Bella's Run (38 page)

‘I remember when Mum and I would pick Patty up for kinder, on the days Narree and Burrindal kinders played together,’ reminisced Bella, trying to force things onto a lighter note. At the table she slowly started to stack the used plates. ‘She never wanted to go, was always running away on your mum. She was more interested in playing the fool or mucking around on the farm with your dad than being stuck inside listening to old Mrs March.’

Will watched as Bella moved the dishes to the sink. ‘Yeah, she could be a little shit, that’s for sure. Mum couldn’t handle her, and Dad only sometimes, when she wasn’t being stubborn. But for some reason Patty used to listen to me. I don’t know why.’

‘She knew you’d just tan her hide if she didn’t.’ Bella laughed as she dumped the load onto the stainless steel drainer. ‘Either that or take away her horse.’ She opened the door to the slow-combustion stove.

Will looked surprised. ‘What – sweets too? You really haven’t forgotten how to cook, Hells Bells. I thought you might have in that big, bad city.’ Will pushed back from the table and stretched out his long legs. ‘I’ve heard they’re building units down there without kitchens, just a microwave and fridge. How on earth can they do it?’

Bella smiled into the stove as she grasped hold of the hot apple pie, made by Sara Lee. ‘You eat out all the time. In Warren’s world, it’s nothing to throw away a hundred bucks just on lunch.’ She dragged the pie out and put it on the bench to cool.

‘Shit!’ exclaimed Will. ‘That’s what I spend on food for a
week
! They must have more money than sense.’

Bella nodded with a smile. As Will reached over her to grab a tea towel off a hook, she felt the brush of his arm, caught a whiff of his scent. Musky and toe-curlingly male.

You’re in trou-ble!
sang the voice in her head.

‘Bugger off.’

‘I beg your pardon?’ said Will, one eyebrow raised, managing to look dangerously sexy and challenging at the same time.

‘No. No! Not you. Something’s running around inside my shirt.’ She groaned inwardly. Even to her, it sounded a piss-poor excuse.

‘You want me to take a look?’ Will moved in closer, which sent what was left of her composure right outside into Turbo’s doghouse.

‘No! Listen, why don’t we just forget the dishes? I’ll do them in the morning. Let’s have sweets.’

‘Mmm . . . I like the sound of that.’ Will wasn’t looking at the pie on the bench.

Bella quickly dumped the dish-mop and skirted wide around Will, grabbing the pie, spoons and bowls as she went past. She made her way to the table, where she put four foot of wood between them. Safety. But how long would that last?

Surprisingly, Will took the hint. There was no more innuendo as he set about digging for details on her former life in the city. After a while Bella found herself relaxing, answering his questions, asking a few of her own. About the farm, his ideas for its expansion, all the while steering clear of any mention of his ex-wife.

The man engaged her on so many levels. He seemed to turn his thoughts and interests to anything and everything. His intellect was bright and broad. He could talk seriously and with authority about the precariousness of the water situation across Australia, then in the next breath be laughing and telling a tale about Janey’s dog Angus and the trouble he caused in town.

Bella found herself transfixed by his face and easy manner. They hadn’t had the chance to enjoy this sort of time together the first time round. And she’d forgotten that being around Will when he was relaxed was so enjoyable.

After lingering over sweets they moved to the fire, Will bringing the bottle of wine and his rum, Bella careful to sit on Maggie’s old, battered and
single
leather chair. Will reached out to refill her near-empty wine glass.

‘Oh no, no more.’ She put her hand over the glass. ‘It’s lovely, thank you. But if I have more I’ll be anybody’s.’ She immediately cursed herself. And they’d been doing so well. She flicked a look at Will.

They held each other’s gaze for seconds that dragged out like minutes and Bella’s heart tripped into fast beat. Flustered, she broke eye contact, jumping up to play at stoking the fire.

Will watched her move in front of the flames, wine glass in one hand, poker in the other. Tonight her ringlets floated seductively from her shoulders and her face shone from the recent doses of fresh air and sun. She wore a soft cotton shirt, her buxom bosom nestling softly within its folds. Well-washed denim clung to her long, slim legs and pink explorer socks peeped out from under her cuffs.

She seemed to glow more than usual, standing in the bright firelight. A trick of his imagination, he reasoned to himself. Isabella Vermaelon was a temptress who was possibly still engaged to another man. Hands off, bucko. He forced his body to sit alone on the hard vinyl couch. She might not be wearing the bloke’s ring, but he was still out there somewhere.

Chapter 36

‘What do you mean I’m pregnant? Unless things have changed, you actually have to have sex to get pregnant!’

Dr Weir waved the disk holding the pink plus sign. ‘It’s definitely a plus, my dear, so you must have had sex with someone.’

Bella closed her eyes, disbelief flooding her mind. Quickly she tried to calculate how many months she’d been at Maggie’s. Over two. Nearly three, maybe?

‘How many weeks am I?’ she managed to squeak.

Dr Weir leaned back in his well-creased leather chair, pulled his half-moon glasses from his nose and started to polish them with his jumper.

‘Well, I can give you an idea now by feeling your uterus and so forth but for a concrete answer you’ll need to have an ultrasound down in Narree. Do you remember when your last period was?’

Bella valiantly tried to put her brain in gear to think back over the past couple of months. Her mind was a total blank. She couldn’t get past the words ‘You’re pregnant.’

‘The father can attend the ultrasound too, you know.’

‘Whose father?’

Dr Weir leaned forward, placed his glasses back on his nose and peered with concern into Bella’s pale face.

