Loren's Baby

‘No.’ She tried to make a joke of it, not liking the serious turn the conversation had taken. ‘No one’s asked me.’

‘I can’t believe that.’

‘Well, no one I would want to marry,’ she conceded lightly.

‘Marry me, Caryn. Marry me!’

She withdrew her hand at once, pressing it close into the other in her lap. ‘Laurence!’ she exclaimed, realising she had been afraid of this happening. ‘You’re not serious.’

‘I am. I am.’ He sighed. ‘Is it my age? Is that the barrier?’

‘I don’t love you, Laurence …’

‘Love!’ He scoffed at the word. ‘What is love? I loved Cecily and look where it got me!’ He shook his head. ‘You think I’m too old, don’t you?’

‘Laurence, if I loved someone, I wouldn’t care how old they were. Honestly.’

He refused to give up. ‘You could learn to love me. I would teach you.’

‘Why?’ Caryn’s brows ascended. ‘Do you love me?’

He shifted restively. ‘I’ve told you, I don’t believe in that sort of emotional foolishness.’ He pressed on: ‘Caryn, we have so much in common. Our work, our liking for books and music …’

‘It wouldn’t work, Laurence. They’re not good enough reasons for getting married!’

The waiter was hovering, waiting for their order, and somewhat impatiently Laurence suggested they chose what they planned to eat. But Caryn’s appetite had been drastically reduced, and she insisted that an omelette with salad was all she wanted.

The waiter departed and Laurence returned to the attack. ‘Very well,’ he said levelly, ‘if you won’t marry me, at least come with me. I need you.’

‘You need someone,’ she corrected him quietly. ‘And that’s why I won’t marry you, Laurence. Because I’m not just someone, I’m me! I don’t want to spend my life as a cipher!’

He looked hurt. ‘I think you’re being unnecessarily harsh. If I’ve ever treated you that way, I’m sorry—’

‘I’m not saying you have—yet. But if we were married … Oh, it’s no use, Laurence. Let’s forget it, shall we?’

‘And the tour?’

‘I don’t know. I just don’t know.’

He chewed at his lower lip. ‘We could pretend to be engaged. For the duration of the trip, I mean.’

Caryn laughed. ‘You make it sound like the plot for a romantic novel! Honestly, I never believed people actually went in for that sort of thing.’

‘What sort of thing?’ he asked shortly.

‘Pretending to be engaged!’ She laughed again, feeling more lighthearted than she had done for days. ‘Really, Laurence! If I wanted to come with you, do you think a little thing like gossip would stop me?’

He assumed an offended air. ‘It’s different for you,’ he maintained. ‘You’re young—and very attractive. And you don’t hold any position of authority in the college. I’m its principal. I can’t afford to behave in a way that might prove detrimental to my office.’

Caryn relented. ‘Oh, Laurence! All right. Don’t look so mortified. I know what you mean, but—well, I’ll think about it.’

‘About what?’ He was eager. ‘Marrying me?’

‘No.’ She quickly disabused him. ‘Going with you. As your “fiancée”, if necessary.’

He leant towards her appealingly. ‘Do give it careful thought, won’t you?’ he implored, but Caryn had the uneasy feeling that her association with Dean Mellor was being stretched to the limits.

It wasn’t late when he took her home; no more than ten o’clock. Laurence seldom indulged in late nights. He always said he liked to go to bed and read for an hour before attempting to go to sleep, and consequently he retired earlier to compensate.

Caryn climbed the stairs to her flat rather thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure what she ought to do about the trip to America. It was true, the idea of visiting that country was exciting, but as Laurence’s fiancée? Real or imagined? She shook her head. Somehow she was loath to commit herself to something that might prove more difficult to get out of later than she could imagine.

There was a light showing under her door, she saw as she reached the top of the stairs, and she frowned. Generally, Laura kept the baby in their flat, finding it easier that way. She did occasionally babysit in Caryn’s rooms, but that was usually when Bob was inviting some friends round to play cards, and she had not said anything about that tonight before Caryn went out. Still …

Caryn found her key and inserted it in the lock, and entered her living room. Then she stopped in astonishment. Laura was there, sitting nervously on the couch, but opposite her, his long length draped casually over one of Caryn’s armchairs, was Tristan Ross.

He came to his feet as she entered, and she noticed half with impatience how incongruous his dark green velvet evening suit looked in the apartment. Before going out she had washed some of the baby’s clothes and some nappies, and spread them over a clothes airer to dry. There were some blankets folded over the arm of one chair, and a half empty feeding bottle standing on the table, as well as a pair of her shoes and the tights she had worn for work that day strewn carelessly in one corner.

Laura stood up, too, and looked at her apologetically, making a helpless movement with her shoulders. ‘Er—Mr Ross came just after you left, Caryn,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘He insisted on waiting.’

Caryn pressed her lips together for a moment, and then met Ross’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ She paused. ‘You should have phoned.’

He acknowledged this silently, and then looked at Laura. Taking her cue, she moved clumsily towards the door. But Caryn stopped her: ‘Don’t go, Laura …’

‘I think what we have to say needs to be said privately, don’t you?’ Tristan Ross suggested dryly, almost matching the words she had used at his house, and Laura nodded her head and made for the door.

‘He—he’s in the bedroom,’ she murmured for Caryn’s benefit, and Caryn smiled her thanks.

But when the door had closed behind her, Caryn had never felt more humiliated in her life. She despised herself for the slummy state of the room, for the obvious lack of organisation. And she despised him too for coming here and making her feel so small. Was he comparing this place to his beautiful home? How could he not do so? Still, she reflected cynically, perhaps it would persuade him that his child did not deserve to be brought up here.

Now she said curtly: ‘Have you seen—him?’

‘The boy?’ He inclined his head. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him.’

Caryn dropped her handbag on the floor. ‘And?’