Sandra Field - Honeymoon For Three

The stain on the cloth looked like blood. With a superstitious shiver, Cory looked up. The same pain had scored deep lines in his face; his eyes looked like those of a man in hell. She felt as though, rough-handed, she’d ripped a dressing from a wound not yet healed. Yet she’d had no inkling of the presence of the wound, and no idea as to its source or meaning.

Appalled, she whispered, “Slade, I’m sorry.”

Briefly Slade closed his eyes, knowing he’d revealed something he’d have much preferred to keep hidden. With a superhuman effort he clamped down on himself, forcing breath through the tightness in his chest. Picking up his serviette, he mopped at the spilt wine and said, more or less evenly, “You took me by surprise—that’s all.”

“Come off it! You don’t have to tell me what’s wrong, but kindly don’t pretend that nothing is. I’m not blind and deaf.”

Hard-eyed, he said, “Mind your own business, Cory.”

She plonked her glass down and said with more vigour than tact, “I bet you’re not often taken by surprise, Slade Redden. Especially by a woman.”

Pain translated itself to anger. “You take the cake, I’ll grant you that. Here’s a guy who’ll donate a park ... might as well get him to make a baby while I’m at it.”

“There’s no need to be crude.”

“I feel crude.”

“I told you it was a ridiculous idea!”

“Ridiculous comes nowhere near describing it. And the answer, in case you’re wondering, really is no.”

The expression on his face when she’d first spoken had given her that message right away. Bright patches of color staining her cheeks, she said, “OK—the answer’s no. So let’s forget about it. Why don’t you order the chocolate pâté? Then I could try it too.”

Slade’s anger went too deep to be so easily defused. “You drop a bombshell like that and then expect me to discuss desserts?”

“You’ve given me your answer—there’s nothing more to discuss!”

“That’s what you think.” He’d been ambushed by an old agony, there was no question of that; but now that he’d subdued that particular feeling Slade was aware of other emotions, none of them pleasant. “If you didn’t want anything to do with me afterwards, why should it matter to you whether I’m married or engaged?” he demanded. Because that, he thought with ugly accuracy, was where she’d knifed his self-esteem. In the cold-blooded way she was prepared to dismiss him. As if he didn’t exist.

Faintly surprised that he should even have to ask, Cory said, “Oh, that wouldn’t be moral. To cheat on another woman, I mean.”

“Whereas bringing up a fatherless child would be?”

Her temper rising, Cory said, “I don’t want to talk about this any more; I thought I’d made that clear.”

“We’re going to. Whether you want to or not.” Viciously he stabbed at the cloth with his fork. “How many other men have you asked?”

“None!”

The odd thing was that he believed her instantly. “So why me? Why don’t you ask your squash partner? You must know him a whole lot better than you know me.”

“Joe?” Cory frowned. “How do you know about Joe?”

“I have a guest pass at the club where you’re a member.”

Cory didn’t like that, not one little bit. She summoned a smile and looked at Slade through her lashes. “Well, I could scarcely ask Joe. His girlfriend might object.”

Slade’s jaw dropped. “Oh,” he said, and realized he’d been surprised twice in the last five minutes. Maybe Cory Haines was good for him, he thought sardonically. Because she was right—it was a long time since he’d allowed a woman to knock him off balance. “Then why me? You must know a lot of other men.”

“They all live in Halifax. I don’t want to be tripping over them afterwards. You’re from Toronto—although I’d really rather you were from Vancouver. Or Outer Mongolia.” Avoiding his eyes, she counted off her fingers one by one. “You’re handsome, you’re healthy, you’re intelligent—good genes, in other words. You don’t live here, and—this is important to me—you have principles and you live by them. On top of that, as I discovered on the dance floor, you’re not indifferent to me.”

“Why, when you’ve listed all my good points, do I feel as though I’ve been insulted? I’m not a prize bull, for God’s sake!”

She tilted her chin. “This discussion’s a complete and total waste of time. You said no—remember?” She gestured to the waiter and when he was standing by their table said crisply, “I’ll have the key lime pie and a coffee, please.”

“Chocolate pâté and coffee,” Slade said. As the waiter turned away, he took a deep breath and said in a more reasonable tone and with entire truth, “I’m curious. You’re very young—why this burning need for procreation?”

She said flippantly, “Oh, I probably garden too much. You know, the birds and the bees, all those seeds being planted and coming up in the spring. Fertility, fruition and fecundity.”

“Cute, Cory, cute. What’s the real reason?”

“I could tell you to mind your own business.”

“You could. You’d even be justified. But I’d really like to know.”

Cory stared into her wine, where the candlelight had kindled flames the colour of rubies, until Slade was almost sure she’d forgotten both his presence and his request. Then she whispered, “I’m not so young. I turned thirty-one last October. I’ve wanted a child for years; I’ve always known that being a mother would fulfill me in a way my job never could. But I wouldn’t be sitting here having this conversation if Sue hadn’t had her baby last week.

“Slade, I really was happy for her; of course I was. She’s my best friend and a healthy baby is such a miracle.” As a sheen of tears glittered in her eyes, Slade fought down the urge to take her hand in his. In the same toneless whisper she went on, “But I envied her too. Envy’s a horrible feeling! How can I want something that’s hers?”

Considering that only moments ago he’d been furious with Cory, Slade’s voice when he spoke sounded oddly gentle. “You’re a bright and very lovely young woman ... marry someone and have a whole pack of babies.” This time he did reach out and cover her hand with his own, feeling tension stiffen her fingers. Her skin was smooth, her bones paradoxically both delicate and strong.

I don’t want her to marry someone else, he thought blankly. And explain that if you can, Slade Redden. Because you’ve got no intention of marrying her yourself.

Earlier, Slade’s anger had roused in Cory a matching anger; now his gentleness made her want to cry. She looked down at his lean fingers with their well-kept nails, at the strong bones of his wrist where they emerged from his cuff, and suddenly wrenched her hand free. “I don’t want to get married! Slade, I’m sorry I ever brought this up; it was really stupid of me. Can we please change the subject?”

She looked very unhappy. A host of questions hovered on the tip of his tongue. But why ask them? He’d said no, and he’d meant no. No ifs, ands or buts on that one. So she was right. It was past time to change the subject and the one thing he wouldn’t do was ask her to dance again. “Here come our desserts,” he said. “You can have one spoonful of my chocolate pâté—no more.”

With a watery smile she said, “You’ll give away real estate but not chocolate, hmm?”

“A man’s got to have his limits.” After the waiter had gone, Slade put a generous dollop of the rich dark chocolate on his coffee spoon and held it out across the table. With the beginnings of a real smile, Cory leaned forward, closed her eyes, and licked the spoon clean. “Heavenly,” she said solemnly.