One-Night Pregnancy (5 page)

Adam Beaumont stared at the television long after an
advertisement had replaced Bridget’s image.
Tully
-Smith, he thought incredulously. You didn’t tell me
that
, Mrs Smith. His mind ranged back. Although you did mention your father was a journalist and was killed in an accident. So it’s more than likely that your father was Graham Tully-Smith, famous investigative journalist—or notorious, if you happened to be on the receiving end of it.

And it just so happens, his thoughts ran on, you’re the
only
person I’ve ever told about finding the right lever to unseat Henry. Is there a connection between these rumours that have sprung up out of nowhere and you, Bridget?

Bridget was exhausted when she got home.

Although she’d been heartily congratulated on how she’d handled things, doing the news had been a huge drain. And on top of that the Beaumont piece had deeply perturbed her.

It had taken her back again to that night, to the events in the shed, back to Adam Beaumont again, and to what he’d revealed to her. But not only that. Adam Beaumont was where an awful lot of inner turmoil resided for her now…

She had come straight home, only to find she didn’t feel like going to bed.

Then she got a phone call from the TV station, from a receptionist named Sally whom she happened to know, with the news that Adam Beaumont would like to get in touch with her. Could they pass on her number?

She took an incredulous breath. ‘What for?’

Sally replied, ‘I don’t know, Bridge. He didn’t say.

It wasn’t actually him, anyway, it was his PA. Do you know him?’

‘I—I’ve met him.’

‘Well, maybe he wants to congratulate you on the news!’

‘Uh…’ Bridget thought swiftly. ‘I really doubt it. I mean, I’d rather not.’

‘That’s OK. Although personally I would never say no to Adam Beaumont,’ Sally remarked with a chuckle. ‘I’ll just say you’re unavailable for personal calls. I’ve got it down to a fine art. Night, Bridget!’

Bridget put the phone down slowly, her eyes wide and a little stunned.

Why did he want to get in touch now? she wondered.

It must have something to do with the item about the Beaumont board she’d read on the news tonight. It couldn’t be any other reason. But it had nothing to do with her. She hadn’t even proofed the copy, let alone originated the item.

And there were several reasons why she didn’t want to see him. Not yet, at least. Sheer panic was one of them. How was she to tell him she was pregnant? How would he react?

She wasn’t at all sure of
her
reaction, other than stunned disbelief, so…

She hardly slept at all that night, but it didn’t occur to her that Adam Beaumont wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The next morning was Saturday, so she was off work. It was the day after she’d read the news for Megan Winslow and refused to talk to Adam Beaumont.

So what she was doing was strolling down the beach at Surfers, breathing the fresh salty air, hoping it would help her to clear her mind.

The tide was in, tracing silvery patterns on the sand, and the gulls were in full working mode as they swooped over the shallows, fishing for little bait fish. It was a clear, sunny day. There were swimmers and an army of walkers.

There were also families on the beach, with children of all sizes and ages, and for the first time she stopped and sat on a dune to study them closely. The crawlers, the toddlers, the paddlers, as well as a couple of pregnant mothers nearby. It occurred to her that in the company of her friends’ children she thought loosely about having a family herself, but with one striking ingredient missing—a suitable father—it had never been more than that. She’d never imagined herself pregnant.

She was conscious again of that little echo she’d detected within herself but been unable to explain, and for the first time since disbelief and panic had gripped her it came to her that there was another life in her care and under her guardianship. In the normal course of events she would grow like the two pregnant women on the beach, and then that new life would be born and would carry her imprint.

But what about her life in the meantime? she wondered.

Would a reluctant father, even if he gave her and more particularly the baby material support, be better than no father at all? Or would she chafe at the fact that she’d never been good enough for her baby’s father? If she did, how would a child react to that? Was she better off being a single mother or not, in other words?

How did you bear the burden of single-motherhood amongst your friends and in your workplace, though? It probably wasn’t so unusual, but she couldn’t think of anyone she knew who was pregnant and without a partner.

It was at this point in her musings that someone tapped her on the shoulder.

‘Yes?’ she said, with extreme surprise. She didn’t recognize the man and couldn’t imagine what a formally dressed middle-aged man in a suit and tie was a: doing on the beach, and b: wanting with her.

