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Her health farm idea had been a stroke of genius. So much good had eventuated from it, both for himself and his mother, he’d be forever grateful to Rita. Apart from which, she was a thoroughly nice person who always had his best interests at heart, both personally and professionally.
“Would you like a week at the health farm, Rita?”
“What?”
“Make your choice. It’s either that or a nine month’s free supply of Belgian chocolates.”
“What?” she repeated, unable to make sense of this sudden rush of beneficence.
“Well, I can’t give out cigars. I’ve given up smoking and it’s not politically correct.”
He could see her mind go clickety-click as she added it up and grinned sheer delight at him. “A baby.”
“Fatherhood, here I come!”
“Good for you! And Peta! I’m so pleased for you.” She laughed. “And for me! I’ll take a raincheck on the week at the health farm. I’ll need it after the chocolate deluge at Christmas.”
“Fine! Mark it into the calendar and I’ll foot the bill.”
’What about flowers?”
“You want flowers, too?”
She rolled her eyes at him. “For the mother-to-be. I think at least a dozen red roses is in order. Shall I call a florist for you?”
“No. Not roses.”
He frowned, not liking the reminder of Peta’s restriction. That cheating bastard in Rome would never have given her a child. Nevertheless, Matt didn’t want even a whiff of a memory of him around Peta on this special day. Roses were out. Yet the idea of flowers appealed so strongly he was reluctant to discard it. Why shouldn’t he send them? She was his wife. She was carrying his baby.
“Can I get blue flowers at this time of year?” he asked. Rita always knew that kind of stuff.
“Irises. Though you can’t count on having a boy, Matt,” she added wisely.
“What’s pink?”
“Carnations, tulips...”
“Tulips,” he decided. They were more unusual than carnations and without any romantic connotations. “Blue irises and pink tulips. Get a bunch of each delivered, Rita, and have them put on the card—To celebrate our boy or girl!”
“Signed... Love, Matt?” Rita queried, writing the message down.
It was on the tip of his tongue to say, “Yes.” Then realising Peta might think it glib—though it wasn’t—he hunted for other words, trying not to sound any false note with her.
“No,” he said slowly. “I think... From Daddy.”
Rita laughed. “One besotted father coming up.”
It restored Matt’s good humour. Peta would readily accept a gift on behalf of their child and derive pleasure from it. He was on safe ground there. As long as he held on, chances were he’d win everything in the end.
“When are you planning on giving up your job?” Megan asked.
“I haven’t thought about it,” Peta blithely replied. She’d only been working the domestic flights since she and Matt had returned from their honeymoon. Having been granted the transfer, it seemed wrong to give notice of leaving immediately.
“I’ve never seen a pregnant air hostess.”
“I won’t be showing for a while, Megan,” she quickly reasoned. “And I could use the money to buy things for the baby.”
“You could sell that motorbike.”
