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Stop! The voice was a Klaxon in his head as he saw the look of pain on her face and knew his words had triggered memories of her own childhood, the packing of her suitcase...
But that had been his intention, hadn’t it? Number one bastard that he was. How low was he willing to go in his belief that this marriage was right? And right for who anyway? Maybe it was better for the baby, but not at the cost of Gabby’s happiness, her life. She deserved a shot at her Mr Right—someone able to believe in love and for ever, someone able to commit and not prioritise work over love.
Not someone like Zander, with a proved track record of failure, a lack of capacity to nurture love, to be satisfied with what he had. He was a man who revered ambition, craved success, and he would never be able to put a family first.
Yes, this marriage would suit him—because he wouldn’t have to put Gabby first. He could have it all. So he was trying to bulldoze her into a marriage she didn’t want, a life she didn’t want. No more.
Yet as he prepared to speak, an inexplicable sense of loss tore into him. For a searing moment he imagined the life that had nearly been his—a life with Gabby, a family life, with trips to the supermarket, holidays, meals, laughter. He watched as the images of that illusory life faded and dispersed in t
he breeze. Because that wasn’t reality. He couldn’t offer her love because he knew that for him the emotion wasn’t sustainable, knew that it couldn’t coexist with his ambition. His plans revolved around his work, and he’d always known it wasn’t possible to have a family, as well. Hadn’t he?
‘It’s OK, Gabby,’ he said, even as he knew it wasn’t. It wasn’t OK at all to have this dark bleakness descend on his heart. His arm felt heavy, inert, but he forced himself to reach out and take the ring. ‘We’ll make this work a different way.’
‘How?’
‘Tell the baby the truth. That we both love him or her...’
‘But we don’t love each other,’ she broke in. ‘That we’re friends. And maybe two homes will be OK as long as they’re both full of love and security.’
‘Yes.’ He forced conviction into his voice and his expression, but inside a sudden bleak disappointment washed over him—a pain he didn’t fully understand. ‘So what now?’
Gabby hugged her knees, stared out to sea. ‘Well, there are still seven months until the baby is due. If you want to attend antenatal classes with me, of course you can, and I’ll keep you posted on how the pregnancy is going. But otherwise there’s no longer any need for us to see each other. No more charade, no more engagement.’
No more Gabby.
As he sat there, so near her and yet so very, very far away, the bleakness increased. It felt like a jagged tear in his chest. He had a sense that he had failed, that he had missed something crucial. They sat in silence for a long time, both looking out at the crags and cliffs, the imposing Cornish coastline and the deep blue of the sea, until finally Gabby shifted.
‘We should go,’ she said.
Zander nodded, told himself it was for the best. He couldn’t sustain relationships, and he didn’t understand compromise. He would never again risk love because he knew he couldn’t nurture it. On his watch it would fray, wither and fade away.
He told himself that now he could focus on work—take his company to even greater heights without any distraction for the next seven months. And after that he would work out a balance between the baby and work without having to factor Gabby in at all. It was all for the best.
So why did his very soul feel so heavy as they trudged towards the steps he’d climbed in such anticipation?
A month later
Bath, Lucille’s house
Gabby smoothed her hand over her growing bump and smiled at her grandmother. The baby seemed to have rejuvenated Lucille.
‘I’ll be here on this green earth for as long as I can be. Here for the baby and for you, Gabrielle,’ she said.
‘I hope you’re here for years and years, Gran.’
Thank heaven for Lucille—her family, her rock. And a welcome distraction from thoughts of Zander.
Gabby had hoped that a month without seeing him would at least have started a cure for love, would have stunted its growth, made it less intense. But with each passing day the sheer ache of missing him intensified until all she wanted to do was call him, just to hear his voice.
But she didn’t. Her plan, such as it was, was to starve this love until eventually it would have to perish. She tried to ration even her thoughts of him—so far without noticeable success.
‘Gabby?’
‘Sorry, Gran. I was thinking.’
‘So have I been.’
‘About what?’ Idly, Gabby reached out for one of the small square marzipan-topped cakes which were her current craving.
