MacAllister's Baby (16 page)

‘I certainly hope that’s true.’ He pulled her to the side and behind him, and sprinted ahead.

She didn’t have a chance of catching up with his long-legged, athletic stride, but she tried her best anyway in her little dress and her beaded shoes. By the time she climbed the steps to his door she was breathless, soaked to the skin, and he was already unlocking the door.

She pushed underneath his arm and fell through the door ahead of him just as he opened it.

‘Yes! Beat you!’ she cried.

He put his arms around her and marched her backwards to the living room. ‘You’re adorable when you cheat.’

He kissed her passionately and Elisabeth tore at the buttons of his shirt. The wet cotton parted under her hands and she exposed his chest, ran her hands over the hardness of his ribs, the different hardness of his stomach muscles, the thin trail of wiry hair that led down to the waistband of his trousers.

Angus peeled off the shirt she wore and reached round to unzip her dress. Wet, it clung to her, and he had to push it over her shoulders and down her body. She stepped out of it on the way backwards to the couch.

Then they fell onto the cushions together, Angus on top of her, kissing the whole time. She fumbled with his belt, her fingers clumsy with need, suddenly so urgent she couldn’t stand it. His lips were on her throat, his hands pushing down her bra to free her breasts, pulling down her damp knickers. She got his belt unfastened and his jeans and they were too wet to get rid of easily, so she made a frustrated noise in her throat and he laughed and reached down and took them off.

She wrapped her fingers around his penis. She loved the feel of him, hot and heavy and velvet-skinned. ‘Condom,’ she panted. ‘I want you now.’

He dipped into his jeans pocket and rolled on the condom with deft fingers and she reached for him impatiently and pulled him to her. With a single strong thrust he was inside her, filling her. He let out a long groan. Elisabeth wrapped her legs around him and dug her fingers into his back.

Faster. Harder. She urged him with her panting breaths, her mouth devouring his, to be wilder, to lose control. He pounded into her and Elisabeth felt her mind slip away, felt herself become a hunger racing towards satisfaction. Felt them growing closer, running together, even faster now.

He tilted her hips so he plunged even deeper, she heard their bodies moving together, his flesh against hers, she gulped in ragged breaths full of Angus and it had only been minutes, seconds, but her orgasm sizzled through her and she screamed a wordless cry into his mouth, clamped down on him with her entire body and pulled him with her.

Angus collapsed on top of her, pressing kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead damp with sweat. He was heavy and hot and wonderful on her.

‘Wow,’ he gasped. ‘I think Luciano should market his coffee as an aphrodisiac.’

‘No, it’s you that’s the aphrodisiac.’ All of her body tingled, languid and happy.

‘I think it’s you. I can’t get enough of you.’ He kissed her again, tenderly after their wild passion, and rolled so he was on his side next to her. She sighed and closed her eyes, letting herself drift away into contentment.

‘Oh.’

There was something in his voice that made her open her eyes. Angus sat up, his broad back to her.

‘Angus? What’s wrong?’

He didn’t answer her right away, and she struggled up onto her knees beside him. ‘What is it, Angus?’

His eyebrows were drawn down, his face concerned as he looked at her. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. The condom split.’

She took it all in at once: the condom in his hand, Angus’s dismay. It hit her like a wall of dread.

‘Hey.’ Angus put the condom aside and wrapped his arms around her. ‘Elisabeth, I am so sorry.’

Sorry. He was sorry. That he’d had unprotected sex with her.

‘It’s not your fault,’ she said automatically to his naked chest. ‘These things happen.’

‘Yes, but after what you were telling me about what you went through. I didn’t want this.’ He kissed the top of her head and held her tight.

‘It’s okay,’ she said. But it wasn’t.

He pulled her apart from him to look into her face. ‘I’m safe, Elisabeth. I don’t sleep around. I’m healthy.’

She nodded. Safe. The word echoed through her numbed brain.

She’d thought she’d be safe with him for a weekend. She’d thought she could live for the present, not worry about the future.

And with a single careless action, a single stupid torn condom, they’d maybe determined the future of the rest of their lives.

For no reason other than pleasure.

