Her Nine Month Confession

The door to the vast room was open, and as he stepped inside the source of the noise, a child held by his grandfather’s harassed-looking housekeeper, Elizabeth Gray, let out an ear-piercing screech, made even louder by the room’s tremendous acoustics.

‘Wow, that’s quite a set of lungs.’ And quite a head of hair. The wild red curls on the toddler’s head opened a memory he’d have preferred to stay locked inside the file marked move on.

And he had moved on; it was ancient history.

‘Benedict!’

Would Elizabeth’s smile have been so warm and welcoming had she known he’d slept with one of her daughters? The lazy speculation vanished as she advanced towards him holding the screaming child. Horror slid into the vacuum it left.

‘Your grandfather didn’t tell me you were coming...’

‘He didn’t know.’ Ben prided himself on the ability to extricate himself from uncomfortable situations, but for once his ingenuity failed him.

‘Are you staying for...? Never mind—hold her, will you?’

It was not a suggestion or a request, it was a plea, which he hadn’t responded to when he had found his arms filled with crying toddler. A new experience for him... He stood rigid, holding the wriggling, screaming child the same way he would an unexploded bomb—at arm’s length! He’d have felt more comfortable with a bomb; they were more predictable.

Ben had nothing against children, and he understood why people felt the urge to procreate, he just wondered why some did. People like his mother, who had never made any pretence of being maternal. His mother, who had done her level best to forget that she’d had a child after she’d given birth and had done so pretty successfully. She had never made any bones about what came first—her career. And as she’d pointed out, not having a mother coddling him had made him self-reliant.

He recognised similar character traits—some might call them faults—in himself. He was ambitious, ruthlessly focused on his work. Ben had no illusions about his character. Bottom line, he was selfish. That combined with razor-sharp instincts made him successful in his chosen career.

He didn’t need those instincts to tell him he’d have been a terrible parent. It was pretty obvious. Being a good parent required sacrifice and compromise, which he was simply not capable of. His decision not to have children was yet another bone of contention between him and his grandfather, who was fixated on the idea of the family name living on.

‘Is she ill?’ He struggled to hide his unease and eyed the child warily. She might be attractive, but right now, with her crumpled, tear-stained face as red as her hair, she wasn’t.

‘She bumped her head, slipped chasing the cat. Now let’s have a look...it’s not deep,’ Elizabeth said, brushing a mass of auburn curls from the squawking kid’s head. ‘But it simply won’t stop bleeding and Emmy doesn’t like the sight of blood. But she’s a brave girl, aren’t you, my darling?’ she crooned.

The brave girl gave another ear-splitting bawl. Was it normal for a kid to be that loud? Ben, who had been his parents’ only mistake, wasn’t sure.

‘I didn’t know Lara had a child,’ he said, struggling to make himself heard above the din. ‘Is she visiting, or have they moved back from the States?’ he asked, pretending a polite interest he didn’t feel. Though he’d felt mild surprise when the news of the wedding had reached his ears six months after the event.

Lara Gray was the last person he would have imagined marrying young, she’d been a bit of a wild child, but then what did he know? Her sister had always seemed like the last sort of person who’d spend the night with a man and leave before he woke.

But she had.

To wake and find the pillow beside him empty should have been a relief. Yet finding her gone, leaving nothing but the elusive scent of her perfume, scratches on his shoulders and a pearl earring, he’d been furious. While recognising his response as irrational and disproportionate, Ben had struggled to shrug it off. Even now, three years later, the sight of a red curl could flip his mood.

He didn’t like being used, and he’d always hated bad manners.

Sure, Ben, you’re getting worked up after nearly three years over bad manners...what did you want from her, a thank-you note?

Ben’s ego was not fragile and there had been occasions in his life when he would have liked to fast-forward past the morning-after scene. Yet when he had reached across, anticipating contact with warm womanly skin, and found nothing but a cold indent his anger had almost, but not completely, masked that initial gut reaction...loss.

