The Blackmail Pregnancy (6 page)

Cara had been in such a low state emotionally that she’d lost concentration whilst driving with her mother to an appointment with a family planning advisor. A car running a red light had slammed into her mother’s side of the car. Her mother had been seriously injured, needing months of rehabilitation, and Cara had lost the baby. Her own rehabilitation had been postponed while she dealt with the increasing demands of her mother. She’d been well and truly caught in her mother’s trap and there had been no way out.

Every day for the next four years Edna Gillem had berated her daughter for ruining her life, ending her marriage and taking away her every chance at happiness. Cara had been exposed to her mother’s vitriol all her life, but somehow her guard had been down further than usual after the loss of her baby. Her mother’s hatred had injured her in a place no one had ever been able to reach before. Without even being aware of it she had slipped into the role of her mother’s slave, juggling her ever-increasing demands with her own study commitments.

She would never know how she’d got through those years. Somehow she had, but the legacy they had left had marked her for life. She felt damaged. Her mother had spent years trying to destroy her self-esteem and finally she had.

Cara had privately buried the tiny body that hadn’t had a chance at life. She’d had her daughter’s name engraved on a headstone she’d paid for with money from the divorce settlement. She’d told no one. Her secret was locked away inside, where no one could touch it, but every single time she even heard the name Emma mentioned that secret part of her contracted painfully, reminding her of all she’d lost…

Byron broke into her agonising reverie with a gentle call of her name.

She looked up and stared at him, as if she were surprised to see him sitting opposite her.

‘Where did you go?’ he asked.

‘Go?’

‘In your mind. You had that faraway look in your eyes.’

‘Did I?’

He reached for her hand, holding it in the warmth of his.

‘Tell me, Cara. Don’t shut me out.’

She stared at her small cold hand, almost swallowed up by his large one. She thought about telling him, even imagined framing the words in such a way he’d understand, but then decided against it. She still didn’t know how he’d heard about her pregnancy. She wanted to find out but didn’t want to bring up the subject. It was just too painful, still too raw.

‘I was thinking about…about the colour of the rugs for the spare bedrooms,’ she lied. ‘And curtains. I was thinking about long ruffled pull-back curtains—swathes of fabric that offer privacy without obstructing the view.’

Byron watched the movement of her eyes away from his and knew she was lying. Annoyance flicked along his veins. He wanted to get inside her head, find out everything about her. He’d never met a more complex person in his life and he hated the fact that she made it so clear she didn’t need him emotionally.

He decided to let her get away with it this once. Something about the shadowed look in her eyes had alerted him to her fragility, and even though on the outside she presented a cool diffidence he was beginning to see it as a ruse. A very important, significant ruse.

Their food arrived and he watched as she gave every appearance of enjoying her meal, even commenting on the various flavours once or twice.

They left the restaurant in a companionable silence and Byron privately congratulated himself for not pushing her. She reminded him of a flighty horse who balked at the drinking trough. He’d have to think of some other strategy to get her to relax enough to drink.

The house welcomed them with a warmth that secretly delighted Cara. The rugs she’d chosen for the marble floors took away their cold formality and added a cosiness that made the grand house feel more like a home.

Byron poured himself a cognac and sat on the nearest sofa to look over the brochures she’d left on the coffee table. Cara sat opposite, her arms linked around her knees, answering his occasional query over availability.

‘I like this.’ He pointed to a large gilt edged mirror in one of the antiques brochures. ‘What do you think?’

Cara couldn’t see it properly, so shifted to sit on the floor at his feet and read the details printed on the bottom. This close, Byron could pick up the sweet fragrance of her hair. She rattled off the details to him, but he wasn’t listening. He was imagining her hair splayed out on his pillow, her forehead beaded with the perspiration of spent passion.

‘And there’s one with a scrolled edge,’ she said, turning over the page and pointing to it. ‘I saw it the other day. It’s rather big, but I think the back wall of the dining room is large enough to carry it. What do you think?’

She swivelled round to glance up at him and her mouth went dry. He was looking at her intently, as if seeing her for the first time.

