MacAllister's Baby (17 page)

‘Yes,’ Elisabeth said, ‘I do. You do too, don’t you, Jennifer?’

The girl nodded. ‘I don’t think Danny’s noticed though.’

Elisabeth was puzzled by this for a moment before she realised that Jennifer was using a fifteen-year-old girl’s definition of the word ‘like’, meaning to fancy, to want to go out with, and that she was reassuring her teacher that Danny hadn’t detected the crush both the female members of their quartet had on Angus MacAllister.

Jennifer picked up her paper. ‘I’m glad he got me to learn how to make chicken soup. Bye, Miss Read.’

‘See you later, Jennifer.’

Angus MacAllister. Everywhere she went, she was reminded of the effect he had on people’s lives. The transformation he’d started in Jennifer was nothing short of miraculous.

And the transformation he’d started in her…

Elisabeth shook her head firmly. That transformation had been a temporary madness. Nothing to do with her normal life. She gathered her things together to leave school. When she unlocked her desk drawer to take out her handbag she turned on her mobile phone. But there were no messages. He hadn’t rung her.

Why should he? she thought as she left the school, threading through crowds of students waiting for the bus. He’d invited her for a weekend together and that weekend was over. They didn’t have any reason to see each other again until Wednesday, their regularly scheduled session with the kids. Angus was busy, she was busy, they both had lives and jobs and other people to spend time with, and something silly like a split condom, which probably wouldn’t matter anyway, didn’t change—

Her phone rang. She stopped in the middle of the pavement and dug inside her bag, her fingers hasty and numb. She didn’t recognise the number on the screen but she didn’t know Angus’s number anyway.

She forced herself to clear her throat before she answered. ‘Hello?’

‘Hello, is this Elisabeth Read?’

Not Angus. The disappointment felt as if someone had seized her stomach and twisted it.

‘Yes, who’s calling?’

‘You don’t know me, Elisabeth, but my name is Clive Jones, and I was given your number.’

The man’s voice had a definite Welsh lilt, and Elisabeth realised who it must be: the tango-dancing Welshman Jo was trying to set her up with.

The last thing she needed right now was a date. Still, he was a friend of Joanna’s. ‘Oh, yes, I know. Thanks for calling, Clive. How are you?’

‘I’m fine, thank you, Elisabeth. Actually I was wondering if you and I could get together, maybe this afternoon, for a drink? I’m hoping school’s over for the day?’

‘It is, but as a matter of fact, Clive, I—’

‘I know you’re busy but really I just want to meet you, talk with you for a few minutes. I won’t mind if that’s all. Honest. I’m in the neighbourhood, you see, which is why I called, so I thought maybe we could meet at Benny’s. It’s near your school, I think, and you could pop in on your way home, for a quick drink with me?’

He certainly was insistent. Knowing Jo, she’d talked Elisabeth up. Benny’s was right round the corner; it would be more polite to meet with him and tell him face to face that she wasn’t interested in dating him.

And what better thing did she have to do, anyway?

‘All right,’ she said. ‘How will I know you?’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said, and he sounded so pleased that she felt guilty that she’d be giving him the brush-off in ten minutes. ‘I’ll know you. I’m at Benny’s now, so I’ll see you in a few minutes.’

She tucked the phone back into her handbag and headed towards the wine bar.

It was well lit, nearly empty at this time of the afternoon. A man sitting at a table near the door rose as soon as she entered and approached her, his hand outstretched.

‘Elisabeth? It’s Clive. Thanks for agreeing to meet me.’

‘It’s nice to meet you, Clive.’ He was slight, shorter than she was, with thin blond hair. Not her type at all. She wondered what Jo had been thinking.

Maybe he was a really good dancer.

‘What would you like to drink?’

She asked for a mineral water and watched Clive go up to the bar. She should have asked for a coffee. She’d hardly slept last night; she’d felt tense as a violin string. And her bed had felt empty.

Impossible as it seemed, after only two nights she’d become used to sleeping in Angus’s arms.

Then again, after the day she’d had, she felt too jumpy for caffeine. She probably should have a glass of wine and try to relax.

Except you shouldn’t drink if you’re pregnant,
a voice in the back of her head said.

