Mediterranean Mavericks: Greeks. Кейт Хьюит

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СКАЧАТЬ tone of her voice altered immediately and the stumbled apology he had been expecting was not forthcoming.

      ‘As I’m having private healthcare, my obstetrician has fitted in an extra check-up for me and I’m due for a scan tomorrow,’ she said, her voice now as cool as his. ‘And I thought you might like to come. I realise it’s very short notice and you might not be able to clear your diary in time—’

      ‘Is that why you left it so late to invite me?’

      He heard the unmistakable sound of a frustrated sigh. ‘No, Ariston. But since you haven’t bothered answering any of my emails—’

      ‘You know I don’t like communicating by email,’ he said moodily.

      ‘Yes, I realise that.’ There was a pause. ‘I just… I wasn’t sure whether or not you’d want to see me. I thought about sending you a photo once I’d had the scan done, then thought that wouldn’t be fair and so I—’

      ‘What time,’ he interrupted brutally, ‘is it happening?’

      ‘Midday. At the Princess Mary hospital. Where we went before—you remember?’

      ‘I’ll be there,’ he said, before the voice of his conscience forced the next question from his lips. ‘How are you?’

      ‘I’m fine. All good.’ He could hear her swallowing. ‘The midwife is very pleased with my progress and I—’

      ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ he said, and terminated the conversation.

      He sat staring into space afterwards, angry with himself for being so short with her, but what the hell did she expect—that he would run around after her like some kind of puppy? He stared at the sky, whose dark clouds had now begun to empty slanting rods of rain onto the surrounding skyscrapers. After their blazing row he’d spent the night in a hotel to give her time to cool off, returning the following morning and expecting her to have changed her mind. In fact, he’d been expecting an apology. His mouth hardened. How wrong he had been. There had been no contrition or attempt to make things better. Her mood had been flat yet purposeful as she had repeated her determination to move out.

      He’d tried being reasonable. He had not opposed her wishes, giving her free rein to move into her own place, telling himself that, if he gave her the freedom she thought she wanted and the space she thought she needed, it would bring her running right back. But it hadn’t. On the contrary, she had made a cosy little nest out of her rented cottage on Wimbledon Common, as if she was planning to stay there for ever. During his one brief visit, he had stared in disbelief at the sunny yellow room, which she had made into a perfect nursery by adorning the walls with pictures of rabbits and such like. A shiny mobile of silvery fish had twirled above a brand-new crib and in the hallway had stood an old-fashioned pram. He had looked out of the window at the seemingly endless green grass of the Common and his heart had clenched with pain as he acknowledged his exclusion. And yet pride stopped him from showing it. He had given a cool shake of his head when she had offered him tea, citing a meeting in the city as the reason why.

      She had told him she would be fair and that he could have paternal visiting rights as often as he liked and he believed her, but the idea of living without his son made his heart clench with pain. And yet the thought of an ugly legal battle for their baby had suddenly seemed all wrong.

      Why?

      Why?

      He slept badly—something which was becoming a habit—and he was already waiting when Keeley arrived at the hospital, failing to hide the shock on her face when she saw him.

      ‘Ariston!’ Her cheeks went pink. ‘You’re early!’

      ‘And?’

      She looked as if she wanted to say something more but smiled instead, except that, as smiles went, it didn’t look terribly convincing. Her mouth seemed strained but he thought he’d never seen her looking more beautiful, in a green velvet coat which matched her eyes and her fair hair hanging over one shoulder in a thick plait.

      ‘Shall we go up to the scanning room?’ she said.

      ‘As you wish,’ he growled.

      The appointment couldn’t have gone better. The radiographer smiled and pointed out things which didn’t really need pointing out—even to Ariston’s untutored eye. The rapidly beating little heart and the thumb which was jammed into a monochrome mouth. He could feel the salt taste of unwanted tears in the back of his throat and was glad that Keeley was busy wiping jelly from her stomach, giving him enough time to compose himself.

      And when they emerged into the quiet London street it felt as if he had stepped into another world.

      ‘Would you like lunch?’ he questioned formally.

      ‘I…no, thank you.’

      ‘Coffee, then?’

      She looked as if she wanted to say something important but although she had opened her lips, she quickly closed them again and shook her head. ‘No, thanks. It’s very kind of you but I’m off coffee at the moment and I’m…tired. I’d rather get home if it’s all the same with you.’

      ‘I’ll have my driver drop you off.’

      ‘No, honestly, Ariston. I’ll get the bus or the Tube. It’s no bother.’

      ‘I’m not having you struggling across London on public transport in your condition. I will have my driver drop you off,’ he repeated in a flat tone which didn’t quite disguise his growing irritation. ‘Don’t worry, Keeley. I’ll take a cab. I wouldn’t dream of subjecting you to any more of my company since you clearly find the prospect so unappealing. Here. Get in.’

      He pulled open the door of the limousine which Keeley hadn’t even noticed and which had drawn to a smooth and noiseless halt beside them. He was watching her as she slid onto the back seat, the scent of leather and luxury seeming poignantly familiar as she stared into Ariston’s blue eyes—those beautiful blue eyes which she had missed so much. Her mouth dried. Should she tell him to come round some time? Would that send out the wrong message—or maybe the real message—that it wasn’t just his eyes she had missed?

      ‘Ariston,’ she began, but he had closed the car door and given an almost imperceptible nod to his driver as the powerful machine pulled away.

      And Keeley turned round, slightly ungainly with her baby bump, wanting to catch a glimpse of his face as the car pulled away. Was she hoping for one of those movie endings, where she would surprise a look of longing on his face and she could yell at the driver to stop the car, and…

      But he was walking away, striding purposefully towards a black cab which had just switched off its yellow light, and Keeley turned away, biting her lip as the limousine took her southwest, towards Wimbledon.

      She was doing the right thing. She was. She kept telling herself that over and over. Why sit through a torturous lunch or even a cup of coffee when Ariston had a face like dark granite? He didn’t love her and he never could. He was an unreasonably jealous and controlling man. He might have the power to turn her to jelly whenever he so much as looked at her but he was all the things she despised.

      So how come she still wanted him with a longing which sometimes left her breathless СКАЧАТЬ