‘It’s…it’s more expensive than the other one, but I think it’s worth it. I can order it tomorrow and have it delivered and…’ She swallowed the rest of her prattle as his hand came out and released the curtain of her hair from its clasp.

He took her hand and she didn’t resist as he pulled her to sit beside him on the sofa. Her eyes met his briefly, before fluttering closed as his mouth came down towards hers.

This time his kiss was gentle. He took his time, only increasing the pressure of his lips when he felt her response. He scooped her up in his arms as if she weighed nothing and carried her upstairs to the bedroom, his eyes never once leaving hers.

She explored the depth of his gaze with her own. Words weren’t necessary as he laid her on the big bed and reached to loosen his tie. She watched him undress with a steady purpose that secretly excited her. His eyes burned with a heat she could see reflected in his aroused body and her breath hitched in her throat as he came towards her.

He removed her clothes with that same calm intent, laying each article aside as if it were a piece of delicate, fragile lace. His unhurried approach incited her desire as no heady, hasty grasp for fulfillment could do. His eyes caressed every inch of her as he uncovered her, and when she was finally naked he lowered himself and gathered her into his arms.

His mouth took her on a journey of sensuality, leaving no part of her unbranded by his lips or tongue. Her pleasure knew no bounds; her body writhed with contortions of ecstasy, her high, panting cries filling the night air.

He waited until she’d come back to earth before taking his own pleasure. She held him to her, thrilling in the sound of his guttural groan of release, glorying in the collapse of his large body over hers, his ragged breathing filling her ears.

Cara lay in Byron’s arms while he drifted off to sleep and thought about the future months. He wanted a child; he didn’t want her other than in a physical sense as a means to bringing about that particular goal. But it wasn’t going to happen. What place in his life would she have when he finally found out the truth? Would he cut her out of his life altogether?

He’d made it clear he wasn’t after a long-term commitment; she couldn’t really blame him for feeling that way considering the bitter break up they’d experienced. What man in his right mind would? She knew she was living a lie, but somehow couldn’t stop herself. Being in his arms once again was somehow helping her to lay the past to rest. She only hoped he would find it in himself to forgive her when he found out the truth.

She wondered what had happened to Megan. Had he had a brief affair with her and then moved on? Or was she still somewhere waiting in the wings for him?

Cara carefully shifted herself away from Byron’s loose hold and, turning to stare at the wall, sighed wearily. Sleep was far away. Her body felt exhausted but her mind was unable to let go of the images that tortured her in her quietest moments. Images of her mother screaming at her—hair wild, eyes drug-glazed—her embittered words like shards of glass tearing at Cara’s tender flesh. Words delivered with one purpose and one purpose only—to inflict as much pain as possible.

As a young child Cara remembered being bewildered and frightened by her mother’s sudden outbursts, but over time she’d learnt to block them out. She’d taught herself to shut her mind to the rage being played out in front of her, disciplining herself to think of another place or time where she was safe. She’d retreated into herself, imagining herself as someone else, someone who didn’t have a dysfunctional mother who loathed the very air she breathed.

After another hour of fighting with the nightmares in her head Cara gave up trying to sleep. She slipped out of the bed, being as careful as she could not to disturb Byron’s sleeping form. She slipped on her bathrobe and tiptoed out of the room.

He found her standing at the window in one of the spare bedrooms, the soft glow of moonlight casting a ghostly image over her expressionless face. Her slender figure was without movement. At first he wondered if she were still asleep. He’d heard somewhere that troubled people often walked in their sleep.

‘Cara?’

He touched her gently on the shoulder and felt her flinch. He dropped his hand and sighed.

‘Can’t you sleep?’

She turned to look at him, her eyes dulled, as if they’d just seen something too horrible to comprehend. A trickle of alarm pooled in his stomach but he fought it back to say softly, ‘Come back to bed. You look exhausted.’

She looked at him for a few moments, her eyes gradually losing their blank lifelessness. He saw the bright sheen of tears forming and his stomach gave another painful lurch. He held out his arms, and to his surprise she took the one step separating their bodies and stepped into his hold.

He stood looking out of the window across the fragrant cloud of her hair, her head resting just beneath his lowered chin. Her slight body was pressed up against him, as if he were a shelter in a particularly vicious storm. He didn’t say a word, just held her and stared at the city in front of him gradually coming to life as the rising sun anointed everything in a warm golden glow.

