With This Fling... (17 page)

‘You should do it,’ she said. ‘It’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.’ Charlotte wanted to sound sincere but her voice came out all brittle and wrong. She’d known from the start that she’d never keep him anchored here, not without destroying everything he was and denying him all that he could be. ‘When does it start?’

‘Almost immediately. The team is already assembled and ready to go. They had a project leader sorted too. His wife had a stroke.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Charlotte set her drink on the counter and summoned up a smile. ‘It really does sound like a wonderful opportunity for you.’

‘Charlotte, it’s the
Galapagos.’

‘I know.’ No other place on earth could
match it when it came to finding evidence for the evolution of the species. This job offer was the equivalent of someone walking up to an archaeologist and asking them if they wanted to be part of an expedition to the lost city of Atlantis. ‘Holy Grail.’

‘I’d still be based here. I’d do everything I could to ensure that I’d be here for you when the baby comes. I’d not miss that. I’d make it a contract condition.’

Charlotte looked away. It shamed her that her first response had not been happiness for Greyson but dismay for herself. It terrified her to reflect on just how much she’d come to rely on his company and his support.

‘Charlotte, please. I can’t do what I’ve been doing this past month on a permanent basis. I’ve enjoyed every minute of it and I’ll do it again willingly, but not all the time,’ he said. ‘My work is part of who I am. I can’t not do it.’

‘I know,’ she said softly. ‘I think this position is perfect for you. You’d be mad not to apply for it, and I don’t want you mad. I don’t want you frustrated or feeling like you’re just marking time here either. I’ll be fine. I have everything I could possibly need right here, and as you say … you’ll be back and forward. I’ll probably hardly even notice you’re gone.’

‘This
will
work out for us. We’ll
make
it work,’ Greyson said huskily, as if by saying the words he could make them come true.

‘Confident man.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘Not confident, not always. Just determined.’

Grey got the job. He’d known when Ellie had emailed him that his chances were good. He’d tailored his entire working life towards this sort of project, building the skill set he needed to land just such a gem. Always taking the road less travelled. Never shying away from the difficult turns. He didn’t shy away from them now.

All in.

It was the way he’d always lived his life and it remained to be seen if he could turn ‘all in’ into ‘all in until Charlotte needed him’, at which point he’d have to be all out and focusing on his life with her for a while. He’d need a good second in command. He’d already been in touch with Joey Tank, whose wife had had the stroke. She was home now and improving daily. Joey had high hopes that she’d be as good as new within a few months, or, more realistically, within half a dozen months. Joey had taken long service leave to be with his wife and he’d jumped at Grey’s offer to keep him in the project loop, with a view to having
him step in temporarily, later down the track, should family circumstances force Grey to step out. Now all Grey had to do was convince the powers that be that project sharing with Tank was an excellent outcome for all concerned. Do that, and the Galapagos project set-up would be as good as he could make it.

The only thing that wasn’t going his way was the small matter of Charlotte’s continued refusal to marry him.

‘No,’ she’d said when he’d broached the subject again.

No explanation, no tears or recriminations. Just a smiling, steadfast no.

The day of departure came around all too soon for Grey. He’d worked every day and long into each night for almost three weeks, planning the first Galapagos trip and co-ordinating team members and equipment, identifying priorities, sorting out glitches, and stamping his will on the way things would be done.

Charlotte came through in spades during this time, backburnering her own work in order to offer him the support that he’d hitherto offered her. Setting Millie—who now worked for the Greenstone Foundation—at his disposal when it came to admin tasks or tracking down certain pieces of equipment. She offered her own time
when it came to prepping him for the trip and her extensive light-living and on-the-road expertise showed with every choice she made.

They ate together, laughed together, sailed together, and she slept in his arms, and on the day of Grey’s departure Charlotte stood on the front steps of the house, beneath the portico, with Derek on one side of her and Millie on the other, and bade him farewell.

‘You’ll be calling me if you need me, day or night, it doesn’t matter,’ Grey told her firmly. ‘I’ve left my mother’s numbers on the fridge—home, work, and mobile. If you can’t contact me, call her.’

