Mistress: At What Price? (14 page)

Abruptly she felt the floor heave beneath her. She sank onto the visitor's chair, blinking away an encroaching grey mist. The twinge she'd barely noticed this morning suddenly took on a more sinister meaning.
No!
Tears gathered in her eyes as the mist grew darker. She'd had little sleep and a rough morning; that was all. That. Was. All.

She reached out and pressed the nurses' call button before she crumpled over.

D
ANE
marched through the hospital foyer, his sneakers squeaking on the linoleum, the smell of antiseptic filling his nostrils. He could barely contain his frustration. Mariel hadn't called back—a situation that didn't bode well for the resolution he'd hoped for.

He'd put his heart on the line in that phone call. But obviously that wasn't enough. She expected him to grovel. And right now he was desperate enough to do just that. Once in a lifetime monumental measures were needed to achieve a monumental outcome. He hoped. By God, he hoped.

So while he waited for the elevator he arranged for a delivery of flowers. He made a reservation at one of Mariel's favourite restaurants while the lift carried him to the fourth floor.

At the nurses' station the petite nurse blushed when he smiled at her. He enquired about his father's room, then promptly forgot her. He could be out of here in ten minutes once he saw his father and assured himself the old goat was okay. The problem of care could be sorted out tomorrow—

‘You're Mr Daniel Huntington's son?' a voice asked
behind him, before he'd taken more than a few steps. Barely curbing his impatience, Dane turned his head, continued walking. ‘Yes.'

‘Dane?' It was the same blushing nurse, with her efficient-looking clipboard in her hand, but this time she appeared more flustered than dazzled. ‘And Ms Mariel Davenport is your partner?'

His mouth tightened infinitesimally. Had he met her somewhere? A function? He couldn't recall. ‘Yes to both questions,' he clipped.

She nodded, Ms Cool and Professional now. ‘Will you come with me, please?'

‘Is Mariel here?' He stopped, swivelled to look at her.

She didn't meet his eyes; they were focused on the board in her hands. ‘If you'll just come with me…'

‘Where are we going?' he asked as he entered the elevator with her.

‘To the first floor.' She watched the numbers light up as they descended. He sensed her relief when the doors whooshed open. ‘Just speak to one the nurses here; they're expecting you,' she said, pointing to the nurses' station. ‘They'll answer all your questions.' He stepped out and she shuffled back. He had a fleeting glimpse of her watching him as the doors closed again.

‘Hey…' He turned his attention in the direction she'd indicated, saw a couple of staff glance his way, then lean confidentially towards one another, speaking quietly.

He ran a hand around the back of his neck to soothe the sudden tension there then strode towards them. He wanted answers, but he had a gut feeling he wasn't going to like what he heard.

A middle-aged nurse with sheep's wool hair and
purple-rimmed glasses met him halfway. ‘Mr Huntington.'

He nodded curtly. ‘What's going on?'

‘Ms Davenport has been admitted.' She started walking. ‘She's through here.'

‘Admitted? Why?' he demanded. ‘What happened? How is she?' Good God, didn't anyone around here know how to give a straight answer?

‘She'll be fine,' the nurse reassured him when he ran out of words, stopping at the door to a private room. ‘She's awake. I'll let her tell you.'

He came to a halt beside the bed. Mariel was one strong woman, and seeing her in a pink and white striped hospital gown, hooked up to a drip, face pale, eyes dull, looking vulnerable and lost, nearly brought him to his knees.

He dropped into the visitor's chair. It scraped across the linoleum as he pulled it close. ‘What happened—and why the
hell
didn't someone call me?'

‘Because I told them not to.' She looked away, to the dull sky thickening with ominous clouds. ‘I didn't want to see you. I wanted to be alone. I still want to be alone.'

His chest tightened further. ‘No. I'm not letting you be alone, because you don't really mean that.'

‘I do.' Her fingers tightened on the sheet. ‘You'll be relieved to know I lost the baby.'

No. Not that. A black hole opened inside him. His heart dropped to his shoes. He'd been offered something precious and he'd been too blind to see it until it was too late. Worse, much worse, he'd hurt the woman he loved with his unspeakably selfish behaviour. ‘Mariel. Sweetheart…I'm sorry.' Such inadequate words to express the mountain of emotion, his pain.

