A Heavenly Christmas. Кэрол Мортимер

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СКАЧАТЬ to think about this situation isn’t important,’ she dismissed. ‘Making the baby comfortable is, however. I’ll just get a towel from the bathroom for you to lie her down on.’ Which she did with no trouble whatsoever—the lay-out to this apartment was exactly the same as her own on the floor below. ‘There.’ She doubled the dark blue towel, placing it on the floor before looking expectantly at Ethan Sherbourne.

      His cheeks were flushed as he scowled back at her darkly. ‘I am not—’ The baby began to cry once again. ‘Maybe I am,’ he muttered between clenched teeth, before moving down onto his knees and lying the baby gently down on the towel. ‘How do I get into this thing?’ He pulled ineffectually at the Babygro, turning the baby from side to side in his effort to find an opening.

      ‘There are usually poppers on the insides of the legs—Oh, for goodness’ sake…!’ Olivia showed her impatience as he lifted the baby’s legs to the left and then the right, almost turning the poor little thing over onto her face in the process. ‘She’s a baby, not a sack of potatoes!’ Olivia bit out as she dropped down onto her knees beside him.

      ‘Sacks of potatoes only need opening and the contents peeling—not having their nappies changed,’ Ethan muttered with distaste as Olivia easily released the hidden poppers and freed the baby from the lower half of the all-in-one garment before moving out of the way. The pungent aroma was much stronger now. ‘I can’t believe I’m doing this,’ he said a few minutes later, the soiled nappy discarded, one of the wipes held gingerly in his hand.

      Olivia felt it diplomatic to take the nappy to the kitchen and dispose of it at that moment. Mainly because she didn’t think Ethan Sherbourne would appreciate seeing her bent over in hysterical laughter—at his expense!

      He had looked so ridiculous kneeling there on the carpet, wearing what looked to be—and probably was!—a black silk shirt and tailored black trousers, as a happy Andrea blew bubbles up at him, her joyfully kicking legs making it difficult for him to finish what he had started.

      If one of his harem could only see him now—if all of them could see him now—they might not be quite so available to him!

      That thought had the effect of sobering Olivia, if nothing else. She washed her hands before returning to the sitting room, and came to an abrupt halt as she saw Andrea was still minus her nappy while Ethan Sherbourne lay on the carpet beside her, copying her bubble-blowing antics.

      Olivia felt a sudden tightness in her chest. Ethan didn’t look so ridiculous any more. In fact he looked as if he was definitely enjoying himself.

      He glanced across at Olivia as he sensed her standing there, his expression softened from playing with the baby. ‘She’s beautiful, isn’t she?’ he said huskily.

      Olivia didn’t even glance at the contented baby. ‘All babies are beautiful, Mr Sherbourne,’ she told him hardily.

      ‘I thought I asked you to call me Ethan,’ he reminded her softly. ‘And you are…?’

      ‘Olivia,’ she provided stiffly, knowing it would be completely churlish to refuse to give him her first name—as well as non-productive; he only had to ask Mr Pulman for it if he really wanted to know.

      ‘Olivia Hardy,’ Ethan repeated mockingly as he sat up to look at her with laughing brown eyes. ‘It sounds like one half of a comedy duo!’

      Angry colour darkened her cheeks. ‘In the circumstances, what does that make you?’ she returned scathingly. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she added abruptly, before he could come out with some clever reply, ‘I have some case notes I need to go over this evening.’ She moved towards the door, anxious to escape now.

      ‘Of course,’ he agreed, standing up. ‘You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Exactly what sort of lawyer?’ He followed her over to the door, standing in the doorway as she stood waiting for the lift to arrive.

      ‘A good one,’ Olivia came back derisively, glancing back at him in surprise as she heard him chuckle.

      ‘I’ll just bet you are too,’ he replied appreciatively. ‘Olivia—’ He broke off as the sound of the baby whimpering could be heard behind him.

      Olivia’s mouth thinned humourlessly. ‘I believe that is your cue to feed her,’ she told him as she stepped inside the lift. ‘Good luck!’

      Ethan grimaced. ‘I think Andrea is going to need that more than I am!’

      He was probably right, Olivia decided as the lift began its descent. Sorry as she felt for Shelley in her obvious desperation, she couldn’t help thinking that the other woman should have chosen someone with more competence at the task than Ethan Sherbourne obviously had. Even though, as Andrea’s father, a more appropriate minder couldn’t be found!

      As she let herself into her own silent apartment she could still hear the baby’s cries, whether real or imagined, so she moved to switch on the television and drown out the noise—instantly turning the volume down as she realised she was probably the one responsible for disturbing the neighbours now! Besides, no matter how loud the television, it didn’t stop Olivia from worrying about the baby.

      Would Ethan Sherbourne know how to feed Andrea properly? Did he know how to make up the formula? To use sterilised water and not some straight from the tap? To tell if the milk was the right temperature for Andrea to drink? That he had to wind the baby after every ounce or so to prevent her getting tummy ache?

      Olivia switched off the television impatiently, striding through to her bathroom to turn on the shower before going into the adjoining bedroom to undress. A shower might help to relax her. Anything to take her mind off what might be going wrong in the apartment above her.

      Except that it didn’t.

      She stood under the punishing jet of the power shower for over ten minutes, desperately trying to channel her thoughts into the case she was working on at the moment. And failing miserably. How could she possibly think of work after the disturbing sequence of events earlier this evening?

      Finally she came back through to her bedroom, wearing a peach-coloured silk robe, and looked around her appreciatively at the lovely things she had bought to surround and calm her. It was all the best that money could buy: a Mediterranean-style kitchen, antique furniture in every room, brocade drapes at the windows, luxuriously sumptuous carpets on the floors, several original paintings hanging on the cream-coloured walls.

      And yet as Olivia looked around her she knew that it wasn’t enough. That it never had been…

      She sat down on the side of the bed, knowing exactly what she was going to do now and powerless to stop herself.

      The photograph lay in the bottom drawer of her bedside cabinet—the only thing in that particular drawer. Her hand shook slightly as she picked it up, the tears streaming hotly down her cheeks even before she looked down at the picture.

      Oh, God, Olivia pleaded emotionally, please, please help me to get through this!

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