Authors: Anya Forest
A Southern Star (40 page)
Christie shook her head. “Swear him to secrecy did you?”
“He guessed anyway,” Blake said. “On the drive back from Dunedin. Scott’s invited us over for lunch. Maybe we could drive over next weekend. I want to get a dog, thought we could get more of an idea about his. There’s a local breeder, and I’ve checked, that breed is supposed to be great with children. And for hunting.”
“A dog?” Christie said. “We could get a dog like that?”
Blake nodded. “Not for several months, I thought we’d finish the house first, wait until Isla’s slightly older.” Christie looked at Isla, still in the crook of Blake’s arm; she was yawning, about to go to sleep again.
Blake followed her gaze. “I would suggest putting her to bed in her cot and then…” He fixed her with an intent look. Christie caught her breath as she saw the love and desire filling Blake’s eyes. “But my planning didn’t extend to having the house finished, a bed set up—for us. The rest of the house has really only been gibbed, it still needs a lot of interior work. And the cottage might be a bit cold for Isla, on a day like this. For an extended stay.”
Desire swept through Christie like a crashing wave. She leaned against Blake, whispering to him. He gave a shout of laughter. “Just as well I’m a patient man,” he said jokingly. Christie’s heart contracted as she realised just how patient he had been. “But you’re right, since we’re here, let’s look around. And we can go back to the apartment afterwards.” Christie nodded as he kissed her again before stopping abruptly.
“Anyway, you wanted to know about design,” he said, grinning at her, obviously teasing her. Christie looked at him, her desire mingling with her love for him, with her excitement about the home she now realised she would share with Blake, with Isla. For this room which Blake had created with such effort, such attention to detail, a demonstration of his love for her, for Isla.
“Blake, how did you organise all this?” Christie asked again. “The mural?”
“It was my idea but Rebecca painted it,” he said.
“Rebecca?” Christie repeated, stunned.
“She’s really artistic,” he explained. “When I confided in her, told her I wanted to find someone to do it, she offered. I left that up to her. But I chose the paint for the other walls, the curtains and the cushions. But I ran it past her first. I knew what you wanted, but I didn’t want to get it wrong. I found the bedding myself though, I went looking.”
Christie shook her head. “It’s all beautiful, whatever you’d chosen would have been.” She looked again at the mural, noticing more of the detail.
“Christie, I wanted to finish the nursery, get drawers for Isla, a few other things. But Rebecca pointed out you might want to choose the rest of what we’d need. She didn’t want you to feel like everything had been chosen for you, that you were stuck with it.” He shrugged. “We can go out shopping together anyway. And sort out what you want to change.”
Christie turned to Blake, shocked at Rebecca’s sudden sensitivity, at his patent willingness to change the entire room if she, Christie, expressed the most minor dislike of even one aspect. “Blake, this is the most gorgeous room I’ve ever seen. It means so much to me that you’ve chosen things for Isla. Everything is perfect, because you chose it. The cot, the mural, I love everything.”
“Did you and Rebecca agree?” Christie couldn’t resist asking as she walked out of the nursery.
“On everything except the chair,” Blake said, a smile in his voice. “Because it wasn’t new?” Christie guessed. Blake nodded. “And she thought the cushions clashed.” He shrugged. “But too bad. In the end she liked them.”
Blake steered Christie into a smaller room with windows looking out towards the river gorge. She looked up at him questioningly. “We could turn this into a study for you,” Blake said hesitantly. “What does this contracting involve?” he asked, still uncertain about her exact plans. “You said to the doctor that time your career was important to you; what do you want to do, Christie?” He kept talking, not waiting for her answer. “I guess we don’t need to decide right now…it’s up to you,” he said carefully. “We could put Isla into daycare, or organise a nanny. Part time or whatever fits…”
Stunned, Christie looked up at Blake, unsure. “A nanny?” she repeated.
He nodded. “If that’s what you want. We’d need to sit down together and figure out what’s best. If you want to work at all,” he added as an afterthought, aware of Christie’s strong mind, her intelligence. “I assumed you would, but you don’t have to…” He watched her face.