Her pain.

He took her hand, chafed it between his. It felt small and fragile, the way she looked right now. She never looked fragile. But at this moment she did. Her face was too pale, her eyes too haunted. ‘If I could change anything in the world I'd turn back time—just one day, if that's all I could have, and start over.'

She lifted a shoulder. ‘A pretty fairytale. So why say it? Because you think you might magically change your mind about being a father? Hardly. Because you think it'll make me feel better? It doesn't.'

He leaned closer, breathed in the scent of her skin. ‘When I rang you it was because I wanted to see you. I wanted to tell you something important.'

‘You didn't ring me.'

‘I left a voice message. You didn't get it?'

She shook her head and her lips thinned. ‘It may have escaped your attention, but I was far too busy dealing with an emergency to check for messages. Your father could have died out there alone today.'

‘He didn't—thanks to you.'

‘So…what was it that was so
important
?' She weighted the last word and turned away as she spoke. Her cold dismissal was like a kick in the gut.

‘Damn it, Mariel.' He pulled her bag from the bedside locker, switched on her phone. ‘Here.' He shoved it in her hand. ‘Listen.'

He watched her face. Nothing but cool remoteness in her eyes. ‘So…the “bloody idiot” bit I already know. Apart from that, your message doesn't tell me a thing.'

‘You didn't pay attention to the way it was delivered. What I really wanted to say couldn't be said over the phone. And you understand that as well as I.'

She gave an infinitesimal nod. ‘Okay. Tell me now.'

‘I wanted to tell you that I wanted to make a life with you and the bab—' He bit his tongue so hard he tasted blood.

He saw her chest—a quick movement, as if she'd gasped—but her face remained an impassive mask, her eyes fixed somewhere outside the window.

Appalled. He was appalled. ‘I'm sorry. But I meant what I said. With all my heart, I meant what I said.'

A long silence filled the room. ‘It's easy to say that
now
, isn't it?'

‘You think it's
easy
?' He jerked off the chair, pushed his hands through his hair and told the ceiling, ‘Nothing with you is easy.'

Frustration consumed him. He could understand where she was coming from. With no pregnancy, his words were empty words. No longer applicable. Some might say he was off the hook.

He didn't want to be cast off. He wanted everything back the way it had been this morning. With the woman he intended spending the rest of his life with, raising their child.

And somehow he was going to make at least the first part happen.

He spun back to the bed, sat down on the covers and reached for her hand. A sense of urgency hammered at him. He had a plan, a last chance, but he needed a little time to put it into action. ‘You saved Dad, sweetheart. Life is priceless.'

‘Yes. It is.' Her eyes filled. ‘Do something for me.'

‘Anything.'

‘Go and see your father.'

He nodded, pressed a kiss to her cheek. ‘I'll be back.'

 

‘Dad.' Dane sat down beside the old man. ‘You've had an eventful day, I hear.'

His father opened his eyes. ‘Dane.' His bony shoulders visibly relaxed and his papery lips curved just a little.

‘And we have Mariel to thank for that.' He clenched his jaw around the words.

‘She's a jewel of a girl, that one.'

So…his dad didn't know Mariel had collapsed in his room? ‘She is. So what the hell were you doing, watering the garden in forty-plus degrees?'

‘Protecting
your
assets. One spark and it could've all been gone.'

‘I never asked you to protect it,' Dane growled, then softened when he saw his father's expression. ‘It's just a house, Dad. I've been thinking of selling it. Too many bad memories.'

His father's eyes searched his, then he nodded, seemingly defeated.

Dane picked up the water pitcher, refilled his father's glass. ‘You shouldn't be there on your own. You could move down to the city. North Adelaide. Lots of history. Convenient. Plenty of parks and shopping close by.'

‘Well, now.' He scratched his jaw. ‘Maybe.'

Dane wandered to the window and looked out over the night-drenched Botanic Gardens, crouched in shadow. Heard himself saying, ‘Plenty of spare rooms at my place.'

A long silence. ‘You'd do that? For me? After everything that's happened?'

The wonder, the hope in his father's voice, made him
want to reach out. He dug his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. ‘Maybe.'

