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Nigel grinned. He was wearing his ‘I’m into something big’ again face, and walked out of the office whistling off-key, a sure sign that things were beginning to jell. It was Tamara’s conviction that Nigel enjoyed the hunt for a new talent more than the surefire success books that resulted from it.
Although she had scoffed at his advice, when a week went by and she was feeling no better, she decided that it might be as well to have a check up. She belonged to a large group practice, and the busy doctor who saw her was brusque and to the point.
‘There’s nothing wrong with you,’ he told her dryly, having examined her thoroughly and asked a good many questions, ‘unless you count pregnancy as an illness. I’ll have to test to make sure, but I’m ninety per cent certain you’re in the early stages of pregnancy. If you are and you want a termination …’
‘No!’
The word was out without her having to think about it, and for the first time she received a faintly approving smile.
‘Come back in a fortnight’s time and we’ll talk again. The results of the test will be through in about a week. Ring my receptionist to check, and if, as I suspect, you are pregnant she’ll start making arrangements for ante-natal care, relaxation classes, all that sort of thing.’
Tamara left the surgery in a daze. Pregnant! She could barely take it in. The signs had been there, but she naïvely had not perceived them; it had simply not occurred to her that as a result of Zach’s lovemaking she might conceive his child. Zach’s child! She came to an abrupt halt, torn between wildly fluctuating joy and pain—joy because she would bear the child of the man she loved, and pain because he would never know of its existence.
It was only later that the agonising started; did she have the right to bring up her child alone, depriving it of the love it could receive from two parents were it adopted; did she have the right to have the baby at all?
‘Everything okay?’ Nigel asked her, coming into her office as she was removing her coat, and frowning slightly when he saw her dazed expression.
‘Tamara?’
‘I’m pregnant,’ she told him baldly.
‘Pregnant?’ He did an obvious double-take and stared. ‘Hell! I suppose that means you’ll be bringing the date of the wedding forward, and I’ll lose you right in the middle of the biggest thing that’s ever happened to this firm!’
Tamara tried not to laugh. He was the supreme egotist.
‘There won’t be any wedding,’ she told him quietly, holding out her left hand. ‘Look, no ring.’
‘But after this!’ Nigel expostulated. ‘Hell, even a prune like Malcolm couldn’t leave you high and dry with his child!’
‘Wrong and wrong again.’ It was amazing how cheerful she managed to sound. ‘One, the baby isn’t Malcolm’s, and two, I was the one to break the engagement—before I knew about the baby. Not that knowing would have altered my decision. If I couldn’t marry Malcolm because I didn’t love him I certainly couldn’t marry him to give a name to someone else’s child.’
‘I see.’ For once all Nigel’s attention was focused on her. He perched on the end of her desk, toying with a pencil. ‘Umm, I’d noticed a certain … blossoming of late, a certain honing of features which had always been there, but neglected so to speak. So. Well, are you planning to marry the man who’s the father of your child?’
Tamara shook her head.
‘It was a very brief encounter,’ she said lightly. ‘I loved him; he desired me. The fact that I’m pregnant is not his concern. What I would like to know is, will you keep me on?’
It cost a lot to speak so matter-of-factly, but it had to be done.
‘I don’t see why not, but it won’t be easy for you,’ Nigel warned her, ‘especially not once the baby has been born. I know enough about you, Tamara, to know that you’re not the sort of woman who’ll want to let anyone else bring up her child, but still at least you’ve got your own home, and I suppose we could come to some flexible arrangement over hours; perhaps you could even work at home part of the time …’
Tamara had to turn away to hide the quick rush of grateful tears. She had still not really taken in the fact that she was pregnant; it had all happened too quickly.
‘This man,’ Nigel was saying, ‘you met him in the Caribbean, I take it. You say you love him—are you sure it’s not just infatuation? Malcolm might not be the most exciting man on earth, but …’
Tamara shook her head decisively.
‘No. To both questions.’
‘Mm—well, I know when I’ve met a lady who knows her own mind. Which reminds me—talking of people who know their own minds, I’ve managed to fix up an interview for my next project. It’s definitely going to be a biggie, Tamara. We’re driving down to see him next Friday. Lunch at his stately pile,’ he grinned, enjoying her expression. ‘You’re about to meet a philanthropist. He wants to turn his home into a rehabilitation centre for disturbed children, and the book is going to help finance it.’
‘What’s the book going to be about?’ Tamara asked him.
‘Faction—but this time it’s all about power games. He’s a very shrewd operator, knowledgeable in his field too, but he’s determined not to sell himself cheap.’
‘He sounds formidable,’ Tamara said lightly. ‘Will you want me to make notes or will you use the recorder?’
‘We might as well be prepared for both. From the outline he’s sent me I don’t think there’ll be too much to discuss. He read English Literature at Cambridge and he certainly seems to know how to put his point across.’
