AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But there was very little laughter in the following weeks. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep, and it was all Luke Devetzi's fault. She had tried so hard to avoid the pain of loving him, but it had happened anyway.
It was the first day of spring, and Jemma walked out of her doctor's surgery in a state of shock. She had made the appointment because she had fainted at work and Liz had bullied her into it.
It was a miracle—she was pregnant! Elation bubbled up inside her. According to the doctor it was not uncommon to have some spotting in the first weeks of pregnancy—which she'd thought was a light period—and he had calculated she was just over three months pregnant. The timing could not be more perfect, Jemma thought, almost dancing along the street to her car. She had sold her house, and only the previous week moved into a delightful cottage with a large garden in Sussex. If she had harboured any doubts about her decision to move out of London and commute to work three days a week she didn't now. The move had brought her luck already.
'So what did the doctor have to say?' Liz demanded as Jemma walked into the shop.
'Follow me into the back and I'll tell you.'
'What about Luke?' Liz asked some time later, when Jemma had stopped gushing over the prospect of being a mother. 'You'll have to tell him.'
'No!' Jemma's reaction was immediate, and she hardened her heart against all Liz's arguments to the contrary. 'Oh, come on, Liz. I saw one of your trashy magazines not so long ago, although you tried to hide it, with that picture of Luke with the lovely Davina on his arm. Get real. He was adamant he never wanted to see me again. He sent my belongings from the apartment back to me by courier, for heaven's sake.'
Liz shook her head. 'I didn't know that. What a jerk! But I still think you should tell him; he has a right to know he's going to be a father.'
'If it will make you feel any better, I will if I see him,' Jemma said. And pigs might fly, she thought.
A few weeks later Jemma received a letter from Theo. It was to tell her the renovations to the house on Zante were finished, and he hoped the fact she and his grandson had parted would not stop Jemma remaining his friend. She wrote back and told him she had instructed the caretaker to give him a key and allow him to use the house whenever he wished. She felt guilty. But, while she knew she couldn't keep her pregnancy a secret from Luke and Theo forever, she didn't want them to know just yet. Her emotions were still too raw.
But Jemma got a nasty shock halfway through April, when she and Liz had one of their regular lunches.
'Peter and I were at a business dinner recently, and Luke was there as a special guest. He was alone and he looked terrible. Well, obviously not terrible—he couldn't look terrible if he tried—he's too handsome! But he did look haggard.'
'I'm not surprised with the life he leads,' Jemma said curtly.
'He asked after you…'
Jemma stiffened in her chair. Tell me you didn't say anything.'
'No, I simply said you were blooming,' Liz said dryly.
Jemma took maternity leave from the business the next weekend, telling herself it was because she wanted to be super careful of her unborn child. But, if she was honest, it worried her that Liz had met Luke in London. Since their parting she hadn't seen or heard from him, and that was the way she wanted it to stay. The allowance he had made her when they were together was still paid into her bank every month, but she ignored it. At four months her pregnancy was not yet obvious, and no one but Liz knew—which was the way she wanted it for as long as possible.
She loved her cottage, she loved her garden, and she loved the miracle growing inside her. But her love for Luke she locked away in the darkest reaches of her mind. And if sometimes in bed at night it broke free, she made herself a glass of hot milk and thought of her baby. Jemma was a past master at burying her feelings—she had had plenty of practice…
She heard the telephone ring as she looked for her keys in her purse, but by the time Jemma had opened the door and walked into the spacious hall it had stopped. Oh, well, if it was important whoever it was would ring back. She continued to the back of the house and the huge family kitchen-cum-diner. She placed the tin of paint she had bought on the breakfast table and stretched her back. She had finally decided to paint the nursery pale yellow.
She had had a very productive morning—a visit to her new doctor for her six-month pregnancy check, and a trip to the shops to stock up on food for the next week. The house was four miles from the nearest town, tucked away up its own private lane with a copse of trees at one side. It had been built by the previous owner fifty years ago, when he'd married, and he had extended it haphazardly as his family grew until it contained five bedrooms, the master en-suite, and three bathrooms. Really it was too big for Jemma, but she had fallen in love with the place. She could sense the love and laughter in the very stones of the house.
Grinning at the thought, Jemma went back out to her car and opened the boot to collect the rest of her shopping. She heard the telephone ring again, and missed it again. Not bothered, Jemma stowed the groceries away and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. Picking it up, she walked out of the back door and into the courtyard to look down over the acre of garden. The flowerbeds were a mass of glorious colour among the lush green lawns, and a deep sigh of contentment escaped her.
She settled down on the sunbed beside the fountain in the centre of the courtyard and sipped her tea. The doctor had told her this morning that she was fine. The baby was fine. Life was fine. Draining her cup, she put her feet up, rested her hands lightly on her now protruding stomach and closed her eyes.
Luke recognised Jemma's car, parked his own behind it, and got out. His face flushed with anger, he approached the front door of Wisteria Cottage and pressed the bell. He took a few steps back and looked up at the house. The wisteria was in full bloom, and was trained across the front of the house. A deep blue pantiled roof was inset with four dormer windows, their peaks topped off with wood carvings of flowers. He would have smiled if he hadn't been so furious. It was so Jemma's kind of house. He rang the bell again. She had to be in, but all he could hear was birdsong and the soft sound of insects humming in the hot June air. Impatiently he walked around the side of the house and discovered it was built with two wings. In between them was a courtyard, with a fountain in the centre.
She was pregnant. Even from this distance he could see the swell of her stomach, and rage
welled up inside him, gathering the force of a tidal wave.
She was lying on a sunbed, but even as he strode towards her she didn't move. He stopped and stared down at her, his anger laced with anguish. She was so beautiful she took his breath away, and he broke out in a cold sweat, nausea swelling in the pit of his stomach—all the symptoms of the lovesick fool he had hoped he'd put behind him.
She was wearing a soft muslin dress with tiny shoestring straps; one had slipped off her shoulder, revealing the creamy curve of her breast. One slender arm lay at her side, her other hand rested protectively on the fine fabric covering the pronounced bulge of her stomach. She was carrying his child and she hadn't told him.
'So it's true, Jemma.'
She opened her eyes and thought she was dreaming. 'Luke…' she murmured drowsily. He was wearing chinos and a polo shirt and looked—'Luke!' she repeated, her eyes finally focusing sharply. This was no dream! Her heart started thudding as he stared back at her, his brows black and jagged above brooding, stormy grey eyes.
'What the hell did you think you were doing, keeping your pregnancy a secret from me?' he demanded harshly.
