The Blackmail Pregnancy (8 page)

‘Your parents wanted you to marry Megan, not me. I knew it from the very first day.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake! You’re making them sound like tyrants. They’ve only ever wanted what was best for me. They’d never dream of coming between us like that.’

‘You surely don’t deny that everyone expected you and Megan to get together?’

‘No, I don’t deny it. But it didn’t happen. I married you.’

‘Unfortunately.’

‘As it turned out. But at the time I thought I was doing the right thing,’ he said. ‘We both made mistakes. It was a long time ago and we’ve both moved on—surely?’

Cara didn’t answer. She hadn’t moved on. That was the trouble. She couldn’t. She felt stuck, as if her life had been on pause since she’d left him seven years ago.

‘I’ll be about two hours,’ he said into the silence. ‘I’ll drop you off near the mall. I’ll meet you at one on the corner near the tram stop.’

Cara got out of the car when he pulled into the kerb. She watched as he drove on, deftly manoeuvring his mother’s BMW back into the flow of traffic. Once he’d disappeared from sight she turned and sighed.

The mall was bustling with people and trams. Buskers were littered about, their various genres of music filling the air with a cacophony of sound. Several people with promotional brochures approached her, but she ignored them.

She headed towards the larger department stores, taking her time wandering through the floors, stopping to look at various things along the way. She wanted to buy a gift for Byron’s parents and after an hour found it. It was a glass dome with a perfect dandelion puff encased inside, where it was totally safe; no wind or breath could disturb the tiny seed formation. She turned it over in her hands and smiled wistfully. It was perfect.

Byron was waiting for her when she got to the corner. He was on foot, having left the car at his office. He eyed the package in her hand as she joined him.

‘Is that all you could manage in two hours?’

She nodded.

‘I wanted to buy your parents a gift.’

He looked surprised.

‘I’m sure they don’t expect—’

‘I wanted to.’

He took her arm and led her away from the milling crowds to a quiet coffee shop in a nearby arcade. Once they were seated he looked at her across the table, his expression suddenly serious.

‘Cara, I think we need to talk about—’

‘Byron! Fancy meeting you here.’ A female voice spoke from just behind Cara.

‘Hello, Sandra.’ Byron’s greeting wasn’t enthusiastic. ‘Cara, this is Sandra. Sandra, this is Cara.’

Cara turned in her seat to offer a hand, but Sandra was looking at Byron, seemingly ignoring her presence. She dropped her hand and sat watching the interaction between her ex-husband and the other woman.

‘Megan tells me you’ve offered her a job,’ Sandra said. ‘Some run-down business that needs picking up?’

Cara stiffened.

‘Yes, I have offered her a position,’ he said, avoiding Cara’s heated glare to face Sandra. ‘What are you up to these days?’

‘Oh, this and that,’ she said with a flirty little smile. ‘You didn’t call before you left for Sydney.’ Her full mouth pouted. ‘Did you lose my number?’

Byron looked uncomfortable.

‘No, I’ve been busy.’

‘Oh, well.’ Sandra tilted one voluptuous hip. ‘You know where I am when you need me.’

Cara didn’t care for the sound of that little statement. Jealousy ripped through her as she watched the other woman run a finger down Byron’s forearm in a suggestive manner.

Byron shifted slightly and Sandra’s hand fell away. She turned to look at the silently fuming Cara, her eyes running over her assessingly.

‘So, do you work for Byron too?’

‘In a fashion,’ Cara answered coldly.

Sandra seemed satisfied with that, and after a few more desultory words went on her way.

‘Sorry about that,’ Byron said once she’d gone.

Cara lifted one finely arched brow.

‘Another one of the replacements?’

He rolled his eyes and picked up the menu in front of him.

‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to change the subject. Sandra Hollingsworth was one of the biggest mistakes of my life.’

‘Even bigger than me?’

He put the menu back down.

‘You weren’t a mistake,’ he said.

‘What was I?’

He gave her question considerable thought.

‘You were the best and the worst thing ever to happen to me.’

Cara’s mouth twisted ruefully.

‘I suppose I asked for that.’

He smiled lopsidedly.

‘You did, didn’t you?’