‘The
baby’s
father,’ he said with gentle concern. ‘Bella . . . um, forgive me for asking but, you
do
know who the father of your baby is, don’t you?’

Bella attempted to pull herself together.

‘Yes . . . yes, of course I do,’ she said with haste. ‘I’m engaged to him.’ One little white lie wouldn’t hurt in these circumstances. ‘I’m just . . . well . . . shocked. Yes, I’m shocked. I’m on the pill, you know, and it’s just . . . We weren’t expecting it so soon.’ Bella tried to smile brightly.

‘Yes, well the pill isn’t infallible, my dear. There are some instances where accidents do happen, people have been caught out, especially if you’ve been ill. The pill isn’t reliable then and you should use another form of contraception just to be on the safe side.’

Bella thought back to the gastro bug she had suffered in Melbourne, the week before Caro’s wedding, all those months ago. Alarm bells rang, adding to her dismay.

Bella slid off her chair and strode to the bed in the corner of the room. ‘Well, maybe you’d better check just how far along
you
think I am. That’s if you’re
sure
I’m actually pregnant.’ She couldn’t quite choke off the slightly pleading note to her voice.

‘My dear, I’m as sure of your pregnancy as I am of my wife’s intention to do the flowers for Sunday-morning church.’ Dr Weir’s tone was wry.

Bella knew then there was no going back. Dr Weir’s wife Julia had arranged the church flowers for the last twenty years. Annual holidays in the Weir family were scheduled from Monday to Saturday, returning in time for church on Sunday – without fail. This pregnancy was for real.

It was some time later that Dr Weir finally moved from the bedside to strip the latex gloves from his hands. Dropping them into the bagged rubbish bin he said, ‘Well, Bella, you are in fine health and your baby seems fine too. A good strong heartbeat on the little fellow, although we’ll know more once you’ve had the ultrasound.’

‘And how far along do you think I might be?’ Bella asked as she sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the bed and wincing slightly. The internal examination had been very uncomfortable.

The doctor walked to his desk, pulled a form from a document holder and started writing.

‘Dr Weir, how far along do you think I might be?’ Bella queried again, her voice squeaking slightly with anxiety.

Dr Weir looked up from his writing. ‘How long?’ he repeated back at her.

‘
Yes
,’ said Bella more forcefully. ‘How pregnant am I?

‘Oh, about twenty weeks or so, my dear. It’s a wonder you hadn’t noticed any changes to your body, but then again first baby and all and being so fit. You young girls of today,’ he went on. ‘Too busy running around enjoying life to notice a thing like pregnancy, I expect.’ He kept on scribbling. ‘Here you go, the form for your ultrasound, my dear. Just ring the hospital and they’ll make you an appointment. I think you can take a video tape in and they’ll record it for you too. Jolly good idea if the father can’t get there. Melbourne chap I expect, is he?’ He went on without waiting for Bella’s reply. ‘Best come back and see me in another four weeks and we’ll set up the antenatal visits then. That’s of course if you intend to continue staying out at your Aunty Maggie’s.’

‘Why wouldn’t I?’ asked Bella in surprise.

‘Nothing, dear. I just thought the father might want you and the little one under a flash Melbourne doctor’s watchful eyes.’

Dr Weir could tell he’d said the wrong thing from Bella’s affronted face.

‘Ah . . . yes . . . right,’ he blustered, walking towards the door. ‘Organise it all with Julia out front. That’s unless there are any complications.’

‘Complications?’ repeated Bella faintly, wondering what else she had to worry about.

‘Yes, complications. Then you’ll have to go to Narree. But that’s for me to worry about and I’m sure with a healthy country girl like you, it’ll all be fine. I’ll see you in four weeks, shall I?’ Dr Weir opened the door to the waiting room. ‘Be sure to pass on my congratulations to the father, won’t you?’ he said as Bella walked on rubbery legs to the doorway.

‘Yes . . . yes, of course.’

Dr Weir’s wife Julia was waiting behind the desk in the waiting room, poised like a pit bull ready to strike.

‘Set up another visit for Isabella in four weeks’ time, won’t you, my dear,’ he murmured quietly, as he passed the file over, seemingly unaware his whisper had carried across the room. A gasp of surprise arose from the other woman sitting in the waiting room. Mildred Vincent-Prowse.

Bella could feel herself blushing. Mildred’s inquisitive gaze bored into her back as she turned to face the formidable Julia on the other side of the desk. She could almost feel Prudence’s mother moving her chair forward to earwig at the conversation that was about to take place. The bloody old gossip.

‘So, that’ll be an antenatal in four weeks,’ said Julia with bright interest, after perusing the note on top of the file.

‘Yes,’ said Bella, squaring her shoulders and mentally steeling herself for what was to come.

Julia made an impressive show of flicking through the appointment book while obviously searching for her next probing question.

‘Congratulations, my dear. And your fiancé . . . ?’ she said.

‘. . . will be very happy with the news,’ finished Bella as she leaned over the desk and pointed to an empty block in the book resting between them. ‘That’ll do, thanks, Julia. I’ll see you then.’ She strode from the room quickly, trying to ignore the two pairs of eyes watching her avidly. She needed distance and space. The door slammed shut behind her and leaning against the red brick wall of the building she slowly exhaled and fought to hold back the tears.

Gradually, with a few deep breaths, she pulled herself together. Then in a mutter which she hoped was only heard by the black-and-white mudlarks swooping madly at their reflections in the surgery window: ‘The whole problem is, Mrs Weir, I’m not sure if my
ex
-fiancé
is
the father!’