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A huge canvas of wavy green lines and white splotches was the only colour in the whole room. She stood in front of it, wondering if this was the kind of modern art Leo liked. It had probably cost a fortune, and it looked as if it had been painted by a five-year-old.
‘A masterpiece made by my nephew Timon,’ he said as he came to stand beside her.
‘I didn’t know you had a nephew.’
There was, she realised, so much she didn’t know about him. She knew what he liked in bed, and what kind of food he liked to order in, and that he preferred classical music to jazz. She knew he shaved with an old-fashioned straight razor and that the only cologne he wore was a splash of citrus-scented aftershave. She knew what a woman would know of a lover, but not of someone she loved. Not of a husband.
‘Yes, my sister’s son.’
‘Is he an aspiring artist, then?’ she asked, with a nod to the canvas.
‘I suppose you could say that. He’s three.’
Margo let out a surprised laugh. ‘And I was just thinking this painting looked like it was done by a five-year-old and had probably cost a fortune.’
‘Luckily for me, it cost nothing. My interior designer wanted me to spend a hundred thousand euros on some modern atrocity and I said my nephew could do something better. He did.’ He glanced briefly at the huge canvas. ‘I quite like it, actually. It’s meant to be the olive groves, when the trees blossom in spring.’
‘I like it too,’ Margo answered. ‘Especially now that I know it’s done by your nephew.’
For a moment, no more, it felt like the way things had used to be, or even better. Easy, relaxed... A faint smile curved Leo’s mouth as he stared at the painting, and Margo felt her wilting spirits lift as hope that they might in fact be able to have an amicable marriage after all unfurled inside her.
Then Leo turned away.
‘I’ve put your things in the guest bedroom. You can refresh yourself and then we’ll go to the doctor.’
The guest bedroom was as sumptuous as the rest of the apartment, with a huge king-sized bed covered in a cream silk duvet and an en-suite bathroom with a sunken marble tub. Margo was tempted to run a bath and have a soak, but she knew Leo would be waiting, watching her every move, and the thought made her too uptight to relax, even in a bubble bath.
She washed her face and hands instead, and put on a little make-up, no more than concealer to cover the dark shadows under her eyes, and a little blusher and lipstick to give her face some colour.
‘Have you eaten today?’ Leo called through the closed door. ‘Maria told me you didn’t have supper last night, nor breakfast this morning.’
So Maria was her keeper and his spy? Margo tried not to let it rankle. ‘I can’t manage much food,’ she answered. She took a quick breath and opened the door.
Leo stood there, scowling.
‘You need to keep up your strength.’
‘I would if I could, Leo, but I can’t keep anything down.’
‘I thought the medication you were prescribed helps?’
‘It does,’ Margo answered. ‘But I still have to be careful.’ She tried for a smile. ‘I’ve eaten a lot of melba toast. It’s the one thing my stomach can stand.’
‘Melba toast?’ he repeated.
Margo shrugged. ‘My doctor said I should start to feel better soon.’
‘I don’t even know how far along you are.’
‘Seventeen weeks. The baby is due in the end of April.’
He looked startled by that news, and Margo wondered if the actuality of a baby—a living person coming into their lives—had just become more real to him.
But all he said was, ‘We should go.’
‘I’ll just get my coat.’
Leo insisted on driving to the doctor’s, even though it was only a few blocks away.
‘You look as if a breath of wind could knock you over,’ he informed her, and Margo told herself he was actually being considerate, even if it came across, as did everything else, as both a command and a criticism.
The doctor’s office was plush and well-appointed, and they were seen immediately. Margo perched on top of the examination table, feeling shy and rather exposed with Leo in the room, standing in the corner, practically glowering.
The doctor, a neat-looking woman with a coil of dark hair and a brisk, efficient manner, took them both in with a single glance. ‘Would you prefer to be seen alone?’ she asked Margo in clipped English.
Leo looked taken aback. Clearly he’d expected the doctor he’d chosen to leap to do his bidding, just as everyone else did.
‘No,’ Margo answered, ‘but maybe you could sit down?’ She raised her eyebrows at Leo, who took a seat without a word.