Clive returned with a tall glass of water for her and a pint of lager for himself. As he sat across from her she wondered what on earth she was doing sitting in a wine bar across from a man when there was a possibility she might be carrying Angus’s baby.

‘I’m sorry, Clive,’ she blurted. ‘I know I told Joanna you should call me for a date but I don’t think it’s a good idea.’

Clive seemed surprised. Of course he would be—she wasn’t exactly handling this tactfully.

‘I mean, you seem like a nice guy and Joanna has only praise for you, but I—’

‘You’re seeing someone else,’ he finished for her.

Not any more. ‘Well, yes.’

He nodded. ‘It’s a new thing, I take it. He swept you off your feet before I could get to you, huh?’

‘Something like that. I’m sorry, Clive. I didn’t mean to lead you on but I thought I should meet with you and tell you in person.’

Clive took a long pull of his beer. ‘Well, it’s a disappointment, Elisabeth, but I’m glad you’re being honest with me.’ He put his beer down and leaned on the table. ‘Is he really that special? Any chance of you dumping him for me?’

‘He’s very talented,’ she said carefully, toying with her glass.

‘Is this a fling, do you think, or are you thinking marriage, children, all that sort of stuff?’

Marriage then children. That was the order she’d wanted to go about it. She shifted in her seat, uncomfortable with having to keep up this charade of being in a happy new relationship.

‘Oh, it’s early for that.’

‘You’ve got enough of kids at school?’

‘No, I want children, eventually.’

Wanted children? She ached for them. Every time she saw a baby, she thought of the one she’d lost, thought about the ones she would some day have.

Being pregnant with Angus’s child was not a good idea. If she had her choice, she wouldn’t choose to be a single mother. But she’d come to terms with that possibility last time she was pregnant, and she knew she could do it if she had to. Because in the end, a child mattered more than a wedding ring. Although she’d always wanted to do things differently from her parents, they’d given her a loving home, even if they hadn’t been married. She could do that, too.

Enough. ‘So how did you get into tango dancing?’ she asked, to change the subject.

He was mid-sip of his beer and he suddenly snorted, spilling it over the lip of his glass.

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he sputtered. ‘Just fell into it, I guess.’

What a strange answer. How did you fall into tango dancing? And why would the question make him laugh?

‘Anyway, enough about me,’ he said. ‘Tell me some more about yourself.’

Elisabeth pushed back her chair. She couldn’t figure out why Joanna had thought she’d be interested in this guy; he was getting odder by the second. Maybe Jo had met him on a good day. To be fair, Elisabeth wasn’t at her best, either.

‘I’m sorry, Clive, but I’ve got to be going now.’ She stood. He stood too.

‘Are you sure? I was really enjoying talking with you.’

‘I’m sure. It was very nice to meet you, though.’ She held out her hand and he shook it.

‘Good luck with your new bloke, Elisabeth.’

‘Thanks.’
Not sure luck has anything to do with it,
she thought, and left Clive and the wine bar.

She would spend this evening thinking about her marking, she told herself on her way home. She would catch up with everything she hadn’t done this weekend. And she’d turn off her phone, so she wouldn’t be expecting it to ring. Because it wouldn’t.

She reached into her bag and got out her phone and turned it off as she turned the corner to her road.

And then she looked up, and she stopped.

In front of her building: a red nineteen sixty-seven, E-type, Series 1 Jaguar. With Angus MacAllister leaning against it.

He saw her the same moment she saw him, and he smiled. Elisabeth’s stomach flipped over.

How had she walked away from him yesterday?

‘Elisabeth,’ he said and covered the distance between them and took her in his arms.

She breathed him deep. And understood what that ache had been inside her all day, because it disappeared.

‘I’ve missed you,’ he said.

‘Don’t be silly, it hasn’t even been a day since we’ve seen each other,’ she said to his shoulder. Knowing she was pretending.

He relaxed his hold on her a little bit and tilted up her chin with one hand. ‘Sensible Miss Read.’

‘Well, it hasn’t. And I’m sure you’ve been busy.’

‘I’ve been at Magnum all day. They were fine without me this weekend.’

‘I’m so sorry. It must be terrible to find out you’re not as important as you thought.’

He grinned down at her. ‘You’re afraid I’m going to charm you again, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘I don’t blame you, because that’s exactly what I’ve come here to do.’

