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‘Look, I really appreciate what you did for me last weekend.’ There, she said it quite normally despite her urge to grind the words out through gritted teeth. ‘But this really isn’t any of your business and I would appreciate it if you just...’ She searched for a polite way to tell him to butt out. ‘Just don’t discuss it any more,’ she said a little lamely.
He quirked an eyebrow. ‘You seem very stressed, Polly. Have you considered yoga?’
Breathe, breathe again and again. It was no good. ‘Butt out, Gabe!’
He put his hands up in surrender but his eyes were laughing. ‘I’m sorry. Business first. Of course.’
‘Good.’ But she was unsettled. What if he was right? Should she see a doctor? It was probably the first thing most women did.
What if her independence hurt the baby? Polly clenched her fists; she wanted to reach down again, to cradle her stomach and make a silent vow to the baby that, unorthodox as its beginnings were, as much of a shock the whole thing was, she would do her best to keep it safe. Do her best to love it. But with those mocking eyes fixed on her she wouldn’t allow herself to show any signs of softening.
‘Hang on.’ She couldn’t look at Gabe. It felt like giving in. ‘I’m just going to call my GP. I’ll be with you as soon as I can’
* * *
She looked tired. Pale, drawn and thin. And vulnerable. It was a good thing he was hardened against vulnerable women.
‘Thanks, yes. I will.’ Her conversation at an end, Polly put down the phone and leant forward until her head touched the desk, her hands clasped in front of her. He could see the breaths shuddering through her. Slowly she straightened, pulling at the pins that held her hair in place, running her hands through the freed strands.
‘I’m sorry, Gabe, but I need to go in right now.’ She smiled, a brief perfunctory smile that didn’t go anywhere near her eyes. ‘Perils of being a Rafferty. They like to see us early.’
‘Sounds like a benefit to me.’ It never ceased to amaze Gabe how those with good health took it for granted. He’d been like that once, heedless of his body and strength, unknowing what a miracle every breath, every step, every sensation was.
‘Daddy was so young when he had his stroke, they worry about blood pressure.’ She was gathering her papers and phone together to put into her bag. ‘I tried to put them off until tomorrow but it was easier just to agree to go in. I know we need to talk about the papers. We’ll just have to skip the board lunch.’
‘I could come with you. We can talk on the way, better use of both our time.’ His suggestion had nothing to do with seeing her reluctance to go, knowing how tough it must be to face so many changes alone.
She stopped dead and stared at him. ‘You want to come to the doctor’s with me? Why ever would you want to do that? I would have thought you of all people would have had enough of anything medical.’
‘I’m not planning to come in with you and hold your hand, just to discuss business on the way.’
‘I’m walking,’ she said, almost defiantly. ‘It’s only a mile away and the sun’s out. I could do with some fresh air.’
‘Air sounds good,’ he agreed. ‘I missed out on a run yesterday. If you’re good I might even buy you a frozen yogurt on the way back.’
* * *
Rafferty’s was situated in the heart of London, not far from the bustle of Oxford Street, close to the rarefied boutiques of Bond Street. Tourists, commuters, shoppers and workers pounded the pavements in an endless throng of busy chatter and purposeful movement. There were times when Gabe would catch the scent of car exhausts, cigarettes, fried food and perfume and feel such a longing for the flower-filled air of Provence it almost choked him.
And there were times when these crowded streets felt like home. When knowing the shortcuts, the local shops, the alleyways, the cafés and bars off the tourist track, which tube stop was next, when it was quicker to walk was instinct. It gave him a certain satisfaction, a sense of belonging.
But Polly didn’t need to belong. She might have moved to a quiet town miles from the capital but London ran through her veins, was in her blood. It was evident in her confidence, the way she moved through the crowd, never putting a foot out of place, seamlessly blending in.
And yet she’d chosen to leave. The city girl living in a sleepy rural town. The defiantly single woman living in a house made for an old-fashioned family with several children and a large golden dog. What was real? Did she even know?
‘Do you miss London?’
‘I’m here every day.’
