A Special Kind of Woman (7 page)

Her courage deserted her, and she sat there watching him as he crossed the gravel drive and pulled open her door, hunkering down beside her and taking her hands in his, his face worried.

‘Cait?’ he said softly. ‘Darling, what’s the matter? Is it Milly?’

She dragged in a shuddering breath. ‘I need to talk to you.’

He straightened up, still holding her hand, and helped her out of the car. ‘Come inside,’ he said gently, and led her in, closing the door behind her and turning her into his arms.

She stood stiffly, her body frozen with shock and dread and the terrible acceptance of defeat, because she knew she was going to lose him, and she couldn’t make her mouth say the words that would take him away from her for ever.

After a moment he dropped his arms and stepped back, looking down at her with his hands on her shoulders, steadying her as one shudder after another ripped through her frame.

‘Cait, for God’s sake, talk to me,’ he said unsteadily, his voice ragged. ‘What’s wrong with you? What is it? Oh, God, tell me you’re not dying.’

‘Dying?’ she said, freed suddenly from the immobility that had gripped her for the past few minutes. ‘No, I’m not dying, Owen,’ she said hollowly. ‘I’m pregnant.’

‘P
REGNANT
?’

Owen’s hands fell to his sides, and he stabbed his fingers through his hair. His hand was trembling, Cait noticed absently, and any moment now he’d tell her she was trying to trick him into supporting her, and throw her out, as Robert and his father had done. She steeled herself for the blow—but it didn’t fall.

Not yet, at least.

Finally he moved. ‘Come and sit down,’ he said gently, and led her through to the sitting room. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

She shook her head, a shudder of distaste rippling through her. ‘No, please. Nothing.’

She stood there, and he took her shoulders and pressed softly on them until her knees gave way and she sat down on one end of the sofa with a plop, then he sat at the other end, one leg hitched up, his elbow propped on the back, his head supported on his hand, watching her.

‘I take it this isn’t good news?’ he said eventually, and she stared at him as if he were mad.

‘Good news?’ She laughed, and her voice cracked. ‘How can it be good news?’ she asked, close to hysteria. ‘I’ve only just got Emily off my hands, I was just about to start my life! I’m thirty-five, Owen. I’ll be fifty-three
by the time this baby leaves for university—no, fifty-four! That’s ancient! That’s almost all my working life! I was going to have a career…’

Cait put down the hem of her sweater before she tore it in half, and bit her knuckle instead.

‘Doing Law,’ he said flatly.

‘Something to do with it, probably.’

‘Why?’

‘Why?’ She looked at him as if he had two heads. ‘Because I’ve always wanted to do Law!’

‘OK, so you want to do Law. What about your shop?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I can’t afford to give it up, not for years, probably. I might have to pay for help so I can study.’

Owen nodded. ‘And where does the baby fit into all this?’

She rolled her eyes. ‘It doesn’t! That’s the whole
point!
The baby is just—I can’t believe I was that stupid. All these years I’ve waited for my freedom, and the first half-decent man to come along and I throw it all away.’

‘Was that supposed to be a compliment?’ he interrupted, and his smile was strained.

She closed her eyes, the fight going out of her. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You’ve been wonderful to me, and it’s been the best time of my life, but now I’m going to have to pay for it, like I always have to pay, and it’s just so damned unfair.’

‘Don’t do anything silly, will you?’ he said carefully, and there was an edge in his voice that made her look at him more closely.

‘Silly? You mean have an abortion? You think that’s what this is all about?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said quietly. ‘I hope not. If it is, then if there’s anything I can do to change your mind—
I’ll have the baby when it’s born, bring it up, look after it, pay all its expenses—anything you want, Cait. Just don’t kill my baby, please. I’ll do anything rather than stand back and let you do that.’

Anything except marry me, she thought hollowly. Tell me you love me, Owen. Tell me you’re overjoyed. Tell me anything, just don’t sit there and be so bloody reasonable and try and negotiate.

‘I don’t want anything from you,’ she lied. ‘You can have access, of course you can, and see it as much as you want, but I don’t want your money.’ Just your heart.

‘Can I see it every day? Every night?’

She stared at him, puzzled. ‘Every day?’

‘Yes. You said I could see it as much as I wanted. That’s every day, Cait. I want to see my baby born. I want to see it grow up. I want to be there when it takes its first step, and kiss it better when it falls down. I’m not going to be an absentee father—not unless you make me.’

Owen reached out, taking her cold and lifeless hand in his warm, strong, vital one. ‘Marry me, Cait,’ he said, his voice vibrating with emotion. ‘Marry me and live here with me and our baby. Be a family.’

