Seduction on the Cards (22 page)

Where is she? She has to be somewhere. She said they weren’t going to the stadium this year, so she’s got to be out on the streets, or in one of the bars.

He gazed around, amazed by the contrast of the eccentric costumes of Sevens supporters with the conservative suits of the business community. He saw amused smirks and pointing fingers from some of the more soberly-dressed citizens.

Bet they wish they dared to join in the fun.  

Hell! I’m thinking like Kerri now...

After an hour of fruitless wandering, and weaving through happy crowds in at least a dozen noisy bars, he spotted a tall frankfurter with Sarah’s face. Yes! He threaded his way across to her.

“
Bonjour
Sarah.”

“
Bonjour
to you too, Alex,” the frankfurter squealed, apparently tipsy enough to be unsurprised by his sudden appearance. “Kerri’s not here.”

“So where will I find her?”

Sarah took a gulp of red wine. “Want some?” she asked, thrusting the glass out.

He shook his head, smiling broadly at her costume. It was a tube of fabric with armholes and a face-hole. The top had been tied in a knot, for all the world like the end of a sausage casing. ‘Frankfurter’ was inked across her chest.

“S’good, isn’t it?” she grinned. “And we’ve got more. Clive,” she bellowed.

A bierstick in crinkled taffeta appeared, followed by a scarlet saveloy and a bespectacled creation labelled ‘Pork’.

“This is Alex—the object of Kerri’s woe and affection,” Sarah informed the assembled sausages. There was genial hand-shaking and back-slapping, and as the pork sausage turned away, Alex noticed a huge penis inked onto the back of his costume. 

“Where will I find her?” he demanded again of Sarah.

“At the flat. Not too well. All your fault,” she added, digging into a small bag and producing her door key. “Safer with you than me, Alex,” she said, grabbing his hand and closing his fingers around the cold metal. 

All his fault?
“Is she ill?” 

“Only sometimes. You’ll cheer her up.”

He stood outside the blue door for thirty seconds or so, knowing he’d never felt more disquieted in his life. How did such a small person have this huge effect on him?  He was the owner and CEO of a mega-successful company. Worth many millions. Junior staff practically bowed when he approached.  

None of that seemed to matter as he hesitated on the top step, breathing in the scent of late jasmine and fresh coffee. How sick was she? Should he use the key and not drag her out of bed?   

He wiped suddenly damp palms down the sides of his jeans, pushed his hair back from his brow, fiddled with the strap on his watch, and finally knocked.

A dark shadow appeared through the dimpled glass a few seconds later, and relief washed through him. So she wasn’t bedridden.  

The door swung open. Kerri stood there silent and huge-eyed.

“
Bonjour cherie
,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss her on each rosy cheek. “Sarah said you needed cheering up.”

He hesitated over the next kiss. Cheek or lips?

Kerri pulled away before he could decide, and tried to close the door. She was never going to succeed. Alex jammed a foot into the gap, and then a strong thigh. He muscled his way in and glared at her.

“You’ve got some nerve, Alex!” she snapped as she backed towards the sofa and sat, grabbing a cushion to clutch against her body. “Just turning up instead of letting me know you were in Wellington.”

Suddenly, through the fog of anticipation, he could see perhaps he’d been unwise. Women liked to be able to pretty themselves up for a man, although Kerri looked glorious. Her skin glowed and her hair shone, even though her brown eyes spat tacks at him.

“I was in Noumea,” he offered, “and it was too good an opportunity to miss. So close. I wanted to see you again, and maybe it’s just as well. Sarah told me you’re ill?”

“I’m perfectly fine. Do I look ill to you?”

Alex shook his head. No—she looked her usual bouncy contrary self.

“You look amazing,” he said. “Beautiful.” He still stood awkwardly a few feet away from the sofa. Kerri clutched the cushion like a shield.

“What else did Sarah tell you?” 

“Nothing.”

“Was she drunk?”

“A little, maybe.”

He watched as Kerri closed her eyes, drew a deep breath and blew it out again. The front of her streaky hair lifted, and then floated back down into place.

“Well, I suppose you have to know some time,” she said. “I’m—um— three months pregnant.”