‘Absolutely.’ If she was dismayed by his leaving, it didn’t show.

‘I
mean
it.’

‘I know.’ A crack, a tiny crack in her polished façade. A moment of desolation that she covered up with a bright bright smile.

‘He’s a little on the anxious side, isn’t he?’ Millie murmured.

That he was. ‘And you …’ Grey speared Millie with his sternest gaze. ‘If something goes awry and Charlotte’s not inclined to call me,
you
do it.’

‘Of course,’ said Millie soothingly.

‘I won’t be left out.’

‘Not at all,’ said Millie next.

‘As for you,’ he said to Derek—a grinning Derek whom he’d come to know and respect these past few weeks. ‘You watch out for my future wife and the mother of my child. You do this from a respectable distance, you understand? Make sure she doesn’t work herself too hard.’

‘Not a problem,’ said Derek cheerfully, and Grey scowled. It probably wouldn’t do to beat the happy out of the man. Not if he wanted Derek to do his bidding while Grey was away.

Grey didn’t linger long after that. He wasn’t one for prolonged and tearful farewells. Neither, apparently, was Charlotte. She kissed him savouringly and told him to stay safe. She kissed him again and let the desperation creep in.

He told her he’d call her and she nodded and smiled and stepped back in place between Millie and Derek, and then he left before he changed his mind and stayed.

‘Man’s a goner,’ said Derek.

‘Well, he’s gone, at any rate,’ said Millie.

‘He’ll be back, and sooner than you think.’ Derek tugged a lock of Charlotte’s hastily tied ponytail and put his hands to her shoulders and turned her around to face the door.

‘He’s away for a month,’ said Charlotte. She’d worn her favourite sundress for Greyson’s departure, a high-waisted free-flowing floral silk
that ended at her knees. Charlotte glowed these days, be it with happiness or with hormones. Skilful application of make-up had ensured that she glowed in particularly appealing fashion today. So that he wouldn’t forget her. So that he’d think of her on his travels with pleasure and not dismay. Trying to make this farewell easy for him, and she
had
made it easy for him, hadn’t she?

Over twenty years and a world’s worth of practice had made perfect.

Farewells she could do.

Even when they broke her heart.

The Galapagos archipelago was everything Grey had hoped for and more. It appealed to the adventurer in him and more than satisfied the scientist. The other scientists working on the project were skilled, intrepid, and ready to work. The younger ones accepted his leadership without question because they knew how fortunate they were to be involved in the project. Some knew him and had worked with him before. The two grey-haired scientists—a biologist and an entomologist—knew the game of leadership and let him get on with it. They approved of Joey Tank’s continued involvement—he won credit points with them for that. They wouldn’t
oppose him until something threatened their work. Grey intended to see that nothing did.

Communication was the only drawback. They had satellite phone, fax, and Internet but the service depended on the sending and receiving of strong signals, and that varied with movement. Boats moved. He sent messages to Charlotte when he could. He convinced himself it would be enough.

He found himself thinking about her at the oddest times. What she’d be doing, how the foundation was coming along. The university had really missed an opportunity to collaborate with Charlotte on that one, for the minute she’d set it up cheque books had opened and money had come pouring in. Declarations of faith in her abilities, Greyson had called them, and Charlotte had glowed, and worked twice as hard to prove herself worthy.

Charlotte wanted the foundation’s first dig to be a triumph. Grey’s hopes for her success were just as high. And everything—his work and hers—would be so much easier if only Charlotte would agree to travel.

Grey missed her. He wanted Charlotte’s smiles when he woke up in the morning and he wanted her in his bed of a night. He wanted to watch her delighted responses to her changing shape and he desperately wanted to see her
with his child in her arms—he didn’t want to miss a thing.

He was the man who wanted it all.

Pining for Greyson wasn’t part of Charlotte’s plan. Greyson had his work and Charlotte had hers, and she made good headway with it. She met the neighbours, took exercise daily, ate nutritious food, and took better care of herself than she would have had she not been pregnant.

