Liz Fielding - Her Pregnancy Bombshell

Miranda couldn’t change his schedule, but she could swap her own around. Clearly she needed space and he’d had to allow her that.

Until today.

He’d flown back from Ireland determined that, no matter what, he’d talk to her. He still could.

‘I’ll stop by on the way home and take her some grapes,’ he said. It was okay to be concerned about someone you’d known, worked with for years. And grapes didn’t have the dangerously emotive subtext of flowers. Red, black, white—they were just grapes.

‘You’ll have a wasted journey. She checked the times of the trains to London before she left and then called her sister to let her know what time she’d be arriving.’

‘Which sister?’

‘Portia was on the box covering the post-awards parties, she’d have flown home if it was Immi, so it must be the one with the Royal Ballet.’

‘Posy. Did she say how long she’d be away?’

‘She asked me to take her off the schedule for a month.’

‘A month!’

‘She’s worked a lot of extra days covering for other people, including you. She’s owed six weeks.’ She gestured in the direction of his office. ‘Maybe she said more in the note she left on your desk.’

A cold, sick feeling hit the pit of his stomach as he saw the sealed envelope with his name written neatly in Miranda’s handwriting.

He didn’t have to open it to know that she wasn’t coming back.

He sat down, read the brief note saying that she was taking leave owed in lieu of notice. She didn’t give a reason; she didn’t have to. Determined not to let this happen, he reached for the phone.

‘Imogen, it’s Cleve Finch.’

‘Hi, Cleve. What can I do for you? There isn’t a problem with the new aircraft?’

‘No... No, it’s fine. I just need Posy’s address.’

‘Posy?’ She sounded surprised, but there was nothing guarded in her response. Evidently Miranda hadn’t shared what had happened with her twin.

‘I’m going to be in London this evening and I wanted to drop something off for Miranda,’ he said, trotting out the excuse he’d rehearsed. ‘Obviously I’d have asked her for the address but her phone appears to be switched off. She is staying with Posy?’

‘You’re kidding. Posy has a room you couldn’t swing a cat in. Andie was just dropping in to pick up the keys before catching her flight.’

‘Flight?’ So much for his plan to take her out to dinner somewhere, talk things through. ‘Where’s she gone?’

‘To L’Isola dei Fiori. Didn’t she tell you?’

‘I’ve been in Ireland all week.’

‘Oh, I see. Well, Posy inherited an amazing old house from her godmother. It’s got a fabulous conservatory and the most glorious gardens...’ Her voice trailed off. ‘I imagine they’re all overgrown.’ There was a little sigh. ‘We used to stay there in the school holidays. It was magic.’

‘I’m sure it was wonderful, but—’

‘Sorry, I was having a moment... Posy can’t get away until late summer and she’s been worried about leaving it empty so Andie’s using her leave to give it an airing. It’s a bit off the beaten track,’ she added. ‘She might not get a signal. Is it important or will it wait until she comes back?’

‘What?’

‘Whatever you were going to drop off at Posy’s?’

‘Yes... No...’

She laughed. ‘Okay...’

‘Yes, it’s important. No, it won’t wait,’ he said, quickly.

‘In that case you’ll want her address.’

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