A Southern Star (25 page)

“I was just thinking about dinner.” Blake’s words jolted Christie out of her thoughts; her eyes widened slightly. She knew she should tell Blake she wanted to go back to Lisa’s place; somehow, the words failed to come. Christie’s eyes moved to a supermarket bag on the bench. Blake answered her unspoken question. “While you were with the doctor.” Christie stepped from the doorway into the kitchen, stopped, suddenly uncertain.
 

“Doctor’s orders,” he reminded her. The warmth in his eyes made her throat constrict, she swallowed, looked away, steeling herself to ask Blake to drive her back to Lisa’s, knowing she could not stay here. Christie heard the distant ring of her mobile phone, fled from the kitchen with a muttered excuse, snatching the phone from the bedside table.

Lisa’s voice came over the phone, clearly concerned, despite the poor reception. Christie sank onto the bed, interrupting, assuring Lisa she was all right, that there was no problem with the baby. Trying to alleviate Lisa’s concern, Christie told her about Blake taking her to the hospital, him asking questions, her own embarrassment. She could hear the smile in Lisa’s voice, becoming serious as Lisa asked Christie where she was now.

“At Blake’s,” Christie said, suddenly remembering what she had thought about a relationship between Blake and Lisa.
 

“Promising,” joked Lisa, making Christie flinch. “What a shame I’m at the wedding with Mum and Dad. You’ll have to stay.”

“I’m about to ask Blake to take me back to your place,” Christie said, defensive without knowing why.
 

“Why?’ Lisa’s astonishment was plain, laced with a thread of anger.

“Because I…” Christie fell silent, feeling suddenly awkward.
 

Lisa’s voice became cold. “Christie, think. The doctor said you should have someone with you. Explain to me why you seem hell bent on returning to an empty house?” Christie tried again, only to be interrupted by Lisa. “If you want to tie yourself to the past, go ahead. Just be up front with Blake. From what you’re saying, it sounds like he cancelled an important meeting to take you to the doctor, look after you, and is now cooking you dinner.”

“What meeting?” Christie asked faintly, realising Blake had been telling the truth when he mentioned his work commitments to Scott’s parents.
 

“Ask him,” Lisa said bluntly. “And don’t tell me he’s just being polite.”

“What’s it to you?” Christie asked, stung into replying.
 

“Nothing.” Lisa’s voice was almost weary. “Forget I said anything, Christie. I just rang to see how you were. Blake left a message. But for the baby’s sake, please stay at Blake’s place tonight. Don’t take chances. Not with the baby’s health anyway.” The smile was back in Lisa’s voice; she refused to explain her outburst further to Christie, said she wanted to get back to the wedding reception, hung up.

Christie shook her head, taken aback by Lisa’s words, acknowledging to herself she would be better off staying at Blake’s cottage overnight, telling herself it was for the baby’s sake. Just as she pushed herself off the bed to return to the kitchen her phone rang again; thinking it was Lisa ringing back she answered immediately with a friendly greeting, not looking at the screen, wanting to discuss what had been said.

Christie fell silent as Paul spoke; his words cold, arrogant, telling her not to contact him again, emphasising he had not wanted her to have the baby. “If you can’t sort out your birth control, don’t make it my problem, Christie.” Christie gasped with shock at his words, sudden clarity almost blinding her as she acknowledged Paul’s selfish, chauvinistic nature, his complete avoidance of responsibility.
 

Her voice was like ice as she cut through his tirade. “I have contacted you twice. Once to tell you I was pregnant, once to ask for a contribution for gear. And all you can do is blame me, tell me it’s not your child, tell me to get an abortion. Maybe the baby’s better off without you. I know I am.” Christie threw the phone on the bed, furious, shaking with emotion. Her hand crept to her stomach, unconsciously cradling the baby.

She turned, suddenly wanting to be out in the kitchen, be near Blake, feeling polluted by Paul’s views and attitude. Christie tensed with shock as she realised Blake was watching her from the doorway; she wondered what he had overheard.

