A Question of Pride (13 page)

The situation with Max was the one that caused her the most irritation. It hadn't been easy to convince him that she had meant what she'd said that awful night. And he had maintained a steady pressure on her ever since to change her mind. His moods, at first, had alternated between the downright bullying to the coolly resolute, placing arguments before her that she sometimes found difficult to fight. 'I have a beautiful home on the Devonshire coast,' he'd told her only a few weeks ago, when the heatwave had struck. 'The air there is so fresh and clean. And my mother would love having you stay there, Clea. You need a holiday before the baby is born, or you won't be fit to take care of him when he does arrive. Just a fortnight, Clea!' he'd gone on to urge when he caught her wistful expression. 'Think of it as an annual holiday. Everyone needs one, including you.'

Now that had been tempting, she had to admit. But the idea of meeting his mother, and worse, giving her aching heart memories of yet another side to Max, hardened her against it. 'I can't let Brad down,' she insisted stubbornly. 'He needs me until September. I'll have a whole month, then, to rest before the baby.'

But sometimes, when she was alone in her flat, and her emotions found a crack by which to escape and haunt her, she would wonder how different things would be if she gave in to Max's pressure, maybe even married him. To be cosseted like her mother, cared for by Max—even if it was an unloving Max. Ah, but those low times were hard to bear, and her heart would squeeze in lonely yearning as an image of him would float up in front of her—the other Max, the one with the smile that devastated, or just the tall, lean shape of him, naked, tanned skin gleaming with the sheen of recent loving, limbs tangled with her own.

Memories like those were severely cut out. Because she no longer had the right to recall them. She had given it away the night she had told him she was pregnant.

And so he continued to visit her, take her out, lavish the force of his personality on her, while she determinedly rebuffed him. Recently a new mood had crept up on them, a mood of ruthless civility that was, in actual fact, a slow-burning cauldron of resentments. And one day, she knew, it was all going to bubble over.

And then what? she wondered. She didn't know; she wasn't even sure who was causing the resentment.

All she did know was that she wasn't going to put herself in the position of being married to a man who could only manage to feel
fond
of her.

Fond.What a pathetic word! She was
fond
of Italian ice-cream, but she could live quite happily without it. Fond! He had no idea how utterly desperate she'd felt when he'd applied that word to her!

So, they had continued through the last months in a guarded kind of affability that scorned what they had once shared. The larger Clea's body got, the sharper became the edge of her tongue. And the more she found she could say to him without receiving any healthy retaliation, the more she tried his control. It was a petty way of getting back at him, she knew, but it didn't stop her using it. It was hard to hold back on the bitterness when her heart was broken—silly, foolish heart that had never been invited to love the man it had chosen. Max didn't want her love. He didn't want her to have his baby. He just accepted the situation with good, if grim, grace; she had to give him that, if nothing else. He had refused to give up on her when, deep down, she knew it was what she deserved.

The telephone rang on Monday morning, just as Clea was getting ready to go for her monthly check-up with her gynaecologist.

'Hello?' she mumbled, sounding breathless, struggling as she was to fasten the bib buckles on her pale aqua-blue cotton dungarees which had suddenly become too tight.

'Clea, I caught you, then!' It was her mother, sounding superbly fit and not even a little breathless. 'What are you doing?'

'Trying to dress myself while talking to you,' she replied wryly, the phone tucked under her chin. 'I have an appointment at the doctor's in half an hour.'

'Oh—I won't keep you, then,' Amy said, picking up on Clea's brisk tone. 'Remember to tell him about the slight swelling around your ankles.'

'Yes, Mummy.' It was the heat that Clea blamed, but she didn't feel like joining in one of her mother's long discussions on pregnancy, so she kept her reply to its briefest.

'... And the tiredness, mention the tiredness.'

The tiredness had been a silly mistake on her part when she had stupidly fallen asleep at dinner last night in front of her mother and James. They had been furious, blaming her job, as usual. James all but threw her into his car and drove her home. He even stayed while she showered and got into bed! They hadn't given her a chance to explain how she'd hardly slept a wink the night before because the baby had spent the night kicking her to death!

