A Whirlwind Marriage (15 page)

And then she brushed the chill away, resolutely lifting her face for his kiss. She would
make
him understand, whatever it took. She didn’t think she could go through the last few months again and survive. She needed him just as much as he needed her.

The rest of the house was just as she had envisaged, although apart from the master bedroom the other rooms upstairs were unfurnished as yet, with just the odd piece from the Bedlows dotted about although all the carpets and curtains had been left.

They sat up into the early hours making plans, and then they went to bed, to lie in each other’s arms and love until dawn was breaking over a night-washed sky and the birds were singing in the garden below.
Their
garden, she thought wonderingly.

Sunday was spent mostly in bed, and Monday morning Zeke called in to the office to say he was taking the day off, but gradually life resumed some sort of normality.
Marianne continued at the supermarket for a further few days until Mrs Polinkski’s daughter—who had delayed her departure from Poland several times—returned home, and then she threw herself into furnishing the rest of the house.

Zeke left later in the mornings and returned earlier in the evenings, often mid-afternoon, and one or two evenings Marianne took the bull by the horns and spread out the college and university prospectuses and showed him the courses she was considering.

He was encouraging at those times, but restrained, and when she invited Pat down for the weekend of their third week in Hertfordshire he left them alone on the Saturday, to have a good chin-wag, and then took both girls out to dinner in the evening and behaved impeccably towards Pat, who, albeit reluctantly at first, was won over.

‘You set out to charm her, didn’t you?’ Marianne accused that night as they got ready for bed, her eyes brimming with laughter at the smug expression on his handsome face. ‘You can be a smooth devil when you want to be, Zeke Buchanan.’

‘I don’t deny it.’ He grinned at her, his eyes dancing, and her own smile widened. He seemed lighter these days, freer, and she passionately wanted to believe it would last.

It was all going to be all right, she told herself as she lay beside him later that night, listening to his steady breathing. He was accepting the thought of her studying for a degree now, had actually discussed her choices of university with Pat and herself at dinner, and it had been he who had suggested they go and spend the weekend with her father in a couple of weeks’ time and include Pat again when they went out for dinner.

He had dismissed the apartment and city life without a qualm, and he seemed—he
seemed
—to enjoy living on the outskirts and being at home more. But how did she know for sure?

She wriggled slightly, angry with herself, but she couldn’t help it. He had told her, the first night at the house, that he had come face to face with himself that lunch-time he had seen her with Wilmer and realised he was poised on the edge of a chasm.

‘You said I’d ruin your life as well as mine if I didn’t get a handle on this thing.’ She had been clasped in his arms and he had moved her slightly to look down into her uplifted face. ‘It was like a bolt of lightning, Marianne, I can’t explain it. In everything that had happened I’d never grasped that before,’ he had admitted soberly.

‘Because you’d never understood how much I love you?’ she had asked gently. ‘Is that why?’

‘I don’t know. Perhaps. But the shock of first seeing you with him, the look on his face—I thought for a moment I had lost you. And then you declared your love for me again… It was like a second chance. And then I got angry.’

‘With me?’ she had asked, with careful neutrality.

‘With myself. The problem was mine and yet I was making you shoulder it. It wasn’t fair,’ he’d said with a touch of grimness. ‘None of this has been fair.’

‘Neither was your childhood,’ she’d murmured softly, holding him, loving him so much it hurt.

He’d shrugged, tracing a path round the outline of her soft lips with a tender finger. ‘People endure worse without letting it cripple them,’ he’d said quietly. ‘I sat in the taxi and looked down at my ankle and realised there were worse ways of being crippled than by broken bones. I’d always prided myself on being a fighter, on seeing problems merely as embryo opportunities, so where was that warrior spirit over this?’

They had talked some more, and she had been reassured at the time, but since then little niggling doubts—born of the long months apart and the misery of the last year at
the apartment—had crept in much as she had tried to dismiss them.

She wouldn’t allow them any more headroom. She stared fiercely into the darkness, willing the panic and unease to leave. Zeke was too intuitive by half, and if he sensed she was doubting him it could seriously jeopardise this new understanding between them which was still so sweet.