‘I’d better go and wash,’ she said and disengaged herself from him. She felt him watching her as she stood and picked up her underwear and her dress from the floor. They were paltry covering but she held them up against her as she left the living room and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom and its
en suite
bathroom.

She turned the shower on and stepped in. Hot water didn’t make her feel any better. She remembered being in this shower with Angus, him holding her strong against the tiled walls, him washing her gently afterwards.

All pleasure. Meaning nothing. Sensations, nerve endings, pheromones.

Elisabeth twisted the tap to cold. The drops hit her like needles but when she came out of the shower she felt no more numb than she had going in.

She dried herself and folded the towel on the rail. She brushed her wet hair using Angus’s hairbrush. Carefully she picked out the loose hairs she’d left in his brush and dropped them in the bin. Her dress was wrinkled and damp but she put it on, smoothing it with her hands.

When she came out into the bedroom Angus was there, putting on a dry pair of jeans and a fresh shirt. He frowned when he saw her. ‘You shouldn’t be wearing those wet clothes,’ he said.

‘It’s fine.’ She overtly checked his alarm clock beside his bed. ‘It’s getting late, Angus, and I’ve got a lot of work to do at home for school tomorrow.’

He looked at the clock. ‘It’s not six yet. You’ve got plenty of time. It’s the longest day of the year.’

‘And I have a lot of work.’ She picked up her high-heeled shoes from the floor near the bed and lifted her green glass necklace from the bedside table.

‘Elisabeth—’ He stepped towards her with his hand outstretched. She didn’t take it.

‘I came for a weekend, Angus. The weekend’s over. And I need to get home.’

He held out his hand for a moment more, then dropped it.

‘I’ll drive you,’ he said.

She nodded and went downstairs. Her handbag was in the hallway and her beaded shoes were flung on the carpet where she’d dropped them. She slid them on her feet, realised they were wet, and put on her heels instead. She put her necklace into her bag. It looked less bright now that
Be here now
was over.

She looked around the living room for anything else of hers. Angus had straightened the couch, disposed of the damaged condom, taken away the clothes she’d torn off him.

There was nothing here connected to her. Besides her hair in the bin and her fingerprints on the shiny surfaces, she’d left no trace of herself in the house. She’d entered with nothing more than her handbag and the clothes she stood in. She was taking all that with her.

And maybe something more.

She could take the morning-after pill, she thought, and immediately knew that, no, she couldn’t.

She’d lost a baby. She couldn’t get rid of one, even if it were only a chance for one. Even if it were unplanned, again, the result of a mistake.

Elisabeth stood by the door until Angus came down the stairs. ‘I wish I were welcoming you in instead of taking you home,’ he said, snagging his car keys from a bowl on the hall table and opening the door for her, and she could tell he was making his voice sound light and charming intentionally.

It had stopped raining and the streets were wet and shining in the sun. His car was parked around the corner from his house. It was a glossy low-slung classic Jaguar, impeccably restored. ‘I see what Danny was impressed about,’ she said, trying to match his carefree tone.

‘It’s a nineteen sixty-seven E-type, series one.’ He opened the door for her and then walked around the long bonnet to get in himself.

Leather upholstery, soft as butter. When he started the engine it purred, vibrating the seat beneath Elisabeth. The sense of restrained power was palpable as he pulled away from the kerb.

A very expensive car, chosen, no doubt, for its sensual impact. Typical.

In sharp contrast to the weekend, which had gone far too quickly, the drive to her flat took far too long. She stared at London going by through the windscreen, giving him directions to her flat. As she lived near the school, she didn’t have to say much.

‘What are you teaching tomorrow?’ he asked after a stretch of silence.

She outlined her lesson plans for the day, but she knew he wasn’t really listening. She wasn’t really listening, either. She wanted to get home, to leave him, and she also wanted him to turn the car around and drive back to an hour ago when they’d truly been together.

He pulled up in front of the large Edwardian building that contained her flat. He pulled on the handbrake and turned the key in the ignition. With the engine off, the stillness between them seemed even greater.

‘Going to invite me in?’ His usual cheeky smile.

‘I don’t think watching me marking coursework will be very much fun for you. Besides, I know you put off a lot to be with me this weekend. You must have loads of work to catch up with.’

