Page 52 of The Heiress's Secret Baby

Polly stood there looking at him. She had thought that she knew him. Knew the feel of his mouth, the taste of him. The way the muscles on his shoulders moved, the play of them under her hands.

She’d thought that she understood him. That he might be coming to understand her. Maybe he did, all too well. She was defenceless.

‘Get out,’ she said, proud when her voice didn’t waver. When the threatened tears didn’t fall. ‘Get out and leave me alone.’

He stood there for a long moment looking at her. She didn’t move, didn’t waver.

‘You need people in your corner, Polly,’ he said softly. ‘People who will be there for you no matter what. Pick wisely.’

And he was gone.

Tears trembled behind her eyes but she blinked them back. You don’t cry, remember?

She took a deep breath, almost doubling over at the unexpected ache in her chest, the raw, exposed pain and grief, like Prometheus torn open, awaiting the eagles. She had lost everything. Her grandfather. Gabe.

But no. She straightened, her hand splayed open on her still-flat stomach. Not everything.

She could do this. She could absolutely do this alone. Gabe was wrong. In every way.

Slowly she turned and walked back to the kitchen. Her family were at the table where she had left them and she was relieved to see colour in her grandfather’s cheeks. Maybe she could fix this. She had to fix something.

‘I’m sorry about what Gabe said.’ She took her seat and picked up her water glass, relieved that her hands had stopped shaking enough for her to drink. ‘He was out of line.’

She bowed her head and waited for more reproach and anger to be heaped on her.

‘Charles.’ Her grandmother spoke sharply and her grandfather leant forward, reaching for one of Polly’s hands.

She couldn’t remember the last time he had touched her first; she was usually the one bestowing a dutiful kiss on his cheek.

It felt comforting to have her hand in his. Unbidden, Gabe’s words sprang into her mind. ‘You’re still just a little girl tugging at her grandfather’s sleeve.’

‘I’m sorry, Polly.’ Charles Rafferty’s voice was a little wavery, his speech unusually slow and Polly’s chest tightened with love and fear. ‘I was shocked and I reacted badly. I said some terrible things and I hope you can forgive me, my dear.’

An apology? From the formidable Mr Rafferty? ‘I’m sorry too,’ she said, squeezing his fingers. When had they got so frail? ‘I should have told you earlier. I needed time to process everything, to deal with it all, but I should have come to you.’

‘You always were independent,’ he said.

Was she? Polly wondered. Or did she just want to be thought that way? Was Gabe right?

‘I didn’t mean for this to happen.’ She looked at her grandparents, pleading for them to understand. They might not be perfect but they were the only parental figures she had. She needed them. ‘I was lost and met someone as lonely as me. He was nice, a teacher in Copenhagen and recently divorced. I have tried to track him down but with no picture or surname the private investigator wasn’t hopeful. He gave it a week and then told me to save my money. You know how much I missed Daddy. I hate the fact that my baby will grow up not knowing his or her father.’

‘Polly dearest.’ Her grandmother was suspiciously bright eyed. ‘Did Gabriel say something about a scan? I don’t suppose there’s a picture...’

A glimmer of something that felt a little like hope skimmed through Polly. ‘There is a picture,’ she said. ‘Would you like to see it?’

CHAPTER TEN

‘IT DIDN’T LOOK this dark on the tin.’ Polly stood back from the wall and stared at the first splash of paint. ‘I’m not intending to raise a baby Goth.’

‘It’ll be lighter when it dries.’ Clara joined her and looked doubtfully at the wall. ‘I hope. Are you sure you don’t want me to find somebody to do it for you?’

‘No, I am doing it all myself. My baby, my walls, my botch paint job in deepest purple.’ Polly glanced at the tin. ‘It’s supposed to be lilac lace.’

‘You can outsource some of the work, you know. To Raff or to me. I do special discounts for family...’

‘I might consider outsourcing the actual birth part. That looks a little scary.’ The books Clara had given her were piled high on the chest of drawers in the sunny room at the back of the house Polly had decided on for the nursery. After a quick flick through the graphic words and even more graphic pictures Polly had put them aside vowing not to go anywhere near them again.

There was some protection in ignorance.

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