She had told him he had to trust her and the boot was just as relevant on the other foot, too! She wouldn’t think another negative thought. He deserved all her faith for their future.

Nevertheless, it was some time before she fell into a restless slumber, and her dreams were full of nightmarish images and long dark corridors that stretched endlessly into oblivion.

Marianne awoke late the next morning and she lay for some time without moving, in the grip of a deep, all-embracing weariness that seemed a little extreme for the couple of hours’ sleep she had missed. Nevertheless her limbs felt like lead.

It was Saturday morning, and in the distance somewhere she could hear church bells, and the faint murmur of voices downstairs, which she assumed was Zeke and Pat, Zeke’s side of the bed being empty. She really ought to go and join them, she thought tiredly.

She forced herself to sit up, feeling guilty she hadn’t been downstairs when Pat went down, and then felt so horribly ill she thought she was going to faint. She sank back against the pillows before she realised she had to get to the bathroom as a wave of nausea swept over her, but a few minutes later, once she was minus the contents of her stomach, she began to feel a little better and struggled back to bed.

‘Marianne?’ She had just slid under the covers when Zeke walked in the door with a cup of tea in his hand, the smile which had been on his face fading as he took in her ghostly pallor. ‘What’s wrong, darling? Are you ill?’

‘I feel awful.’ It was something of a plaintive wail but she
hated
being sick. ‘It must be a tummy bug or something.’

Zeke immediately took charge, ordering her to stay in bed and rest and assuring her that he and Pat were quite capable of seeing to the Sunday dinner between them. However, by lunch-time she felt as right as rain, and joined the other two downstairs for a big meal of roast beef, Yorkshire pudding and three veg, which she ate with gusto.

The three of them went for walk in the afternoon, calling in at a small oak-beamed thatched pub on the way home, before Pat left for Bridgeton with promises she’d be up to see them again soon.

Marianne slept heavily that night, and was barely awake when Zeke kissed her goodbye in the morning after placing a cup of tea on her bedside cabinet.

Within moments of sitting up in bed she had to run for the bathroom in a repeat of yesterday’s performance, but this time a disturbing possibility had her stomach turning upside down long after the nausea had subsided. But she couldn’t be. Could she?

By mid-morning her suspicions were confirmed after a visit to the local chemist for a pregnancy testing kit. She was trembling as she sat at the kitchen table staring at the little vial, myriad emotions jumbling her thoughts and causing her head to swim. A baby. Zeke’s baby. They had started a new life.

She had put the non-appearance of her monthly cycle after Christmas down to stress, remembering all the other times in the past when she had been two, three, even four
weeks late. And then when Zeke had come for her and literally swept her off her feet again she just hadn’t thought of it in all the excitement of furnishing the house. And why should she? All their careful following of charts and such in the last year of their marriage had produced nothing; pregnancy was the last thing—the very last thing—that would have crossed her mind.

But she
was
pregnant and it was Zeke’s baby growing inside her. Her hand moved protectively to her stomach and she shut her eyes tightly, her mind racing.

How could you be thrilled and scared to death at the same time? she asked herself weakly. A baby was wonderful, the fulfilment of all the dreams and longings she had felt for so long,
but it was the wrong time
.

She opened her eyes, staring vacantly round the beautiful kitchen as she brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes with a shaking hand.

It was too soon—far, far too soon for Zeke. He had just begun to accept the idea of her going to university and working for a career, of her being with other people and following her own star to a limited extent. This pregnancy would be the end of all that, certainly for a few years at least, and she had never liked the idea of having just one child anyway. Two, or even three, had always been her heart’s desire, and close in ages so they could enjoy each other, as she would have loved to have been able to enjoy the company of a sister or a brother.

This pregnancy would satisfy all the possessive darkness of his strange nature; he wouldn’t be able to resist falling back into his old ways—it was like a gift from the gods. A destructive, self-indulgent gift.

