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He got to his feet. 'Then I'll see you downstairs in an hour.'
For a moment Cally thought he was going to bend down and kiss her, and felt the uncontrollable flutter of her pulses. But he simply walked over to the communicating door and disappeared.
Cally stared after him, her lip caught between her teeth. She hadn't simply been lying here on the bed feeling sorry for herself. She'd been working on a strategy designed to detach Nick from her heart and mind, and curb all the stupid, futile longings that still tormented her.
And Dr Hanson's comments about sex had provided her with an emergency plan, which meant that from now on that door was going to become the non-communicating sort, with Nick on one side and herself very firmly on the other.
Because keeping him physically at a distance might be her only means of survival if she was to see the pregnancy deal through to its bitter end.
She would, she thought later, have known Nick's mother anywhere. Dr Tempest was a tall, slender woman, her grey-streaked dark hair drawn severely back from her face into a bun, revealing the elegant chiselling of her face. It was obvious where Nick had got his marvellous bone structure, and those amazing eyes.
Her greeting to her new daughter-in-law, as they met over drinks in the drawing room, was friendly but not overpoweringly so. She was, Cally realised, reserving judgement.
'I think pregnancy was marginally easier in the days when I was having Nick,' she remarked. There weren't so many scares and taboos then. But there were no scans either, to tell you the baby's sex. You had to wait for the midwife's pronouncement.' She accepted the martini Nick had mixed for her. 'Do you want to know in advance, Caroline, whether it's a boy or a girl?'
Cally shook her head. 'I—I don't think I mind.'
'Well, I want a girl.' Nick brought her a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice and smiled at her. 'But only if she looks like her mother.'
Cally flushed, and was aware that Dr Tempest's brows had lifted slightly.
Rather overdoing it there, Nick, she told him silently. I’m no one's idea of a beauty. And if, as you claim, this is your one chance, then you'll require a son and heir.
Over dinner, she learned that Dr Tempest would not be spending all her leave with them. She intended to use the Hall as a base, certainly, but her lecture tour would take her all round the British Isles.
She was a wonderful talker, with a droll sense of humour, keeping them endlessly entertained during the meal and the coffee that followed with descriptions of life on the dig, and the various personalities—most of them diametrically opposed to each other-—that she had to deal with—and often reconcile.
But Cally was aware at the same time that she was being watched and assessed by that shrewd silvery gaze, and it made her feel uneasy.
She also realised that, however deep in the Guatemalan jungle Dr Tempest had been, she was still au fait with what was happening at Wylstone, which meant that she and Nick were in much more regular correspondence than Cally had suspected.
‘I hope,' she said at one point, 'that Ranald's abominable widow won't feel obliged to pay a visit while I'm here.'
'Unlikely,' Nick said expressionlessly. 'I gather she's off to the South of France very shortly. I imagine her time up to then will be occupied by shopping and packing.'
Cally looked up, startled. My God, she thought, is there anything he can't manipulate? First Vanessa was due to disappear. Now, more crucially, it's Adele's turn. Because she's the one he needs to keep quiet, and I told him so.
She said steadily, 'Isn't that a rather sudden decision on Adele's part?'
'Not really. She often goes down there.' His mouth curled slightly. 'Regards St Tropez as some kind of spiritual home.'
'Nevertheless,' his mother said drily, 'she's still physically occupying the Dower House, which is unfortunate.'
'Not for much longer, I hope,' Nick said. 'Once I make it
clear I have my own plans for the place. For a brief moment Cally felt his gaze resting on her.
She swallowed some of the coffee she didn't really want, her mind working furiously. Was that part of his ultimate plan for her? she wondered bleakly. That she should move into the Dower House? Access to the baby strictly on his terms—and while she lived under his supervision? If so, it was an appalling prospect, for all kinds of reasons.
But then, what other options were open to her? Because her original plan—to walk away from the life that had been so summarily imposed on her—was now unthinkable—impossible.
She had realised immediately, even when she'd only suspected that she had conceived, that pregnancy in theory and practice were going to be light years apart. That simply being some kind of surrogate—Nick's temporary breeding machine— was never going to work