The conversation moved on to other topics, to Cara’s immense relief. She found the thought of Byron with any other woman a total anathema to her. She hated to think of him in the throes of passion with anyone else. She hated to think of him kissing another mouth, caressing someone else, loving someone else. It didn’t seem fair when she still loved him after all this time.

She stared at the menu in her hands, the words blurring. She still loved him. It was as clear to her as if it were written on the menu in front of her. She loved Byron Rockcliffe and had never ceased doing so.

‘Cara?’

She put the menu down and looked across at him. He indicated the hovering waitress and she rattled off an order she knew she wouldn’t be able to force past the huge lump in her throat.

She loved him. She still loved him.

The waitress left with their orders and Byron sat back in his chair, surveying her troubled expression.

‘What’s going on in that head of yours?’ he asked.

Cara blinked at him.

‘Sorry?’

‘I said, I wonder what’s going on inside your head.’

‘Nothing much,’ she answered. ‘I was thinking of your nieces. They’re cute, aren’t they?’

‘Very,’ he said. ‘I didn’t realise you had such magnetism where children are concerned. I thought you hated kids.’

‘I don’t hate kids,’ she said. ‘I just choose not to have them. I quite like other people’s.’

‘And they have certainly taken a shine to you.’

‘Yes, well, I didn’t have much choice. They came in and started telling me things I didn’t want to know. I tried to distract them with a story but you interrupted it.’

‘Why didn’t you continue?’ he asked. ‘I wouldn’t have stopped you.’

She gave him an ironic glance.

‘I’m sure you know how the rest of it goes—although I’ll have to give the girls a sanitised version. I can’t have their innocence shattered by having the prince and princess getting divorced.’

She sneaked a look at his face, but he was frowning as if deep in thought.

The waitress came with their order and Cara did her best to rearrange the food on her plate in a semblance of eating. She looked at Byron once or twice and he seemed to be doing exactly the same thing. The foccacia melt shifted position several times without actually making it to his mouth.

After a few minutes he pushed the plate aside.

‘Cara?’

She looked across the table at him, her expression guarded.

‘Yes?’

‘I want you to tell me about your mother,’ he said. ‘Not just her name, not just her occupation, but everything. I want to know what she did to you to make you so unhappy. I think I have a right to know.’

Cara pushed her own plate away and avoided his eyes.

‘She’s dead. That’s all you need to know.’

‘No, damn it, it’s not.’ His tone was impatient. ‘The more I think about it, the more I get the feeling you’re hiding something—something important.’

‘I don’t want to talk about this,’ she hissed at him, conscious of the other diners seated around them.

‘Was she abusive?’

Cara’s hands tightened in her lap.

‘Did she hit you?’

She got to her feet and left him sitting at the table surrounded by their untouched food.

He joined her in the mall a minute later, after he’d thrown some money at the cashier.

‘Cara, I realise how difficult this must be for you, but—’

‘You know nothing of what I feel. Nothing.’ Her voice was cold and unemotional.

‘So tell me.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I…’ She looked away into the crowds, her eyes becoming distant.

‘Tell me, Cara.’

She turned and faced him, her expression blank, her voice devoid of all feeling.

‘I spent twenty-two years of my life pretending I had a mother who loved me. I spent another four years after our divorce coming to terms with the fact that she had never done so. My mother hated me. I have to live with that every day of my life. Please don’t ask me to talk about something which causes me so much distress.’

She heard him sigh, felt his warm hand reach for hers, felt his fingers squeeze her hand briefly.

‘Come on, honey.’ He tucked her arm through his. ‘Confession time over. Let’s go shopping.’

Cara fell into step beside him, her brow furrowing slightly. His casual endearment tortured her in its poignancy. He’d been the first person ever to call her that, and even though she knew he no longer loved her it comforted her a little to think he’d allowed his resentment to fade just enough to address her in such a manner now.

‘H
OW
about this?’ Byron held up a sheath of silk georgette. ‘You’d look sensational in this.’

‘It’s nice.’ Cara fingered the silky green and silver fabric and wondered how she’d allowed him to talk her into this. They’d spent the last hour touring the designer boutiques, stopping occasionally for her to try something on so Byron could give his verdict.