'Yes, Mummy,' she meekly replied again. 'What did you ring for, exactly?'

'Oh, yes ...' Amy sounded disconcerted, she wasn't used to her daughter's meek obedience. 'A party, here, on Saturday next. Can you come? It will probably be the last time James and I entertain on any real level before the baby. James thinks it will become too much for me. You could come Saturday morning and stay overnight as you usually do when you come down. James will drive you back home Sunday. It could be fun, what do you think?'

Clea heaved a sigh of relief as the bib buckle slid home. 'It sounds nice. Thank you, I'd love to come.'

'Good,' said a pleased Amy. 'How is the weather affecting you? James tells me London is steaming. It isn't so bad out here where the air is a lot fresher. I can't believe the summer could be so cruel as to keep this heatwave up for a whole six weeks, while I'm the size of a house. You would think it would show some consideration!'

'Amen to that,' agreed Clea with verve. It was mid-July and the sun had shone constantly since the beginning of June. 'And I'm going to have to buy myself some new clothes,' she added absently, looking ruefully down at the dungarees that fitted across her middle far more tightly than they were supposed to fit. 'I've got the whole morning off, so I think I'll do a bit of shopping after the doctor's—I'll buy something nice for Saturday!' she decided brightly. 'Which reminds me, I
have
to go!'

The telephone began ringing a second time as she was about to leave the flat. She considered ignoring it, before flouncing over to answer it when her curiosity got too much for her.

'Clea? Don't you have an appointment with your gynaecologist today?'

'I was just on my way out of the door to keep it,' she informed her caller impatiently. She had screwed up her hair in a knot on top of her head because its heavy weight irritated her, now the pins were sticking in her scalp to further annoy her. This, on top of everything else, made her sound truculent. 'What do you want, Max? I'm going to be late.' He sounded cool and energetic. She could actually imagine the efficient air-conditioning in his office keeping him cool. It wasn't fair, but then, it didn't take much for her to feel hostile towards Max.

'I thought you might like a lift to work afterwards,' he offered levelly, taking no notice of her ill-mannered tone. 'It's so hot out there that the concrete is beginning to crack. Tell me what time you're due out and I'll meet you.'

'Thanks, but no thanks,' she refused tersely, angered for some reason at his calm supposition that she would fall in with his plans. 'I'm not going back to the office directly from the doctor's.' She hated having to explain her movements, for it invariably led to criticism. So her voice had a defiant tinge to it. 'I'm going shopping—for some new clothes.'

'Not in this heat, you're not!' came the anticipated cry. Here we go again, she thought, looking painfully at the ceiling. 'Why can't you use one of those special designer places where they send out a selection of clothes to suit your size that you can try on at leisure in your own home? I can't see ...'

Her temper snapped, making her cut in ruthlessly on him, her tongue as sharp as a razor. 'Because that kind of service costs vast amounts of money. And I don't happen to have vast amounts!'

'If you would only climb down off your high principles and accept my help, you can afford anything you damned well please!'

'Accept your
conscience money,
you mean?' As soon as she'd said it, Clea was appalled at herself. That was most definitely the worst thing she had ever said to him.

The silence hummed in her ears, and she chewed uncomfortably on her bottom lip while Max, she was sure, simmered in his air-conditioned office. Then she heard a long and heavy sigh, and winced visibly at it.

'Do you know, Clea ...' His voice was low and grim. 'I never thought I could ever actively dislike you, but sometimes I come very close to it.'

The line went dead and she stood, holding the receiver for a long moment afterwards, feeling utterly ashamed of herself.

'... You either slow down, young lady,' Dr Fielding pointed a threatening pen at a subdued Clea, 'or I'll have you admitted to hospital, where they'll
make
you rest—understand?'

Clea nodded mutely.

'Heatwaves like this one have seen healthier pregnant women than you flat on their backs with exhaustion.'

He studied her downbent head, following the soft curve of her cheek and jaw—and smiled drily to himself. She possessed the most astounding beauty. And pregnancy suited her, it exposed a little of that extra dimension she would normally keep hidden. The warmer Latin side ...

