One-Night Pregnancy (6 page)

‘Away?’ Bridget looked at her, mystified.

Julia frowned. ‘Don’t you have three weeks’ leave coming up tomorrow?’

Bridget could have kicked herself. How could she have forgotten? But, come to think of it, how fortuitous?

‘Yes. No,’ she said, and bit her lip. ‘I mean, yes, I do, and, no, I’m not going away. I was—that is, I’m planning to potter.’

‘Are you all right?’ Julia queried.

‘Fine,’ Bridget lied. ‘Julia, tell me more about the Beaumont brothers.’

‘Why?’

‘Just interested. It seems to be a fairly topical subject these days.’

Julia cut her blueberry muffin in half and buttered it before she responded. ‘They were probably destined to feud from day one. Henry was always the apple of his father Kevin’s eye, but the fact is neither Henry nor his father had the approval of Samuel Beaumont, Henry’s grandfather. He was the founder of it all. And, while he didn’t approve of his son or his eldest grandson, he
did
increasingly approve of Adam and see him as a more suitable heir. But Samuel died unexpectedly, and Adam
got pushed more and more into the background. He was only twenty when Samuel died.’

‘I…see,’ Bridget said slowly. ‘That wouldn’t make for a happy family, precisely.’

Julia shrugged. ‘No. Mind you, Adam branched out on his own and turned a medium-sized construction company into a billion-dollar enterprise. So he did justify his grandfather’s approval, you could say.’

Bridget’s lips parted. ‘So why does he still—?’ She stopped.

‘Hanker for Beaumonts?’ Julia supplied with a world-weary little smile. ‘That’s probably men for you. Power is important. He
is
a Beaumont. And Henry is seen by some as not doing a great job with the company. But there’s also more, a woman—’

Julia broke off rather abruptly, and Bridget had it on the tip of her tongue to say
His brother’s wife?
But she stopped herself on the thought that she had not yet revealed one word of what he’d said that night, despite what Adam Beaumont might like to think, and she wasn’t about to start.

‘Are the brothers alike?’ she asked instead.

‘On the surface, in some ways.’ Julia paused thoughtfully. ‘Henry’s very good-looking, and quite charismatic, but…’ She put her cappuccino down and patted her lips with a serviette. ‘Why do
you
want to know all this, Bridge?’ she asked rather intently.

Bridget shrugged. ‘Just interested,’ she repeated.

Julia Nixon looked at Bridget closely and noted the faint blue shadows beneath her eyes, testament to several
sleepless nights. And she recalled Bridget’s earlier confusion on the subject of her upcoming leave.

‘Uh-oh,’ she said. ‘You fell for him, didn’t you? Look, I’m probably wasting my time, but don’t go there, sweetie. It’s a no-go zone. Both of them are—as I know to my cost.’

Bridget blinked at her. ‘What do you mean? How do you know to your cost? And what?’

Julia shrugged. ‘I was Henry Beaumont’s mistress.’

That evening Bridget, still reeling with shock at Julia’s incredible revelations, dialled the number Adam Beaumont had given her with a shaking finger.

A disembodied male voice she didn’t recognise said, ‘Adam Beaumont’s line.’

‘Could I speak to Mr Beaumont, please?’

‘I’ll just check, ma’am. Who may I say is calling?’

‘It’s—it’s—Mrs Smith from Numinbah.’

‘Please hold on for a moment, Mrs—uh—Smith.’

Bridget held on until the voice came back.

‘Adam can’t leave his guests at the moment, Mrs Smith, but he’d be able to see you tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at the Marriott. Just ask for him by name. Thank you for your call.’ The line went dead.

Bridget took the phone from her ear and stared at it in frustration. She’d been about to say that she didn’t need to see Adam, she’d only like to talk to him, but the knowledge sank in that she might only ever be able to get a message to him—it was what he himself had said in the helicopter, although she’d had no idea why he would go to those lengths to protect his privacy at the time.

Now she did, and it ignited a spark of rebellion in her. How could he treat her like this? Even if he didn’t know she was to be the mother of his child, it irked her tremendously.