It was no use pretending otherwise—the timing had been bad. He’d known it but he’d still done it. He’d known that his personal life, in the immediate future, was going to be subjected to public scrutiny. His on-off engagement when it came out was going to sell papers, but if it had got out that he’d fallen straight into another relationship, or at least into another bed...was it fair to expose Lily to that sort of smutty tabloid speculation?

You had to laugh at the irony—not that he had. But then what man wouldn’t feel a little raw if he’d woken up and found that the woman who had awoken dormant chivalrous instincts—and who just happened to be the best sex he’d ever had—had walked out? But then life was a learning curve and he’d moved on.

He’d rationalised the event. Lily had been what he’d needed, when he’d needed it. He’d just been surprised really—she’d always seemed so...sweet. Well, good for her. Clearly she had her mind firmly focused on her career and sex was strictly recreational. He’d met any number of women with that pragmatic attitude; he’d dated more than a few.

‘Lara?’ Elizabeth, blowing a strand of blonde hair from her eyes, looked up, appearing surprised by the comment. ‘Lara doesn’t have children. This is Lily’s little girl.’

‘Lily is married?’ Ben, who had never been one to wrap up unpalatable truths in pretty packaging, found himself not analysing too deeply his powerful gut response to this news.

‘No, she isn’t married. Lily is a single parent. I’m very proud of her,’ she added defensively, explaining, ‘She moved back to the village. She works part-time at the college and I help out when I can.’

Ben struggled to take on board all the information and the surprisingly strong emotions it shook loose.

So no big acting career, no glamorous red carpets, no name in lights, just... He looked at the child, who had stopped crying. Tears trembled on the ends of her sooty lashes as she returned his look with one of deep suspicion through eyes that were a deep blue.

Cobalt blue.

He stiffened as somewhere in the back of his mind the seeds of a crazy suspicion sent out tentative roots.

‘That must be a struggle.’ His sympathy elicited a nod.

‘Oh, I love helping... Just hold still a moment for Granny. Emmy is a total sweetheart but Lily...’

‘M...Mummy...’ Ben watched the child’s lower lip tremble ominously before she gave another sniff, her small rounded chin jutting pugnaciously as she yelled, ‘Want Mummy now!’

‘A child who knows her own mind.’

Elizabeth laughed. ‘She certainly does, not at all like Lily. She was always the easy one. Lara, now that was another story. Mummy will be home soon, darling, five more sleeps. Hard to explain time to children.’ Elizabeth gave a grunt as she successfully taped down a sticking plaster to the child’s forehead. ‘All done.’ She clapped her hands.

Ben watched as the kid followed suit, clapping her chubby little hands. His brain was working but his thoughts kept coming up against a big brick wall. He couldn’t see past it because there was nothing to see. He was making the classic mistake of trying to make the facts fit a theory. In this case a totally crazy theory!

The tension that had climbed into his shoulders eased a notch as he recognised the trap he had almost fallen into. His mouth twisted into an ironic self-mocking smile. A lot of people in this world had blue eyes; presumably the kid’s father had been one of them.

A moment later his smile vanished. As the child continued to squirm in his arms he caught a glimpse of something. A nerve beside his mouth jumped. Blue eyes were not unique, but how many people beside his own mother had that distinctive birthmark? he asked himself, fighting the urge to lift the child’s hair to examine the pigmented crescent closer.

‘M...M...Mama...’ The kid caught hold of his tie and shoved the silk into her mouth.

Who did she call dada?

‘Don’t do that, Emmy, you’ll choke.’ Her grandmother prised the soggy cloth from her mouth and directed an apologetic smile at him. A look of concern crossed her face. ‘Sorry about... Are you all right?’

Ben inhaled, dredging deep into his inner resources to force his features into something that passed for a smile. ‘I had words with my grandfather.’ It suddenly seemed a long time ago.

The explanation was accepted by Elizabeth, who held out her arms for the child, the furrow between her brows deepening as he made no move to react.

The question he’d refused to acknowledge slid into his head. Was the child...his child? His daughter?

This was surreal...

It was impossible!

His eyes slid to the baby in his arms and she looked back at him, solemn and serious, then with a grin as she grabbed his soggy tie again.

‘Mine!’