T
HE
next week and a half passed far too quickly for Cara. She felt the spectre of the following weekend looming, and knew she’d have to come to a final decision over whether or not to go to Melbourne with Byron.

Over the last few days she’d sensed a subtle change in him. He treated her differently; it was as if he had only just met her and didn’t want to do anything that might upset their new relationship. She knew it was because of that night at the window. Something had happened that early morning—something outside of her experience. For the first time in her life she’d felt truly safe. Simply holding her in his strong arms, without saying a word, had salved a raw wound inside her just like a soothing balm.

The rest of the week was spent putting the finishing touches to each of the rooms. The curtains were still in the process of being made, and as soon as one had been completed it was delivered and assembled.

One of the spare bedrooms presented a different sort of challenge. Cara stood in the small children’s-sized room, as yet still unfurnished, and wondered what to do. It seemed pointless decorating a room for a child she was never going to have, and yet the thought of preparing it for someone else’s child was somehow worse.

Friday morning came, and she still hadn’t made up her mind about the Melbourne trip. She watched as Byron shrugged himself into his business shirt and reached for a silk tie.

‘I’ve arranged for the business manager to meet us for lunch,’ he announced. ‘I’ll pick you up from your office about twelve.’

Cara reluctantly removed herself from the cocoon of the bed and slipped her arms into her bathrobe.

‘What about this weekend?’ he added, reaching for his shoes. ‘Are you planning to come with me?’

She chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully for a moment. He must have sensed her wavering and said encouragingly, ‘I’ll be there to field any tricky questions over our current arrangement. Just leave it to me.’

Cara felt torn. She didn’t want to be swallowed up by the Rockcliffe family, but neither did she wish to spend the weekend by herself. She was getting used to having Byron around. Too used to it.

‘I’ll come,’ she said at last.

‘Good girl.’ He dropped a swift kiss on top of her head and, snagging his jacket with one finger, added, ‘I’ll see you at twelve.’

She sighed once he’d left. The house seemed so empty without him there. She was getting far too used to his company, she remonstrated with herself as she stepped into the shower recess in the plush
en suite.
She was becoming dependent. He was beginning to take over her world in more ways than one.

Byron drove towards the eastern suburbs and parked outside a restaurant in Potts Point. Cara followed him to a table inside, where a young woman was already seated, her head bent down over a personal organiser and some papers on the table.

Cara stiffened in shock as the woman lifted her chestnut head to look their way. Megan Fry stood up and, directing her smile towards Byron, lifted her cheek to be kissed. She then turned to Cara, and the smile didn’t quite reach her eyes when she held out a perfectly manicured hand.

‘Hello, Cara. It’s been a long time.’

‘Yes,’ was all Cara could manage.

They sat down at the table and Megan turned to Byron once more, her china-blue eyes literally dancing with excitement.

‘I’m so thrilled to be on board,’ she said. ‘I’ve got so many ideas for the business.’

Cara’s spine was stiff with resentment and she threw Byron a heated look. He glanced back at her but his expression was unreadable. He turned to Megan.

‘Things are in a bit of a mess, Megs. It will take a while to sort out. I think we should take it one step at a time.’

Cara felt herself seething with anger at the thinly veiled insult. She hadn’t expected it from him and that made her twice as furious. He’d caught her off guard and it made her feel vulnerable and exposed. She’d begun to trust him and he’d exploited that trust by inveigling his old girlfriend into
her
business.

‘What about the other partner?’ Megan asked. ‘Where’s he?’

‘He called in sick,’ Cara said tightly.

Megan threw Byron an I-bet-that’s-a-lie-look and drew his attention to the accounts folder in front of her.

‘I’ve been going through the invoices and I’ve found there are some outstanding accounts. Should I call the debt collectors in or just send out reminders?’

Cara couldn’t believe they were sitting there, with their heads together, discussing her business affairs as if she wasn’t there. Anger rose in her like a tide and the palms of her hands began to sting with the pain of having buried her nails into them.

‘Reminders this time,’ Byron was saying. ‘What do you think, Cara?’