He stayed frozen in silence for a few seconds as chills raced up and down his spine and someone crushed his brain in a vice.

“A baby?” he finally hazarded.

“Yes, of course a baby,” she said crossly. “Sorry—bad way to tell you, although I doubt there’s a good way.”

“A baby,” he repeated, with more certainty this time, as the faintest glimmer of awe and excitement seeped through all the fog.

“Don’t you dare ask if it’s yours,” she snapped.

“Three months? It’s very likely mine. Why would it not be?”

“No reason at all. There was no-one else.”

He squared his jaw and glanced across at the still-open door. “
Mon Dieu
—I need a few minutes to think,” he said, striding outside and galloping down the steps.

A baby? The last thing he’d expected. The last thing he’d wanted. He strode along to the bus shelter, found it mercifully empty, and slumped down on the hard slatted seat. Kerri a mother? The thought was laughable. Laughably tragic. His child being raised by an irresponsible gambler—just as he had been. 

But through the confusion and dread and astonishment other feelings began to insinuate themselves. 

A jolt of macho pride.
I’ve done it. I’ve proved I’m a man.
 

A thread of possession.
She’s mine now. She can’t escape.
 

A whiff of anticipation.
Will the child look like me?
 

He buried his head in his hands and tried to find a quiet dark place where he could think sensibly. 

After a few seconds, his heart rose into his throat and threatened to choke him with its frantic beating. He knew no-one in the world who he shared blood with. This child would have his blood, carry his genes.  

It was an immense shock.  

His organized life had just been derailed.  

And yet he knew with fierce certainty the baby was more precious than gold.

After a few minutes, he rose and returned to Kerri, closing the blue door quietly behind him and leaning against it.

“So you came back?” she grumped.

“Of course I came back.”

“I thought you’d gone for good.”

She has so little faith in me? So little expectation of my protection?

A corner of his mouth kicked up in a wry smile. “Just getting used to the idea of being a father.”
 

“Yes,” she agreed, apparently mollified by his acceptance. “It’s a kicker, isn’t it? It must have been the day we were on Sylvie.”

“But I used condoms every time. I was very careful.”

“And I very carefully ovulated at the wrong time. Just a couple of days before. That’s why I was convinced my period would turn up in Noumea and spoil things.”

“So we truly were playing Russian Roulette?”

“With huge odds,” Kerri agreed, suddenly sending him a radiant smile. “Remember I teased you about your huge odds in the office?”

Alex nodded, trying to hide his answering grin at her irrepressible spirits.

“You must have produced one Houdini of a super-sperm who somehow got free,” she added. “I wasn’t on the pill, Alex. Sex really wasn’t any great thrill until I met you.”

“Thank-you for that,” he said, finally letting his amusement show. “Am I having a son or a daughter?” 

“You? You’re not having anything. You’ve done your bit.”

“A son or a daughter?” he asked again. “I may have ‘done my bit’, but I’ll be doing a good bit more, too. You can’t have a baby here,” he added, glancing around the flat. “You’ll never get a pram up those steps, and there’s no extra room for a nursery.”  

Spurts of righteous anger invaded his brain.

 She thought she’d keep my child a secret from me? Think again, Ms Kerrigan Lush.

“When the hell were you going to tell me, Kerri?” he demanded. “If I hadn’t turned up here, I’d never have known, would I?”

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, as though searching for an excuse. “I’d have told you.”

“When?”

“Once...things were safer.”

His suspicion transformed itself into panic. “Is it not going well? Are there problems?”  

Kerri shrank back from his furious demands.

“There’s no problem at all,” she insisted, “if you don’t mind throwing up in the mornings and peeing for the rest of the day, and feeling tired the whole time.”  

She clutched the cushion even tighter, huge brown eyes challenging his.  

Alex watched as the cushion pushed her luscious breasts higher up into the scooped neckline of her pale blue T-shirt. He felt a jolt of desire so strong that he pressed both palms hard against his belly as though it was possible to stop his rising blood and furious unexpected elation. He turned away and began to pace.

“No,” she continued, “I just meant...things are more definite after the first trimester. You know the baby’s pretty good by then.” 