Charlotte emailed whenever Grey did, which was surprisingly often given the erratic communication services she knew to exist in the Galapagos. She appreciated his efforts to stay connected and smiled at the photos he emailed through and the comments that went with them. Her baby’s father had a sense of humour. Good to know.

Day fourteen was a hard one. Loneliness stalked her these days, no matter how hard she tried to fill the hole Greyson had left with work. She hadn’t heard from him in three days. Nothing to worry about, but worry she did.

Fretfully.

Needlessly—because he was probably simply out of communications range. It happened in such places. It happened a lot.

Two more days passed without word from Greyson.

Two more after that.

The emergency contact person on the card in her wallet had always been Aurora. It needed changing and on day nineteen of Greyson’s first stint in the Galapagos Charlotte sat down and filled out a new emergency contact card for her wallet and put, not Greyson’s phone number down, but his mother’s. She hadn’t forgotten the importance of having someone nearby, on the ground, when things went wrong. Someone who could be there in timely fashion to pick up the pieces of a child’s life and wade through all the red tape. She needed to change her will as well, but to what? Leave all her worldly possessions to her next of kin? Was it too early to do that? Too morose? This baby hadn’t even been born yet. Maybe until it was, the money should go to the Greenstone Foundation. Or Greyson. Or be put in trust, to be held by Greyson. Or something.

Aurora would have known what to do. Aurora, who’d been unafraid and full of affirmation.
Never be afraid to live, Charlotte.
How many times had Charlotte heard that?
Living,
not mourning or brooding or worrying about things that would probably never come to pass.

Only every now and then they did come to pass.

A trip to the solicitor’s, then, to discuss futures
and fortunes and hopefully set Charlotte’s mind at ease. She made the appointment for four the following afternoon and vowed to sleep better that night because of it.

Maybe Charlotte’s mind was just too full or too empty on her way to the solicitor’s office. Maybe that was why she didn’t see that the other driver had failed to stop at the Give Way. But her mind wasn’t blank when she was sitting in the smoking car with the steering wheel jammed up against her solar plexus and the door caved into her side.

Her head. She could still move her head, that was good, right? And her arms, she could move them too. Stuck, just stuck, and something just stuck could be cut out of wreckage; all it took was a little patience and time.

Breathing took effort. Charlotte had read about how when lungs were punctured they would fill up with blood. No blood here, not much anyway, except for the stuff trickling down from her forehead. Glass cut, most likely. Glass from the shattered windscreen.

Airbags were a bitch when they’d only half opened. Airbags came with white dust and the dust was everywhere. Airbags could be punctured too. Charlotte wondered hazily how much blood
they
could fit in them.

Charlotte’s mind was far from empty in the moments after the crash and before oblivion claimed her.

She had plenty of time to ponder distance and travel time and come to the conclusion that the Galapagos Isles were a very long way away. She had time to think of Greyson and to apologise for what she’d done. She had time to construct a mantra, a silent outcry of fear and of pain. Over and over the same words repeated. Over again until darkness chased them away.

My baby.

Charlotte woke in a colourless hospital room.

A hospital room was good. Meant she was still here. That she was breathing without the assistance of tubes and masks meant even better things. She closed her eyes and concentrated on her body. Moving toes: check. Fingers: likewise. Baby:

Baby.

Charlotte forced her eyes open again and spotted a woman sitting by her bedside. She knew this face. Not well. Hardly at all. But she knew it and was grateful for its presence. A doctor. An experienced one.

Greyson’s mother.

‘Hello, Charlotte. Are you awake?’

Olivia had her doctor’s voice on, soothing yet firm.

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who you are?’

‘Yes.’ Charlotte. But not just Charlotte. ‘Is my baby okay?’

‘There’s been some spotting.’ Olivia’s voice had softened and her eyes were kind. ‘A little more bleeding than we’d like. An ultrasound will tell us more. You have some chest trauma. Concussion. You’re very lucky not to have displaced a rib or damaged your lungs.’

But Charlotte’s attention had snagged on the only thing that mattered to her.
An ultrasound will tell us more …
‘Will I lose my baby?’