The Pregnancy Discovery. Barbara Hannay
the fragrant liquid, she felt her body begin at once to relax. She visualised submerging beneath the heated, scented surface of the water.
Br-ring! Br-ring!
Heavens, no! Not the telephone! Hovering with one leg in the air, she glared at the slim, cordless machine lying on the counter next to her hand basin. She toyed with the notion of letting it ring. But, officially, she was still on duty. With an impatient sigh, she crossed the room and picked it up but, as she answered, she returned with it to the bath. There was no way she would waste that beautifully scented hot water.
‘Meg! It’s Fred Raynor,’ the voice snapped.
‘Yes, Fred?’ She lowered herself into the bath and felt the warm liquid swirl softly, seductively around her body. Fragrance drifted upwards, teasing her nostrils, enticing her to relax.
‘You’re not busy tonight are you?’
‘Oh? Not particularly.’ Meg grimaced and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. What on earth could her boss want now? Since she’d refused Sam’s invitation to dinner, she’d had an ongoing battle with her weaker self all afternoon.
That was the main reason she needed to relax now. To pamper herself after a nerve-racking, miserable day.
‘I want you to take Sam Kirby out to dinner, over at Alma Bay.’
Meg gulped. ‘I have to?’
‘Damn right you do.’ Fred snapped.
Frowning, she sat up higher out of the water. She held the phone closer to her ear. ‘Fred, you know this is way beyond the limits of my job as recreation officer.’
‘But we need to keep this guy on our side. There’s a good chance we can get national coverage out of this. He’s big time. We could even get an international story if we play our cards right.’
‘I’m sorry, Fred. I posed for your photos, but this is definitely going too far. It’s verging on sexual harassment.’
She was relieved when, after a noisy grumble, her boss rang off.
Surprised that he’d given in so easily, Meg was about to drop the phone onto the bath mat when it rang again.
‘Give up, Fred!’ she cried. ‘I am not going to dinner with Sam Kirby. Got it?’
‘I’m reading you loud and clear.’
‘Sam?’ she demanded. ‘Is that you?’
‘It is,’ came a response from the other end of the line.
‘For Pete’s sake, what do you want?’ She knew it was ridiculous, but Meg scrambled over the edge of the bath to grab at a fluffy white towel. Even talking on the phone to Sam felt dangerous when she was naked. ‘Did you get Fred to order me out to dinner with you?’
‘I won’t ruin my reputation by answering that.’ There was a pause and then he asked in a lighter tone, ‘Did I hear splashing?’
‘Er, I doubt it,’ she muttered, wrapping herself in the huge towel and perching on the side of the bath.
‘I’m sorry if I interrupted something.’
Meg wanted to be angry. She wanted to depress the disconnect button and to slip back beneath the warm and welcoming water. But the weak side of her clung to the phone, liking too much the sound of his deep voice with that musical North American twang. Besides, she was desperately curious. ‘What did you want?’
‘Actually, it was to try one more time to ask you to dinner, but without Fred’s assistance. Hey, if you were taking a bath, go right ahead. Don’t waste the water.’
‘I might just do that.’
‘By the way,’ he continued, ‘I have a very interesting scientific question.’
‘Oh?’
‘Are you near a mirror?’
‘What do you think? I’m in a bathroom.’
‘Could you look in the mirror for me and tell me what colour your eyes are when you’re not wearing clothes?’
Instinctively, Meg’s glance flashed to the mirror. But then her cheeks warmed. ‘I’ll tell you no such thing.’ She flung her towel aside and slipped back into the bath.
There was an exaggerated sigh on the other end of the line. ‘Another mystery of science remains unanswered.’
‘I guess your eyes stay blue all the time,’ she heard herself say and she wondered how that sultry, flirtatious little hum had crept into her voice.
‘Yeah. I’m afraid my eyes are boring, boring.’
Hardly boring, Sam, she thought, but didn’t dare say so. She lifted her feet out of the suds and rested her toes on the end of the bath, wondering if she should apply some nail polish to make them more glamorous and, the very next second, wondered why they needed to look glamorous.
‘OK,’ he added, ‘try this. While you’re soaking in the tub, practise saying, “Yes, Sam, I’d love to join you for dinner.”’
To her amazement, Meg heard herself purring a reply in her very best attempt at an American accent. ‘Yes, Sam, I’d lurve to join you for dinner.’
‘Wonderful. I’ll meet you at your place at seven.’
She nearly dropped the phone. ‘Hold on! I was only copying your accent! That wasn’t a real acceptance.’
‘Oh, but Meg,’ he replied, his voice warm and hinting somehow that he was smiling his hottest smile, ‘it was a very, very real invitation.’
When he didn’t hang up but waited in silence for her response, Meg closed her eyes and willed herself to be strong. She was furious with this man. She should have hung up as soon as she’d heard his voice.
Letting out her breath on a gusty sigh, she told him, ‘Nice try, Sam Kirby but, as I said at the start, give up.’
‘Now, that,’ he replied in a husky baritone, ‘is a distinct challenge. I can warn you now, Meg Bennet, if I set myself a goal, I never give up.’
‘And what goal are you aiming for?’
There was a long pause and Meg thought she heard a faint chuckle. ‘I’d settle for your acceptance of my apology. For yesterday.’
Meg closed her eyes. ‘OK. Apology accepted,’ she whispered.
‘Good,’ he said simply. ‘And dinner?’
After a beat, she answered, ‘Dinner declined.’
She disconnected the phone and let it drop onto the bath mat and, sinking beneath the sudsy water, she wished she felt more pleased about turning Sam down.
CHAPTER THREE
AS SHE ate her simple supper of cheese on toast, Meg tried not to think about what it would have been like to be dining with Sam. She kept reminding herself that he and the bottle would soon be going home to the United States and she was wise to stay well out of the way. How silly she’d been to imagine that somehow her own destiny was linked to that bottle.
The only connection she had was stumbling across it on the beach and giving way to natural curiosity.
Finishing her meal, she carried her plate through to the kitchen and decided she’d seen too much significance in finding the bottle. Perhaps she’d been grasping at straws. There was a good chance she’d been looking for anything that would help her out of the depressing loneliness she felt these days. Ever since her father had died just three months ago.
It had been bad enough giving up her postgraduate studies in marine biology to nurse her dad through the last horrible months of his illness. But nothing had prepared her for the bereft emptiness of her life after he’d died. He was all the family she’d had. Her mother had died when