It also prompted her to review her situation and make some plans. And she looked up pregnancy on the internet, so she would have a clearer idea of what she was in for.

Yes, she would see Adam Beaumont tomorrow—but only to clear her name…

She dressed with special care the next morning, in a straight green linen dress that matched her eyes, teamed with a cream jersey jacket and high heels. It was one of her more sophisticated outfits, suitable not only for the Marriott but for the Beaumonts. Then she had second thoughts. She looked as if she was going to a lunch, the races, or a job interview.

She took it all off and donned pressed jeans, a loose knit top the colour of raspberries and flat shoes. She cleaned off all the make-up she’d put on, but then her face looked pale and there were shadows under her eyes, so she started again using the barest minimum.

She’d washed her hair, so it was bouncy and shining with gold highlights. She regretted she’d not thought to get her fringe cut, but it was too late for that—and anyway, what did it matter?

And anyway, again, she would be running late if she wasn’t careful, after all this dressing and undressing.

She threw her keys into her purse and raced downstairs to her new second-hand car.

She walked across the Marriott foyer at two minutes past nine. Two minutes later she was being ushered into Adam Beaumont’s suite.

He was standing at the windows in the lounge, looking down on the view of Surfers Paradise—not a sparkling view today, but cloudy and with showers scudding past. He turned as his assistant, a bright young man, the owner of the disembodied voice Bridget had heard the night before, announced her.

‘Adam—Mrs Smith. Could I bring some coffee?’

Adam Beaumont raised an eyebrow at Bridget, who said, in a curiously heartfelt way, ‘No. That is, no, thank you.’

The assistant withdrew, and they were left staring at each other. He wore a blue shirt with a white pinstripe, and navy trousers.

There were no blue shadows on his jaw, no other reminders of the way he’d been on that stormy night in the Numinbah. He was groomed and eminently businesslike, and he was alarmingly tall, but Bridget’s heart did a somersault in her breast all the same.

How not to remember she’d been in his arms and loved it so much? she wondered forlornly. Then she took some deep breaths and spoke.

‘I’ve found out who started those rumours.’

He blinked.

‘It was my colleague. I mentioned her to you the other day. She—she’s authorised me to tell you all this: she was your brother Henry’s mistress until recently,
when he dropped her.’ Bridget hesitated, then went on, ‘Dropped her rather brutally, I gather. So she looked around for a way to get even with him.’

‘Are you—?’ Adam Beaumont frowned. ‘Is this for real, Bridget?’ he asked with supreme skepticism, and added dryly, ‘You’re going to have to do better than that if—’

‘No, please listen to me,’ Bridget broke in. ‘She said that during their affair she formed the impression that your brother, Henry, had always had the fear that you were going to try and oust him. It seemed…’ Bridget paused. ‘It seemed to her that if she planted this rumour judiciously it might open up the way for you to take advantage of it, thereby gaining her some revenge. And even if you didn’t manage to take advantage of it, it would make your brother’s life quite complicated and difficult.’

She did not add that Julia had also given it as her considered opinion that neither Beaumont brother would ever get over Henry’s wife.

He looked incredulous. ‘Who is she? And has she no fear of any repercussions?’

‘Julia Nixon.’ Bridget waited until she saw the recognition come to him. He narrowed his eyes and his mouth hardened. Then she went on. ‘She has no fears because she’s advised your brother that if there
are
any repercussions she’ll reveal that she was his mistress. She wasn’t the first and most likely won’t be the last, and she’ll reveal that to the whole world, so his wife, and eventually his children, will have to know.’ Bridget
swayed a little where she stood. ‘I know it sounds awful, but I do believe it’s true and I do believe he hurt her really badly.’

‘So…’ Adam continued to gaze at her with a myriad of expressions chasing through his eyes.

‘So it had nothing to do with me.’ She swallowed several times. ‘Nothing at all. It was pure coincidence that it came out not long after we—after you told me—after we—’ Bridget broke off desperately, and then added in a smothered sort of rush, ‘Oh, please, is there a bathroom handy? I feel very—sick.’

