A Southern Star (18 page)

Christie coloured, even more embarrassed at the conclusion she had jumped to. Of course Blake would simply be following Lisa’s instructions. “Thank you, Blake,” she said, reluctantly, knowing she could hardly turn down a gift from Lisa. Christie looked again at the mobile, still doubting its practicality. “I was definitely going to get those zoo animal toys. But I’m not sure about the mobile. It doesn’t seem that practical. I mean, I know they can go over cots, but…” her voice trailed off.
 

“It’s too small,” Blake said bluntly, shaken by Christie’s mirroring of his thoughts. He turned to the shop assistant, asking to see bigger mobiles, nursery decorations, following the assistant over to the display. He frowned, suddenly conscious that Christie would surely guess the reason for his interest, that he was revealing too much. He realised Christie had followed him over to the display, was looking at the mobiles and wall decorations silently.

“That one,” Blake said, indicating a large mobile with beautifully crafted, brightly painted animals and birds. Christie caught her breath, imagining the mobile, so frivolous and unnecessary, turning above the plain cot she had chosen, the colours catching the sun, drawing the attention of a small infant as they settled to sleep. Her small infant.
 

I can’t really justify buying that
, she thought, even as a voice inside her prodded her, reminded her of the money she would earn from contracting, knowing still it would be the ultimate frivolity when she had so much more to organise and buy. Christie was silent for a moment, reluctant to even contemplate buying something like the mobile, a glorious celebration of colour and animals, when, sometimes, she was still filled with such ambivalence and mixed emotions about the baby.

“A mobile is not practical,” she said firmly to Blake. “The baby hardly needs that in the nursery.”
 

He looked at her. “It’s not meant to be practical,” he said. “It’s a toy. Definitely needed in the nursery.”
 

Christie shook her head, more and more unsettled by Blake’s comments, still embarrassed at her assumption about the gift Lisa wanted to get the baby, hoping Blake had not realised how she felt. “Blake, I’ll be house sitting,” she said finally. “I can hardly attach that to the ceiling in someone else’s home.” Even as she spoke, she knew it was a weak excuse. Without another word, Christie walked over to other displays, started to look at clothes.

Hesitating, strangely hurt by Christie’s continual rejection of any of his suggestions, Blake eventually followed her over to the other display.
I would have got that mobile for the baby if Christie had looked keen on it.
Even as he admired her focus on strict practicalities, at the same time he was concerned by her almost ruthless dismissal of anything that was not totally necessary for the baby. The only toys she had shown any interest in were the plastic animal toys for the pushchair.

Most expectant mothers would surely find it almost impossible to restrain themselves in a store like this,
Blake thought, looking around at the rows of toys, clothes and nursery decorations. He thought of her choice of what seemed, even to him, to be an extremely plain, basic cot in the face of her comments about wanting an ornate one.

Still smarting over his rejected suggestion about the mobile, Blake made few comments on her choices, apart from insisting she buy extra woollen clothing for the baby, reminding her of the harsh winters in Queenstown. Christie thought he was exaggerating, did not want to buy a lot of clothes the baby would grow out of so quickly. His face set as he realised she was not going to take his advice; he shrugged, obviously put out.

Christie turned away to look at another display; her eyes blurred. Set on an infant size mannequin was a miniature red parka over a bright jersey and intricately detailed jeans with tiny sneakers. To see a child size outfit so similar to the one she had worn so often on the island made her heart contract. She turned away abruptly, hearing the echo of Blake’s voice, his jokes about Little Red Riding Hood. She noticed with relief he was no longer watching her, moved away from the mannequin to look at another display.

“I’ll need to get going soon.” Christie looked around as Blake spoke, walking over to her, suggesting he put the purchases so far in the car, leaving her to shop for smaller items. Christie went to the counter to pay, her eyes narrowing as the assistant handed her another bag.
 

“This isn’t mine,” she said, checking through the items on the receipt she knew she had bought.
 