His father had made the first move on the night of the ball. They'd made progress over that game of chess. ‘It would come with conditions.' He turned to his father, but didn't step closer. ‘The brewer who had the house built back in the 1870s raised nine children there. It's a good old-fashioned family home. With good old-fashioned family values.' He nodded to his father and walked to the door. ‘Think long and hard about that.'

 

‘Good morning, Mariel.' A young nurse with a mass of red hair and a row of studs in her left ear set a tray on the bedside table. ‘My name's Tara and I'll be looking after you this morning.'

‘Good morning.' Pushing her hair out of her eyes, Mariel glanced at the clock. ‘Six o'clock already? That sedative last night put me right out.'

‘The doctor didn't prescribe you a sedative last night.' Tara smiled as she did her morning obs and jotted notes on the clipboard at the foot of the bed. ‘Spare a thought for your poor guy. He didn't look like he'd slept a wink.'

Mariel knew that look. Long mussed hair, thirteen-o'clock shadow. Soft mouth, hang-dog eyes that made you want to push him back onto the mattress, cuddle into that warmth and make love till—

‘Dane was here?'

Tara lowered the sheet. ‘All night on that chair, according to the night nurse. You just missed him. He left about twenty minutes ago.'

He must have gone home at some point, Mariel realised, because she spotted her cosmetic bag and a change of clothes on the shelf in front of the mirror.

Tara pulled the sheet back up, patted Mariel's leg. ‘Bleeding's stopped.'

‘Does that mean I can go home today?' she asked, with a listless glance towards the window. Where was home? She no longer knew.

‘Dr Martinez will let you know when she makes her rounds this morning. She's requested a blood test first,' she said, preparing a syringe.

Mariel leaned back against the pillow. ‘Oh, goody.'

‘And then she wants you to have an ultrasound.'

 

A short time later Mariel watched the unreadable image on the monitor.

‘Baby?'
Mariel stared at the monitor, then looked at the technician. ‘I'm still pregnant?'

‘You are. It's not recognisable yet,' the technician said. ‘But see this thickening here?'

‘I'm still pregnant?' Her heart thundered with renewed hope. With joy. ‘But I had bleeding…' She couldn't read the blur, but she couldn't take her eyes off the monitor.

Dane.
What would he say now? What would
she
say?

Dr Martinez appeared at her side. ‘Good morning.' She turned to look at Mariel. ‘How are you feeling this morning?'

‘Last night I was told I'd had a miscarriage.' To her shame, tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks, and her voice trembled when she said, ‘Will someone please explain what's going on?'

‘You were carrying twins,' Dr Martinez explained. ‘One foetus aborted, but the other one's fine.'

Mariel rubbed her chest to ease the nerves rioting
through her system. ‘I've never heard of anyone having a miscarriage and still being pregnant. Is that normal? Is it dangerous?'

‘It happens. It's known as Vanishing Twin Syndrome,' Dr Martinez explained. ‘With IVF now, and very early monitoring, we're finding it happens more often than we once thought.'

Still unconvinced, Mariel looked back at the monitor. ‘Is this one at risk now?'

The doctor touched Mariel's hand. ‘There's no reason why it shouldn't be a normal pregnancy. And the other good news is you can go home this morning.'

 

At nine-thirty the nurse entered Mariel's room to bring in the discharge forms for her to sign. She was ready to go home, but where would ‘home' be for her now? ‘Thanks, Tara.'

Tara smiled and placed the papers on the table. Mariel stood at the window, looking out at the misty rain. Some time last night the cool change had blown in. She ran a damp palm down the side of the dress Dane had brought in with its matching jacket and paced back to the bed. She was jittery. Tara had told her Dane had left strict instructions at the nurses' station that she was not to leave until he came to fetch her.

She had to tell him about the baby.

She had to go through that agonising moment again.

‘Are you and your fiancé planning on having kids?' she asked Tara as the nurse walked to the door.

‘Not for a couple of years. We— Oh…wow. Oh…my…' Tara trailed off, looking down the corridor. ‘Oh, my goodness.' She fanned her hand in front of her face. ‘What a man.'

‘What's happening?'

Dane was happening, Mariel realised when he appeared in the doorway. Filled the doorway.

And he really
was
happening.