“I do want to keep working, Blake, definitely. But when Isla’s so young I had thought I would keep doing the contracting from home, build up the hours from there. I usually work around Isla’s routine, I don’t think we’d need to organise childcare for her…”
Blake shrugged. “Well the option’s there anyway,” he said casually, hesitating slightly. “Maybe just for her brothers and sisters then?”
Christie smiled up at him. “Brothers and sisters? How many is she having?” Relaxing as he realised Christie was teasing him, he leaned down to whisper in her ear; she laughed, agreeing with him. “I’m still working though,” she added.
“We’ll definitely need a nanny then.” Blake smiled back at her, hesitating slightly. Christie tilted her head, watching him, her eyes narrowing, waiting for him to speak. She was aware he still had not mentioned anything about Brenda, wondered if he would do so now.
“Who told you?” Blake said eventually. Christie frowned slightly. “What do you mean, Blake?” He took a deep breath. “Who told you that I was adopted?”
“No one,” she said softly. “I figured it out myself. But, Blake, I shouldn’t have mentioned it that night at the hospital. Like that.”
He shrugged but she sensed him relax slightly. “I should have told you,” he said, watching Isla. “But I thought you knew…I couldn’t understand why in Dunedin you—”
Christie gave Blake an embarrassed smile. “You and Lisa are so similar. I got completely the wrong idea. And Lisa always defended you.”
“You figured it out yourself?” Blake repeated, shaking his head. “Trust you.”
Christie tensed at his use of the word, looked away briefly before speaking. “You got that phone call, and I saw how important it was to you. Then I realised when you took me back to Lisa’s afterwards you were completely different to…how you usually are,” Christie finished carefully, not sparing herself. “It was Brenda that called you, wasn’t it?”
Blake nodded. “She’s my birth mother,” he said quietly. “And I blamed her for so long, and she always tried to make amends.” He gave a short laugh. “Everything was fine when I was younger, my parents always told me from the start…they never hid anything, but then when I was a teenager I wanted to find out more, pestered my parents to help. And they did, they already had some details anyway, but when I found out Brenda was my birth mother it was a shock for me. Brenda couldn’t really tell me anything about my father, just that he was some guy she met in a bar.
“Lisa and I were at high school together and the whole thing got a bit much. And I always thought that my parents—that once they were able to have Rebecca—that they didn’t really want me. As much, I mean. Because she is just a replica of my mother, and my father dotes on them both. My parents tried to talk to me, sort it all out, but…” Blake shook his head. “In the end I just took off overseas.”
“But, Blake, your father, at the winery…” Christie spoke, trying to make him see what had been clear to her.
“I know,” he said. “I went to see my parents, to talk. That’s all sorted.” Blake grinned at her, thinking of the day Isla was born. “And I’ve even spoken to Rebecca. Apparently, I’m the only brother she’s ever wanted,” he said flippantly, masking the deep emotion he felt.
“Except when it comes to agreeing on a paint colour,” Christie said, trying to match Blake’s joking tone, sensing the genuine emotion underneath.
He shrugged, his eyes suddenly warm. “Chalk and cheese,” he said easily. “And I go hunting,” he said, mock seriously. “Gives her the novelty factor over the latte at the café with her friends.” Christie choked back sudden laughter.
Taking her by surprise, Blake moved closer to kiss her again. “Thank you for today,” he said quietly, suddenly serious again. “Hearing that woman today at the party carrying on about mothers who adopt out their babies…But once I spoke to Brenda we were both okay. She’s never really told anyone about me, so I guess a lot of friends don’t realise what they’re saying.” Christie nodded silently, trying to hide her amazement at Blake’s candour, realising he was being completely open with her.
Eventually, they walked into the bare shell that would become the main bedroom. Christie saw the way the whole room was orientated towards the sweeping view out to the Shotover River. She caught her breath, imagining, looking around before walking purposefully out of the bedroom, back down the hall.
“Christie, where are you going?” Blake called, following her out of the bedroom, still holding Isla. She was in the lounge, holding the car keys, her tall figure illuminated in the pale winter sun, her blue eyes bright, sparkling. He caught his breath. She saw him walking towards her, holding Isla.
“You may be patient. I’m not,” Christie said, her smile full of love, desire. Blake laughed, his stride quickening down the hall.
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