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He took the bag from her as if it were nothing, as if it didn’t carry the key to her hopes and dreams. To the freedom she had never even appreciated until this moment.
‘Come on.’ He strode off towards the hotel.
Polly hesitated. Maybe she could wait until she got home after all. In fact maybe she could just wait, wait for this nightmare to be over.
Her hand crept to her abdomen and stayed there. What if? There was only one way to find out.
The hotel lobby was as anonymous as the outside, the floor tiled in a nondescript beige, the walls a coffee colour accented by meaningless abstract prints, the whole set off by fake oak fittings. Gabe led the way confidently past the desk and Polly noted how the receptionists’ eyes followed him.
And how their eyes rested on her in jealous appraisal, making her all too aware of her old tracksuit, her lack of make-up. She lifted her head; let them speculate, let them judge.
They walked along a long corridor, doors at regular intervals on either side. ‘Aha, voici,’ Gabe muttered and stopped in front of one of the white wooden doors.
Number twenty-six. Such a random number, bland and meaningless. It didn’t feel prophetic.
He opened the door with the key card and stood aside to let Polly enter. Her eyes swept around the room. The main part of the room was taken up by a large double bed made up in white linen with a crimson throw and matching pillows. The same tired abstracts were on the walls of the room; a TV and a sizeable desk completed the simple layout.
The door to her right stood open to reveal a white tiled bathroom.
The bathroom.
Panic whooshed through her and Polly put out a hand to steady herself against the wall. It was time.
What if she was pregnant?
What if she wasn’t?
The thought froze her. That was what she wanted. Wasn’t it?
‘I’m going to order some food. I didn’t manage more than a couple of forkfuls of that omelette. You should eat. What do you want?’ Gabe’s voice broke through her paralysis like a spoon stirring slowly through thick treacle.
Polly blinked at him, trying to make sense of the words. How could he even think of food at a time like this? ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘I’m ordering for you anyway. I’m going to have a beer. What do you want to drink?’ He flashed a look at the bag on the bed. ‘You’re going to need a lot of liquid to get through that lot.’
As if the whole episode weren’t mortifying enough. Why hadn’t they invented tests you breathed on?
Gabe sat down on the bed and kicked off his shoes, one hand reaching for the menu, the other for the TV control. He looked like a man completely happy with his surroundings as he swung his legs onto the bed and reclined.
The bed.
The one and only.
‘This is a double room.’
He grinned at her. ‘I can see why they made you CEO.’
‘You booked us a double?’
‘I took the room they had available so that you—’ he cast a speaking glance at the bag next to him ‘—could get on and do what you have to do. I might as well be comfortable, fed and watered while I wait. Panic not, princess. Your virtue is safe with me.’
Or what was left of it, she silently filled in the rest of the sentence. What was she thinking anyway? She was potentially pregnant, definitely sick, had bags under her eyes big enough for a whole week’s worth of groceries and was wearing an old tracksuit, her freshly washed hair pulled back into a knot. Clothes she had put on after puking over her outfit, floor and cloakroom. She wasn’t exactly a catch.
To be honest she was surprised Gabe hadn’t got them separate rooms, not a double. Anything less sexy than Polly Rafferty right now was hard to imagine.
‘Right then.’ She took a tremulous step forward, then another, leaning forward and grabbing the bag. ‘Let’s do this thing.’
He looked up from the menu, his eyes dark with concern. ‘Do you want...I mean is there anything I can do?’
‘You can hardly pee on a stick for me,’ Polly snapped. She took a breath, her cheeks heating up. Great, she could add scarlet and sweaty to her long list of desirable attributes. ‘No, really. I don’t think either of us will ever recover if you come in there with me.’
* * *
The tiles were cold on her cheek and hands and beginning to chill the rest of her body. She should move, get up.
But getting up was a pretty tall order right now. In fact, Polly wasn’t sure she was ever going to move again; she could spend the rest of her life curled up here, right?
Curled up in a foetal position. Now that was pretty damn ironic.
A bang on the hotel room door made her start. But of course, Gabe was there. He would take care of it.