Whoever the man was who had passed her over must be a blind fool. For Clea Maddon was of those rare woman who would only improve with age. She brightened his day, just sitting here.

'... Feet up on something whenever you sit down—and do that often, to ease the pressure on those ankles. And do you think you could
try
to take your iron tablets every day?' He didn't sound optimistic.

And the guilty grin Clea sent made him sigh, half in exasperation, half in defeat. It was too hot, she was just too pretty, and his weary old senses were simply captivated by that smile—so full of guile, full of impertinent charm.

'Oh—off you go!' he dismissed ruefully. 'But I want to see you again in two weeks—
two weeks,
mind!

And before that if you suffer from any light-headedness or signs of giddiness.'

Clea came down the surgery steps, smiling to herself at the doctor's fatherly admonishments. He really was a dear old thing. But he didn't seem to understand that she felt so well! The sun was shining—and the sky was a beautiful unblemished blue! Her baby was slumbering for a brief while, and so not pummelling her. And she was off on a shopping spree!

It was with that smile presented to the sun that Max first glimpsed her, and it held him caught for a long and breathless moment before he opened the car door and slowly climbed out, his narrowed gaze taking in every detail of her.

She had no idea how enchanting she looked in those ridiculous baggy dungarees. Tall and graceful, even while the evidence of her pregnancy pushed determinedly at the pale aqua-blue cloth. Her feet were pushed into canvas slip-ons of a matching colour, and she had a large matching canvas bag slung over one shoulder. Her eyes were shining with a love of life that hadn't been there for some months. Her hair—that glorious mass of gleaming black silk—had been coiled in a tight knot on top of her well shaped head, leaving vulnerable the gentle curve of cheek and long creamy neck. She looked young, contented and beautiful. The vision tugged at the lines of his mouth as he gripped the rim of the open car door.

'Clea!'

The call brought her head swinging around in his direction. She stood stiff and straight, her feet placed slightly apart, tummy sticking out in an unconscious balancing of weight. Purple eyes squinted into the bright sunlight, a frown marring her smooth brow. Then surprise showed on her face.

'Want a lift?' Max offered, searching for a smile and finding it in the half-twist of his attractive mouth.

He looked clean and alive: his black hair blowing a little in the gentle warmth of the summer breeze, lean face a perfect fashioning of hard bone and smooth, tanned skin that helped make him the very attractive man he was. He wasn't wearing a jacket, it was just too hot for City convention. Even the most staid City gents had resorted to walking around jacketless this summer. Max had gone one step further and removed his tie also, loosening the top few buttons on his shirt; the crisp white cotton clung to his broad frame as if to deliberately draw attention to the taut dark skin beneath where the mat of masculine body hair showed as a sensual shadow against the clean cotton.

Clea's cheeks began to warm with a guilty flush—because of what she'd said on the phone earlier, and because an unbidden surge of awareness was suddenly affecting her blood pressure. How do I combat that, Dr Fielding? she queried silently. By not looking at Max, when my eyes want to hungrily eat him up?

By pretending my traitorous body doesn't intimately remember how wonderful he feels when clamped sensuously to me? How do I combat his effect on me when the mere sight of him sends my blood pressure soaring?

She hadn't actually expected to see him for at least a week. On other times when she'd behaved rather badly to him, Max had gone into recluse for a while, as if to give her, as well as himself, time to get over the bitterness that would well up. He'd broken the rules this time by turning up here, and her soft mouth pouted unconsciously while she tried to decide how best to approach this surprise situation.

Then, with a pert uplifting of her chin, Clea spun on her heel and walked slowly towards him and his low, black, growling monster of a car.

'Has that thing got air-conditioning?' she enquired, to hide her embarrassment. She hadn't liked herself very much since this morning's altercation.

He smiled, coming around the car to lean easily against the long, low bonnet. 'If it hasn't,' he drawled with a touch of wry amusement, 'then Aston Martin need suing.' The car was brand new. He had only picked it up the day before. 'I didn't pay out the exorbitant fee this thing cost to get only half a car.'