘No? Then why didn’t you tell me where you were going, and what you were doing? And what the hell is this business you’ve been running in the attic of my house without telling me? How long’s it been going on?’

‘Our house, I think, and don’t you mean asking your permission?’ she snapped, whirling on him, her temper finally frayed beyond endurance. ‘Don’t you mean what the hell was I doing sneaking around behind your back daring to have a life?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he retorted. ‘Of course you can have a life.’

‘Just so long as it includes playing hostess to your incredibly boring business acquaintances with monotonous regularity, and dressing up in pretty clothes to be the elegant little social butterfly I’m expected to be. God forbid I should wear jeans.’

‘You can wear jeans.’

‘Versace jeans,’ she snorted, whirling away again to dump the mugs in the sink before she hurled them at him. ‘Not ordinary jeans from the discount shop on the corner.’

‘You’ve never worn jeans like that! You don’t even like jeans,’ he protested, and she felt a pang of guilt. He was quite right, she hadn’t ever bought cheap jeans, or any cheap clothes in fact, and she wouldn’t want to. She just wanted the right to, that was all.

She turned back to the sink, washing the mugs for something to do that didn’t involve screaming with frustration.

He signed, a harsh exhalation filled with the same frustration and irritation that she was feeling. I must be getting to him, she thought in satisfaction. There’s a miracle.

She turned round, just as he hooked out a chair from the table and dropped wearily into it. His eyes were tired and red-rimmed, his face was drawn, and she remembered he’d been travelling now for over twenty-four hours.

He didn’t have to come up here after me, she reminded herself. It was his choice. Then a little dribble of stale coffee trickled off his hair and down his temple and dripped onto his coat, and she felt a twinge of guilt. It was a lovely navy cashmere coat, only a few weeks old and hideously expensive, and the splash of coffee over one shoulder and down the front did nothing to enhance it. Her guilt prompted a partial climb-down.

‘I’ll make you tea, then you can go,’ she conceded.

She waited for a second, but instead of repeating his intention to stay he merely settled back, folded his arms across his chest and smiled.

Rats. He looked so sexy when he did that, sexy enough to distract her—but only for a moment. She reminded herself of all the reasons why she was here—his autocratic behaviour, his expectations of her, the time he spent away from home when she was left holding the fort.

Holding the baby? She shuddered to think what would have happened if she’d conceived. Would he have come home at all, without the need to attempt to impregnate her at regular intervals?

No, there was no way she was going back to him. Not yet, at least, and maybe not ever.

Even if he did have the sexiest eyes she’d ever seen. She’d fallen for them years ago. She wasn’t falling for them again.

Oh, no …

She was a web designer. He was amazed, although he shouldn’t have been. If he’d given it a moment’s thought, he would have realised that sitting at home with only the dog for company while she waited to see if she was pregnant wouldn’t be enough for her. She was too bright, far too bright and full of imagination and life and restless invention.

In the past two years since she’d given up work and settled down to wait for the baby that hadn’t come, she’d redone the house from end to end, got Midas from a rescue centre and turned him from a cowering, gangly pup into a bright and confident dog who was her devoted companion, and sorted out the grounds of the house with the help of an army of skilled gardeners and landscapers.

That accomplished, he must have been crazy to imagine she would then settle down to wait for maternity to catch up with her.

Not Laurie. Of course she’d needed something to do.

But to do it in secret, without sharing it with him—that rankled. Hurt, in fact, he thought in surprise. He wondered when things had started to go wrong, and realised with shock that he hadn’t even noticed that they had until now, when he’d thought about it and remembered what it used to be like between them.

Things had gone wrong, though, or she wouldn’t be here now, hundreds of miles from home, making him tea before she threw him out on his ear. Well, tough. He wasn’t going, not till this was sorted out, and it looked like the weather was playing right into his hands.

A quick glance at the window showed that night had fallen while they’d been talking, the clouds so thick and full they’d snuffed out the last of the daylight.

