Page 57

‘I think I might have given you a false impression of the Creek, Rachel. The conditions are not exactly primitive, you know. And whilst we are isolated a plane really does cut down the distances. Despite what my father likes to imply, it’s not exactly a tin shack and life is a long way from being a cultural desert.’
‘You can fly?’ She was fascinated despite herself. It was something she’d always wanted to learn.
‘Nina, my grandmother, gave me flying lessons for my eighteenth birthday. I got the bug, which was no doubt what she intended. In her own way Nina was as crafty as my father; she made no secret of the fact that she wanted me to take over from her.’
‘And now you are.’
‘She’s probably up there somewhere laughing.’
‘Pardon me for not joining in with the merriment but being treated like a pregnant piece of livestock has had a detrimental effect on my sense of humour.’
‘You didn’t think I was serious for one minute,’ he chided. ‘At least you’re not denying it now—the fact that you’re pregnant. That’s something.’
‘I am not!’
‘I’d say, Are too, but I’m trying to create a mature and responsible impression.’
‘Are you implying I’m being immature?’
He anchored her flailing arms securely in his hands before replying. ‘I’m saying that you being pregnant changes things whether you like it or not,’ he said soberly.
And, despite his assurances to the contrary, he didn’t like. Nothing he’d said or done had convinced her otherwise.
‘You’ve done a good—no, a great job of bringing up Charlie, but you know better than most that a child needs two parents.’
‘Two loving parents.’
‘We can love pretty sensationally.’
‘I’m not talking about sex,’ she said witheringly. ‘Even sensational sex isn’t a basis for marriage!’ She examined the foot she’d just unintentionally directed a bullet at and winced.
‘Thank you, Rachel; I thought it was too.’ He looked as smug as your average sleek predator when it sank its claws into dinner. ‘Charlie likes me too.’
‘That’s really low—using a child’s feelings.’
‘I’m telling it the way it is, Rachel,’ he said with no trace of remorse. ‘Charlie would be better off with me providing the male influence in her life. You’ve got to admit Fauré isn’t much of an improvement on a test-tube!’
‘Isn’t that the tiniest bit inconsistent? You’re the one getting all defensive about a biological father’s rights.’
‘He’s married. He forfeited any rights he might have had,’ he said, nostrils flared in distaste. ‘That’s a fact I intend to convey to your friend very soon.’
‘No! You can’t do that!’ she gasped. She could imagine poor Christophe’s reaction if he thought she was spreading the story that he was Charlie’s father. What if the story got back to Annabel?
‘I’ll make a deal. I’ll keep away from Fauré for now if you agree to stop pretending. I can’t talk to you about practical arrangements if you keep denying you’re pregnant.’
She bit back the denial. Perhaps it would be sensible to go along with him, just for tonight, if it meant keeping him from confronting Christophe! Tomorrow she was going to confront Stuart Arden and make him confess that he’d been lying through his teeth.
‘Practical arrangements?’
‘Obstetrician’s appointments; I’d like to come with you.’
‘I haven’t got an obstetrician.’
‘Have you been to see a doctor at all?’ He frowned in disapproval when she shook her head. ‘Well, firstly I think we should—’
‘I’m sure you’re right, Ben, but I’m really very tired right now.’ It wasn’t hard to convey lassitude when mentally she was close to complete exhaustion. She saw the concern on his face and felt a spasm of guilt when he touched a solicitous hand to the side of her face.
‘Tomorrow, then?’
She nodded mutely; the impulse to turn her cheek lovingly into his open palm was overwhelmingly strong. Her feelings were ambiguous when he did remove his hand.
After he’d let himself out of the flat she could feel the impression where his fingers had touched her face. Even the dampness from the tears didn’t diminish the sensation.
CHAPTER EIGHT
‘SIR STUART isn’t at home.’
‘I’ll wait.’ Boldly Rachel stepped into the vast hallway. Her heels echoed on the marble floor. She glanced casually around; this wasn’t the moment to be intimidated by insignificant things like chandeliers the size of her living room and several paintings by an artist she’d never seen outside a museum.