It was such a wonderful thought that she nearly agreed, but then she remembered how he’d encouraged her to go away on the residential course she’d talked about, almost as if she’d become too much of a fixture in his life.

And the last thing she wanted was to be a burden to him, a duty, so she and her child became a sea-anchor weighing him down and ruining his life so that he ended up hating them both.

‘You don’t mean that. You’re only saying it because you’re afraid I’ll kill it.’

‘No.’

‘Yes.’ Cait dredged up a smile. ‘It’s all right, Owen, I’m not going to do anything stupid. You don’t have to do the decent thing, as they say. I’m only telling you because I think you have a right to know.’

‘So you won’t marry me?’

She shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t work.’

‘It might.’ He glanced at his watch, then stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I have to go to the hospital. They rang just after you did and they’ve got a crisis on. I can’t get out of it, or I would, because we have to talk this through. I’ll come and see you tonight as soon as I get away, and in the meantime think about it. Think about the advantages and disadvantages of marrying me, and we’ll talk again tonight. OK?’

She stood up. ‘I won’t change my mind, Owen,’ she warned, and he gave her a grim little smile.

‘Just take the time. Please. That’s all I ask. Take the time, think about it and let me know your answer.’

She nodded in the end, because it was the easiest thing to do, and then she went home, opened up the shop and sat down at the desk with a piece of paper.

She wrote at the top ‘Advantages’ and ‘Disadvantages’, then wrote down all the pros and cons in the two columns.

At the end of the exercise one thing was clear. The advantages outweighed the disadvantages by about a hundred to one, but the one disadvantage was too huge to overcome.

‘He’ll hate me,’ she’d written in shaky script, and even as she read it, her eyes filled and welled over, and she laid her head down on the desk and wept.

‘Cait? Oh, dear, love, what’s the matter?’

She dragged in a deep breath and sat up, scrubbing the tears from her cheeks. The lady who ran the antique
shop next door was hovering by her desk, her eyes concerned. Cait dredged up a smile. ‘Oh, hello, Gilda. I’m sorry, I was just having a wallow.’

‘Oh, Cait. Missing Milly, I expect, are you? I remember when mine went away—awful. Just awful.’

Cait sniffed and nodded. She couldn’t tell Gilda what was wrong—not now, before she’d got all her ducks in a row and decided what she was doing.

Although only an idiot would turn Owen down.

‘Oh! You’re not wearing it!’

‘What?’ She blinked at Gilda, who was staring dumbstruck at her hand. ‘Wearing what?’

‘Um—oh, nothing. A—a dress I thought you were wearing today, but you’re not. I’ve just realised—Cait, I have to go, love. I just saw you through the window, and—well, take care. Come and have a chat if you want.’

Gilda patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and almost ran out, leaving Cait totally confused. What on earth was she on about?

She looked at her clothes, a plain pencil skirt and a neat blouse, with a comfy old cardigan snuggled over the top because the shop was always chilly until the sun came round, and shook her head. Gilda had really lost it.

She looked back down at her list, splodged with tears, and felt a sob welling in her chest. What on earth was she to do? Marry him, even though he was only doing it for the baby, or struggle on alone sharing her—or him—with Owen, scrapping about Christmas and birthdays and school holidays, with the poor little mite being passed from pillar to post?

At least Milly had had absolute security. They may have had nothing else, but her daughter had always known her mother would be there for her come hell or
high water, at any hour of the day or night, and there had never been any question of how much she loved her.

‘Oh, damn,’ she said, and shut the list into her desk drawer. She had too much to do to waste time in useless contemplation. She’d talk to Owen tonight and, depending on what he said, she’d make a decision.

And, please, God, she thought, let it be the right one…

Owen struggled through a difficult day with an enormous effort of will. He was tired after the conference, suffering from lack of sleep, and standing in a hot theatre all day battling to save one life after another after a major incident was not his idea of a restful first day back.

Still, it occupied his mind totally, which was what he needed in the absence of being able to go and deal with his dilemma immediately.

Dilemma? he thought, and shook his head. No, not a dilemma. Well, not the baby, anyway. That wasn’t a dilemma, it was a wonderful and precious gift, something he’d thought would never happen to him again. After Josh, he and Jill had never taken steps to prevent another pregnancy, but nothing had happened.

Jill hadn’t really minded, but Owen had ached for another child for years, and it had only been when Jill had died that he’d finally resigned himself.

And now Cait was having his baby, and because she’d convinced herself she wanted to do something with Law, of all the dry and tedious things to want to study, she was seeing this precious gift of their child as a burden.