She
was
very sick, in the powder room of the penthouse suite. What was worse, she had no hope of hiding it from Adam Beaumont, because he was waiting for her outside the door. He took one look at her and led her to the main bedroom, where he sat her on the double bed and fetched a couple of flannels and a towel from the
en-suite
bathroom.

He started to wipe her face until she protested.

‘You don’t have to! Thanks, but I’m quite able to—’

‘Bridget,’ he broke in sternly. ‘I’ve done much more than this to you before, so will you desist?’

She desisted in a feeble way, as she was swept by a memory of the things this man had done for her, and how he’d made her feel so safe. All the same, she had to protest. ‘But—’ she began.

He folded the second flannel and put it to her forehead. It was blessedly cool and soothing. ‘Don’t say anything,’ he ordered. Then, a couple of minutes later,
when her breathing had returned to normal, he added. ‘Something you ate?’

‘Probably.’ But, since I have a cast-iron stomach, much more likely to be morning sickness, she thought.

He took the flannel away and frowned at her. ‘Are you sure?’

She moved her shoulders slightly. ‘Maybe nerves as well. I wasn’t sure whether you would believe me, but it is all true.’

‘I do believe it’s quite possible, although I’ll certainly check,’ he said dryly. ‘I don’t know her well, but I would imagine Julia Nixon is cool and clever, and women scorned…’ He shrugged and got to his feet. ‘Which means I owe you an apology, Bridget. I hope you can see that it was the only thing that seemed to make sense.’

Bridget looked up at him. ‘You really don’t trust women, do you?’ she said quietly.

He shoved his hands into his pockets and looked down at her meditatively. ‘I don’t trust anyone on face value.’

The thought ran through Bridget’s mind
Then you’re just as likely to believe this is not your baby—and that would be the final insult.

‘Oh, well.’ She stood up. ‘I’m sorry this happened.’ She gestured to the flannels and the towel. ‘I’ll go now.’

He made an abrupt movement. ‘Stay until you’re sure you’re fine.’

‘No, thank you. I am sure.’ She ran her fingers through her hair and straightened her raspberry top.

‘I hope I haven’t made you late for work, but I’m flat out at the moment.’

‘No. I’m on holiday for a few weeks, and—’ But she didn’t have time to finish what she’d been going to say because his PA knocked on the door and called through that he was so sorry but Adam’s next appointment had arrived.

Adam Beaumont swore softly beneath his breath, but Bridget smiled at him briefly and said,
‘Adios!’

And she left, gathering her purse on the way.

Fortunately, because she’d forgotten about it, she was at home when her friend Sandra from Numinbah arrived, with her baby, to spend the afternoon with her.

The baby girl, Daisy, was three months old now, and she slept through most of the afternoon. It was just before Sandra was due to leave that Daisy, in her cot, opened her eyes, saw Bridget looking down at her and smiled a blinding toothless smile as she wriggled joyfully.

Bridget couldn’t resist it. She asked permission to pick Daisy up, and as the tiny girl snuggled into her shoulder a primitive age-old instinct overcame Bridget. For the first time the baby growing within her became a precious reality rather than a burden, and her options narrowed.

She thought of herself and Adam. Not the new, hard Adam, but the man she’d trusted and loved to be with. Joined for ever in a little person who was the result of their rapture and passion. Be it a boy or girl, there would be some of its father, some of the features she’d loved linked with hers. And, even more than that, it was a part of
her
, and as such it could only be a joy to her.

After Sandra had left, Bridget took a long, hard look at her whole life. It occurred to her that all the things she did well enough, if not brilliantly, while they might not fit her out to be a cutting-edge journalist might be useful as a mother. And she suddenly discerned that she’d lacked a goal in life—could fate have provided her with one in the form of this baby?

It was a discovery that caused the path that stretched before her to look a lot less rocky.

A LESS rocky path didn’t have any effect on morning sickness, however, as she discovered the next morning.

To complicate matters, she’d just started to feel nauseous, but thought she was holding it at bay, when her doorbell rang.