‘It is Miss Smith, isn’t it?’ he said. ‘Miss Bridget Tully-Smith?’

Bridget opened her mouth to say yes, but then said instead, with a faint narrowing of her eyes, ‘Who wants to know?’

‘Mr Beaumont, Mr Adam Beaumont, would like a word with you, Miss Tully-Smith. I’m Peter Clarke. I work for him, and I just missed you coming out of your building a little while ago. I was trying to park. I was forced to follow you on foot, and—’

‘Please tell Mr Beaumont I have nothing to say to him at the moment,’ Bridget interjected. ‘And please tell him I don’t appreciate being followed.’

She turned away and marched off, with her heart beating heavily.

She’d calmed down somewhat by the time she got home, and assured herself that if Adam Beaumont hadn’t taken the hint before he would surely do so now.

Famous last thoughts…

She answered her doorbell late that afternoon to find him in person on her doorstep.

‘You!’ she gasped, and she tried to slam the door.

But he simply put his hands around her waist and picked her up, to deposit her inside the doorway.

‘I’ll scream!’ she threatened, more out of frustration than fear.

‘Scream away,’ he invited. ‘But I don’t intend to close the door. I don’t intend to deprive you of your liberty or harm you in any way, or stop you using your phone. I do intend to tell you this, though. The more you run away from me, Mrs Smith, the guiltier you look.’

This stopped Bridget dead.

She stared at him wide-eyed and with her mouth open. He was wearing the same suit he’d been photographed in, navy blue pinstripe, with a matching waistcoat, but today it was a pale blue shirt he wore, with a burgundy tie.

That dark hair was the same, though. So were the austere lines of his face and mouth. It was the same pair of broad shoulders beneath the faultless tailoring, the same narrow waist and long legs. The same blue eyes—but today they were accusing and insolent…

‘G-guilty?’ she stammered. ‘I haven’t done anything!’

‘How about failing to give me your full name, Bridget?’

‘Th-that wasn’t—I often don’t use my full name,’ she stammered. ‘People always ask me if—if I’m—’ She stopped and pleated her fingers together.

‘If you’re Graham Tully-Smith’s daughter?’ he finished for her. ‘Graham Tully-Smith, investigative
journalist extraordinaire. But there’s more, isn’t there? You work in the news department of a television station. You’ve even climbed the ladder a bit to read the news. All of which places you perfectly to pass on a juicy titbit you picked up one wet, stormy night in the Numinbah, doesn’t it?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Bridget,’ he said deliberately, ‘you’re the only person I’ve ever told about my ambition to unseat my brother. Yet now it appears to be common knowledge.’

Bridget breathed confusedly. ‘I didn’t tell a soul,’ she protested. ‘There’s no way I could have used it, anyway. I’m just a very junior gofer. That’s all.’

He raised a cynical eyebrow at her. ‘Is that how you came to be reading the news last night? Look—’ he turned back to the open door ‘—we can continue this in public if you prefer, or…?’

‘Oh. Close it,’ Bridget said, distraught, and when he did, she went on, ‘We had a crisis in the newsroom last night. Megan fainted. That’s how I came to do it. And reading the news doesn’t mean I had anything to do with
compiling
it!’

‘Is that so?’ He came back to stand in front of her, and she could see the suspicion in his eyes. ‘Are you
sure
you didn’t mention it, even in passing, to someone who may have been able to use it?’

‘No. I mean, yes, I’m sure!’ she cried, her eyes wide and shocked. ‘Anyway, it was common knowledge before I found out who you were.’ And she told him about Julia’s reaction to the first newspaper article, although
she didn’t mention her name. ‘She, my colleague, even used the same word you did—a lever,’ she went on. ‘But up until that moment I had no idea who you were.’ She closed her eyes and swayed suddenly.

‘Bridget?’ he said, on a different note as he scanned her now ashen face. ‘Are you all right?’

‘I—I’m, yes,’ she murmured, but sank down on the settee. She rubbed her face and commanded herself to think clearly.

He hesitated, then sat down opposite her. ‘Have you any idea how destabilising these kind of rumours can be? How shareholders can be affected—and share prices?’ he added significantly.

