Page 18 of The Housekeeper's One-Night Baby
‘There are already a couple of things in the diary. A drinks party next week,’ he said. ‘That’s what Donna was ringing about.’
‘Who’s Donna?’
‘A friend.’
It was a word which carried a wealth of meaning—especially when you were pregnant and feeling ultra-sensitive—but the arrival of the chef bearing a large platter terminated the conversation. Which was probably a good thing. Much better to find out about Donna when she wasn’t suffering from jet lag and was feeling more resilient. She lurched towards the pile of delicious-looking sandwiches. When it wasn’t such an effort to pretend she didn’t care if he was having a relationship with someone else.
Or to hide how badly she wanted him to kiss her.
CHAPTER SIX
LIZZIE’SNIGHTWASpunctuated with hot dreams of Niccolò kissing her, alternated with visions of giant silver sandwich platters and she woke late and slightly disorientated next morning, not quite sure where she was. She turned her head this way and that. Beside the bed was a remote control and one click made the blinds float silently upwards, like the curtain rising in a theatre. And there—in all its brash and glittering splendour—was the backdrop of the Manhattan skyline. She reallywashere. In the heart of New York. In a vast but slightly sterile hotel suite, in a hotel owned by the father of her child.
She spent a few minutes stretching expansively in the enormous bed, before making her way to the luxurious bathroom and experimenting with the different settings on the taps. Who knew that having a shower could be so complicated? After dressing in a pair of dungarees and a sweater, she set off in search of breakfast, but everything remained spookily quiet until she was startled by the sight of a smiling woman who appeared at the far end of the corridor, her white uniform making her look like a friendly ghost.
‘Good morning!’ she said cheerfully. ‘I’m Kaylie. And you’re Lizzie, right?’
‘That’s right. Good morning.’ Lizzie’s smile was bright but she was finding it hard to know how to react in this particular situation. She was there as a guest but deep down she felt more kinship with the maid who was walking towards her. What was the other woman thinking? she wondered. That it was bizarre to have this strange pregnant woman turning up out of nowhere, and installing herself in a separate bedroom in the billionaire’s hotel suite? She swallowed, trying to reclaim some sense of identity. ‘Erm... I wonder if you could point me in the direction of the kitchen? I was thinking I might make myself some breakfast.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry about that,’ said Kaylie, with an airy wave of her hand. ‘I’ll bring you whatever you fancy. How about eggs—any way you like? Or some pancakes? Chef does a mean pancake.’
‘Pancakes would be great,’ said Lizzie, feeling about twelve. Except that nobody had ever clucked around her like this, had they? Her mother had spent a lot of time in bed with her ‘nerves’, like a character from a Victorian novel. Treats had been in very short supply and they’d come either courtesy of schoolfriends, or hard won by Lizzie herself.
‘Go and sit yourself down in the dining room and I’ll bring it through,’ said Kaylie. ‘There’s a letter in there waiting for you.’
Lizzie made her way into the dining room, which she’d rejected as too formal last night, so goodness only knew how it would feel this morning. But it was strange how your mood could lift in the cold, clear light of day. The room was hung with stunning oil paintings and there was a vase of flowers at the centre of the polished table, which were filling the room with the most delicate and delicious scent. And there, propped up against the crystal bowl of creamy roses was an envelope with distinctive black handwriting on the front, which Lizzie instinctively recognised as belonging to Niccolò.
She was right. The script was bold and slashing, the words succinct. But, despite the maid’s description, it certainly wasn’t long enough to qualify as a letter.
Lois, my assistant, will ring you after breakfast. Ask her for anything you need. N
There was no affection or softness in the brief message. But perhaps she should embrace his lack of guile, rather than despair of it. He wasn’t pretending to feel anything for her, was he? He wasn’t saying things he didn’t mean, which meant he was fundamentally honest. Surely that would help curtail her foolish tendency to build fanciful dreams around him.
She ate the pancakes, which were delicious, and drank copious amounts of jasmine tea, and was just piling up her crockery when Kaylie appeared in the doorway, a telephone in her hand. Shaking her head in mock reprimand at Lizzie’s attempts to clear up, she handed her the phone.
‘Hello,’ said Lizzie brightly, feeling the annoying sink of her heart when she heard a female voice she didn’t recognise.
‘Lizzie? This is Lois Kenton, Nic’s assistant. He asked me to ring once you’d finished breakfast.’
‘How do you know that? Do you have X-ray vision or something?’ asked Lizzie, only half joking.
‘No. Kaylie buzzed me over once you were done.’ The other woman’s voice was kind. ‘I hope you’re settling in okay?’
‘Yes, it’s...’ Lizzie looked up, wondering now if there were spy cameras hidden in the ceiling ‘...very luxurious,’ she finished truthfully.
‘I’m glad. If there’s anything you need, just holler. I’ve made an appointment at Lenox Hill Hospital tomorrow morning at eleven. Dr Campbell is one of the country’s finest obstetricians and he comes highly recommended. I hope that’s okay? One of my assistants, along with a car, will call to collect you at ten—because there will be paperwork to complete.’
‘Th-thanks,’ Lizzie said, feeling slightly overwhelmed by all this smooth efficiency.
‘I also understand that you’re looking to update your wardrobe and we can help you with that, too.’
Lizzie started to bristle defensively until she reminded herself that Lois was only relaying what she’d been told by her boss.Don’t shoot the messenger.‘I think I’ll take a rain check on that one,’ she said politely, until something occurred to her. ‘Lois. I don’t know if you can help, but I need something to do while I’m here and I... Well, I paint portraits of dogs and maybe you could ask around. To see if anyone is interested. Oil on canvas—though I need to get hold of some canvasses.’
‘I can sort that out for you. And, as it happens, I know someone who would be very interested,’ said Lois. ‘Me!’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’
