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The meeting had gone on longer than planned, and Gemma loitered on the fringes, inching her notebook along the conference table, her bottom perched on the edge of her seat. She wanted her penny’s worth of thoughts to be heard, but so did a number of others, and they competed with each other, interjecting boisterously. Each highlighted their best projects, the quality of their clients, and the physical assets the company held. The clock ticked on. In the end, she threw in the towel, grabbed her handbag off the back of the chair, and stuffed the notebook inside.
“Sorry, Daniel. Antenatal appointment.”
Gemma dashed out of the door leaving a peeved-looking Daniel. She hadn’t told him her intentions with regard to returning to work after the birth. All she had told him was her due date and nothing else. The lack of decisive information upset his sensibilities. Having taken her under his wing during the early stages of the takeover, now, he pushed her away and kept her at arm’s length. Gemma felt put out and disconnected.
Walking out of a meeting infuriated Gemma, until it dawned on her, as her driver, Gibson, harried her into the waiting car, how annoyed Jason would be at her tardiness.
The car ground to a halt in traffic. “Sorry, Mrs Lucas.” Gibson glanced over her shoulder.
“Not your fault. I should have left earlier.” Gemma sighed.
Her mobile rang—his ring tone. She witnessed a sympathetic expression on Gibson’s face in the rear-view mirror.
“Where are you? You’re late. Your name has been called already.”
She shrank in her seat. “Sorry. Held up in a meeting.”
“I was in a meeting, too
. But I left on time,” he growled.
“You’re the boss. I’m not.”
“You’re pregnant and entitled to attend antenatal appointments,” he snapped, hanging up. His voice betrayed his emotions—pissed off.
The car moved forward, increasing in speed and Gibson tried her best to get Gemma to the clinic quickly. Jason didn’t say anything as she rushed into the consultation room over twenty minutes late.
Maggie made excuses for her. “Traffic is always bad around here.” It didn’t alter the fact Gemma hadn’t reached her appointment on time.
Jason made no reference to her failings in the presence of her new friend and doctor. For half an hour, they concentrated on the baby inside of her. The moving baby inside her belly. At nineteen weeks, she had felt it squirm. Grabbing Jason’s hand in bed one morning, Gemma had tried to move his palm over the strange phenomenon. He’d pulled a disappointed face. The popping sensation was too deep under the skin and not strong enough for him to feel. Now, on the screen, he could see the foetus wriggle about, kicking and sucking its thumb.
“A thumb sucker!” he grumbled.
“They often suck in the womb. Good practice for later,” reassured Maggie. “Everything is as it should be.”
Gemma smiled. No more folic acid pills, which Jason had been sticking on her tongue every morning as if she had been attending mass at the local church.
She booked another appointment in a month’s time for further checks on the baby.
“Unless you have concerns.” Maggie stopped typing the measurements into the computer record and looked at her.
Their e-mail exchanges had gone on over the last few weeks. Their doctor/patient relationship had transformed into a friendship. Gemma was tempted to ask her out for lunch one day or a chat after work. She chuckled over some of their e-mails. The two women shared a similar sense of humour, allowing Maggie the opportunity to explore Gemma’s kinky lifestyle, picking it apart with subtle questions about domination and submission. Sadomasochism the doctor didn’t understand, but she liked the idea of handing over control to another person.
Of course, Gemma told her, domination and submission worked if both roles were successfully fulfilled. Returning to work, following the scan, Gemma pushed aside the impending assignation with her husband that evening at the White House. Her rather dominating husband, who fitted the requirement perfectly.
His lecture, conducted with her standing on oak flooring, seemed to echo about the study. He perched on the edge of his desk, arms wrapped about his chest, and ran through her list of failing with unpleasant clarity. Her lack of assertion for staying in a meeting, which would be meaningless to her in a few months’ time. His humiliation at having a wife who couldn’t keep a simple appointment, when others seemed to be there early, desperate to see their babies appear on the monitor screen. His voice quiet, warped into an unbearable sound of disenchantment.
She remembered little of the detail. She caved in, became fractious, and her emotional state cracked apart. In her hormonal stew, his chastisement seemed excessive. Her ability to process what would be routine reprimand failed. Not a word passed out of her lips; instead, she sobbed.
Jason held her tight, as her tears formed rivulets down her cheeks. “Gem, please don’t. I can’t help you like this.” He scooped her up, sat on the Chesterfield sofa, and deposited her on his lap.
She’d surprised him with her emotional collapse—he’d shifted into aftercare. He rocked her, maintaining his embrace. Coiling her legs up, she clung to him.
“I’m sorry,” she blubbered.
“Don’t apologise. This isn’t working, is it? Rules and everything—”
She shook her head. “It is. It is. Honestly. I’m just finding my emotions difficult to handle. I mean, you’ve told me off before, and I’ve not disintegrated into a heap.” She hiccupped, wiping her nose with her sleeve, which caused Jason to roll his eyes. She giggled at his exaggerated mannerism.
