I tried to keep my expression blank. I wasn’t going to tell him I was pregnant. “Things seem to be okay again. I’m really sorry. I shouldn’t have told you anything. It seems to have blown over.”
“No, you were right.” He pushed his coffee away from him and put his head in his hands. “I hadn’t seen any of this coming, that’s all.”
I leaned back, away from the smell of coffee, but suddenly it seemed so strong, so pungent, that I knew I had only a minute to find a bathroom.
“Won’t be long,” I managed to say as I leaped to my feet.
When I came back, pale and shaking, my hair damp with perspiration, Tom was sitting back in his chair, looking out of the window. The waitress had cleared away his coffee and juice and there was just a large glass of water waiting for me.
I sat down and apologized.
“So, Emma,” he said. “When were you going to tell me you were pregnant?”
CHAPTER 34
Emma
I stared at Tom. “What? What are you talking about?”
His eyes were cool as they met mine. “You’re pregnant,” he said. “When were you going to tell me? Or did you think I wouldn’t find out?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Come on, Emma.” His voice was calm and steady, just the opposite to how I felt. “Don’t even think of denying it. You’re what? Midthirties? Married a long time with no children? We slept together a few weeks ago.” His eyes didn’t leave mine and I knew he remembered every moment. “I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Well, nor do I, I wanted to say.
“What makes you think I’m pregnant?”
He said nothing at first, then leaned toward me and said in a voice so low that I automatically leaned forward to hear him, “Well, I could tell you that there’s a look that pregnant women have. You’re pale. You have a greenish pallor. That’ll be the sickness, right? You should probably try to eat something, even though you don’t want to. Perhaps give some plain toast a try?”
My head swirled. Was he threatening me or giving me medical advice?
He smiled then. “Or I could just tell you that I’d seen a book in your bag.”
I could’ve kicked myself. Shoved into my open handbag on the chair beside me was a book called Pregnancy: Week by Week.
“It’s not yours,” I said. “It’s Harry’s.”
“How come you hadn’t had children before?”
“Not that it’s anything to do with you,” I said, “but we decided to wait for a while before having a baby.”
“So you’re saying that your decision to have a baby coincided with you sleeping with me? I don’t buy that.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “You know I have a son, don’t you?”
“Yes, you told me.”
“My ex-wife got pregnant before we married. That was the reason we married, if I’m honest.” I flinched. It sounded such a cruel thing to say. He must have noticed my expression, because he went on, “Actually it was the best thing that ever happened to me. I hadn’t wanted a baby at that point; I was only twenty-five. But she came off the pill because it was giving her headaches and the next thing we knew, she was pregnant.” He smiled at me. “It was wonderful. From the moment he was born I loved him. Before then, even. The intensity”—he laughed—“it’s just staggering. Nothing prepares you for it.”
I knew exactly how he felt. I was sorry for his ex-wife; I didn’t even know her name, but here I was learning all about her private medical history. My mind was racing. She’d gotten pregnant so easily. Tom had proven he could make a woman pregnant. Wasn’t it much more likely that the baby was his? My head pounded. I didn’t want his baby. I did want this baby, though.
“So who do you think is more likely to be the father?” His voice was soft and persuasive. “Your husband? Really?”
I looked down, feeling sick again. “Yes. Really.”
He touched my hand. “Did you think the problem lay with you?” he asked gently. “Is that what’s been on your mind all these years?”
I couldn’t speak.
“Maybe the two of you together . . . maybe it was never going to happen that way. That’s not uncommon, you know. And now that you’re with someone different . . .”
“I’m not with you!”
“Not now,” he said. “But you were. And this is my baby, so who knows what’s going to happen?”
He leaned forward and I could smell coffee, sour on his breath. I tried to lean back, to keep my distance, but his eyes were fixed on mine and I didn’t seem able to move. “I would have thought,” he said, “that a woman of your age who thought there was the slightest chance she might get pregnant would be very sure to use contraception if she slept with another man.”
“Do you really think I carry condoms around with me on the off-chance I’m going to sleep with someone?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea. But if I’d been in your position, I would have made sure I didn’t get pregnant.”
“And vice versa.”
He laughed. “You took me by surprise.”
I’d had enough. “Do you like black-and-white movies?”
He looked startled at the change of subject. “Yeah, some. Why?”
“Oh, I saw one the other day. It was called Gaslight. Have you seen it?”
Slowly he shook his head.
“You remind me of someone in it. But you know what?” I leaned forward and whispered, so that he had to lean forward to hear me. “I can see through you.”
He sat back and drank some water. I would have bet my house that he wished it was vodka. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Really?” I stood up, took some money for my drink out of my purse, and put it on the table. “Maybe you should watch it.”
“Don’t go yet,” he said. “What are we going to do about it? About the baby?”
“We’re not doing anything about anything.” I put my face down close to his. “I am happily married. I love my husband. You and I had one night. One night! And you think that’s enough to get me pregnant?”
“One night, maybe, but three times.”
I flushed. “It makes no difference,” I said. “Don’t come near me again.”