She hesitated, then went to answer it. It was Adam.

They simply stared at each other for a long moment, then he said, ‘May I come in? I want to apologise. I’ve spoken to Julia Nixon and she’s confirmed everything you told me.’

Bridget put a hand to her mouth, then took it away. ‘I’m sorry, it’s not very convenient.’ She took a step backwards, then whirled on her heel and raced for the bathroom.

When she came back, she was pale but composed—and he was standing in the middle of her lounge with his hands shoved into his jeans pockets and a frown in his eyes.

He took a long moment to scan her from head to toe. She wore a brown summery dress patterned with white dots, in a clinging crêpe material. It had a scooped neckline and came to just above her knees. With it she
wore brown backless moccasins with white laces. Her face had obviously just been washed; it was free of any make-up and there were damp strands in her fringe. She looked younger than her years, though, and somehow vulnerable.

‘Bridget,’ he said abruptly, ‘is this morning sickness?’

She looked away as she wondered how to deny it.

‘Two mornings in a row?’ he said, as he scanned her pale face.

Her shoulders slumped. ‘Yes. But I wasn’t sure how to tell you, or even if I would.’

‘You weren’t going to tell me?’

She winced at the way he said it, then soldiered on. ‘There didn’t seem to be much point, since there’s no future for us. Besides which I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you don’t believe it’s yours. But I absolutely refuse to go through any DNA testing.’ Her eyes suddenly glinted green fire at him. ‘I know whose baby this is, and that’s enough for me.’

A long, fraught pause developed as he digested this. She couldn’t read his expression, but she saw that nerve flickering in his jaw and knew what it boded—Adam Beaumont at his most controlled and harsh.

‘You’re not its only parent,’ he said.

She shrugged. ‘I may not be, but I’m its crucial parent at the moment, and to my mind that gives me the right to call the shots.’

As she said it tears ran down her cheeks, and she licked their saltiness from her lips and wondered why she should be crying when she felt so angry. It came to
her that all her anger and hurt had boiled over at last—anger that he could have loved her and walked away from her; hurt that he could have believed she would spread rumours about him because it was in her blood, inherited from her father, or because she was silly and thoughtless.

He had also automatically assumed she would pursue him if she ever discovered he was who he was, so he’d let her go on thinking he was just a run-of-the-mill guy who was wary of any attachment…

She licked her lips and dashed at her eyes. ‘You see, Adam Beaumont, not only am I its crucial parent, but I know you don’t want me. You don’t trust me, you couldn’t have made it clearer. So I’ve made my own plans. You can stay and listen to them or you can walk away again, but this baby is
my
affair and will be quite safe with me.’

‘Why?’

The one word seemed to echo around the room.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked at last.

‘Why do you even want it if you hold such a list of grievances against me?’

Bridget put her hands on her belly. ‘Because it’s part of me,’ she said, quietly but quite definitely. ‘And because it’s part of you—the part that made me feel as I’d never felt before. I know now that was not the whole you and never could be, but on that one night it was special to me,’ she said with painful honesty.

‘Sit down,’ he said, and gestured to the settee.

‘Look, this is my apartment,’ she flashed back. ‘I
can invite you to sit down
if
I want to, but you can’t order me around!’

He grimaced. ‘Would it be possible for both of us to sit down and discuss this rationally?’

She hesitated.

‘Perhaps we could even have a cup of coffee—?’

‘Don’t mention coffee,’ Bridget broke in with a shudder. ‘It’s what set me off yesterday morning.’

‘Tea, then?’

‘Black tea would be nice,’ she said slowly, and moved towards the kitchen.

‘I’d offer to make it, but I wouldn’t want to upset you.’

‘Sit down.’ Bridget pointed to the dining table.

‘And shut up?’ he offered softly.

She had to smile—the most fleeting of smiles, gone almost before it was formed, but somehow the tension between them was reduced.

‘So tell me about these plans,’ he said when she’d made the tea.