The assistant smiled, her cheeks tinged with pink. “Your husband chose some baby clothes as well.”
 

Shock made Christie feel faint, even as she noticed the assistant’s reaction to Blake. “We’re not married,” she said clearly. Flustered, the assistant apologised, still assuming though that Christie and Blake were partners. Christie gave up, unnerved by the assistant’s assumption, which she acknowledged was perhaps understandable, but still a cruel reminder of reality.
At least I’m not thinking of Paul anymore,
she thought, half hysterically. Blake had already taken the packages out to his car; at least he wasn’t standing at the counter. Christie smiled to herself reluctantly, wondering what joke he would have made if he had heard the assistant’s comments. She turned around, holding the last bag the assistant had given her, walking towards the main doors of the store, realised Blake had just walked back in. Christie held up the bag, knowing it wasn’t the mobile, wondering what he had purchased, an uncertain smile on her face.

“Thank you,” she said, unnerved by Blake’s reserved, polite response, his claims that it was Lisa’s idea.
 

“Will you look around the rest of this row of shops?” he asked abruptly, taking the bag from her unopened. Christie nodded, making her excuses, determined not to let her hurt show.

Chapter Nine

Three hours later, Christie returned to the hotel, exhausted but confident she had purchased almost everything she would need, trying not to think of Blake. She was still haunted by her outburst, his reserve when she thanked him for the—joint—gift. She climbed out of the taxi, thanking the driver as he helped her with her bags, watching, bemused, as both the porter and the concierge rushed over.

She had even bought some maternity clothes for herself, relieved to have clothes that actually fitted her properly, resolving to change into them straight away. Christie followed the porter up to the apartment, looking forward to a relaxing evening, pleased to be back at the hotel even though Blake had said she could call him, that he might be able to collect her.

Her phone buzzed with a text message; she picked it up, realised it was Lisa, wanting to know what she had bought. Christie replied immediately, still ashamed of what she had said to Blake, wondering what Lisa would say when Blake told her.
Hopefully she’ll laugh it off,
thought Christie, thinking of the apartment Lisa had arranged for her.

Christie was just getting dressed after a shower when the phone rang; she snatched it up, just missing the call, realised she had missed a text while she was in the shower. Her phone rang again immediately; she realised it was Blake, striving for a casual tone as she answered the call.

“You’re all right,” he said roughly, cutting her off.
 

“Of course,” she answered, puzzled.
 

“You didn’t answer before,” he continued.
 

“I’m fine,” she said shortly. “I was just in the shower.”
 

He paused. “You’re back at the apartment.”

“Yes,” she replied. “See you soon then,” he said abruptly and hung up. Christie looked at the phone, her brow creased. She checked the text, it too was from Blake, asking if she wanted to be collected from shopping. Christie continued dressing, thrilled with the maternity jeans, the gathered tops, looking again at the warmer clothes for winter. She moved out into the lounge, looking for the extra merino baby clothes she had bought later, after acknowledging the sense of Blake’s words.
 

She was relaxing on the sofa looking at the tiny merino leggings and long-sleeved tops with minute domes when she heard the door to the apartment open. Blake crossed the floor in a few quick strides, pausing imperceptibly as he registered Christie on the sofa, her long legs in what seemed to be new jeans and a deep blue top, covering the contours of her pregnancy, the soft draping of the neckline drawing his eyes to her chest, hinting at her cleavage. Her blue eyes were relaxed, her unruly dark hair curling around her face.

Blake said her name, his dark eyes still sweeping over her. Christie smiled, seemingly oblivious to his scrutiny. “I got some more winter gear,” she said, holding up the miniature leggings, trying not to think of the animal mobile. “Like you said.” He nodded silently, his eyes still fixed on her, suddenly uncertain. He had always been aware of Christie’s figure, her arresting looks, but tonight, to see her wearing that top…He swallowed, acutely conscious of her, striving for control.

