continued was a bonus. The old-timers were predicting that a mild October and November meant the country would suffer for it come December and January. They were on target to finish the job mid-December and if any bad weather could hold off till then, it would be a huge benefit.
But she found she couldn’t drive. She was shaking too much. She sat huddled in her seat as reality began to dawn on her stunned mind. She was expecting a baby. Forde’s baby. That one night in August had had repercussions the like of which she hadn’t imagined in her wildest dreams. With hindsight, it was ridiculous she hadn’t suspected the non-appearance of her monthlies, the tiredness and queasiness that had developed into bouts of nausea and sickness could be something other than stress. But she hadn’t. She really hadn’t. Perhaps she’d blanked her mind to the possibility she could be pregnant, but there was no mistaking it now. She was thirteen weeks pregnant.
She had fainted a couple of times in the early days when she was carrying Matthew. Matthew. Oh, Matthew, Matthew… She began to cry, her mind in turmoil. ‘I’m sorry, my precious baby,’ she murmured helplessly. ‘I never meant for this to happen. I love you, I’ll always love you. You know that, don’t you?’
How long she sat there she didn’t know. She only came to herself when her driver’s door was suddenly yanked open and Forde crouched down beside her, his voice agonised as he said, ‘Nell? Nell, what is it? What’s the matter?’
He was the only person she wanted to see and yet the last person, and she couldn’t explain that even to herself. Desperately trying to control herself, she stammered, ‘Wh-what are you—you doing here?’
He had closed her door and walked round the bonnet, sliding into the passenger seat and taking her into his arms—in spite of the gear stick—before she knew what was happening. ‘My mother realised you weren’t with James this morning and asked where you were,’ he murmured above her head. ‘James said you’d gone to the doctor’s, that he was worried about you. Damn it, Nell, I’m your husband. If anyone has the right to be worried about you, it’s me. What’s wrong?’
She hadn’t had time to think about this, to decide what to tell him—if anything. But no, she would have to tell him, she thought in the next moment. He had a right to know. He was the father. The father. Oh, hell, hell, this couldn’t be happening. And yet in spite of her desperate confusion and the feeling she’d let Matthew down in some way, her maternal instincts had risen with a fierceness that had overwhelmed her.
She thought of all the heavy work she’d done over the past weeks and breathed a silent prayer of thankfulness she hadn’t lost this tiny person growing inside her. But now she was scared, petrified something would happen to the baby because of her.
‘Nell?’ Forde’s voice was a rumble above her head as he continued to hold her close. ‘Whatever this is, whatever’s wrong, we’ll get through it, OK?’
His words acted like an injection of adrenaline. She pulled away, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand in a childish gesture that belied her words when she said baldly, ‘I’m pregnant.’
Forde heard the words but for a moment they didn’t register. Since his mother had called him to say Melanie was at the doctor’s surgery, that she had been ill for weeks without telling anyone, he’d imagined she was suffering from every terminal illness under the sun.
She had been so thin and fragile-looking the last time he’d seen her, he’d told himself with savage self-condemnation. He should have done something about it. And everyone knew certain diseases and conditions were only successfully treated if you did something about them fast. And it had been weeks, months …
He had driven like a madman to the address of the surgery James had given his mother, one eye on every vehicle coming in the opposite direction in case she had passed him. He’d fully expected she would be gone when he pulled into the doctor’s car park and when he’d seen the truck had known a moment’s deep relief before he’d realised she was bent over the steering wheel with her head in her hands. Then he’d known a panic he’d never felt before.
His face as stunned as hers had been when Dr Chisholm had given her the news, he said, ‘What did you say?’
‘I’m—I’m expecting a baby.’ Drawing on every scrap of composure at her disposal, she went on, ‘The night you came to my cottage in August, it happened then. I’m thirteen weeks pregnant.’
He raked back his hair in the old familiar way. ‘But you’re on the pill.’ It had been one of the things they had argued about in the months following the miscarriage, her insistence that she go on the pill to avoid another pregnancy. He’d been patient at first, understanding her mind as well as her body needed time to get over what had happened, but then after one particularly painful row she had told him she didn’t want more children, not ever. And that night he had returned to the house to find her gone.
‘After I’d left there was no need to take it,’ she said flatly.
He stared at her. There hadn’t been much need before she’d left; she had hardly let him near her, even to kiss her. She had withdrawn into herself with a completeness that had baffled him. She still baffled him, but… The wonder began to dawn on him. She was pregnant. Pregnant with their baby.
As his face lit up Melanie strained away from him, her back pressing against the driver’s door. ‘No,’ she mumbled, fear in her voice as well as her body language. ‘I don’t want this—can’t you see? This doesn’t change anything between us.’
‘Are you crazy?’ he said huskily. ‘Of course it does.’ And then, as her words hit home, his eyes widened. ‘You’re not considering a termination?’
Hurt beyond measure he could think such a thing, she felt anger replace panic. ‘Of course I’m not,’ she all but spat at him. ‘I can’t believe you said that.’
There was a stark silence as she watched his face change. ‘Let me get this right. You want the baby but you don’t want me? Is that what you’re trying to say?’
Her face white, Melanie shook her head. ‘I don’t mean that.’
‘Then what the hell do you mean?’ Knowing his voice had been too loud and struggling for calmness, Forde took a rasping breath. ‘Look, let’s get out of here and go somewhere for a coffee where we can discuss this.’
‘No.’
It was immediate and again the note of fear was there. Forde could feel his control slipping. She was making him feel like some sort of monster, for crying out loud. She was his wife and this was his baby, and she wouldn’t even talk to him?
Whether Melanie realised what he was thinking, he didn’t know, but in the next instant he saw her take a deep breath before she said, ‘I’m sorry, Forde, really, but I have to have time to adjust to this myself and I need to get back to work—’
‘The hell you are.’ His face darkened. ‘You’re thirteen weeks pregnant, woman. Think of the baby.’
Baby. Just the sound of the word brought such a rush of emotion she felt dizzy. ‘Women the world over work when they are pregnant,’ she pointed out with a calmness she was far from feeling, ‘and I shall explain the situation to James and tell him I won’t be doing any lifting or carrying of heavy bags and things. But I still need to work, Forde. I want to work.’
‘You’re not well enough,’