‘I thought I’d keep working for a while,’ she said. ‘But it’s been dawning on me slowly that I may have taken up journalism as a tribute to my father’s memory rather than because it was something I was passionate about. So to leave it is not going to be devastating.’

She nibbled a dry biscuit and went on. ‘Naturally I would like to have a career, but until one recommends itself to me, and while I’m pregnant and then looking after a new baby, I intend to start painting again.’

She pointed to one of her pictures on the wall, a claret-red cluster of frangipani blooms on a heritagegreen
background, and told him about the offer that had been made to her. ‘I think it would be a rather perfect occupation for the time being—and I’m actually looking forward to it. Financially I’m fairly secure in any event, until the baby is about two. Then I will need to earn somehow or other.’

Adam Beaumont sipped his tea. ‘I take it you’ve thought all this out in the context of me not knowing about the baby?’

‘Well, yes,’ she conceded.

‘And now?’

Their gazes clashed.

‘I…’ Bridget stopped and started again. ‘I don’t really know what to think now. I mean—do you
want
to have anything to do with it?’ she asked in a strained voice.

He closed his eyes briefly, in obvious disbelief. ‘Bridget, I may have let you down and not trusted you, but do you honestly believe I’d be content to let a child of mine go through life never knowing me?’

‘But those are the things I
don’t
know about you,’ she said hoarsely. ‘And I don’t know how it would work—’

He interrupted her in a hard voice. ‘Then I’ll tell you about me. I grew up virtually without a father. He hated me because I reminded him of his own father, who was a cruel man. But Henry could do no wrong. From my earliest memories nothing I ever did was good enough for my father. He and my mother fought over it. They didn’t speak to each other for years. I left home when I was sixteen because I didn’t think I was wanted and I never went back. And the bottom line to it all is this,’
he went on. ‘No, I wasn’t planning to have children, but now it’s happened, and if you think I will allow any child of mine to suffer the lack of a proper father, you’re wrong, Bridget.’

Bridget closed her mouth. It had fallen open not only at what he’d revealed but at the bitter intensity he’d shown.

And although his expression was wiped clean and unreadable as soon as he’d finished speaking, he got up and walked over to the window, and she could see the tension in the lines of his back as he stared out at the street.

She was not to know that Adam Beaumont had surprised himself with the depth of feeling this news had provoked in him. Nor was she to know that the more he thought about it, the more he was struck by the irony of the situation. His uncle causing him to look at his life and his future so recently was one of those ironies.

A certain rumour associated with his sister-in-law, although he didn’t know if it was true, was another. But his mouth hardened at the thought of it, and the bittersweet revenge he could exact with this news…

There was also, though, the fact that even if he was suspicious of or impatient with this baby’s mother, he still felt protective towards her.

In fact, he discovered, not only could he offer his own child a proper father, and that was paramount, but the more he thought about it he also had the belief that there was only one solution, and it was growing in him by the moment…

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she said, barely audibly. ‘I had
heard…Julia did mention the divisions in your family, but I didn’t realize—’

He turned back to her abruptly. ‘It’s over and done with now.’

‘But what are we going to do?’ she queried. ‘Of course I wouldn’t stop you from having access to it.’

Access…
The word seemed to rebound on Adam, and he pictured it: a child with two homes, a child never quite sure where its allegiance should lie, a child possibly with a stepfather whose influence he, its real father, would have no control over.

‘I don’t want access when and where it suits you, Bridget,’ he said harshly. ‘There’s only one thing to do. We need to get married.’

It took a moment or two for this to get through to Bridget, and when it did she stared at him incredulously. ‘You can’t be serious!’

‘I am.’

‘But we don’t love each other. We hardly know each other! I don’t even think we
like
each other now, and you certainly don’t trust me—how can we?’

‘Bridget.’ He came back to the table and towered over her. ‘You can’t have it both ways.’

She looked up at him uncomprehendingly. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You’ve laid a few serious charges at my door, but I’m offering to redress the let-downs and the hurt to the best of my ability. Don’t you believe a child deserves both its parents?’

