the medication the doctor prescribed you might be feeling better by now.’
Melanie’s chin came up. ‘I didn’t want to. Matthew deserved to have me grieve for him. It was all I could do.’ She retrieved her hands, wiping her eyes and blowing her nose before she said, ‘I know you mean well, Isabelle, but I have to work out what I’m going to do in my own way.’
‘Yes, dear, I know that, but will you do one thing for me? For all of us? See Forde now and again. He loves you very much. Just talk to him, explain how you feel, even if it doesn’t make sense. Don’t shut him out, not now. This is his child too.’
Melanie nodded. ‘I know that,’ she said, through the tightness in her throat. ‘And—and I’m seeing him tonight.’
‘Good.’ Isabelle’s voice became brisk. ‘Now, drink your coffee and have another piece of cake. Two, if you wish. You have to keep your strength up and you’re eating for two, remember.’
Making a great effort, Melanie responded to the lightening of the conversation. ‘The health experts would take you to task for that thinking these days.’
‘No doubt, but I’ve never yet listened to what the experts say, and I’m not about to start now.’ Isabelle chuckled. ‘I’m an irksome old lady, I know.’
Melanie smiled, her voice soft. ‘You’re a lovely old lady,’ she said, with a tenderness that brought moisture to Isabelle’s eyes.
Melanie had two more pieces of cake and they talked about the progress of the garden and the weather and other such non-intrusive subjects before she left the house and went outside to break the news to James, whereupon Isabelle immediately picked up the telephone and called Forde.
James was busy working on the large informal pond Isabelle had requested in a low-lying area of the garden, his artfully random arrangement of large stones enhancing the soft outlines and sinuous curves of the water feature. Knowing how passionate Isabelle was about wildlife, Melanie had suggested the margins of the pool be masked by soft, naturalistic planting, which extended into the shallows to provide safe shelter for fish fry, amphibians, and bathing or drinking birds.
He looked up as she approached, his gaze taking in her red-rimmed eyes and pink nose, and his face was openly apprehensive as he stood up.
‘I’m fine, don’t worry,’ Melanie said before he could speak. ‘But there’s something I’ve got to tell you because I won’t be lifting or carrying anything heavy for a while. I’m having a baby.’
James took a step backwards as though she was going to deliver on the spot. ‘What?’ he all but screeched.
Melanie laughed; she couldn’t help it.
Smiling sheepishly, James said, ‘Forde?’
She nodded. ‘Of course. Who else?’
‘So you’re back together?’
‘Not exactly.’ But a reasonable assumption, she supposed.
‘Right.’
Not for the first time Melanie blessed the fact that James was the sort of easy-going soul who accepted people for exactly what they were. She was going to have enough explaining to do to various folk over the next months, but with James no explanation was necessary. ‘The baby will be born early May, which isn’t the best time, I know. We usually get busy then after the winter.’
‘No sweat.’ James grinned at her. ‘We’ll manage.’
‘I’ve been thinking for a while of getting someone else on board, perhaps over the next weeks would be a good idea so we’re ready for the spring?’ And then, in case he thought he was being usurped, she added, ‘They could be your assistant.’
He nodded. ‘Whatever you think.’
She smiled, and they began to get on with some work, but Melanie’s mind was buzzing. James had said ‘whatever you think,’ but that was the thing—she didn’t know what she thought about anything any more. Except that she loved this baby with every fibre of her being. She hadn’t known of its existence this time yesterday, but now it was the centre of her universe.
For the rest of the day she worked automatically, her mind a seething cauldron of hope and doubts and fears, but as she drove home from Isabelle’s in a deep November twilight she felt she knew what she had to do. Maybe she had known it from the moment Dr Chisholm had told her she was carrying Forde’s child. She just hadn’t been able to bear acknowledging it.
It was dark by the time she parked the truck and walked wearily into the cottage. Once inside, she went through the routine of a working day—outdoor clothes and boots left in the kitchen, upstairs to strip off and then a hot bath. It was close to seven o’clock when she emerged from the bathroom, pink and warm after a long soak, and once in the bedroom she knew she just had to lie down for a few minutes before she began to get ready to go out with Forde. She was so tired she felt drugged.
Promising herself she would simply shut her eyes for a little while and relax her aching muscles, she snuggled under the duvet, and was asleep as her head touched the pillow.
FORDE knew he had a fight on his hands. He would have known that without his mother’s phone call earlier in the day, but when she’d repeated her conversation with Melanie it had confirmed everything Janet had spoken about.
He frowned to himself as he drove the miles to Melanie’s cottage. Damn it, he didn’t understand her. He loved her, more than life itself, but this consuming need to punish herself—and indirectly him—for something that neither of them had been able to prevent was something outside his comprehension. And this idea of hers that she brought misfortune on those she cared about was sheer garbage. His mother was convinced the idea had taken root even before they’d married due to Melanie’s past, and the miscarriage had given credence to something that would have faded away in time, shrivelled into nothing when it hadn’t been given sustenance. But the accident had happened.
He gripped the steering wheel, his face grim. And the seed of this nonsense had been watered and fed by her depression that had followed.
He realised he was so tense his body was as tight as piano wire and forced himself to consciously relax, expelling a deep breath as he stepped on the brake. He’d been driving far too fast, way over the speed limit.
What the hell was he going to do? How could he convince her that life without her was an empty void, devoid of any real joy or satisfaction? In her crazy, mixed-up mind she thought she was protecting him in some way by cutting the threads that bound them. In reality she was killing him, inch by inch. And now there was the baby, a product of their love. Because it had been love that had given it life; this child had been created by passion and desire certainly—he only had to look at her to become rock hard—but love had been the foundation of their relationship from their first date. Before their first date. He had been born waiting for Melanie to appear in his life and he had recognised she was his other half early on. It really had been as simple as that.
A fox skittered across the road a little way ahead of him, a flash of red and bushy tail in the headlights. It was a timely reminder he was still going too