‘Of course.’ She gestured. ‘I mean, if I stop to think about it, of course. But I didn’t. I haven’t.’ She grimaced as she thought that she’d had more than enough of an entirely different nature to think about recently. She lifted her lashes. ‘Have
you
taken shareholders and share prices into consideration? You did tell me it was only a matter of time before you found the right lever to unseat your brother.’

He sat back. ‘So I did. It so happens I haven’t found it. It’s a little complicated. But that’s why I need to know exactly how these rumours started.’

He paused and studied her. She was wearing a white voile blouse and khaki cargo pants. Her feet were bare and her coppery hair was tousled. Her eyes were darker, and there was something about her that was different.

He removed his gaze from her as he pondered this, and looked around. It was pleasant, her flat, but very
much exhibiting the simple pleasures of a home decorator. And rather reminiscent, for some curious reason, he thought suddenly, of the simple pleasure of making love to her.

In fact he had to confess that memories of that lovemaking had come back and taken him by surprise at some inappropriate moments…

Such as right now, he thought dryly. He could picture that slim, sleek little body moving in his arms, unfettered by any clothes. He could almost feel the lovely peachy curves of her hips beneath his hands, and he could feel his own body stirring in response. He suddenly realised she was staring at him with widening eyes, almost as if she could read his mind, and there was a tinge of colour mounting in her cheeks.

He looked away abruptly, but it crossed his mind to wonder about the power of the connection they’d made that night over four weeks ago. Of course circumstances had contributed to make it a unique occasion, but…

He deliberately stilled his thoughts there. It would never have worked then, and it certainly couldn’t work now. If she had nothing to hide, why had she tried to evade him?

He sat forward. ‘If I’m to get to the bottom of this, I need to know the absolute truth from you, Bridget,’ he said. ‘I’m prepared to wipe the slate clean if you had any involvement,
if
you agree to drop the matter.’

She took a deep breath. ‘I had none,’ she said simply.

He frowned. ‘Why were you running away, then?’

Bridget stared at him. How could she tell this harsh stranger who believed the worst of her that she was
carrying his baby? It had been hard enough to contemplate telling the Adam she’d known and made love to, but now…

She tilted her chin. ‘I was told to stay away, if you remember,’ she said with quiet dignity.

He stared at her with several expressions chasing through his eyes—one of them a certain scepticism.

It was that scepticism that made her blood boil and her green eyes flash. ‘But if you’re imagining I spilt your secrets out of pique on that account, you’re dead wrong, Adam Beaumont. Would you mind letting yourself out?’ She came swiftly to her feet.

He stood up. And surprised her. ‘Have you still got my phone number?’

She could only nod.

‘If you have any other thoughts on the matter, give me a ring. In the meantime, I apologise if I misread you.’

‘But you’re not convinced?’ she queried, barely audibly.

He shrugged and turned away, and she watched him walk out of her flat and close the door behind him.

Bridget stared at the door, then dropped her head into her hands. It was all so surreal, and she couldn’t believe it was happening to her. There seemed to be no link between the events of that stormy night and the present events. It was as if they’d happened to another person.

Come to that, it was as if there were two Adam Beaumonts. The man she’d felt so safe with, the man she’d loved making love to, and this formal stranger who’d just walked out on her.

Yet for a moment there it had been as if the mask had
lifted a little. A moment when he’d concentrated on her figure and she would almost have sworn he’d been thinking about their time in each other’s arms.

She rubbed her hands together as an extraordinarily clear mental picture came to her of his lean, strong hand on her breasts, her waist, her hips, of his mouth on hers and the way her curves had fitted into the hard planes of his body. It hadn’t lasted, though, that moment when she’d thought he might have been thinking of them together that night. Perhaps she’d got it wrong?

As for his baby—she lifted her head and her eyes dilated—what was she going to do about that?

ADAM BEAUMONT drove to his next appointment in a preoccupied frame of mind. There had been something about Bridget Tully-Smith he couldn’t put his finger on—something that was puzzling him.