She tried on the green and silver dress and twirled in front of him for his inspection. She hoisted up the hem and stood on tiptoe as she eyed her reflection in the full-length mirror.

‘I need higher shoes,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’

His eyes burned as he ran them over her. She felt her skin prickle. It was as if he touched her all over, his warm hands cupping her flesh, stroking her in places no one but him had touched her before.

‘I think that dress should come with a warning.’ His tone was wry.

She tilted her head questioningly and he smiled.

‘Wearer beware. Men are likely to act with uncontrollable lust when this dress is worn by a petite brunette with golden highlights.’

She turned back to the changing room without responding, but a tiny smile tugged at her mouth and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

She came out to find him with the dress in a designer bag, which he handed to her. She took it hesitantly, her eyes meeting his as he smiled down at her.

‘Now for the shoes.’

He insisted on paying, and bustling her in and out of shops like a whirlwind, coaxing her into choosing lacy underwear, sampling heady perfumes and hunting down the perfect pair of shoes for her new dress. She worried about the amount. Every time she protested about the expense of an item he held up to her he’d roll his eyes and take it straight to the cashier. She soon learnt to keep her mouth shut, and secretly she was pleased. She knew he was trying in a roundabout way to apologise for pressing her about details of her childhood, but it didn’t take away from the enjoyment of indulging herself at his expense—especially when he smiled at her encouragingly as she showcased yet another outfit.

As far as retail therapy went, Cara was sold. She hadn’t realised how distracting spending money could be. The fact that it was Byron’s money and not hers didn’t totally dampen her pleasure in being spoilt, however it made her feel slightly uneasy all the same. She felt like a cheat. She wasn’t playing by his rules at all, and the thought of him finding out secretly shamed her.

Byron was eventually satisfied with the purchases they’d made and ushered her back to his car, carrying the numerous bags for her as she fell into step beside him.

‘How many guests are coming this evening?’ she asked conversationally as they headed back towards Hawthorn.

‘About fifty or so,’ he answered. ‘Friends of the family, a few relatives and so on. I’m sure you’ll find someone other than me to talk to.’

She flicked him a quick glance.

‘I don’t mind talking to you,’ she said.

‘Don’t you?’ His tone sounded surprised. ‘Then why seven years without a word?’

She stared at her hands tightening in her lap before answering.

‘I needed some space—’

‘Space?’ He thrust the car into gear as the lights changed ahead. ‘We could have sorted it out. You didn’t give us a chance. You just hightailed it out of my life and left me to face all the questions.’ He gave the gearstick another thrust and added, ‘Do you have any idea what it was like for me? My family were on my back the whole time, prying for information. Had I upset you? Had I neglected you? God, I was nearly mad with my own feelings, let alone theirs.’

Cara listened to his embittered words with shock. She hadn’t until this moment truly thought about what he might have had to go through. She’d simply imagined he’d be relieved she’d left so he could pick up where he’d left off with Megan.

‘Look.’ His voice had softened somewhat. ‘I’m beginning to realise you’ve had it pretty rough as a kid, and knowing that I’m prepared to make allowances. But at some point you have to realise you can’t be a victim all your life. In a way, clinging to the victim role is a little selfish. It doesn’t change the past one iota—all it does is stuff up the future.’

‘So this plan of yours for me is one of reform?’ Her tone was tight with scorn. ‘You think by forcing me to live with you will somehow reset the imbalance?’

His hands tightened on the wheel as the next set of lights turned to red, his jaw clenched, his mouth set in lines of frustration.

‘I want us to put the past aside and concentrate on the future. Is that so much to ask?’

‘I didn’t belong in your life before,’ she said in a cold, detached tone. ‘I sure as hell don’t belong in your future.’

‘Why?’ His dark eyes flashed to hers. ‘You live like a bloody nun, shut up in that ivory tower you’ve so carefully constructed, with “poor me” painted all over the sides. Wake up, Cara. You’re a young woman with your whole life ahead of you. Take it by both hands and live, for God’s sake.’

‘I suppose this morning’s shopping spree was meant to entice me, was it?’

