Sara Craven Tribute Collection. Sara Craven
it’s my problem, so I’ll deal with it.’
Hester nodded meditatively. ‘What are you planning to do? Request a termination?’
Flora had a sudden vision of Ottavia Baressi, struggling to hide a nightmare of pain behind defiant words. Suddenly—defensively—she wrapped her arms round her body, as if protecting the tiny life within her.
How could I possibly do that to Marco’s child? she thought with a pang. When it’s all I’ll ever have of him.
Aloud, she said slowly, ‘I know it would be the sensible solution—only I’ve never been very wise. I can’t do it, Hes.’
Her friend frowned. ‘Think about it, love,’ she urged quietly. ‘Yes, you have a career, and a home, so you’re better off than a lot of women in your situation. But it still isn’t easy trying to bring up a child single-handed. Even with the active support of the father there are all kinds of difficulties.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you quite sure you won’t contact your Italian about all this?’
‘No.’ Flora shook her head wearily. ‘That’s quite impossible, and he’s not my Italian.’
‘Whatever, you don’t think he has the right to know that you’ve created a life together?’
‘No, he forfeited that—totally.’ Flora sent her an appealing look. ‘Please don’t ask me to explain.’
Hester lifted her hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘I’ll shut up here and now,’ she said. ‘But I can think of several people who won’t. Starting,’ she added gently, ‘with your mother.’
‘Oh, God,’ Flora said wretchedly. ‘She’s not even speaking to me at the moment as it is.’
‘Well, that could be a good thing,’ Hester said, straight-faced. ‘Keep the fight going and the baby could be in university before she finds out.’
And, in spite of all the fear and misery threatening to crush her, Flora, to her own complete astonishment, found herself giggling weakly.
FLORA came out of the health centre and stood for a moment, hunting in her bag for her sun glasses. The noise of the city traffic hurtling past was deafening, but she was oblivious to it, locked in her own private world.
Because there was no mistake. It was all true.
Her doctor had just confirmed that her pregnancy test had been totally accurate, and, once Flora’s resolve to have the baby had been established, had dealt briskly with the practicalities. Her medical insurance would secure her a bed in a good, private maternity clinic, and she would be contacted in the next few days by the practice midwife who would monitor her well-being in the coming months.
He had also assured her that the sickness that assailed her each morning would probably pass within a month or two.
Tactfully, the doctor had not probed, nor attempted to raise any of the other issues surrounding the coming baby, and Flora was grateful for that.
Her mind was still reeling from the knowledge that Marco’s child was growing inside her. She had to come to terms with that before she could cope with anything else, however pressing.
And there were matters to be dealt with. The estate agent had contacted her two days earlier to say that he’d received an offer of the full asking price for her flat, and that the couple concerned were also interested in buying some of the furniture, if she wanted to sell.
‘And do you?’ Hester asked.
‘I think so,’ Flora said slowly. ‘It might be good to clear my decks—start again from scratch.’ She grimaced. ‘After all, I’m not looking for a showcase for my career any more, but a family home.’
‘Wow,’ said Hester. She paused. ‘You’re really taking this in your stride, honey.’
Perhaps that was because having a baby was small potatoes compared with some of the shocks she’d experienced recently, Flora thought wryly.
She forced a smile. ‘It’s all front. Underneath, I’m really a quivering mass of insecurity.’
But the sale of the flat was a positive step, and, hopefully, the bed might be included in the furniture that the Morgans wanted to buy. Because there was no way that Flora could have ever spent another night in it, even though it was probably where the baby had been conceived.
After that first incredible, rapturous night, Marco, she remembered, had always been careful to use protection.
As an afterthought, she told herself bitterly, it had been an abject failure.
She glanced at her watch, then walked to the kerb and hailed a passing cab. The agent had suggested it might be simpler if she and Mrs Morgan handled the sale of the furniture between them, and she’d reluctantly agreed, so they were meeting there that morning.
She’d listed the flat’s contents, and pencilled in realistic asking prices alongside the main items, making a separate note of the few personal things she intended to keep and which Hester was going to help her remove.
Get it over and done with, she thought as she gave the flat’s address to the driver. And then I can move on—make some real plans. Adjust and compromise. Maybe find somewhere with enough space to enable me to work from home.
She had mixed feelings as she unlocked the door and let herself in. This had been so much her own individual space, yet now it only seemed to speak to her of Marco.
Chris had spent far more time there, but he’d never stamped his personality on the place in the way Marco had done in a few brief hours.
He seemed to be everywhere, sliding his arms round her waist in the kitchen and nuzzling her neck, sharing the narrow bath, sprawling on the sofa with his head in her lap. And, of course, making love to her with heart-stopping skill in the bedroom.
Making himself quite effortlessly part of her environment, she thought with a gasp of sheer pain. And completely essential to her life and happiness.
God, but he’d been clever. Or had she been just a pitiable fool, wanting so hard to believe in the fairy tale?
Whatever, she was older and wiser now, she told herself with determination. And the life and happiness she’d envisaged would have to take a wholly different form.
Her answering machine was blinking, and she frowned as she pressed the ‘Play’ button. Most people now contacted her through work, but there were bound to be a few who’d slipped through the net.
I’ll have to make another list, she thought, sighing, as she retrieved her notebook from her bag. And ask Mrs Morgan if she wants the line to be transferred.
There were only three calls—the first from a girlfriend who’d only just heard about her broken engagement and clearly wanted all the gory details. The second was from her stepsister, furiously demanding to know if she’d come to her senses yet and who was going to pay for the page boy suit.
And the third, inevitably, was from Chris, in a new role as the voice of sweet reason, suggesting that they’d both behaved very badly but that he, at least, was prepared to let bygones be bygones and try again.
Flora listened to it, open-mouthed at his sheer effrontery, then stabbed at the ‘Delete’ button, nearly breaking a nail in the process.
Somehow, she thought grimly, she was going to have to convince him not to contact her ever again.
She’d assumed her mention of Ottavia would be enough to keep him away, but clearly he was experiencing a sense of decency by-pass.
She was still seething when the doorbell rang, and had to hurriedly arrange her face into more tranquil and pleasant lines as she went to answer its summons. After all, she didn’t want to send the unknown Mrs Morgan fleeing