face. My breath caught in my throat. Had he been going to leave me that day? Were the flowers meant to be compensation? A consolation prize? “Is she still working for Harry?” I asked casually. I could have kicked myself for not checking. But Harry was so involved with the baby and was calling me from work several times a day, often from the office phone. He hadn’t sounded furtive as though she might be beside him when he called. I wasn’t going to ask him; I didn’t want him to see my face if he said she was still there.
“She’s not told me anything.” He hesitated, then said, “You and Harry . . . you’re getting on all right now?”
I tried to keep my expression blank. I wasn’t going to tell him I was pregnant. “Things seem to be okay again. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have told you anything. It seems to have blown over.”
“No, you were right.” He pushed his coffee away from him and put his head in his hands. “I hadn’t seen any of this coming, that’s all.”
I leaned back, away from the smell of coffee, but suddenly it seemed so strong, so pungent, that I knew I had only a minute to find a bathroom.
“Won’t be long,” I managed to say as I leaped to my feet.
When I came back, pale and shaking, my hair damp with perspiration, Tom was sitting back in his chair, looking out of the window. The waitress had cleared away his coffee and juice and there was just a large glass of water waiting for me.
I sat down and apologized.
“So, Emma,” he said. “When were you going to tell me you were pregnant?”
CHAPTER 34
Emma
I stared at Tom. “What? What are you talking about?”
His eyes were cool as they met mine. “You’re pregnant,” he said. “When were you going to tell me? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on, Emma.” His voice was calm and steady, just the opposite to how I felt. “Don’t even think of denying it. You’re what? Midthirties? Married a long time with no children? We slept together a few weeks ago.” His eyes didn’t leave mine and I knew he remembered every moment. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Well, nor do I, I wanted to say.
“What makes you think I’m pregnant?”
He said nothing at first, then leaned toward me and said in a voice so low that I automatically leaned forward to hear him, “Well, I could tell you that there’s a look that pregnant women have. You’re pale. You have a greenish pallor. That’ll be the sickness, right? You should probably try to eat something, even though you don’t want to. Perhaps give some plain toast a try?”
My head swirled. Was he threatening me or giving me medical advice?
He smiled then. “Or I could just tell you that I’d seen a book in your bag.”
I could’ve kicked myself. Shoved into my open handbag on the chair beside me was a book called Pregnancy: Week by Week.
“It’s not yours,” I said. “It’s Harry’s.”
“How come you hadn’t had children before?”
“Not that it’s anything to do with you,” I said, “but we decided to wait for a while before having a baby.”
“So you’re saying that your decision to have a baby coincided with you sleeping with me? I don’t buy that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You know I have a son, don’t you?”
“Yes, you told me.”
“My ex-wife got pregnant before we married. That was the reason we married, if I’m honest.” I flinched. It sounded such a cruel thing to say. He must have noticed my expression, because he went on, “Actually it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hadn’t wanted a baby at that point; I was only twenty-five. But she came off the pill because it was giving her headaches and the next thing we knew, she was pregnant.” He smiled at me. “It was wonderful. From the moment he was born I loved him. Before then, even. The intensity”—he