Melanie Milburne - The Blackmail Pregnancy

She’d never let him meet her mother. He wondered now why he hadn’t insisted. Somehow Cara had always found an excuse: her mother was away visiting relatives, couldn’t make it to the wedding, had the flu and wasn’t seeing anyone. He hadn’t pressed her about it. Anyway, her mother had lived in another state, so visiting had mostly been out of the question. He had spoken to Edna Gillem once on the telephone, and it still pained him to recall their conversation. It had well and truly driven the last nail into the coffin that had contained his short marriage.

With the wisdom of hindsight he could see the mistakes he’d made almost from the first moment he’d met Cara. She had been out with a group of friends whom he’d later referred to as ‘the pack’. They had been like baying hounds, crying out for male flesh, and from the first moment he had seen Cara was in the wrong company. She’d looked scared, vulnerable in a way that had dug deeply at the masculine protective devices his father and grandfather before him had entrenched in his soul.

He’d taken her to one side to buy her a drink and one drink had led to another. He’d taken her to his apartment and she’d fallen asleep on his sofa. In three weeks she had been sleeping in his bed, and eight weeks later wearing his ring. He’d never slept with a virgin before, and it had taken him completely by surprise.

He often felt guilty when he recalled his actions of all those years ago. If only he’d taken his time, got to know her—the real Cara, not the shell she presented to the world. Maybe he wouldn’t be sitting opposite her now, in a crowded café, with the pain of seven years dividing them. They could have had kids in school by now—kids with hazel eyes and light brown hair that wouldn’t always do as it was told.

He stirred his coffee and took a deep draught, his eyes catching hers as she reached for her mineral water. What was she thinking? She looked so cool, so composed, but still he wondered…

‘How are your parents?’ she asked.

He gave his coffee another absent stir and Cara saw the hint of a small smile of affection briefly lift the corners of his mouth.

‘They’re fine. Fighting fit. Dad has taken up golf and Mum is part of a bridge club.’

‘And your twin brothers and sister?’

He pushed his half-finished coffee aside and met her interested gaze.

‘Patrick eventually married Sally, and they have five-year-old twins—Katie and Kirstie. Leon and Olivia now have three kids—Ben, seven, Bethany, five, and Clare is three. Fliss has two-year-old Thomas, and is apparently expecting a girl this time.’

Cara drained her glass and set it aside.

‘And your business?’ she added. ‘It finally took off?’

‘Like you would never believe,’ he said, and then added with a rueful twist to his mouth, ‘You should’ve hung around.’

She didn’t respond. The waitress appeared with the sandwiches he’d ordered earlier, and she stared at the food set down before her and wondered how she’d ever force it down her restricted throat.

She’d never doubted he’d be successful as a property developer; he came from a long line of very successful moneyed men. What surprised her was how little that success had fulfilled him. She’d imagined him married, with the brood of kids he’d always wanted, but he was still single—and asking her to resume their relationship temporarily. She didn’t understand him. Perhaps she never had.

Some endless minutes passed before either of them spoke.

‘My parents send their regards,’ Byron said. ‘I was speaking to them last night.’

Cara met his eyes across the table and looked away again.

‘Please send on my own. I’ve thought of them over the years.’

‘What about me?’ he asked after a tiny pause. ‘Have you thought about me?’

She fidgeted with her napkin, ignoring the untouched food in front of her.

‘A bit.’

‘Just a bit?’

‘A lot.’

He seemed satisfied with her answer and she instantly regretted saying anything that would make Byron think she was still hankering after him, like a lovelorn ex-wife who couldn’t get her life back on track.

‘Did Felicity finish her degree?’ She asked the first question that came into her mind.

‘With honours. We’re very proud of her. She’s the first Rockcliffe female to complete a doctorate. My mother got as far as her master’s, but it took Fliss’s determination and brilliance to lift the game that next notch.’

‘I always thought she’d do it,’ Cara said. ‘She’s got what it takes.’

‘Evidently so have you,’ he observed. ‘That’s an impressive degree hanging on your office wall.’

‘It came at a high price.’

‘But worth it, surely?’ he asked. ‘You’ve made your mark on Sydney’s design intelligentsia.’

‘But not on the bank manager.’

‘No, but they’re hard to please at the best of times.’

She felt a smile tug at her mouth.

‘Trevor would be glad to hear you say that,’ she said.

‘Did you meet him at design school?’

She nodded. ‘He was a friend of a friend—you know how it goes.’

‘Have you got a boyfriend? A lover?’

Cara bent her head over her food, playing with the salad garnish. ‘I can’t see that it’s any of your business. What about you?’ She lifted her eyes gamely to his.

His dark gaze gave nothing away. ‘Suffice it to say I’m in between appointments.’

Her heart squeezed at the thought of him involved with someone else, but she fought against revealing her feelings to him. It was none of her business who he slept with—now.

‘So I take it your offer to me is some sort of stop-gap?’

‘You might like to see it that way, but I prefer to see it as an investment in the future.’

‘There’s not much future for children without two loving parents,’ she pointed out. ‘Surely all children are entitled to at least that?’

‘That’s the ideal, of course, but life doesn’t always go to plan. There are literally thousands of households headed by single parents. No one could say they’re doing a substandard job; they’re just getting on with it—bringing up the next generation as best they can.’

Cara toyed with her food, rearranging it without lifting any morsel of it to her mouth.

‘Some do better than others,’ she said, pushing her plate away.

Byron knew her statement was loaded but decided against pressing her. She looked tired, almost defeated, as if the world had been cast upon her slim shoulders. She was visibly sagging. Her eyes refused to meet his and her shoulders were slumped as if in surrender. He thrust his napkin aside and got to his feet.

‘Come on. I’ll take you back to your office.’

She was glad of the reprieve. She felt uncomfortable in his company and couldn’t wait to be free of it so she could think clearly. Having him so near clouded her thoughts, ran them together—like a red T-shirt thrown amongst white washing.

He settled the bill and she allowed him to lead her by the elbow towards the car.

‘I’ll see you on Sunday,’ he said when he left her outside her office. ‘I’ll pick you up from your home. Trevor gave me your address the other day.’

Cara waited until his car had disappeared down the street before she turned towards her office, her thoughts jumbled inside her head.

Trevor was waiting for her.

‘How was it?’

‘How was what?’

‘The house,’ he said in excitement. ‘Was it everything and more?’

She gave him a vague smile and pushed past to go to the sanctuary of her office.

‘It was that and more. I’m going to take the job and start work immediately. I’ve got a house—no, a mansion to fill with furniture, and only four weeks in which to do it.’