And he was doing it already. Her hands wanted to creep underneath his suit jacket, unbutton his shirt, feel all the textures of his chest. ‘If you expected me to swoon at your feet just because of your flash car, you can forget it. I’ve seen it already.’

‘Curses. There goes my nefarious master plan. I looked for you at school first, but I was too late. Have you come from there?’

‘More or less.’

‘Have you eaten?’

‘Not since lunch.’

‘Perfect.’ He let her go, opened his car door, and took out an insulated box.

‘What’s that?’

‘Nefarious Master Plan B. Can I come in?’

It had been a foregone conclusion from the moment she’d seen him again. ‘Yes.’

‘Brilliant.’ He reached in his car again and took out a bottle wrapped in a silver insulated sleeve, then bumped the door shut with his hip and balanced the bottle on top of the box to lock the car door. Every movement deft and sure.

He followed her up the stairs to her flat. He felt very close, their footsteps echoing together in the cool stairwell. She opened the door and they went inside.

Her flat was substantially smaller than his house. Angus, standing in her living room, seemed to take up a lot of space—not just because of his tallness, but because of his energy, his presence. She saw him take in the plain furniture with its rich embroidered pillows and crocheted throws, the walls lined with books, the houseplants that clustered around the windows.

He put down his box and his bottle on the coffee-table and stroked one of his fingers down the lush green leaf of one of her plants. ‘You’re a nurturer,’ he said.

‘It’s not me, it’s the poetry I read aloud to them. They particularly like Keats and old Bob Dylan lyrics.’

He let go of the leaf. ‘You’ve got your defences up so high I think I might need a ladder.’

Even the air felt different in her flat with him in it. And he was surprised she was defending herself? ‘What’s in the box?’

He took off the lid and pulled out a succession of plastic take-away containers, naming their contents one by one. ‘Ravioli of Scottish lobster and langoustine, poached in lobster bisque. Duck confit, blood orange, white turnips and
foie gras
sauce. And most of a lemon tart.’ He peeled up the cover of one of the boxes and examined what was in it. ‘The presentation isn’t great, but then again these boxes were designed for chicken chow mein.’

She stared. ‘You brought all this from Magnum? As a take-away?’

‘Domino’s doesn’t do lobster. Have you got some plates? And some glasses?’ He produced a corkscrew from his jacket pocket and opened the bottle with quick, economical movements.

She shook her head incredulously and went to fetch placemats, napkins, plates, glasses, and cutlery. When she returned Angus took the stack of plates from her and set the coffee-table and then opened two of the containers and within seconds had reassembled concoctions of ravioli, sauce, and garnish on the plates. A rich smell filled the room, and Elisabeth realised her mouth was watering.

Whether that was because of the food, or because of Angus’s focused competence while he prepared it, she wasn’t sure.

She sat down on the couch. ‘Wine?’ Angus asked. He held the bottle poised over her glass.

‘No, thank you.’

He put down the bottle and sat next to her. ‘Elisabeth,’ he said. ‘I know you’re thinking there’s a possibility you could be pregnant.’

‘It’s probably fine. The chances are so small. I’m sure it will be okay.’ And she’d just said the same thing three times. She couldn’t be more unconvincing if she tried.

He took her hand in his. ‘You’re worried, and I can’t blame you. But, Elisabeth, if you were pregnant, I would not do the same thing that Robin did to you.’

Her eyes burned; she blinked hard. ‘It’s not going to happen so it’s irrelevant.’

‘It might happen. And you need to know that if it did, you wouldn’t be alone. I would stay with you, I would stay with the baby, we would be together. Look at me, Elisabeth.’

She looked at him. His grey eyes were steady, serious.

He’d said it several times. Protested too much. But, unlike her, he sounded completely sincere.

Angus was good at sounding sincere. She was sure it was a skill he’d perfected over the years, another weapon in his arsenal of charm.

‘This isn’t what you signed on for when you asked me to spend the weekend with you,’ she said.

‘No, it wasn’t. And we tried to avoid it. But if it happens, we’ll make the best of it. Okay?’

He squeezed her hand and she searched his face. There was a line of concentration on his forehead, and no hint of a smile on his lips.

He was a man used to getting his own way, a man used to independence and pleasure. Most importantly, he was a man who centred his entire life around making people like him, saying the thing that people wanted to hear.