Guilty Pleasures (47 page)

Lance waited a while, then strolled up to George. “Any news from our hostess?”

“Jean-Luc said they’re still waiting for some results, then he’ll drop her off at home and come back here. Poor girl is really shook up.”

“Can you excuse me for a bit? I forgot there’s a phone call I have to make.” Lance slipped out to the stairwell and called Serge’s number. “Hey there, Serge, how’s it going? Missing me?”

“The wedding’s going fine, but our Millie’s not so good, Willie. She’s at the hospital. Fainted.”

“Shit! I’m going over there right now!”

“Listen, Willie, you gimme some news ASAP, okay?

Lance slipped back in and called George over. “My man, I think I overdid it. I’m going home. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

George clapped him on the shoulder. “No problem, Lance. I know this hasn’t been easy for you, with Mum and all.”

“Jesus, George! You knew about that?”

“Sure. I’ve known for years. For what it’s worth, I think you got the short end of the stick.”

“Listen, George, there’s something I want to tell you, but not here, not now. There is this woman . . . I do understand about Francine. I understand, man.” Lance found himself hugging George tightly. “I love you, brother. Please be happy.”

“I will be.” George grinned. “Go in peace.”

Lance went home to quickly strip off his makeup and costume, rushing through a bath, scrubbing viciously at the glue holding his bits of fake facial hair in place. He pulled on a shirt, some jeans and a jacket, and headed for the hospital.
 

A receptionist asked him to sit in the waiting room. “The doctor will be out soon.”

Once inside the pale green room, he found the Frog worriedly nursing a cup of coffee. He ignored him. After all, they didn’t know each other.
 

Presently, a young Indian man in a white coat came out. “Relatives of Millicent Deafly?”

“Here!” Lance and the Frog cried in chorus. They looked at each other. The Frog frowned.

“You are?”

“Millie’s
fiancé.
” Lance stressed the last word. “Will Pecklise. You?”

“Oh. A friend, Jean-Luc.”

“When you’ve sorted yourselves out . . . I do have other patients, gentlemen.”

“Sorry, doctor. Please, is she all right?”

“Mr. Pecklise, is it? She’s fine. Blood sugar was a little low, so I’ve got her on a drip. I’d advise she take it easy for the next couple of days, but beyond that, just make an appointment with her OB and they’ll take it from there.”

“OB?”

“Yes, an obstetrician and as soon as possible, Mr. Pecklise. I recommend urgent care due to her age, but she seems quite healthy. There is no reason I can see why everything shouldn’t run smoothly.”

“Run smoothly? She’s
pregnant?
”

“Well, I think it’s for Miss Deafly to confirm . . . confidentiality and all that.”

Lance felt the room swaying and humming around him.

“Mr. Pecklise, sit down. Put your head down between your knees. Breathe deep.”

Slowly the room stopped moving, but the strange humming noise persisted. “Millie? I can see her?”

“Yes, of course. In another half hour you can take her home.”

“Pregnant. She knows?”

“Mr. Pecklise, a word of advice: pull yourself together. Miss Deafly is in shock. She never considered the possibility of a pregnancy. She will need you to be calm and focused.”

“Pregnant . . .”
 

The Frog charmingly expressed his wishes for Millie’s recovery and went home.
Good riddance.
In a daze, Lance called Serge and told him Millie was all right. No details. Little bastard was right after all.
 

An hour later, Lance was carefully easing Millie into the van. He drove in silence. He was afraid to speak, afraid of her reaction, afraid she’d reject him and the child.

“Are you sorry, Will?” Her voice was soft. “You can walk away right now. I won’t hold you.”

Lance sighed. “Yesterday I asked you to marry me. Do you think I’d be walking away today?”

“Yesterday I wasn’t pregnant. I mean, I was, but we didn’t know. So . . .”

Lance glanced over at her grave face and grinned. “Yesterday you were running for the hills, my lady. Today, I’ve got you trapped. Don’t ever think you’re getting rid of me. I’m here to stay.”

The streetlights painted stripes of light and dark on her face. “Don’t stay just for the child, Will. I deserve better than that.”

“I’m not staying for the child; I’m staying for you. But mostly, I’m staying for me, do you understand?” He carried her upstairs even though she insisted she was fine. He carefully unhooked her from the ball gown, knelt at her feet to roll down her stockings, and pressed his mouth tenderly to the soft flesh under which new life was growing.
 

She cupped his head in her hands, and caressed his soft hair. “Oh, Will, I never imagined this for me.” Her voice cracked. “They told me, after I lost the baby . . . there was an infection. They said there wouldn’t be another. I never even considered such a possibility, and now I want it, more than anything.”

Lance lay her down on her bed, moved beside her and pulled her into his arms, cupping his hands over her belly. “Sleep, love. Tomorrow I’ll be here, and the next day, and the next. Sleep.” She sighed and snuggled into him, warm and trusting. He cradled her for hours, savouring her closeness. Finally, he slept too.
 

Hours later, Millie woke with the evening’s events spinning in her mind. Her diary was still on the nightstand. She reached for it and turned on her bedside lamp.

From the Diary of Millicent Deafly:

Tonight, everything started out really well. The wedding dinner was going fine, and the French ambassador was very charming. He kept flirting with me outrageously! Such fun! But then I started feeling a little queasy. Jean-Luc was wearing this positively delicious French perfume, which suddenly become absolutely overwhelming.
 

I ran to the cloakroom and next thing I knew, I had hordes of people around me, and they packed me off to the hospital.

And now . . .
you need to sit down for this.
 

It seems I am pregnant. Can you believe it!

I’m caught between ecstasy and fear. What if something goes wrong?

According to the scan, I’m only a few weeks along, and anything can happen. I’m almost thirty-six, so I’ll have to have tests. Will is so happy it scares me. When I woke up in the hospital last night, he was kissing my stomach, looking at me as if I was his personal miracle. Maybe he is mine.

I’m calling S. tomorrow to see if she can get me an appointment with her OB for Monday. Will wants to go with me. He keeps insisting on this marriage story, and I keep ducking it. To be honest, marriage terrifies me.

But maybe, if I’m clever, I can hold him off for years . . .
 

Chapter 37

Never forgo foreplay, no matter how long you’ve been lovers, or how familiar the act. Always pay homage to her desire, always arouse her. Send her a letter inviting her to make love, telling her what you would like to do with her. Call her in the middle of the day and make an appointment for torrid sex.

—Sensual Secrets of a Sexual Surrogate

Early on Saturday morning, Lance reluctantly left Millie sleeping and headed for Guilty Pleasures to pick up Serge.
 

The little man climbed into the van and nodded grimly at him. “Well, Willie? Was I right?”

“Yes, you were.”

“And what do you intend to do about it?”

“I had already asked her to marry me, before we knew. She more or less refused, but I have an edge now.”

Serge sighed. “Good, that’s good! I hope you can convince her. I’d like to see her happy.”

“I can promise you I’ll be doing my best, Serge.”

The morning’s shopping consisted of a trip to the flower market and the deli. The booze would be delivered by the suppliers.

“Deidre Ferguson-Barr is having her Merry Widows’ Annual Celebration tonight. She reckons thirty years married to a newspaper tycoon entitles her to celebrate her widowhood in style! I knew the guy, and let me tell you, if I were her I’d celebrate every week!”

“Sounds like another booze-up.”

“Oh yes, Willie my boy, and we will be tending bar. I insist.”