Act of Will (53 page)

‘Righto,’ he said, standing, smiling at her. He pulled her to him, kissed the hollow in her neck. ‘I do love you so much.’

She extricated herself gently and ran to the bedroom, turned in the doorway. He was standing watching her intently. She blew him a kiss.

Miles was fiddling with the cork in the champagne bottle when she came floating back into the room, her
arms full of packages. ‘Those are not all for me, are they?’

She grinned at him and carried them over to the fireplace. ‘One more trip, and that’s it.’

He shook his head, laughing with her, and his heart was full of love. There was no woman in this world quite like his Christie.

‘You’ve always hankered after this,’ she said, walking towards him, carrying a large parcel wrapped in brown paper. ‘And I especially want you to have it. And it’s with all of my love, my darling.’

He took the parcel, knowing it was one of her paintings. Since he had admired them all he did not know which one this was. He smiled at her. ‘Thank you, Christie. It’s one of your paintings from the shape… which one is it?’

‘Open it and see for yourself.’ She stood with her back to the fire watching him as he carried the package to the sofa and tore off the paper. When he had the painting in his hands he held it up and exclaimed, ‘Oh Christie,
Lily at Hadley
… oh Christie, how generous of you to give me this particular one. I know it’s your favourite. Thank you.’ He put the painting against the sofa, came over and hugged her tightly.

Christina saw he was pleased, and this pleased her. She said, ‘It only became my favourite
after
we met at Hadley Court… and that’s why I want you to have it, because it will always remind you of me.’

His smile slipped, and he frowned at her. ‘Are you going away?’

‘No, silly. Why do you ask that?’

‘It was the way you said
remind me of you
… as if I’d need reminding of you when you’re always going to be with me, by my side, come what may.’

‘Of course I am, Miles. You just took it the wrong way.
Now how about a glass of champagne before you open the rest of your presents.’

‘Coming right up.’ He went to pour the drinks, remarking, ‘I had a Christmas card and a scribbled note from Ralph and Dulcie. I understand they’re going to stay in New York for a while, what with that picture coming up in Hollywood and the possibility of a Broadway play. And what have you heard from Jane lately?’

‘She was grumbling about the little monsters going over to New York for Christmas when she called me yesterday at the office. But otherwise she doesn’t have much news. She’s going to do the costumes for the new Hal Prince play on Broadway and she said she’d be staying on for another six months.’

‘Good for her. Jane’s a talented girl.’ Miles brought their drinks and they clinked glasses. ‘Happy Christmas, my sweet.’

‘Happy Christmas, Miles.’

They sat in front of the fire, slowly demolishing the bottle of Dom Pérignon whilst Miles opened his gifts one by one, thanking her profusely, exclaiming over the books and jazz records, the ties and the silk dressing gown.

But it was the pair of sapphire cuff links that stunned him. ‘They’re quite extraordinary,’ he exclaimed at last, holding them in his hand, admiring them. ‘You’re far too extravagant.’

‘Listen who’s talking,’ she said, coming to kneel next to his chair, looking up at him adoringly. ‘Do you really like them?’

‘You know I do.’

‘So do I… they match your eyes.’

He smiled and put his hand in his pocket, brought out a small gift-wrapped box. ‘And this is another Christmas present from me.’

It was a ring: a large opal ring surrounded by diamonds. It matched the necklace he had given her earlier, and the ring was just as exquisite.

‘Thank you so much, Miles. How lovely it is.’ She slipped it on her right hand, held her hand out, looking at it.

Miles said, ‘Wrong hand, darling.’ He pulled the ring off and put it on her left hand. ‘Let’s just say I prefer to see it there—’ He broke off, staring at her. Tears swam in her lovely grey eyes and her lip trembled. ‘Christie, whatever is it?’

She shook her head, brushed her eyes with her hand, swallowed. ‘Miles…’

‘Yes, darling, what is it? Whatever’s wrong?’

Christina looked at him carefully. Her eyes held his. ‘I’m pregnant.’

