if she spoke with him herself, there was a possibility, at least, that she might be able to reason with him.
And now that she was alone, she couldn’t put it off any longer.
With more care than was necessary, she took the phone book out of her desk drawer and looked up the number for Sedgewick-Armour. When she found it, she had to fight an urge to slap the book shut and forget the call, but she had to make it. So she settled into the chair behind her desk, took several deep breaths for courage and dialed the number.
“Dutch Sedgewick, please,” she said when a crisp-voiced receptionist answered the phone.
“May I tell him who’s calling?”
“Jennifer Martin.”
“One moment please.” There was a click, then dead silence as she waited on hold. No fuzzy radio station or soothing Muzak for Dutch Sedgewick. He probably wanted his clients and his adversaries alike to hear their own hearts beat as they waited for him to come on the line. Refusing to give in to the anxiety, Jen hummed to herself and watched the timer on her telephone count the minutes—four and a half of them—until the receptionist came back on the line.
“Mr. Sedgewick can’t be interrupted right now,” the voice said coolly. “May I take a number so he can call you back?”
It took nearly five minutes for him to tell you he couldn’t be interrupted? Jen thought. She knew this was another of his lawyerly tactics, but she didn’t see that she had a choice. She left her work number and said that she would be there until five-thirty.
He returned her call at five twenty-five.
“Dutch Sedgewick here,” he said, in a voice that boomed like Fred Flintstone’s, without the humor.
Jen’s heart did a bellyflop. All of her confidence left in a single hiss of breath. “Mr. Sedgewick,” she said, trying to collect her thoughts as they scattered like birds at the sound of a dog’s bark. “I called about the papers you sent over earlier.”
“I figured as much,” he said and she imagined him drumming his fingers on his desk. “Are you prepared to settle this out of court?”
She knew she had to be very careful how she answered him. “Well, I certainly don’t have any desire to go to court.”
“Good. I can have custody papers drawn up immediately, if you’re willing to sign. I can bring them to you myself.”
“No—”
“No what? No, you’ll come here or no, you don’t want to sign?”
“I don’t want you bringing custody papers to me—”
“You prefer court, then?”
“No, I prefer neither. You see—”
“Miss Martin.” A world of implication bled from his emphasis. “ I don’t need to tell you, do I, that grandparents’ rights are very strong? Particularly in a case like this.”
She didn’t know what he meant by “a case like this” but she didn’t want to encourage his legal argument right now, either. “Of course not, but—”
“Grandparents’ rights are stronger, in many cases, than those of a single parent. Like you. As a matter of fact, sometimes that parent isn’t even allowed visitation when all is said and done. Now we can do this simply or we can play ugly, it’s up to you.”
Jen twisted the phone cord around her finger. If this wasn’t ugly, what was? She bolstered her nerves by imagining Matt was still with her, encouraging her in that soft but steady way of his. “Mr. Sedgewick, to me this isn’t a game. I’m not going to play at all.” A tremble began in the pit of her stomach. “I’m sorry. I know that you and Mrs. Sedgewick must miss Philip terribly, but you cannot have my baby.”
“Our grandchild.” There was not an iota of warmth to his voice. “The grandchild you evidently planned to keep a secret from us. If my wife hadn’t gone to your home to retrieve Philip’s belongings, we might never have found out. I suppose that’s just how you would have liked it, too, us not knowing about Philip’s son.”
Her hands began to shake. “No—”
“So you admit it!”
Cold washed over her. Matt had been right, she shouldn’t have spoken to Sedgewick. She was in over her head; he was twisting all of her words. “No, what I meant was, you’ve got it wrong.”
“Really.” She could hear him take a triumphant draw on the cigar he was almost never without. “Proceed carefully, Miss Martin.”
“You’ve got to listen to me!” She was near tears. The idea that Philip had grown up under this tyranny made her heart ache for him. She remembered his stories of the lashings he used to get if he brought home a grade lower than A from school, or if he made a mistake during a piano recital. At the time, Jen had believed Philip had to be exaggerating, at least a little. Now she believed him completely.
“I’m listening, Miss Martin. What are you saying?”
“I’m saying…” She hesitated. Not only did she believe Philip now, but she knew she had to protect his child as no one had been able to protect him. She owed at least that to him, as well as to the baby.
“You’re saying what?” the man on the other end of the line demanded. “Speak up, girl, I don’t have all evening for this nonsense.”
She had a vision, suddenly, of Dutch Sedgewick bullying her sweet, innocent child this way and something in her broke. She would not let that happen, no matter what. “Mr. Sedgewick,” she said sharply. Before she had time to think better of her plan, the words were out. “This baby is not your grandchild.”
She could almost hear the ash dropping from the tip of his cigar onto the lap of his two-thousand-dollar trousers. “I beg your pardon?”
She said a short prayer, asking Philip to forgive her for what she had to say. “This is not Philip’s baby I’m carrying. I wasn’t pregnant when Philip died.” Which was true in a way, since she hadn’t known she was pregnant when Philip died.
There was a moment of silence, and then, “I don’t believe you.”
She dove headfirst into her lie. “Don’t let my fiancé hear you saying that.”
People have been known to confess to things that weren’t true when the pressure was on them, Matt had said. Boy, had he called this one right!
“Your fiancé?” Dutch’s tone quieted just enough for her to realize he was taken aback.
“Yes, Mr. Sedgewick. My baby’s father and I are planning to get married as soon as the baby is born.”
If you get flustered, who knows what you might say?
“Is that so.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. “I suppose this fiancé has a name?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
A moment passed like an hour and Jen knew Dutch wanted her
