the time.
She stepped out of the shower and got dressed. She needed to find out for sure. She’d go down to the chemist in the village and buy a test. Strike that. She’d already got to know the local residents, and if the village drums were doing their usual work the news that she might be expecting would be round the village in a nanosecond. The fact that dashing Mr Wilder had married his housekeeper was still the main topic of local gossip. A baby on the way would be too juicy a titbit for the village grapevine to ignore.
She’d be better off going into town and shopping at one of the large chemists. Much easier to be anonymous then. At least when Mark got home tomorrow she’d have had a chance to absorb the outcome herself.
The thought that the test might be negative should have made her feel more peaceful. Instead she felt low at the prospect. If the test was negative, she would make a lighthearted story of it to tell Mark over dinner tomorrow. She’d tell him how freaked out she’d been, see what his reaction was, test the waters.
Two hours later she was standing in the bathroom, holding the little cellophane-wrapped box as if it was an unexploded bomb.
You’re not going to find out by staring at it.
She removed the crinkly wrapping and opened the box. How could something as mundane as a plastic stick turn out to be the knife-edge that her whole life was balanced on? She sat on the closed toilet lid while waiting for the result, the test laid on one thigh. Two minutes to wait. If someone had told her she was only going to live another two minutes, it would seem like a measly amount of time. How, then, could this couple of minutes stretch so far they seemed to be filling the rest of the day?
First the test window. Good. One blue line. It was working. Then wait for the next window. She waited for what seemed an age. Nothing. She stood up, threw the test onto the shelf over the sink and ran out of the room crying.
All that stress for nothing. She ought to be relieved! It gave her a little more time to think, to plan, to find out what Mark wanted.
Suddenly she wished he was there. She wanted to feel his strong arms wrapped around her, wanted him to hold her tight against his chest and stroke her hair.
She grabbed a wad of tissues from the box beside her bed and blew her nose loudly. She should get out of here, get some fresh air. Perhaps she should pick up the papers from the village shop. Mark liked to read a selection, from the broad-sheets to the tabloids, mostly to keep track of what attention his clients were attracting in the press.
She went back to collect the pregnancy test and picked it up, with the intention of putting it in the bin, but the moment she looked at it she dropped it into the sink in shock. The breath left her body as if she’d been slapped with a cricket bat.
The tears must be blurring her vision! She dragged the hem of her T-shirt across her eyes and stared at it again.
Two blue lines?
She took it to the window to get more light. Her eyes weren’t deceiving her. Granted, the second one was very faint, compared to the first, but there were definitely two blue lines. The hormones had to be only just detectable. She could hardly believe it, but there it was—in blue and white.
I’m going to have a baby. Our baby.
Suddenly the rambling old house seemed claustrophobic. She needed to get outside, feel the fresh air on her skin. The garden called her, and she ran down to it and kicked her flip-flops off. Her ‘engagement’ toe-ring glinted in the morning sun as she stepped onto the grass and began to walk.
A stroll through Larkford Place’s grounds should have been pleasant in high summer. The far reaches of the garden, unspoilt and untended, were alive with wild flowers, butterflies and buzzing insects. But Ellie noticed none of it. All she could think about was having a little boy, with a shock of thick dark hair like his father and eyes the colour of warm chocolate.
Was this how she’d felt when she’d realised she’d been expecting the last time? It seemed so long ago now, a memory half obscured by the fog of the accident. But her last pregnancy had been planned. This one was…well, a surprise to put it mildly.
She stopped and looked a bright little poppy, wavering in the breeze. Through the confusion and doubts, joy bubbled up inside her, pushing them aside. She wanted this baby. She already loved this baby—just as much as she’d loved…
Images of golden ringlets and gap-toothed smiles filled her mind, but there was something missing. A word missing.
Her hands, which had been circling her tummy, went still. Just as much as she’d loved…
No. Not now. Not this name. This was one name she was never allowed to forget, never allowed to lose. It was too awful. Ellie looked back at the house and began to run.
This couldn’t be happening. She couldn’t have forgotten her own daughter’s name.
Mark burst through the front door with a huge bunch of wilted flowers in his hand. They had looked a bit better before they’d spent two long, sticky hours in the passenger seat of the Aston Martin.
‘Ellie?’
No answer. She was probably out in the garden. He almost sprinted into the kitchen. The French windows, her normal escape route, were closed. On closer inspection he discovered they were locked. He ran back to the entrance hall and called her name more loudly. The slight echo from his shout jarred the silence.
Okay, maybe she was out. He was half a day early, after all.
He looked at his watch. Nearly four o’clock. She couldn’t be too far away. He’d just go and have a shower, then lie in wait. He chuckled and loosened his tie as he hopped up the stairs two at a time.
But as the afternoon wore on Ellie didn’t appear. He ended up in the kitchen, wishing she’d materialise there somehow, and he found her note near the kettle. Well, it wasn’t even a proper letter—just a sticky note on the kitchen counter, telling him that she’d gone.
He sat down on one of the chairs by the kitchen table and put his head in his hands.
Not again. She’d seemed so happy since the wedding.
That’s when they leave—when they’re happy. They don’t need you any more.
No. This couldn’t happen with Ellie. He loved her too much. More than Helena. So much more. He stood up. He’d be damned if he lost a second wife this way. But if she was really intent on going she bloody well owed him an explanation. He wasn’t going to let her waltz off without a backward glance.
The keys jumped from Ellie’s fingers as if they had a life of their own. She muttered through her tears and bent to scoop them up from the front step. Thankfully the holiday company had told her they’d had a cancellation this week. The cottage was empty. Perhaps if she went inside it would help.
Although she’d remembered Chloe’s name almost the second she’d reached Larkford’s kitchen, she still couldn’t shake the clammy, creeping feeling of disloyalty and guilt. She’d needed to come somewhere she could rid herself of this horrible feeling of being disconnected from her past.
She slid the key into the lock and started the familiar routine of pulling and turning to ease it open. It was feeling