He’d been determined to see her because he’d been convinced she must be the source of the rumours sweeping the business world about the instability of the Beaumont board. And he’d been mentally kicking himself for allowing a slip of a girl to corner him into admitting what he had.

He
hadn’t thought he was going to die, he reflected with increasing irony, even if she
had
.

But if it hadn’t been Bridget, who had it been?

He parked his BMW below a high-rise apartment building at Narrowneck and took the elevator to the penthouse, where his great-uncle Julius lived.

Now in his eighties, Julius Beaumont, his grandfather’s younger brother, was confined to a wheelchair, but he still possessed a sharp brain and, at times, a cutting tongue.

The red velour drapes were pulled against the rainy dusk, and lamps gleamed on the polished surfaces of the heavy furniture. The building might be an ultramodern tower, but Julius Beaumont was surrounded by antiques. Even his blue velvet smoking jacket belonged to another age.

And his chosen form of art—his passion in life, as it happened—adorned the walls: paintings of horses.

He inclined his white head as Adam came in, and by way of greeting said, ‘Welcome, my boy, and what the hell is going on?’

Adam was under no illusions as to what he meant, and he replied accordingly, ‘I don’t know, Uncle Julius. How are you?’

‘As well as can be expected,’ Julius said testily. ‘Help yourself, and pour me one at the same time.’ He gestured towards the cocktail cabinet.

Adam poured two single malt Scotches into heavy crystal glasses and carried one over to his uncle. His own he took to an armchair.

‘So you didn’t decide to seize the bull by the horns and attempt to unseat Henry?’

‘No.’

‘Then who? And why?’

Adam sipped his Scotch. ‘I’m somewhat at a loss. It could simply be shareholder uneasiness, but I’ve done nothing to promote that.’

‘Hmm…’ Julius swirled the amber liquid in his glass. ‘You know, my boy, I’ve never meddled much in Beaumont affairs. It was Samuel’s baby, not mine. But
I do have a fairly significant holding. And I suppose I was loath to meddle in the natural order of things. Your father taking over from Sam, Henry taking over from Kevin when he died from all his excesses. Now I’m not so sure—did it ever occur to you that you were lucky, by the way?’

Adam smiled faintly. ‘Frequently, but what particular aspect do you have in mind?’

‘Both Kevin and Henry suffered from “rich man’s son” syndrome, that’s what,’ Julius barked. ‘Everything fell into their laps, and that doesn’t build strong characters. But because they contrived to hold you away from Beaumonts, other than what you inherited from your mother, you went out and proved yourself in another direction. Did you the world of good.’ Julius broke off and sighed. ‘I’m getting on, and thinking of getting out.’

‘Only out of Beaumonts, I hope you mean?’ Adam murmured.

Julius thumped the padded arm of his wheelchair. ‘The rest of it’s not much fun, and when your time comes it comes.’ He grimaced. ‘But there’s still something I want to accomplish. I want to see you settle down, Adam, my boy!’

‘Thank you, but I
am
settled and—’

‘No, you’re not,’ Julius contradicted him querulously. ‘For one thing, you’re still single.’

Adam shrugged. ‘In the normal course of events I do have a few years up my sleeve.’

‘In the normal course of events you wouldn’t still be
hankering for Marie-Claire, your brother’s wife,’ Julius shot at him.

Adam put his glass down. ‘Uncle Julius,’ he said coolly, ‘don’t.’

‘You can’t stop me!’ Julius Beaumont had the family blue eyes, old and rheumy now, but for a moment they flashed fire. ‘I may never have married, but I know all about these heartbreak girls: all eyes, all legs, take your breath away just to look at them. It’s because of one of ’em I never did marry, if you must know.’ He looked at Adam aggressively. ‘Never told anyone that, and I don’t expect you to repeat it.’

‘I won’t. She—broke your heart?’ Adam hazarded.

‘Damn near to it,’ Julius agreed. ‘And they may not make the best wives, necessarily. My nemesis married three times and never did get it right. Although in Marie-Claire’s case she did marry Henry and give him two kids, whatever may—’ He stopped rather abruptly.

Adam frowned, and waited as he wondered what Julius had been about to say. When his uncle didn’t go on, he said briefly, ‘That point has been made. And I’m getting a little tired of all this.’ He picked up his glass to drain it.