No, no, she couldn’t think of their baby like that. She shook her head, a little moan escaping her white lips. And, whatever, she wanted this baby more than anything in the world. It would mean the world to Zeke; he would be
thrilled to bits. It was just that if it had happened a few years from now, when he had really come to terms with his jealousy, it would have been so much better for them. She was frightened, terribly frightened of how their relationship would suffer.

She spent the rest of the day in a state of fermenting unrest. She had been feeling increasingly tired lately, she recognised when she thought about it, almost drained at times. And the non-appearance of the physical signs should have alerted her long before this. But what difference would it have made? She could have insisted they remain apart during her pregnancy, given him more time to conquer his personal demons, she answered herself.

But, no, that wouldn’t have worked, she reasoned in the next moment. She couldn’t have lived apart from him at a time like this, not loving him with all her heart and carrying their child.

But perhaps that sacrifice would have been worth it in the long run if it helped him master the distrust and fear that had nearly wrecked their marriage and tormented him so? Would she have the strength and determination a few years from now, even possibly a decade or more, to reach out for that career that was becoming more and more distant? Would it mean fighting him again, and this time with a family to consider?

The questions and answers, and counter-questions and answers went on all day, and by the time Zeke arrived home, just as an early dusk was turning the sky pink and gold, she was mentally and physically exhausted.

She had phoned the local surgery that afternoon and booked an appointment with the doctor, but by her own calculations she thought she was eleven weeks pregnant or thereabouts, although she wasn’t absolutely sure of her dates. Ten, eleven, twelve weeks—what did it matter? she
asked herself wryly. She was well and truly pregnant, and a week or so was neither here or there.

‘What’s all this?’ She had met Zeke at the door and led him straight into the dining room, where she had set a romantic table with their best crystal and cutlery, two candles already lit and a bowl of fresh flowers perfuming the air. ‘I haven’t missed something, have I? It isn’t your birthday or our anniversary, and I know my birthday was in June.’ He grinned at her, his face open and warm, and she forced herself to smile back.

‘There’s some champagne on ice in the kitchen.’ She was prevaricating, she knew it, but now the moment was here she just didn’t seem able to get the words out. She felt elated and wildly excited on the one hand, and terrified on the other, and added to that distinctly light-headed. In all her agitation she had forgotten to eat lunch.

‘Champagne?’ His grey eyes had narrowed on her flushed face and now there was a touch of wariness in their smoky depths. ‘Do I take it this is a celebration? What have you done?’

‘Not me. Well, not just me,’ she said shakily, her love for him suddenly overwhelming her. He was going to be so pleased and that was all that mattered. He deserved a family; he deserved every bit of love he got after the misery of his childhood, she told herself vehemently. And whatever happened in the future, however difficult things got, she must remember that. And he would be a brilliant,
fantastic
father.

‘I’m all ears.’ He was still smiling but she sensed it was with some effort. ‘Fire away.’

‘I’m pregnant,’ she said simply.

‘What?’ The stunned amazement was absolute. ‘What did you say?’

‘You’re going to be a father. That time it snowed—’ She didn’t manage to get anything more out before he had
reached her, swinging her up into his arms as he said, ‘Marianne. Oh, my love, my love,’ in between showering her face with kisses. She was astounded to see his eyes were wet.

And then she cried, and they held each other close, pressed together for a small eternity as he stroked her hair and kissed her and said beautiful things she knew she would treasure all her life.

The meal she had cooked was wonderful, and when, later that night, he made love to her, it was with an exquisite gentleness he had never shown before.

Everything was fine.

She lay enfolded in his arms as they drifted off to sleep and it was her last conscious thought. It was. Everything was fine. She didn’t question why she had to repeat it over and over again.

In the morning she was sick again, and Zeke wouldn’t be prised from her side, only leaving the house mid-morning when she was feeling herself once more. He had sat on the bed, insisting she have a cup of tea and a couple of dry biscuits before she attempted to get up, and they had talked about the baby, which room would be good for a nursery, how perfect the house was for children, the nearness of schools—everything but her degree.