The Baby Question. Caroline Anderson
light, and her heart sank as the car crunched over the gravel and came to rest beside her much more modest Ford.
How on earth had he found her? She’d been so careful, cleared everything away without trace, or so she’d thought. Even the attic she’d left spotless—hadn’t she? There must have been something lying around, some little clue. Blast. She’d always known he’d find her in the end, because he didn’t give up on anything, but she had hoped for a few more days—maybe even weeks—to sort her thoughts out.
And now he was here. Still, maybe he’d ring the bell and go away if she didn’t show herself. Her heart pounding, she sank back away from the window and grabbed the dog’s collar, pulling him down beside her. He whined in protest and tried to jump up again, but she hung on tight.
‘Midas, no,’ she whispered. ‘Be quiet, there’s a good boy.’
He whined again, recognising the sound of the car, and she wrapped her hand round his muzzle and stroked him with the other hand, trying to calm him. ‘Good boy. Hush now. Maybe he’ll go away.’
She snorted softly under her breath. Not a chance, and the dog knew it. Just in case, though, he was determined to bark a greeting, and she had to hang on to his muzzle and pet him constantly to keep him quiet. Still, at least she hadn’t got the lights on in the office, although the glow from the computer was probably visible. She reached out a hand and switched off the monitor, and her little office sank into gloom. Heavens, it was later than she’d realised, but she’d been so busy.
Edging up to the window, she peered down onto the drive and watched.
Rob got out of the car and straightened, then looked around, his eyes narrowed, scanning for clues. First he checked out her car, then he went over to the cottage and knocked on the door before turning the handle and going in.
Damn him! she thought, fuming. How dare he just walk into her house! She crossed to the other side of the room, peeping through the roof-light to get a better view.
She could see him going from room to room, flicking lights on, prowling. She imagined him fingering the things left by the owners, things he’d never seen before. She’d hardly been here long enough to put her stamp on anything except the bedroom and bathroom. Everywhere else was just as she’d found it, because she’d brought practically nothing with her yesterday except the contents of her office, a few clothes and the dog.
She’d wanted to get away from her old life, have a fresh start, and now he was all over it, touching it, imprinting himself on it so it would no longer be hers alone, the safe haven she’d wanted it to be.
Safe haven? What was she thinking about? He was hardly dangerous! She made it sound like he was a serial killer instead of her husband of five years. She must be going crazy. But even so, she felt somehow violated.
No. That was too strong. Invaded, then.
She watched him moving around, doing his tour of inspection. It didn’t take long. There were only the two rooms downstairs, one at each end, and the stairs running from side to side with the bathroom behind them. Above were two bedrooms, hers and the store, and a big cupboard full of all sorts.
Surely to goodness he couldn’t be much longer, she thought, the adrenaline surging through her body and making her heart race.
He wasn’t. He emerged from the front door, shrugging down inside his coat collar against the bitter wind, and she moved back a little from the window, her heart pounding with suspense. Maybe he’d think he’d come to the wrong house and would go away.
Or not.
He looked up at the window, his eyes seeming to fix on her face, and even from this distance she could see their piercing cobalt blue. She shrank back into the shadows, getting a better grip on the wiggling dog.
He could hear his master coming, hear the crunch of footsteps on the stones and the squeak of the handle as the door opened at the bottom of the stairs. A blast of icy air invaded their cosy little hideaway and Midas whimpered and squirmed in her hands.
The stairs creaked under a firm, steady tread, and Rob’s head appeared over the top step, his eyes assessing.
‘Hello, Laurie,’ he said, and the dog, displaying a singular lack of judgement, hurled himself out of her arms and hit him in mid chest.
He staggered back, righted himself against the wall and ruffled the dog’s fur affectionately while Laurie tried to quell the thundering of her heart and compose herself to deal with him without hysterics.
‘Hello, mutt,’ he said, pushing the dog down out of the way and climbing the last few stairs. He looked around, his eyes like twin blue lasers scanning the sophisticated computer equipment, the notes pinned up on the wall, the collection of mugs by the keyboard.
‘Nice little place you’ve got here,’ he said blandly, but it didn’t fool her for a second. She wondered what the chances were of her hustling him out before it was too late.
Huh. It was already too late. She sat down in front of the computer, blocking his view of her desk, or trying to.
‘What are you doing here?’ she asked, trying to keep her voice calm and not give in to the anger building in her. Why couldn’t he have just left her alone? He knew she was all right, she’d only just spoken to him less than twenty-four hours ago! Why come here to persecute her?
‘Interesting set-up,’ he said, ignoring her question and continuing his inspection of her pinboard. ‘What’s the business?’
‘Mine,’ she said, not willing to share even the nature of her business with him, never mind the intimate details he’d try and winkle out of her. ‘It’s mine, and it’s private. I repeat, what are you doing here, Rob?’
His eyes met hers, red rimmed with exhaustion but determined, the blue of his irises touched with flint. ‘I would have thought it was obvious what I was doing here. I’ve come to take you home,’ he said softly, and her traitorous heart kicked against her ribs.
She snorted. ‘Not a chance. I told you, I want to think.’
‘You can think at home.’
‘No, I can’t. I just want this time to myself. You should have rung, you’ve had a wasted journey. I’ve got nothing to say to you at the moment, and I want you out of here. This is my house, my office, my life.’
‘And you’re my wife.’
‘Am I?’ she asked bluntly, and he recoiled a fraction, as if she’d struck a painful blow. Good, she thought, ruthlessly crushing her guilt. She was fed up with him taking her for granted. She stood up, gathering the cups together and standing waiting by the top of the stairs. She gestured for him to go down, but he just smiled and took her chair at the desk, turning on the monitor and tapping keys on her computer and opening files, flicking through her personal business with ridiculous ease and a casual disregard for her privacy.
‘Leave it alone! That’s nothing to do with you,’ she fumed, ready to dump the dregs of the cups on his head, and he spun round in the chair and fixed her with those piercing eyes.
‘You’re a web designer,’ he said slowly.
‘Ten out of ten. Out.’
He unfolded himself from the desk and stepped closer, looking down into her face searchingly. ‘There was no need for you to leave. You could have told me you wanted to do it,’ he said, his voice seductive, almost convincing.
‘I wanted it to be mine,’ she said, and he gave a tiny huff of laughter.
‘Mine again. You seem to be using that word a lot. Whatever happened to ours?’
‘Yours, you mean.’
His eyes narrowed and he searched her face, then shrugged. ‘I don’t know what’s eating you, Laurie, but we’ll talk about it when you come home.’
‘I’m not coming home,’ she repeated emphatically, but he just smiled.