He stood up and swished the little curtains shut at the single window, blocking out the view of the snowflakes that were starting to whirl against the glass. In an hour, with any luck, it would be falling too thick and fast to allow him to venture out, so he’d have to stay.

They might be snowed in for days …

He felt his body stir. He’d missed her. It had been a couple of weeks since he’d seen her last, and a little making up would be fun. Hiding a smile of satisfaction, he settled back in the chair, picked up the mug of tea she pushed towards him and prepared to wait her out.

It infuriated her when he did that.

Sat there, with his tea propped on his belt buckle, a patient look on his face, and said nothing.

She hated silence. She always had, and he knew it. Of all the things he did that got her mad, this was the worst.

She promised herself she wouldn’t rise, not this time. Picking up her own tea, she changed the subject from her to him. ‘How was New York?’ she asked, as if they were sitting in their own kitchen and she hadn’t just walked out on him and moved to the other end of the British Isles.

He didn’t twitch an eyebrow, to his credit, but then he was a very successful businessman and used to hiding his reactions.

‘Cold, dull. I missed you.’

If only that were true, she thought sadly, remembering the times he’d gone away at first and how glad she’d been to have him back—how eagerly she’d welcomed him.

But recently …

‘How’s Mike?’ she asked, enquiring after the New York partner who handled most of the North American business, and refusing to rise to the bait.

‘All right. He asked how you were.’

‘And what did you tell him?’

He smiled, a slight hitch of one side of his mouth, not really a smile so much as a grimace. ‘I told him you were fine,’ he said softly.

She looked away. She couldn’t face down those piercing, all-seeing eyes. He was too good at boardroom games. She should know. She’d played them with him only a few years ago, before she’d ‘retired’ from active involvement in his business ventures and settled back to wait for the baby.

She sighed and sipped her tea, wishing he would go away and knowing full well he wouldn’t, not at least without a promise from her to come home—a promise she couldn’t make. ‘When did you get back?’ she asked, wondering about his jet lag and if he’d had any sleep.

‘Yesterday afternoon. I was home just after four.’ The unspoken reproach hung in the air and irritated her into retaliation.

‘I didn’t know you were coming back yesterday.’

‘No, of course not,’ he said, and then continued with mild reproach. ‘Not that you were there to take my call—’

‘I don’t have to be there twenty-four hours a day,’ she reminded him sharply, and his eyebrow quirked up in response.

‘Of course you don’t,’ he said soothingly. ‘But you know my mobile number, and I do think that you could perhaps have done more than leave a note before you walked out on our relationship.’

There was no attempt now to hide the reproach, his voice hardening and showing, for the first time, his true feelings. Good. She could deal with that. She couldn’t deal with the bland, expressionless board-room persona he’d been conveying for the past few minutes. And if he was angry, then maybe he cared, and maybe, just maybe, there was hope for them.

‘I didn’t walk out on our relationship, I just wanted a little space,’ she reminded him.

‘I would have given you space if you’d asked for it. You could have said so. You know you only have to ask for anything.’

‘Maybe I didn’t want to ask. Maybe I’m sick of asking for everything.’

‘Sick of sharing?’

‘We don’t share,’ she told him flatly. ‘We hardly share anything any more. I’m amazed you noticed I wasn’t there—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, of course I noticed.’

‘Yes, you would have had to pour your own drink, make your own supper. Poor little lamb.’

He growled under his breath, and she buried her nose in her mug and ignored him.

‘You could have said something, discussed it with me,’ he went on, hammering home the point.

‘And have you brush it aside? Or trivialise it? Patronise me with another of your “you don’t want to do that” lectures? I didn’t want that, Rob. I wanted to think—to have time to work out in my own mind just how I feel about us, before it’s too late.’

Too late?’

‘Yes, too late. Before we become locked together irretrievably into parenthood. I want to be sure I want your baby before I conceive, and at the moment I’m not sure—not sure at all, about any of it.’

‘I take it you’re not pregnant, then, again,’ he said cautiously, putting her hackles up.

‘No, I’m not damn well pregnant. I don’t get pregnant, remember, so all this might be academic anyway—’