‘No, of course not. I just wanted—’

‘I will not be bought.’ Her tight voice cut him off, conveying the anger brewing in her. ‘It would take more than a few designer dresses and lacy underwear to sway me. Much more.’

‘What would it take?’

Cara’s eyes clouded with confusion.

‘What would it take for you to come to me willingly?’ he asked again, when she didn’t answer. ‘To live with me as my wife once more? To raise a family together, to build a life together?’

‘It would take a miracle.’

He parked the car behind his father’s Mercedes and looked across at her.

‘What sort of miracle?’

She couldn’t quite hold his gaze, and concentrated on the black button of the glove compartment until it started to blur before her.

‘It would take love. Something we both no longer have.’

There was a long silence.

‘We had love once and it didn’t hold us together. Maybe what we need this time is commitment. Lots of marriages are very successful only because the couple are truly committed to the task of bringing up a family,’ he said.

‘Wouldn’t it be better to have both love and commitment?’ she asked.

She heard him sigh.

‘Life doesn’t always go according to plan, Cara. Sometimes one has to work with what one’s got and take it from there.’

She followed him into the house, her heart heavy. He didn’t love her. She’d destroyed that love by leaving seven years ago. Now he was prepared to settle for second best. But could she commit herself to a lifetime of sterile politeness? What about passion and heart-tripping desire? She knew he desired her. He’d proved that unreservedly. But he was a man with needs and those needs were perfectly natural, it really had nothing to do with her personally. He’d already informed her there had been other women. It hurt to think of him with someone else. It was like a pain that wouldn’t go away.

The Rockcliffe house was buzzing with activity. The helium balloons had arrived and were being positioned in strategic places. The florist had not long left, after delivering huge arrangements of fragrant blooms which Sally was busily placing about the house. She was bustling past the foyer as Cara and Byron entered the house, and smiled at them over the top of an artistic array of white lilies and gypsophila.

‘Been shopping?’ She eyed the designer bags in her brother’s hands. ‘Gosh, Cara. Don’t tell me you got him to go shopping with you? How did you do it? Patrick positively loathes it.’

‘I—’

‘We packed in a hurry.’ Byron came to her rescue. ‘She didn’t have anything to wear.’

Sally gave them both an engaging grin.

‘It’s a good line, that. I should use it more often.’ She put the floral arrangement down on the hall table before adding, ‘Oh, I nearly forgot. Megan’s coming after all. She managed to get a standby flight. Can you pick her up from the airport at five?’

Cara felt the slide of Byron’s glance towards her, but she made a show of sniffing at the arrangement Sally had just set down.

‘Sure. Which airline?’

Cara didn’t listen. She turned towards the kitchen, where there was the aroma of savoury food being prepared, and hoped there was a job she could volunteer for that would effectively remove her from her ex-husband’s presence for the rest of the afternoon.

Jan Rockcliffe was agonising over the mini-quiches when Cara walked in.

‘Oh, hello, Cara.’ She looked up from the tray of pastry cups she was pressing into the tin. ‘I think I’ve made too many salmon ones. What do you think?’

Cara was glad of the distraction and happily involved herself in chopping bacon and sprinkling grated cheese into the rest of the pastry cases, ready for the beaten eggs. Jan chatted to her casually as they worked.

Cara could tell she was taking extra care to keep the conversation on neutral topics. They seemed to discuss just about everything, but there was one thing Cara knew Jan wanted to speak of most—the one thing Cara most dreaded. Neither of them mentioned Byron or the divorce. Jan asked her about her work, and about her mother, but Cara neatly deflected the conversation back to the party preparations.

‘I think these ones are just about done.’ She placed a tray of perfectly cooked baby quiche on the cooling rack on the large workbench for Jan’s inspection.

‘Mmm.’ Jan prodded at one with an experienced finger. ‘Good. Now, how about a cup of tea? Rob should be back with the girls shortly. Best we have a cup in peace, before they come in and take over the kitchen.’

‘They’re lovely children,’ Cara found herself saying as she wiped her hands on a teatowel.

Jan gave her an indulgent look.