‘Then how about this?’ Julius said sharply. ‘If you show me you’ve consigned Marie-Claire and all that baggage to the past I’ll hand over my proxies to you, so if there is uneasiness amongst the shareholders—and I wouldn’t be surprised, because Henry’s a fool—between us we would have the balance of power.’

Adam Beaumont found himself staring not at his
great-uncle but at a magnificent grandfather clock that had fascinated him for almost as long as he could remember. The long gold pendulum swung backwards and forwards behind its glass door.

He forced his gaze back to Julius. ‘Why?’

‘I want to see Beaumonts back to its former glory for my brother Samuel’s sake. And I don’t want to see you drift down the years like I did, a confirmed bachelor until you find yourself in a wheelchair, with no one but paid employees to care about your welfare.’

‘Uncle Julius,’ Adam said firmly, ‘that is a gross exaggeration.’

‘Well, maybe,’ Julius conceded. ‘You’ve been very good to me, my boy, I must say.’ He looked fretful. ‘I’ve also got no sons to leave my estate to. So? What do you think?’

‘How am I supposed to prove anything to you?’ Adam asked carefully.

‘One surefire way.’ The old man smiled almost demonically. ‘Take a wife!’

‘I can’t just go out and
take a wife
.’

‘I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you could take your pick of dozens of potential wives. But I’ll tell you something: what you need to look for is a thoroughly
nice
girl. They’re the ones who won’t break your heart.’

‘Even if I were to find “a thoroughly nice girl”,’ Adam said, then paused and narrowed his eyes as the phrase struck a chord in his mind. He couldn’t place it. ‘It could take time—and I’m not saying I will,’ he added, with a slight barb in his voice.

‘It’s six months to the next shareholders meeting—unless they force one earlier.’

Adam stood up. ‘Look, I’m sorry, I have to go. But I’ll come and have dinner with you on Thursday.’

‘But you’ll think about it?’ Julius stared up at him.

Adam paused. ‘It’s not that I’m not grateful, but if I do ever get Beaumonts I’d rather do it on my own. I mean that, Uncle Julius. I don’t want to inherit it, in other words.’

Julius Beaumont watched Adam leave and shook his head. ‘A dead ringer for his grandfather,’ he muttered. ‘As stubborn as a mule, yet what potential.’

But Adam didn’t leave until he’d spoken to Mervyn, in the kitchen. Mervyn fulfilled the role of housekeeper and valet for Julius, and was a devoted employee as well as having had some medical training.

‘How is he at the moment?’ Adam helped himself to a slice of prosciutto that was destined to be part of the salad entrée for his uncle’s dinner.

Mervyn removed the plate from his reach. ‘We’re a little up and down, Adam.’ He often used the royal ‘we’ when discussing his employer. ‘I had the doctor over yesterday, but he didn’t think it would do any good to send him to hospital. He was of the opinion it would upset him more than help him. But I’m keeping a close watch.’

‘Thank you,’ Adam said. ‘Actually, I can’t thank you enough for the wonderful care you take of him. Oh, and I’ll come for dinner on Thursday.’

‘I know he’ll look forward to that!’

Adam drove away even more preoccupied than he’d been before, and pondered his great-uncle Julius’s health. Was he nearing the end? Was this concern he was showing an indication that he could feel the sands of time running out for him?

Funnily enough, he conceded, a chilly little image had come to mind, of himself drifting down the years and ending up alone with no sons to leave his estate to. But for the rest of it…take a wife and get Beaumonts…?

Not so simple, he thought, and recalled with a dry smile his uncle’s remark about how lucky he’d been. Yes, of course he had been lucky in lots of respects, but growing up with an older brother who’d been the apple of his father’s eye had not been easy. And had been made no easier when his grandfather had taken it upon himself to favour his grandson Adam over his grandson Henry. For some reason that had infuriated his father. Or perhaps there was no mystery to it, really.

There’d always been deep tensions between his father and his grandfather. But, whatever the ebbs and flows of disapproval between Samuel Beaumont and his son Kevin, there’d been nothing unseen about Kevin’s preference for Henry. Not only that, they’d even looked alike—whereas Adam had favoured Samuel, and they’d had the same interests.