She saw the instant flash of happiness and pride in his eyes, the sudden delighted smile he couldn’t suppress and which revealed so much. And then his face was wiped clean like an empty slate. ‘Oh Christie,’ he said and shook his head slowly. ‘Oh Christie…’

And she could not fail to miss the dismal tone, the misery in his eyes, the worry which was now enveloping him. She knew him far too well. ‘But you were pleased a second ago!’ she cried, taking his hand. ‘I know you were!’

‘Of course I was, but—’ He was unable to continue. Miles swallowed, and deep within himself he knew that he had never loved her so much as he did at this moment.

She said, ‘I wasn’t going to tell you tonight. If you hadn’t taken the ring off my right hand and put it on the other, I wouldn’t have.’

‘I’m glad you did… we’re in this together. You can’t carry such a burden all alone, Christie.’

‘I didn’t want to worry you, not with Christmas just
around the corner. I didn’t want to spoil it for you… you don’t get to see the boys enough as it is.’

He touched her cheek. ‘You’re always so thoughtful, my lovely Christie.’ He sat back in the chair, then said, ‘Well, this does present us with a problem, doesn’t it, darling?’

She nodded. ‘Miles, I don’t want to have… an abortion, I just don’t. I realize a baby would be difficult for you to handle, but I was thinking—’

‘Christie, a baby wouldn’t be difficult it would be
impossible
. I don’t want you to have an abortion either.’ His brow furrowed. ‘I just don’t know what the solution is right at this minute.’

‘Why couldn’t I have the baby, Miles? Who would know it was yours. Only you and I… I’m healthy financially, I can take care of everything, and—’

‘I’m not sure that would work,’ he interrupted swiftly. ‘What if something leaked out… my political career…’

‘Yes, I know, there are so many things to consider, aren’t there?’

‘When did you find out?’

‘Four days ago.’

‘You should have told me before. I can’t bear to think how dreadfully worried you must have been, Christie. It was wrong of you not to confide in me.’

‘I didn’t want to upset you before Christmas. And now I suppose I have.’

‘Not at all. How pregnant are you?’

‘Six weeks.’

He brought her into his arms and held her close, stroked her head. ‘We’ll think of the proper solution,’ Miles murmured. ‘Try not to worry, darling. We’ll cope with everything after the holidays.’

Although Miles had told her not to worry, Christina did little else for the next twenty-four hours as she prepared to go to Yorkshire to spend Christmas with her parents.

She worried about Miles. She worried about herself. She worried about the baby. Or more precisely, she worried about what to do about the baby.

Christina knew Miles Sutherland loved her with all of his heart and that he did not want her to have an abortion. She also knew deep within herself that he wanted the baby, wanted
their
child. Yet she was too pragmatic a woman not to understand that there was his political career looming over their heads.

He had once said to her, not in the heat of passion, but quietly on one of their long walks in the country: ‘You’re my life, Christie.’ But this was not strictly true. His political career was his life. And she could never ask him to give it up for her. To live openly with her. To have their baby.

If she did ask him, he would consider it, might even do it. But one day he would regret it, and she would regret it even more. To ask this man whom she loved so desperately to sacrifice his career would mean that she did not love him at all.

Politics and Miles Sutherland were too intertwined ever to be separated. Miles would wither away and die without
his constituency, his political cronies, the House of Commons and his life in that combative and exciting arena. Winston Churchill had once said he was a child of the House of Commons. So was Miles Sutherland.

And I am on the horns of a dilemma, I really am, Christina thought the following evening as she walked in from the Bruton Street fashion house at eight o’clock. Miles had left for Broxley Hall in Suffolk that morning, as loving and as warm and as concerned as he had been when she had broken the news. She had finished her Christmas shopping and then gone to her office to sign cheques, give out Christmas gifts, and to attend the Christmas party Giselle had given for the staff.

Now here she was with nothing to do but worry until tomorrow morning, when she was taking the Pullman to Leeds. After hanging up her coat, she went and put a match to the fire that Mrs Green, the char, had laid earlier, then hurried into the kitchen. She was not particularly hungry but she knew she ought to eat something, so she opened a can of tomato soup. As she waited for it to heat on the gas ring, she made herself a smoked salmon sandwich from the remnants left over from last night’s dinner.