“Paul,” Blake said his name matter-of-factly, calmly. Christie nodded, averted her eyes. “I didn’t realise,” he said, pausing as he thought back to what he had overheard, what Christie had said to the doctor. “I didn’t realise Paul wouldn’t support you at all.”
 

Christie looked at him, noticing he seemed extremely uncomfortable, his eyes shadowed. “Is that a polite way of referring to abortion?” Christie said bluntly as Blake looked away. “You said it yourself,” she continued. “I’m better off out of it. The whole thing was a big shock for me.” She paused, faltering. “To start with. You thought it was someone from the island. And then Paul didn’t believe the baby was his. When he was the one having the affair.” Christie shook her head, pleased she had gained enough distance from the whole thing to be able to talk normally to Blake.

“You told me before you told Paul.” Instantly, Blake regretted what he had said.
 

“And neither one of you trusted me,” Christie said without rancour. The unease Blake had felt ever since his intemperate comments to Christie when she had told him of her
 

pregnancy intensified as he listened to her now, realising how much his accusation had hurt her. Her comparison of him to Paul stung, embarrassing him. Christie watched Blake, unaware of his thoughts, not realising the impact her comments had had on him. “But thank you for everything today, Blake,” she said sincerely. “Lisa rang, mentioned you had to cancel a meeting?” He shrugged, told her it was no problem. “What meeting was it?” She pressed him for details.
 

“Just a routine sales meeting,” he lied.
 

Her eyes narrowed; she was silent a moment. “Blake, I’ve been thinking about tonight.”
 

He tensed, knowing she would want to go back to Lisa’s place. “Christie,” he interrupted before she could continue. “Of course I know I can’t make you stay here tonight. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He paused, his eyes intent on her. Christie opened her mouth to speak, crushed by his words, his reasonable, fraternal tone. “But I just think you should take the doctor’s advice, at least for tonight. I’ve got enough steak for both of us. If you want to go back to Lisa’s later, just let me know.” Blake paused again, gestured to the bed, his face impassive. “And if you decide to stay, I’ll take the couch.”

Christie took a deep breath, both reassured and disappointed at Blake’s platonic, relaxed attitude.
Maybe I imagined the look in his eyes when I woke up,
she told herself firmly.
And it does make sense to stay in case there’s a problem with the baby.

“I would appreciate being able to stay, thanks, Blake.” Christie said politely. “If it’s not too much hassle for you.” Determined to match his platonic tone, fighting the mental image of the night before, she gave him a tentative smile. “I’ll just eat your food and kick you out of your own bed. No hassle at all.” Blake smiled back at her, relieved he had successfully persuaded her to stay, still thinking about what he had overheard from her conversation with Paul.

Christie moved towards the doorway, wanting to leave the bedroom, go out into the living area. Standing, talking to Blake in his bedroom only intensified the mental image of his embrace the night before, bringing a slight flush to her face. Blake moved back out of the doorway immediately, standing back as Christie brushed past him in the narrow hallway, following her into the kitchen, watching the hem of the dress move around her legs, imagining reaching for her as she walked slightly ahead of him.

He had noticed, of course, that Christie never mentioned the baby’s father and that clearly he was not around for her pregnancy. But he had not realised until today that Paul’s attitude was so opposed to the child, that he had wanted her to have an abortion, was providing her with no support whatsoever. Now here she was, in his own home, after showing him the friend card throughout the day, only allowing him in the consulting room after the doctor suggested it, refusing to help him with his new home.

If he were honest with himself, he knew he had deliberately let Christie walk into his room with no warning, wanting, hoping, she would make a suggestion, some reference to the night before. Instead, she had been upset, shocked.
Not surprising
, he thought ruefully.

Now, Blake saw Christie had moved over to the supermarket bag, was looking through it. He braced himself for the evening ahead, opened the fridge to grab a beer, asking Christie if she wanted a juice. Christie swung round at the sound of his voice, nodding, her eyes narrowing as he opened the new bottle of juice. Blake had obviously purchased a range of food that afternoon, easily enough for the two of them. She saw the steak on the bench, the potatoes and vegetables he had started preparing. Christie exhaled, asking what she could do to help.