She moistened her lips. ‘Yes, of course—although it
didn’t seem to work very well for your parents, and that’s what we would have to be afraid of—marrying then falling out badly,’ she couldn’t help but add. And then she thought of more objections. ‘How come you’re not accusing me of all sorts of crimes?’ She waved a hand. ‘Like trying to trap you or foist someone else’s baby on you?’

‘I was the one,’ he said slowly, ‘who initiated what happened that night. You were the one who got yourself clobbered by a falling branch. I really don’t think you were in a fit state to set about trapping me.’

‘I have to agree,’ Bridget said dryly. ‘But, to be scrupulously honest, I didn’t do anything to stop you either.’

He grimaced. ‘Also, I was wrong about you and those bloody rumours. That’s why I’m here. And I can’t mistake your determination to go it alone. None of it fits in with a girl on the make. The other thing is, you’re a terrible liar.’

She moved convulsively but he took her hand. ‘No, just listen. I mean that as a compliment—not that you lie really frequently or well. As in the case of Mr Smith.’

Bridget subsided somewhat.

‘And—’ he studied her narrowly ‘—you’re deadly serious now, aren’t you, Bridget?’ He waited.

She nodded at last. ‘But I’m not going to do anything I may later regret,’ she murmured. ‘And, forgive me—I do appreciate your feelings now I know them—but marrying you could fall into that category. We just—we just don’t know each other.’

A fleeting look that was so grim touched his eyes as
their gazes locked. She shivered involuntarily, but she didn’t look away.

His lips twisted. ‘I should have known there was a touch of steel in you.’

Bridget raised her eyebrows.

‘Yes,’ he went on. ‘A lot of girls would have been content to sit and wring their hands rather than put themselves at risk, struggling down a flooded creek in a Godalmighty storm to save some children.’ He shrugged. ‘Think of this, though.
This
child is going to be with us for the rest of our lives. However it happened, we’ve forged that link and it can’t be broken. But—and forgive me for saying this—’ a wry little gleam lit his eyes ‘—the
way
it happened was quite amazing, I thought.’

Bridget’s gaze fell before his at last, and a little pulse started to beat at the base of her throat. At the same time some pink coursed into her cheeks. If all that wasn’t enough of a give-away of the power of her memories of that night in his arms, a little tremor ran through her.

He said nothing, but when she looked up she knew her disarray had been noted and filed away, probably for future reference.

She licked her lips. ‘Are you not even a little surprised, let alone reeling from shock like I was?’ she queried huskily.

He let her hand go, but pushed her hair out of her eyes with one long finger as a smile twisted his lips. ‘Of course. But then nothing we do is simple and straightforward. It’s always been one thing out of the blue after another.’

She had to concede this with a slight smile of her
own. It faded as a sudden thought came to her. ‘Does this have anything to do with your brother’s wife?’

He frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

Bridget thought back to Julia’s other revelation—her considered opinion that neither Adam nor Henry Beaumont would ever get Henry’s wife out of their system.

She said slowly, ‘If you can’t have her you’ll have to make do with second best, and
this
second best—’ she patted her flat stomach ‘—has the advantage of coming as a package deal?’

‘On the contrary,’ he said, looking very directly at her. ‘This has nothing whatsoever to do with my brother’s wife. You never did, Bridget.’

‘I wish I could believe you,’ she murmured.

‘Why don’t you let me show you?’

She blinked at him and said a little warily, ‘H-how?’

‘Well, first things first. Come and see my place. It’s about an hour’s flight away.’

She lifted her eyebrows at him. ‘Fly? Just like that?’

‘I have my own helicopter.’

He not only had his own helicopter, he piloted it himself. And the speed with which he organised the day almost took Bridget’s breath away.

He called his bright young assistant, Trent, and they went through all his appointments for the day and rescheduled them.

‘Uh, by the way,’ Adam added, when his diary had been sorted out, ‘I forgot to tell you, but I’m having dinner with my great-uncle Julius—let me see—tomorrow night. Ring up his housekeeper and tell him I’m bringing
a guest. Thanks, Trent.’ He clicked off his phone and turned to her. ‘Ready, Bridget?’