Ten minutes later Christina took her light supper into the living room, and ate it in front of the now blazing fire. Her mind turned over various possibilities. She could have the baby and perhaps risk losing Miles. She could have an abortion. She could disappear into oblivion, move to a foreign country, have the baby and live abroad for the rest of her life. Miles could visit her from time to time.

She jumped up and began to walk up and down the room. How stupid I am, she thought. None of those possibilities would work. There is only
one
solution. Miles
has to force Candida to give him a divorce so that we can be married. Of course! Why hadn’t she and Miles thought of it last night. Only because they were now both brain-washed into believing there never would be a divorce. But perhaps something could be worked out after all. Christina returned to the chair by the fireside and relaxed for the first time in several days.

Resting her hands on her stomach, she thought about the baby.
Their
baby.
His
baby. It thrilled her to think that part of Miles was now growing inside her. Oh, she wanted the baby so much because it
was
Miles’s child. She was going to have the baby. She was going to marry Miles. It was going to work out.

The shrilling telephone made her jump in surprise. She went to answer it.

He said, ‘Hello, my love, how are you?’

‘Miles, I’m wonderful. I’ve just had a brilliant idea.’

He laughed into the telephone. ‘So have I. But tell me yours first.’

‘You’ve got to go to you-know-who again and make her give you your freedom.’

‘Well, I always knew I loved you for a reason, and it’s obviously your brains! And great minds do think alike, it seems. I thought of the same thing this evening, and I couldn’t wait to get through dinner to ring you. I
will
see Candida again, Christie, as soon as she’s back from Scotland. We’ll sort this out, you’ll see. Everything’s going to be all right.’

‘Oh Miles, I feel that too. Where are you phoning from?’

‘Broxley Hall, why?’

‘Can anybody hear you? I mean it is rather a revealing conversation, isn’t it?’

‘I’m alone in my father’s study, and the door’s closed.
And certainly no one is going to pick up the phone and listen in.’

‘I feel so much better suddenly. Christmas isn’t going to be so difficult after all.’

‘No, and we’ll be together next week. Listen, darling, are you sure you don’t want me to ring you in Leeds?’

‘Perhaps you’d better not. I don’t want to have to start explaining who you are. You know what parents are like.’

‘I do, my sweet. I love you, Christie.’

‘I love you, Miles.’

***

‘Where to, miss?’ the cabbie asked, after he had stowed her suitcase in the cab.

‘King’s Cross, please.’

‘Right you are, Miss.’

Christina sat back, smoothed the skirt of her coat and glanced out of the window. It had started to snow. Just small flurries but it seemed to be settling. She wondered if it would be a white Christmas, whether it was snowing in Yorkshire.

She looked at her watch. She had plenty of time to catch the ten-thirty restaurant car going to Doncaster, Leeds and Harrogate. The best morning train on the Northern run, it went on up to Edinburgh. Scotland, she thought, her mind turning to Candida. Miles would get his freedom. They would marry. She would have their baby. She let her hand stray onto her stomach. It was flat. Nothing showed yet. But in a few months she would look pregnant. She would have to start thinking about designing herself a wardrobe of maternity clothes…

Neither the cab driver nor Christina saw the huge truck go into a skid on the slippery road which was wet with snow and drizzle. The first they knew about it was at the point of impact. The truck slammed hard into the
passenger door of the cab and sent the vehicle spinning across the road and into a lamp post.

Christina was flung off the seat. She hit her head on the glass partition in front of her and landed on the floor in a crumpled heap. She was unconscious when they got her out of the mangled cab and put her in an ambulance bound for the Middlesex Hospital. Miraculously her injuries were minor, mostly a light concussion and bruises. But an hour after being admitted to the emergency room she lost the baby.

Christina felt empty and desolated for weeks after she lost the baby. Miles was devastated too; he was kind and loving to her, but it took her a long time to heal.

Slowly she began to pick up the threads of her life, put aside her sadness about the miscarriage. Her work was demanding and it helped to keep her going. It wasn’t just the loss of the baby which troubled Christina in the early part of 1957. She was also coming to believe that she and Miles would always be hampered by a wife who refused to divorce him. Under normal circumstances they could have lived openly together, but a politician was far too vulnerable, especially a man like Miles, and they would never be able to take that step.