Christie saw Blake was holding a bag from the store they had visited. “I thought you might want to see what Lisa and I got,” he said. She nodded, still smiling, putting down the leggings, swinging her legs off the sofa, preparing to stand. “Don’t get up,” Blake said abruptly, taking a step closer, handing her the bag. She unfolded carefully wrapped tissue to see three miniature white sleeping suits in varying sizes, smoothed her hand over the smallest one, knowing they would be incredibly warm, practical.

“Thank you so much for these, Blake. I’ll call Lisa tonight, thank her too.” Christie smiled up at him, refolded the tissue, slid the sleeping suits back into the carry bag. Her hand brushed something soft; she realised the outfits were not the only thing Blake had purchased. She lifted out more tissue, unpacked an exquisite pale green embroidered wool cardigan and matching leggings, the pattern of the embroidery carried through to the rim of a beanie hat with an oversize pom-pom.

Christie realised it was one of the outfits she had lingered over, weighing up the practicality before dismissing it. Blake must have seen her, she realised. “We thought we’d get you something today, so you’d know you had it and didn’t double up,” he said shortly, watching her reaction, thinking of the animal mobile, the many toy displays he had seen. Christie nodded, her emotions clamouring. She kept her eyes on the cardigan, not daring to look at Blake, hearing the emphasis he put on the plural.

“I’ll definitely call Lisa,” she repeated. “Thanks for choosing these, though, Blake,” Christie said politely, reluctantly replacing the outfit in the carry bag. Blake shrugged, was silent, turning to walk over to the mini bar after a slight hesitation. He handed her a mixed fruit juice without asking what she wanted, took a seat opposite her, drinking directly from a bottle of beer.

Christie sat back, setting the bag down and sipping her juice. She watched Blake out of the corner of her eye, thinking fleetingly of Paul, of his insistence of always drinking from a glass, acknowledging that in fact she hadn’t thought of Paul for most of the afternoon. Now she was acutely conscious of Blake, thinking back over the day, his comments, the gifts he had chosen in consultation with Lisa.

Emotion battled with reason as Christie became more and more convinced Blake and Lisa were in some sort of relationship despite Blake’s denial, her mind replaying their easy communication, their joint gift to her. Her lingering distrust after Amanda’s breach of their friendship only increased her far reaching assumptions, as Christie reluctantly acknowledged to herself Blake had only really been polite today, obviously at Lisa’s suggestion.
 

Conscious of her thoughts she was scrupulously polite to Blake when he spoke to her, asking about his meetings, his imminent business dinner, making a point of talking about the various tramps and walks she had completed on the island with Lisa. Christie did not notice Blake’s questioning look as he tried on several occasions to turn the discussion to her personally only for her to bring Lisa’s name into the conversation.

Eventually Blake shrugged, stood up in one lithe movement. Christie kept her eyes firmly on her drink, emotion crashing through her, guilt not far behind as she compared her behaviour to Amanda’s. Blake stretched casually, wandered over to the kitchen with his empty beer bottle. Christie stared out at the view over Dunedin, intensely conscious of Blake moving around the lounge, realising he had returned to her with a menu, was asking if she would order room service. Christie looked at him, smiled politely, shook her head, remembering the fine dining restaurant she had seen adjoining the hotel as they arrived. “No, I’m fine, thanks,” she said briefly.

Christie had willingly spent the money she had saved through not having to pay for accommodation and petrol on extras for the baby and still had a cushion of savings, despite the maternity clothes she had purchased. Nonetheless she did not see the point of spending money unnecessarily, uncomfortably aware of what a room service meal in a hotel like this would cost. Instead, Christie had eaten a light meal at a food court and purchased a drink and snack at a supermarket for later.

“Is that all you’re having?” Blake asked, thinking back to her careful budgeting over the day despite her many purchases.
 

Christie nodded silently, realising he must have noticed the supermarket bag on the kitchen bench. “Don’t you have a meeting to go to?” she asked, trying to joke with him, distract him, uncomfortable at his questions. He smiled briefly in acknowledgment, left the lounge abruptly.