Well, he’d have to find a way to persuade her otherwise, so he could keep her safe and love and cherish her and their child till the end of his days.

If the stubborn, silly woman would only let him.

‘Retractors,’ he snapped, and the scrub nurse beside
him gave him a long-suffering look and slapped them in his hand. ‘Sorry,’ he mumbled, and her eyebrows shot up.

‘You’re like a bear with a sore head today,’ she said under her breath. ‘If I were you, I’d have a hot toddy and an early night.’

He snorted softly. If only it were that simple.

Owen rang Cait at six to say he was back at home and would like to see her.

She looked around her flat, horribly untidy because she’d been working late every night this week and had hardly given it a glance, and wanted to weep with frustration. At the very least, she wanted to have the place clean and tidy so he didn’t start accusing her of being a slut and an unfit mother.

‘I thought,’ he went on, ‘if you don’t mind and haven’t got any other plans, maybe I could get a taxi to pick you up and bring you here for a meal.’

So she was off the hook as far as the housework went, anyway. ‘I don’t know if I can eat,’ she said worriedly, nausea nibbling at her even as she spoke.

‘Don’t worry about eating. You can have something simple. I just—Cait, give me a chance,’ he said softly, and if she hadn’t known better, she would have thought he really cared.

‘I’ll drive over,’ she said.

‘You don’t need to do that,’ he protested, but she cut him off.

‘Yes, I do,’ she corrected. ‘I’m all right to drive. I’m pregnant, Owen, not crippled. I’ll see you later. What time?’

‘Seven?’

She looked at her watch and sighed. ‘OK. I’ll see you then.’

Pride made her dress up. Pride and a perverse urge to make him want her, even though she knew he didn’t, not really. He was still in love with his wife, and she’d been a fool to imagine that she could have a part in his life.

She wore the black dress he’d liked the first time they’d gone out, even though it was ridiculously over the top for the occasion, and she put on slinky tights and high, strappy sandals that were totally impractical to drive in but made her legs look as if they went on for ever.

As an afterthought she put down extra food for Bagpuss, who was getting fat and bossy and more demanding than ever now Milly was gone, and she put on her best coat, courtesy of the Oxfam shop, and drove over to Owen’s, arriving just a few seconds after seven.

He opened the door immediately and came over to the car to help her out. He was dressed in casual trousers and a cream cashmere sweater that set off his wonderful toffee-coloured eyes, and he scanned her with them as she stepped out of the car and for the briefest moment heat flared in them.

Good, she thought. She felt more confident knowing she still had some power over him, because she felt terrifyingly powerless in this situation. Not that it was about power, but the balance was firmly in his favour, and whatever happened she was going to be the loser once again.

Her hand slid down over her abdomen. No, not the loser, she thought. Never that, my little one. Not with you.

Owen took her elbow and helped her across the gravel, and because she was wearing those ridiculous shoes she let him. She got a stone in the toe, but she said nothing, just pasted on a smile and kept walking, and he took her into the house and settled her in the sitting room.

The fire was lit, and the dogs wagged their tails but
didn’t bother to move. It was too warm and comfortable, and she didn’t blame them.

‘Can I get you a drink?’

Cait looked up into his eyes, shadowed now because his back was to the light, and wished she could read his expression. ‘Please. Could I have water?’

‘I’ve got mineral water—fizzy, with ice and lemon?’

It sounded wonderful. ‘Please.’

He went up to the kitchen, and she surreptitiously slipped her shoe off and removed the stone, then put it back on just as he returned with a tall glass in each hand.

‘How was work?’ she asked, throwing him, and he gave a short laugh and dropped onto the other end of the sofa.

‘Horrendous. There was a gas explosion in a factory. That’s why they called me in. I spent the day gluing people together again, not always successfully.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Mmm. Whatever.’ He stared down into his glass, shadows chasing across his face, and she knew he was reliving the horrors of the day. Then he turned to her, his eyes searching her face, and his mouth twitched into a fleeting smile. ‘Sorry. I haven’t even asked about you. How are you? How was your day? Are you OK?’

‘Sick. Busy.’ Sad because you don’t love me.

‘I’m sorry—about the baby. I feel so guilty about this, because I should really have thought about it when we made love, but—well, Jill and I never needed to. After Josh she didn’t get pregnant again, and I suppose I’ve just stopped thinking about it.’

‘Most woman are on the Pill,’ she said in mitigation. ‘You’d think I’d remember, but I didn’t even think about it. I suppose it’s been such a long time—it isn’t something I do,’ she explained, wondering if it was possible
to become a virgin again after eighteen years, because that was what she’d felt like.