“Under control,” Blake said. “Sit down, relax.”

“And read a hunting magazine,” Christie finished, grinning at him. He looked down at her, his eyes suddenly filling with laughter.
 

“If you want to,” he agreed. “Or there’s this.” He took the current interior design magazine from the kitchen shelf where he had put it that afternoon, placed it on the bench.

“Subtle.” Christie remembered her refusal to help him earlier in the day, knowing that with everything he had helped her with today—and paid for—it would be inexcusably rude to continue in her refusal.
 

“That was the idea,” Blake said, hoping the new magazine would provoke a reaction, disappointed when she made no move to pick it up. He reached around her, taking her by the shoulders, gently steering her over to the small dining room table. “Just relax,” he repeated, his firm touch sending a shiver through Christie as she sat on one of the chairs, noticing he kept his hands on her shoulders for a moment before walking away. She sat back in her chair, disguising her longing with a flippant comment.
 

Blake looked over at her, jokingly rolled his eyes. Christie’s tone became serious as she insisted she wanted to help, feeling at a disadvantage after everything Blake had done, was continuing to do. “You want to help me, do you?” he asked, looking over at her, teasing her. “With the potatoes or the house?”
 

Christie stood up, walked back into the kitchen, took the small vegetable knife Blake was holding out. “Both,” she said, smiling up at Blake, her eyes sparkling with sudden mischief. “If you wanted help with the house, you only had to ask.”
 

Blake burst out laughing. “And ask, and ask…”

“And buy me a magazine,” Christie finished. She kept peeling the potatoes, unaware her smile stayed on her face, relaxing as she and Blake talked companionably. “I’ll need the steak cooked well,” Christie said politely, referring to the need for meat to be thoroughly cooked because of her pregnancy.
 

“I suppose that’s a hint not to cook the steak like I cooked the sausages,” Blake said, with mock wounded pride, reminding her of the meal at Mason Bay.
 

 
“We’d agreed to blame the camp stove for that, I thought.” She grinned back at him.

Blake continued preparing the rest of the meal; Christie offered to set the table. She moved over to the table, intending to clear some papers from the opposite end. “Blake, where do you want these?”
 

He stilled. “I’ll get them, Christie, they should be in the study.” She glanced at the papers casually, realising they were design mock-ups and other papers, proposals. Christie looked over at Blake, saw he was watching her intently.

“Blake,” she said, suddenly nervous. “What are these? They look like designs for wine labels?” Her mind flashed back to the conversation at Mason Bay, her unthinking critique of the design of the label, thinking Blake was simply an employee of the winery.
 

He seemed to hesitate, then nodded, his expression unreadable. “Yes. I’ve been told the labels are too similar to other ones. I wanted to emphasise the Central Otago location, make the design unique.”

Stunned, not knowing what to say, Christie was silent, realising Blake was acting on her blunt advice given off the cuff at Mason Bay; it was not the sort of way she would have made her point to a client. “What you said made sense, Christie. And I’d been wondering about the labels, they didn’t really grab me either. I spoke to my partners and they agreed. The wine consistently scores well but for the impulse buyer, the look of the bottle is important. To get the sale, I mean.”

“We used a firm in Wellington,” Blake continued. He mentioned the name; Christie’s head snapped up as she recognised the name of one of the top national graphic design firms. “I asked you, but you said it would be best to go to a firm with all the resources…” His voice trailed off, thinking of Christie’s announcement of her pregnancy, how his pride had got in the way. Christie nodded mechanically, still shocked at Blake’s unquestioning acceptance of her views, the fact his suggestion at Mason Bay about her putting in a design had been genuine… She shrugged to herself, knowing she would have turned down the commission out of foolish pride anyway, did not have the appropriate resources or software with her.