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Elizabeth
After our conversation in the bar, I do my best to put the events of the past few weeks behind me and concentrate on my career.
I tell Titus and Mack that I’m going to England, and Titus calls Alan and lets him know. Everyone at Acheron Pharmaceuticals is overjoyed, and I have several long phone calls with people talking about practical details like where I’m going to live and what office I’ll use.
I don’t see much of Huxley. For the first time in years, I don’t hear from him for three days—no calls or messages. I don’t speak to him at all until I turn up at the club for our usual Friday meeting. When I walk into the boardroom, he greets me with a smile. He’s polite and funny, like he always is, bustling around making sure we have coffees and food. But he avoids my eyes, and when the meeting is over, he’s out of the door first, saying he has things to do.
I’m sure Mack has picked up on the mood, and I half expect him to wait behind to admonish me. But he doesn’t. He gathers up his things too and heads off without a word.
Sad, a little tearful, I pack up my briefcase and head out.
We continue like that for a couple of weeks. I try to keep myself busy, and I’m sure he’s doing the same. I work long hours, conscious now that I might not be in the office for much longer, and knowing I need to start preparing for someone else to take over. I have several meetings with my senior management team where we talk about various options, and in the end we decide the team will continue to run things together, and they’ll just refer to me if they can’t decide on an issue.
I don’t like leaving behind the company I’ve worked so hard to build, but it’s never been easier to run a business online, and anyway, it’s not forever.
In the evenings, I take Nymph for long walks through the park, and it’s only then that I let myself dwell on my personal life. I know I’ve made the right decision, but whenever I think about Huxley, my eyes prick with tears, and I have to fight not to let them fall. I can’t remember a time in the past when he’s been angry with me, or when more than a few hours have gone by without us contacting one another. I miss him, so much it physically hurts. But it was my decision, and so I can’t complain.
The days tick by, faster than I would have thought possible, and it’s not long before my period’s due. I have a short cycle of only twenty-five days, and I’m hardly ever late. So it’s with some nervousness that I rise on day twenty-six.
It’s almost impossible to concentrate during the day. The achiness I feel and the tenderness in my breasts could easily be down to PMS, and I don’t want to get excited.
And anyway, my feelings are very mixed. In many ways, it would be better if I’m not pregnant. That way I can sever the connection between myself and Huxley, because it will really complicate matters if he were to be the father of my child. And it would also, if I’m really honest with myself, be easier to deal with moving to England if I’m not. I know women have babies over there, but I wouldn’t have my family and friends around me, and that would be a shame.
I tell myself this all day. I’m therefore completely shocked when I go to the bathroom around five p.m. and discover that my period has started.
I sit on the toilet seat, my face in my hands, and fight against a wave of emotion, surprised at how devastated I feel. I really thought it had worked. I thought he’d made me pregnant. I thought I was going to give birth to his child. The feeling of loss completely overwhelms me, and it’s the first time I really understand how much of an impact Pen’s infertility must have had on her.
“It’s for the best,” I repeat like a mantra, but the physical ache in my belly matches a deep ache in my heart. I feel so incredibly sad, which is ridiculous because it’s not like I’ve had a miscarriage. There was never anything there. But of course, that’s not the point. Just like Pen didn’t really lose a baby, it’s about the loss of a dream.
Oh, Huxley. Yet again, it feels as if we held an opportunity in our hands, and yet again it’s been ripped away. It feels as if Fate is trying to tell me we’re not meant to be together.
The ridiculous thing is that now, out of all my friends, he’s the one I want to talk to. And anyway, I need to tell him he’s off the hook. He deserves to know.
Will he be disappointed? Or relieved to get me out of his hair?
I take out my phone, intending to text him, then pause and put it away again.
Leaving the bathroom, I tell my PA I’m going out for a while. Then I get in my car and drive the short distance to the club.
I go up in the elevator and come out in reception. “Hey,” I say to Gail when she smiles at me. “Is Huxley around?” It suddenly occurs to me that he might be in a meeting, or even out somewhere—I should have checked.
But she says, “Yes, he’s in his office. Hold on.” She lifts up her phone and buzzes him. “Ms. Tremblay is here to see you,” she says. She listens, and I imagine him closing his eyes for a moment, maybe massaging his forehead. Will he refuse to see me? But then she says, “Of course,” and she puts the phone down. “Please,” she says, “go in.”
“Thank you.” I head down the corridor, knock on the door, and go inside, closing the door behind me.
He has a large office, not unlike Titus’s, with a great view over the city. Two of his mother’s abstract paintings hang on the walls, bringing a blaze of color to the room. His desk sits in front of the large windows, and it’s currently covered with paperwork. It looks as if he’s working on his accounts. He’s alone, though, standing behind his desk, in the process of putting on his suit jacket. He does that when he’s being formal, meeting clients or going into a meeting, donning it like a suit of armor.
“Hey,” he says. He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Hey.” I walk forward and stand in front of his desk hesitantly. “I’m sorry to bother you.”
“It’s okay, I’m just going through some figures.” He drops his gaze to the desk and squares some papers. “What can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know…” I swallow hard. Why is this so hard to say? Out with it, Elizabeth. I take a deep breath. “You’re off the hook. I’m not pregnant.”
His gaze snaps up to mine. “Oh,” he says softly.