‘What?’ she snapped, frowning at him.

He gave her a long, steady look.

‘I asked if you had any preference over how the outstanding debtors are to be approached.’

‘No,’ she said, lowering her eyes. ‘No, I don’t.’

‘Well…’ He swivelled in his chair to address Megan once more. ‘That’s settled, then. Reminders first round; debt collectors next. Anything else?’

They went on to discuss various aspects of the business, and even though Cara could tell Byron was making an effort to draw her into the discussion at hand she resisted all his attempts and sat in surly silence.

Their food arrived and the conversation switched to other topics. Cara forced herself to listen, although she barely offered a word, even when a question was directed towards her. If Megan thought she was being uncooperative and antagonistic she gave no indication of it. She spent most of the time pressing up against Byron in a manner that demonstrated a long-standing mutual affection. It made Cara sick to her stomach.

After lunch Megan made her way to her own car while Byron escorted Cara back to his. She walked stiffly by his side, but when he put a hand to her elbow to guide her across the street she removed herself from his grasp. She heard him suck in his breath impatiently, his own back rigid with tension as he unlocked the car.

‘Must you persist in this childish manner?’ he ground out as he wrenched open her door.

She tossed her head in a gesture of defiance and got in the car, her mouth tight. She watched him stride angrily to the driver’s side, his own mouth set in a grim line.

‘I see how it’s going to be this weekend.’ He threw her a cold look of disdain. ‘Tantrums and the cold shoulder routine.’

‘I’m not coming.’

‘Yes, you are, goddammit!’ He thrust the car into gear with a vicious surge of his hand. ‘For once in your life you will do exactly what I say. I don’t want my parents’ celebration to be spoilt by your petty jealousy—’

‘I am not jealous!’

He shook his head and changed lanes.

‘You’ve always had it in for Megan,’ he said. ‘She’s practically family, for God’s sake!’

‘No doubt she’d like to be,’ she muttered under her breath.

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

He sighed and took the turn-off towards her office.

‘I want your promise, Cara, that you will do your best to conduct yourself in an appropriate manner this weekend. It’s very important to me.’

She didn’t answer.

‘Cara, have I your word?’

She looked out of the window, her shoulders tight with tension.

‘Yes.’

They almost missed their flight. By the time they’d both finished work and hurried home to throw some things in a bag, time was slipping away at an alarming rate. The Friday evening traffic didn’t ease the tension building in the car, and by the time they finally parked, checked in and boarded the flight Cara had the beginnings of a pounding headache.

She sat silently beside Byron and, ignoring the safety demonstration, buried her head in the in-flight magazine.

They were met in Melbourne by Byron’s brother, Patrick. The two men hugged each other unselfconsciously and then Patrick turned to Cara.

It was obvious he was uncertain how to greet her. She could see the indecision on his face as he contemplated kissing her on the cheek or simply shaking her hand. Cara made it easier for him by making the first move. She reached up and kissed his smooth jaw, and then, standing back, gave him a smile.

‘Hello, Patrick.’

‘Cara.’ She saw his throat move up and down in a deep swallow. ‘You look marvellous—doesn’t she, bro?’

The awkward moment had passed and they made their way out of the airport. Cara felt Byron at her side, and when he reached for her hand she didn’t pull away.

The brothers talked non-stop all the way from the airport to the Rockcliffe home at Hawthorn. Cara listened without contributing. She heard about Patrick’s twins, Kirstie and Katie, and about his wife Sally recently graduating from art school.

Byron described his new house and insisted his brother bring his family to visit some time soon. There was a warmth about the exchange that secretly impressed her. Growing up as the lonely child of a grossly underfunctioning parent had left her severely short-changed. She hadn’t realised the depth of affection that could exist between individual family members, and it was increasingly obvious that Byron’s move to Sydney had created somewhat of a gulf in the Rockcliffe family.

‘You should see the things Mum’s been baking,’ Patrick said with a smile. ‘She’s so excited you both could make it.’

Cara hadn’t been overly confident of Byron’s mother’s welcome, but when the front door opened she was next in line after Byron for an all-encompassing hug. She finally managed to step out of the embrace, her cheeks slightly pink, very conscious of Byron’s steady gaze on her.