‘I do. But I’d rather be with you.’

She tsked. ‘That’s not the attitude that’s going to get you a third Michelin star, Mr MacAllister.’ She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. It was slightly rough with the beginning of stubble, and it smelled exactly as it had not an hour ago when he’d been inside her, her hips in his hands, kissing her and making love to her as if she were the most desirable woman in the universe.

‘Thank you for a wonderful weekend,’ she said and opened up the car door.

‘Elisabeth—’

She pretended not to hear him and shut the door. As she walked up the pavement to her door she focused on finding her keys in her handbag and not looking back at him. The Jag was quiet, and she knew he was watching her.

She unlocked her door and looked back over her shoulder. He had wound down the passenger-side window. He waved to her.

She faked a smile, waved back, and went inside, up the stairs to her flat. Midsummer’s day, and another four hours of daylight ahead of her, even though the dream was over.

CHAPTER TEN

T
HE
bell rang for the end of the school day. As usual, her year sevens’ faces lit up with joy at the sound.

Elisabeth’s stomach sank.

If the day was over, she had to go home. If she had to go home, she had to start thinking.

Maybe she could give somebody detention and stay for another half an hour. But as soon as she thought of it, she knew she couldn’t be so unfair. She sat down in her chair and watched her students pack up.

‘Alison, please push your chair in,’ she said automatically. ‘Karim, could you pick up that piece of paper from the floor, please? Jay, remember you’re redoing that piece of work for me tomorrow. Have a good evening, everybody.’

The students said goodbye to her as they filed out the door, their backpacks in several instances nearly as big as they were. She sat back in her chair and closed her eyes.

‘Miss?’

She opened her eyes to see little Jimmy Peto, freckle-faced, cowlick-haired.

‘Yes, Jimmy?’

‘Do you think you could bring in a chicken to English some time, like that chef guy did in our food technology class? That was mental.’

‘I don’t think chickens have much to do with English literature, Jimmy.’

‘Well, maybe we could read something about chickens, yeah? Or maybe some other animals instead of this Shakespeare stuff. I’ve got a guinea pig I could bring in some-time if you wanted.’

She shook her head. ‘I’d love to see your guinea pig but I don’t think it’s a good idea to bring it in to school. It would probably be scared.’

‘Not my guinea pig, miss. She’s tough. She bit my dog one time.’ Jimmy’s thoughts flitted across his face like fluffy clouds against a sunshiny sky. ‘I wish Angus MacAllister would teach us again in food technology. He was cool. Not like Miss Cutter, who keeps on making us make things with alfalfa sprouts.’ He stuck out his tongue.

‘Maybe he’ll come back one day to teach you. Have a good evening, Jimmy.’

‘You too, miss.’ Jimmy hefted his backpack and wobbled out of the room.

He passed Jennifer, who was on her way in. Next to Jimmy, she looked tall. Or maybe that was because she wasn’t hanging her head.

She stood by Elisabeth’s desk and held out a piece of paper. ‘Will you look at my menu?’ she asked. ‘I’ve been going through it and I’ve been trying to figure out if I can get everything done in the time I’ll have for the competition. I mean, I can make some things beforehand, like stock, but I’m not sure.’

Elisabeth took the paper, which was covered with crossings-out and corrections. ‘You’ve got chicken soup as a starter,’ she observed. ‘With noodles.’

Jennifer blushed but nodded. ‘I’ve been practising making fresh pasta. But I’m not sure I can do that and make a mousse too, because they both need doing before I start the main course. I mean, I only have two weeks to practise before the contest. What do you think?’

Elisabeth wondered if Jennifer had ever had the courage to ask someone else for help.

‘I don’t know, Jennifer,’ she said gently; ‘I’m good at sonnets and spelling, but I’m not much of a cook. This is probably something you should ask Miss Cutter. Or Angus.’

Funny how she could say his name like that, so normally, so much as if he weren’t the first and last and only thing she was thinking about.

‘I’ll ask Angus.’ Jennifer, however, pronounced his name with a quiet relish, a pride. ‘Do you like him, Miss Read?’

The question was quick and unexpected—from the look on Jennifer’s face, it had surprised her, too.