Contract with Consequences. Miranda Lee
FIVE
SCARLET could not believe how much she enjoyed the party, and John’s company, though she would not go so far as to say he’d ‘sparkled’. After giving his delighted mother her ruby—which was uncut but simply enormous—he’d actually deigned to make a small speech, praising his parents’ fortitude in staying married for so long and wishing them all the best for the future. Then, even more surprising, after the buffet luncheon was over he’d made the effort to talk to his father. It had been a slightly awkward conversation—Scarlet had been hovering nearby at the time—but it was Martin Mitchell who’d sounded the more awkward, she thought, after which the fool had spent the rest of the afternoon playing with Melissa’s little boy. Admittedly, Oliver was a delightful child, with a highly engaging personality. But still, one would have thought Martin could have afforded to spend some more time with a son who’d flown all the way from South America to be with his parents on their special day.
Scarlet had felt seriously annoyed with the man, which made her even more solicitous towards John. She also downed a good few glasses of wine, which she had a tendency to do when she was upset. Being tipsy brought out the flirtatious side in her, which was helped by the fact that he invariably sought her out if she left his side for too long, whispering to her each time that she wouldn’t get a diamond if she kept deserting her post.
By five-thirty, the party was winding down, with people gradually leaving. By six, the Mitchell place was almost empty of guests, and Scarlet and her mother stayed back to help Carolyn and Melissa clean up. Oliver had been put down for a nap, whilst the men—Martin, John and Leo—had retired to the living room to watch the evening news on TV.
‘I had my four-month ultrasound on Friday,’ Melissa said out of the blue as she and Scarlet were restacking the dishwasher together. Their mothers were outside at the time, piling up more dirty plates to carry in.
Scarlet stiffened as she always did these days when girls she knew started talking about their pregnancies. She’d known Melissa was pregnant again, but the subject hadn’t come up that day as yet.
‘Oh?’ she managed to reply as casually as she could manage. ‘Everything well, I hope?’
‘Marvellous. Leo was there with me, of course. He actually cried when they told him it was a little girl. So did I. Oliver’s a darling boy, but there’s something about little girls, isn’t there?’
Scarlet was on the verge of tears herself. She didn’t give a damn if she had a girl or a boy. She just wanted a baby.
‘Would you like to see the pictures of the ultrasound?’ Melissa asked her. ‘I brought them with me to show Mum. They’re just upstairs. I’ll go get them,’ she added before Scarlet could say yes or no.
John saw the stricken look on Scarlet’s face the moment he walked into the kitchen.
‘What is it?’ he asked straight away. ‘What’s happened?’
‘I have to get out of here,’ she muttered.
Too late. Melissa was back in a flash with the dreaded pictures. Scarlet had no choice but to look at them and make all the right noises, for how could she do anything else without making a complete fool of herself? Melissa insisted John look at them too, which he did, though he didn’t gush, for which Scarlet was grateful. At some stage, their respective mothers re-entered the kitchen. Scarlet now had to endure Carolyn Mitchell raving on about how lucky Melissa was to be having a little girl and how lucky they were as grandparents to have their daughter living so close. She then added that it was obvious they were never going to get any grandchildren from John and, even if by some miracle they did, they’d probably never see them, since he preferred to live in South America than Australia.
John had no idea what had distressed Scarlet earlier, but he suspected—by the look on her face—that she still wanted out. He did, too. Hell, yes. And the sooner the better.
‘Sorry to love you and leave you, folks,’ he said once his mother stopped to draw breath. ‘But I asked Scarlet out tonight and she said yes. So if you don’t mind, we’ll be off.’ So, saying, he took hold of a startled Scarlet and steered her firmly towards the front door. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he called over his shoulder, then whispered in her ear. ‘We’ll have to take your car, as I don’t have one here, but don’t worry; I can drive. I’ve only had two light beers all afternoon.’
Scarlet would have agreed to anything he said at that moment, she was so grateful to be away from Melissa and the pictures of her baby.
Five minutes later, John was reversing her car out of their garage, Scarlet only then realising she’d have a lot of questions to answer when she finally got home that night.
‘Nice wheels, Scarlet,’ John said once they were underway. ‘The last time I was home you were driving an old white rust bucket.’
‘I decided to spoil myself this year,’ she replied. New car and a baby. At least that had been the plan.
Suddenly, the tears which had been threatening ever since Melissa brought up the subject of her pregnancy came back with a vengeance. Scarlet tried to choke them back but it was way too late. Maybe if she’d cried earlier in the week when she’d realised she hadn’t conceived, she might have stood a chance of controlling her emotion. Instead, it had been building up in her for days, this feeling of helplessness and hopelessness. She’d tried so hard to stay positive. So very hard.
Her head dropped into her hands as her shoulders started to shake, noisy sobs bursting from her lungs.
John didn’t know what to do for a split second. He’d known Scarlet was upset over something but he hadn’t expected this level of grief. It wasn’t like Scarlet at all!
To keep on driving seemed heartless so he pulled over to the side of the road and switched off the engine.
He didn’t try to comfort her physically. It was too darned awkward in a small car with the gear stick and hand brake between the front seats. So he just sat there and let her weep. Bianca had once told him that women needed a good cry occasionally. Most times, they didn’t require the men in their lives to solve their problems, just to be supportive and to listen. John wished he had a handkerchief to give her. But he wasn’t the handkerchief-carrying kind of man.
Finally, when the weeping subsided, Scarlet snapped open the glove box and extracted a small box of tissues. She blew her dripping nose at length, then threw him a pained look.
‘Thank you,’ she sniffed.
‘For what?’
‘For getting me out of there.’
‘Am I allowed to ask what upset you so much?’
‘No,’ she grumped, crumpling up the tissues into her hand and turning her face away from him.
‘No?’ John was never at his best when his will was thwarted. ‘Scarlet King, we are not moving from this spot till you tell me what’s going on.’ As he made his stand, John’s mind started running over what had happened after he’d walked into the kitchen. Melissa had come downstairs with the photographs of her ultrasound, insisting that they both look at them. Then his mother walked in and made some crack about his never giving her grandchildren. Which was probably true.
But, John realised in what could only be described as a light-bulb moment, Scarlet wanted to give her mother grandchildren.
‘It was because of Melissa’s pregnancy,’ he said with typical male satisfaction at having worked something out for himself.
The lack of sensitivity in John’s tone—not to mention the underlying arrogance—brought Scarlet back to herself. Her head whipped round, her blue eyes glaring daggers at him.
‘Yes, of course it was your precious sister’s pregnancy which upset me,’ she snapped. ‘Plus the way she shoved those damned photographs in my face. How do you think I felt when she told me she was going to have a lovely little girl to go with her lovely little boy when I would give my right arm to have just