Nor had it all ended there. Grace Beaumont, Kevin’s wife and the boys’ mother, had bitterly resented Kevin’s indifference to his second son and it had affected their marriage. They’d ended up virtual strangers.

If I did ever have sons, if I did ever have children,
Adam Beaumont thought, I would never favour one above the other. Come to that, I’d
never
make them feel not wanted.

As for marriage—was it enough to marry even a thoroughly nice girl to ensure you didn’t grow old and sad and lonely and ensure that you had heirs?

It was from that thought that he recalled where he’d heard the
thoroughly nice girl
phrase. The drenched Numinbah Valley via Bridget Tully-Smith, of course. The irony was that he’d even agreed with her at the time—but now…?

Bridget’s mother rang her that night, and when she asked Bridget if anything was the matter it shot through Bridget’s mind to tell her that she’d got herself pregnant by Adam Beaumont when she’d had no idea who he was. In the most amazing circumstances, granted, but that didn’t absolve her from having acted incredibly foolishly. And, on top of all that, he now viewed her with extreme suspicion.

But common sense prevailed. The enormity of it all wouldn’t fail to hit her mother and hit her hard. Probably enough to make her come racing home, which would be a pity. Her mother had been heartbroken at her father’s death, and full of incredulity and anxiety when love had come to her again.

It had taken quite some power of persuasion on Bridget’s part to get her mother to believe in this new love, and not to feel guilty about leaving her only child alone in Australia. Her mother’s new husband, Richard
Baxter, was an academic, and he’d accepted a year’s fellowship at a Jakarta University.

He had a grown-up family of his own: a son who’d followed in his footsteps and a married daughter who lived in Perth. Even more importantly, he was the perfect partner for her mostly delightfully, sometimes maddeningly vague and unworldly mother. He really looked after her and cared for her, and they had lots in common.

The last thing she, Bridget, wanted to do was spoil that.

That was why she reassured her mother again that she was quite fine before she put the phone down. But, sitting alone in her flat later that evening, after the call, she knew that she wasn’t fine. There were all sorts of moral and ethical dilemmas in front of her, not to mention getting her mind around a baby…

This is probably where you finally grow up, she told herself. First of all, you can’t go on
not
believing it. And you probably shouldn’t go on berating yourself. It’s done now, and what is more important is that you don’t make any more dodgy decisions…

She paused in her reflections as the word
dodgy
raised an echo in her mind—and that raised the other Adam in her mind’s eye. The unshaven one, the man who’d saved her life, whose hands on her body had been such a revelation to her and brought her so much joy. How could she not want this baby? it suddenly occurred to her. Not to want it would be like negating something perfect…

She swallowed suddenly. But that perfection
had
been broken, she told herself. He didn’t trust her, and there was no indication he could ever care for her…

She breathed in, distraught, and got up to get herself a glass of water.

If she decided to have this baby, she had to concede that she might have to do it on her own. Even if she did tell Adam Beaumont she was bearing his child, it would not necessarily lead to marriage—although she couldn’t believe he would not offer some support. If she didn’t tell him…Well, that had to be thought through thoroughly. It might, for example, suit her in some ways, but what about raising a fatherless child? What would that do to it?

She drifted over to the glass doors leading to the veranda and looked out at the night-time scene: the street lights, the garden inside the wall that protected it from the road, the cars, the wet slick on the road from an earlier shower. But she didn’t see it at all as she grappled with what came to her suddenly as a crucial part of her problem. Whatever she did, she could not go on featuring as the villain of the piece.

She pulled a face at her turn of phrase, but it did clarify things for her. However she had this baby—whether there was a future or otherwise for her with Adam Beaumont—she had to clear herself of this stigma she’d acquired.

It was supremely important—because it affected her standing not only in his eyes but in her own.

How, though?

No answer came to her immediately, but in the middle of the night she sat up with a name on her lips—
Julia. Why not start with her? She did seem to know something about the Beaumonts. Maybe Julia could at least point her in the right direction…

‘Going away?’ Julia asked on Monday morning, during their coffee break in the TV station’s bright, bustling, impersonal cafeteria.