‘I adore all my grandchildren. You’ll meet the rest of them tonight. I wouldn’t hear of them not being here to celebrate with us, although I know what their parents would’ve preferred. I might be celebrating forty years of marriage, but I’m still young enough to remember what it was like to have four young children running underfoot.’

Cara perched on one of the kitchen stools as Byron’s mother filled the kettle. Jan switched it on and turned back to face her, the soft lines of her face relaxing into friendliness instead of the distant formality that had lingered there earlier.

‘I didn’t really want to have children,’ she confessed, and Cara straightened in surprise. ‘But things weren’t as they are now and pregnancy was hard to avoid.’

Cara couldn’t think of a single thing to say.

‘But when I lost our first baby I was so upset I couldn’t wait to fall pregnant again. We women are funny, contrary creatures, don’t you think?’

It was hard for Cara to hold the older woman’s gaze. She took the cup of tea Jan passed her and cupped her fingers around its warmth.

‘Byron didn’t tell me you’d…lost a baby. I’m so sorry.’

Jan’s smile was touched with remembered sadness as she stirred sugar into her own cup of tea.

‘It was a long time ago. A stillborn child wasn’t considered a serious loss. Not like now, when you get to hold the infant and say a proper goodbye.’

Cara abandoned her tea.

‘How…how far along were you?’

Jan’s chocolate-brown eyes, so like her son’s, clouded briefly and Cara wished she hadn’t asked such a personal and painful question.

‘Six months.’

Cara could feel tears prickling at the back of her own eyes as she faced the pain in those of her ex-mother-in-law.

‘It was a little girl,’ Jan said, even as the question was forming on Cara’s tongue. ‘She would be thirty-eight by now.’

‘I’m so sorry.’

Jan picked up her tea once more. Cara watched as she stirred it unnecessarily for a long moment before speaking.

‘Grief is a strange thing, Cara,’ she said at last. ‘It’s like a cardigan in your wardrobe you really should give away but you just can’t. You need it to be there, somewhere at the back, just to remind you. You take it out occasionally to look at it, and you always put it back just out of sight, but you know it’s still there. Do you know what I mean?’

Cara swallowed deeply and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.

‘Thirty-eight years is a very long time, I know, but we each have to deal with things in our own way,’ Jan said reflectively.

They sipped their tea in silence. Cara could hear the sound of voices in the background—excited voices getting ready for a party. She lifted her gaze back to Byron’s mother and before she could stop herself asked, ‘Did you name her?’

Jan put her cup down right in the middle of her saucer with a precision Cara secretly envied. Her own hands were shaking as she placed them in her lap.

‘Not for a long time,’ Jan answered quietly. ‘It wasn’t encouraged. But one day some weeks later I decided she deserved a name, and so I called her Anne. Anne Elizabeth Sarah Rockcliffe.’

Cara wanted to tell Byron’s mother of her own loss, but just then there was the sound of childish excitement and the twins burst into the kitchen, waving plastic carrier bags in front of them.

‘Look what Pop bought me!’ Katie crowed excitedly.

‘I want to show Granny first.’ Kirstie pushed past her sister. ‘You always get to show her first.’

‘Show me,’ Cara said, quickly defusing the situation.

Both the girls came to her, and she made all the right noises over the trinkets Byron’s father had purchased. She escorted the twins out of the kitchen with a promise to do their hair for the party, adorning it with the colourful slides their grandfather had bought at the market for them. Sally gave her a grateful glance as she passed them in the doorway, a tray of champagne glasses in her hands.

‘You’re an angel, Cara,’ she said. ‘Byron’s just left for the airport, and Fliss and Jason just called to say they’re on their way. The girls know which dresses they’re wearing, but if you could help them that would be great.’

‘No trouble,’ Cara said, shepherding the twins in front of her up the stairs. ‘Come on, girls.’ She addressed the children on either side of her. ‘Let’s get ready to party.’

The guests started arriving at six, and Cara hardly had time to do her own make-up, so busy was she with the twins. She was conscious that somewhere amongst the gathering downstairs Megan Fry would be ingratiating herself into the family fold as if she’d never been out of it. The thought of the other woman telling everyone what a mess Cara’s business was in made anger coil in her belly like a snake.