“And you’re okay—apart from the vomiting and all the rest? You can get rid of the cushion now I know what you’re trying to hide with it.” 

“There’s nothing to see yet.” Kerri relaxed her death grip but didn’t set the cushion aside.

Alex took a chance and sat. “You’re blooming. You look somehow more alive.”

“And I feel half-dead. This is not all it’s cracked up to be, Alex. I mean, the thought of the baby’s exciting. A real little person by mid-winter.”

“Mid
summer
in France.”

“Whatever. It’s about this big by now.” She held two fingers apart to indicate its tiny size. “I can buy a house after my twenty-fifth birthday, but it would be nice to be settled a bit earlier than that. You’re right about the pram and the steps and no extra room,” she added.

“I shall buy the house, Kerri. Somewhere quiet, just outside Paris.”

He heard her sharp intake of breath and saw her eyes widen even further.

“No way, Alex! This is a Kiwi baby!”

“Its father is French. It will grow up in France.” There was no doubt in his mind about that. Give up the only flesh and blood he had? Never. Besides, he wouldn’t trust Kerri to look after a puppy, let alone his child. Another small son or daughter in the care of a solo mother with a gambling habit? There wasn’t a chance in the universe he’d let that happen.

“Nonsense, Alex,” she snapped. “I’ll be fine. I’ll buy a house with Grandpa’s money. You didn’t know about that, did you? I don’t need your help.”

“My baby will grow up in France,” he repeated.

“
My
baby,” she insisted. “If you want a French baby, go and make some French girl pregnant.”

Indignation raced through his veins, and his voice rose in fury.

“I don’t want a French baby—I want
this
baby...
our
baby.”

“
My
baby,” she corrected, chin high and defiant. She managed to hold that expression for several seconds until she slumped down again and said, “I’ll make you some coffee and give you some time to think, and then we’ll see if we can have a proper talk.”

She escaped to the kitchen. Being so close to him and not touching him was agonizing.  

How pitiful wanting to fling myself into his arms. But he doesn’t give a damn. A couple of  cheek-kisses were all he gave me. Anyone would have got those...
 

While the electric kettle came up to the boil she spooned ground coffee beans into the pot and found a new teabag for her mug. 

God, what a cold, arrogant son-of-a-bitch! He thinks he can charge in and steal my baby, just like he thought he could buy me off in Noumea. Think again Alex...

She glanced out into the living room. He’d sprawled out, long legs crossed at the ankles, arms stretched along the sofa-back, eyes closed, with two spots of color high on his cheekbones. Furious with her, no doubt. Well, it wasn’t all her fault! 

But as she covertly watched, he stood and sauntered to the dining table where she’d been painting. She held her breath. What would he say?

He took his time, being careful of the pictures, lifting them apart and setting them aside in order. She relaxed once she saw he treated them with respect.

The kettle boiled. She poured water onto her teabag, took a deep breath and held it, and filled the coffee pot. She set the plunger in place, and carried it and an empty mug to the low table beside the sofa before returning to the sanctuary of the kitchen and breathing out again.

“These are wonderful,
cherie
. So it’s to be a son?”

She tried to ignore the unnerving flicker of hope that sprang up to whirl around her heart at the sound of that casually thrown
cherie.

“What makes you think that?” 

“You’ve drawn a little boy on every page.”

“It could just as easily be a little girl.”

“But it’s not.”  

Kerri could hear the satisfaction in his voice. She poked at the teabag with a spoon, waiting for the raspberry-leaf fragrance to banish the disgusting coffee fumes.  

“They’re for a children’s book. I wanted to get enough together to try them with a publisher in Auckland. I sent them a proposal letter and a couple of illustrations to show them what I could do. Now I’m just waiting.”

He threw a smile over his shoulder. “I knew you could sketch, but the colors make these so lively. Is it a story-book, or something educational?”

“A story-book.” She fished out the tea-bag. “I wrote it late last year.”

I wrote it after you left me. I had to find something else to fill the huge hole you’d torn in my life.

She took a sip of tea, drawing up the rich smell of raspberries before she left the kitchen. The coffee-nausea faded to an acceptable level.