‘Hello, Mrs Rockcliffe.’

‘Cara, my dear girl, what’s all this nonsense with Mrs Rockcliffe? We’ve surely moved well beyond that now. Call me Jan. Ah, here’s Robert now. Rob, dear—look who’s come with Byron after all.’

Cara was swept up into another hug that threatened to crush the life out of her bones, but it brought another tentative smile to her face regardless.

‘Mr…Robert,’ she greeted Byron’s father shyly.

Robert Rockcliffe turned from hugging Cara to slap his eldest son on the back and tease him about who’d won the recent grand final. Byron retaliated by lamenting the unfaithfulness of swinging supporters and the unfair umpire who’d turned the final result. It was all good-natured banter, and Cara felt herself being swept up into it as if she’d never been away.

Patrick’s wife Sally came to offer her greetings, as well as the five-year-old twins. Cara felt the breath stall in her throat at seeing the laughing little girls, who were immediately snatched up in a hug by their adoring uncle. Their delighted giggles filled the air and she felt a sensation not unlike pain settle somewhere deep inside.

Over a beautifully prepared roast dinner Cara was seated next to Sally, who’d not long coerced the girls into bed.

‘You might think they’re adorable,’ Sally responded to Cara’s shy attempt at conversation. ‘But you should have heard the fuss they made about going to bed! Kids.’ She shook her pretty blonde head. ‘Patrick’s keen for another baby, but after twins the first time I’m running scared.’

‘I…’

‘May I have the salt, darling?’

Cara didn’t respond to Byron’s request until he touched her on the arm.

‘Darling—the salt?’

‘Oh.’

She passed it to him, conscious of being the focus of every eye. She wondered if it was obvious to everyone in the room that she hadn’t recognised the endearment had been addressed to her.

‘This is a fabulous meal, Mum.’ Byron took the conversation elsewhere. ‘I haven’t had a roast since I left.’

Soon after dessert was cleared away the doorbell sounded, announcing the arrival of the rest of the Rockcliffe clan who were calling in for coffee before the real celebrations were to begin the following evening. Cara had cause to wonder if they’d come simply to inspect her, to see if she was worthy of being back with Byron, temporary as it was.

Patrick’s twin Leon wasn’t as welcoming as his brother had been, but he certainly made an effort to be polite and introduced Cara to his wife Olivia. Their three children were at home with a babysitter, he informed Cara on her polite query about them.

Felicity, Byron’s younger sister, squealed with delight when she caught sight of Cara. She threw her arms around her neck as best she could, considering the tight mound of her pregnant belly, and cried in delight, ‘You came! How wonderful.’

Cara was swept up by further introductions—firstly to Fliss’s husband, a tall, quiet, dark-haired man who seemed a little overcome by the noise and clamour of the combined Rockcliffe clan. Cara wondered if she had at last found an ally. Jason stood to one side as his young wife was enveloped in a hug by her eldest brother, his expression a little bewildered.

Cara made an effort to talk to him over coffee in the spacious lounge room. The rest of the Rockcliffes were arguing profusely over some recent current affair and Jason happened to catch her rolled eyes.

‘It takes some getting used to, doesn’t it?’ He handed her the chocolate truffles.

‘Yes.’ She smiled tentatively and took one. ‘Do you come from a big family?’

He shook his head.

‘Only child.’

‘Me too.’

Jason cleared his throat and handed her another truffle, which she politely declined.

‘Fliss speaks very highly of you,’ he said.

‘I…I’m flattered,’ she answered. ‘Please tell me about your son. Byron said he’s two. Is that the difficult age everyone makes out?’

It soon became obvious she’d found the right topic to bring Jason out of himself. She spent a very enjoyable ten minutes or so being told everything about his young son. At one point she couldn’t stop herself from laughing out loud at one of his dryly delivered anecdotes. The sound of her laughter turned heads, most particularly that of her ex-husband. Cara’s laughing smile fell away as she became conscious of the interested gazes turned her way.

Byron came over and, perching himself on the arm of the chair she was sitting in, slipped a casual arm around her shoulders.