Baby Blues and Wedding Shoes (14 page)

“Laura, I’m sorry, please
forgive me. I’ve not been in company for a while. What I meant to
say, of course, was ‘Gracious me, is that indeed Rosa? What an
amazing photograph, she normally looks so pure and innocent.’”

“It’s okay, I’m just teasing
you. Your reaction is pretty much verbatim to what the editor said
when he saw it. Taken by a rookie too, can you believe it?”

“Jammy bugger. How did he get
her to look at him like that? Wish she’d look at me like that!” All
thoughts of the perfidy of womankind, and his desire to have
nothing to do with them ever again, vanished at the sight of demure
Rosa mentally undressing him from the cover of the magazine.

“She.”

Marcio tore his gaze from
Rosa’s and looked up at Laura.

“Sorry?”

“The photographer was a woman.
Well, girl really. Some twenty-something student of Derek
Vilney’s.”

The name rang a bell but Marcio
was a writer, not a photographer.

“He used to be a fashion
photographer, one of the best. Married a model; ended in a nasty
divorce. Now he teaches. Asked Saul if he could run a competition
for his students, the winner to get the front cover. Saul wasn’t
convinced, but, you know, it’s Derek, so of course he said yes.
Figured if it was awful he could fill the cover with text.”

Marcio let the chatty
receptionist’s words wash over him as he kept his eyes on Rosa’s
face. There was something about the photograph, the contrast with
Rosa’s usual image, which struck a chord with him. As well as
making him horny as hell, the photograph seemed to speak to him at
a different, less carnal, level. It seemed to say,
Look at me, I
can be something different. I am many people. Life isn’t just about
one path, one destiny.
It seemed fanciful but the image gave
him hope where he never thought to feel such a positive emotion
again.

“Can I take one?”

Laura grinned, clearly
delighted that one of her publisher’s magazines was having such an
impact on the attractive writer.

“Sure, they only arrived from
the printers today, I have stacks. Do you actually want the
magazine or just the picture of Rosa? I have some loose covers here
that Rosa has signed. Saul thought it might make good promotional
material. You can have one, if you like, seeing as you’re such a
fan.”

She gave him an arch look that,
together with her slight sarcasm, was entirely lost on him. Smiling
affectionately at his distracted face she popped a picture of Rosa
into an envelope and held it out to him.

“Here you go. You’d better tear
yourself away now and head up, otherwise Saul will have you
whipped. He hates tardiness.”

Bile rose up Marcio’s throat as
he remembered he was meant to be meeting the editor to discuss the
assignment.

“Christ, thanks Laura. I need
this job.”

“Why so desperate, I thought
you were fairly relaxed about your freelance work?”

Marcio wondered how it was that
receptionists seemed to know way too much about everything. “I’ve
got a wedding to pay for,” he flung out through gritted teeth.

Before she could ask what he
meant Marcio had disappeared into the stairwell, not wanting to
risk waiting for the lift.

“Are you really sure you want
this assignment, Marcio?”

Saul looked troubled. Marcio
was a gifted freelancer, not a jobbing writer. He had certainly
never shown an interest in writing a regular feature before. Saul
was glad to have him of course. Talented writers, whatever their
disposition, were an asset to any magazine.

“Without question. Do you think
I can’t do it? I can write about food and hotels as well as the
next man.”

“Probably better,” Saul agreed,
“but it’s not really your style. I thought you preferred work with
more scope for your creative flair?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”
Marcio shrugged, not wanting to get into it. He already regretted
his hasty words to Laura and hoped she would show uncharacteristic
discretion.

Saul sensed Marcio’s reticence
and let it go. He was gaining a talented writer; it wasn’t his
place to discover the man’s motivation.

“We’ll, if you’re sure, we’ll
start you on a three-month trial. You’ll get a flat fee per review,
plus any expenses. I assume you’re okay to travel?”

“Of course.”

“No commitments?” Saul realised
he was fishing again and busied himself with some papers.

“No commitments,” Marcio
confirmed flatly.

Saul had to be satisfied with
that.

“Right. Great. Well, first off,
there’s a new hotel opening in Bath. We’d like a review of the
accommodation, food, that kind of thing. Feel free to have a look
around other restaurants and things while you’re there. We put
stuff on file and we’ll pay you if we use it.”

Marcio took a deep breath and
tried to shake off the feeling that he’d just sold his soul to the
devil. He forced a smile as he stood and gathered his things.

“Welcome aboard.” Saul also
rose and held out his hand.

Marcio took the proffered
handshake and said nothing.

Chapter
Twelve

“A parcel arrived for you. It’s
been redirected from your mum’s I think.”

Dawn gestured at the sideboard
as Helen came cautiously into the kitchen. Although she’d been at
Dawn’s for nearly a week, she still couldn’t quite feel at home.
Never mind doing her utmost to avoid Terrance.

“Thanks. Sorry, I didn’t think
she’d send stuff here.” She noticed with embarrassment that there
was a large parcel sat between the china cat and the fruit
bowl.

“It’s fine. The kids get stuff
sent here all the time. Harry and Adam both still use this as their
main address.”

She looked up from the morning
papers. “You look peaky, bad night? There are some croissants if
you can manage them? Or soda bread?”

Gingerly taking a seat at the
table, as if sudden movements might cause her to start retching
again, Helen paled at the thought of eating anything. She wasn’t
ready to see it re-emerge, not after an hour already in the
en-suite.

“Oh you are bad this morning,
poor mite. It’ll pass in a week or two, just hang in there. How
about a cup of Earl Grey and some hobnobs? I seem to remember they
were the only thing Florence could eat first thing.”

Helen began to nod, thought
better of it, and managed a small thumbs-up. It was hard enough
having morning sickness without having to share it with a stranger.
Not that Dawn felt like a stranger any more. The two women had
shared much about themselves over dinner, as they’d eaten quietly
on the patio every evening. It seemed John was away a lot, almost
as much as when he had been in the Navy. Although used to his
absences, Dawn clearly found it lonely without her children at
home. She seemed genuinely glad to have Helen’s company. Helen
wondered why she didn’t get a lodger.

The tea and biscuits revived
her enough to be interested in the parcel. Part of her feared it
was from Daniel, that he’d found more of her things to dispose of.
It seemed unlikely, but it was with a certain amount of trepidation
that Helen eventually slit the tape on the box and opened it.

As she saw the contents her
mouth dropped and her face paled even more. From her vantage point
near the kettle Dawn observed Helen’s reaction and wondered whether
to offer assistance. She was trying not to intrude on the poor
child’s space but Helen could so easily have been one of her
daughters it was hard not to help.

Eventually she ventured a
gentle, “Helen, is everything okay?”

“Holy crap!”

Concerned now, Dawn came back
over to the dining table. As she came close she saw what Helen was
looking at.

“Goodness. Helen, that’s
amazing. May I?”

Helen nodded and continued to
stare as Dawn took one of the magazines out of the box so they
could both see the full glory of Rosa’s picture.

“She looks like she’s trying to
seduce a saint. Gracious me, that’s some photo. It looks more
powerful actually on the cover, compared with the computer screen,
doesn’t it?”

All Helen could do was nod.
That was her photograph.
Hers
. On a glossy magazine.

It’s probably already on the
shelves. I hadn’t even thought, but of course it would be.
Magazines always come out weeks before the actual month of issue.
My photo, on a magazine on a shelf. In a shop.

She wanted to run out the door
to the nearest newsagents, to see for herself. All thoughts of
Daniel, all feelings of nausea, were forgotten in the exhilaration
of seeing her image in glorious Technicolor.

“What next?” Dawn asked
quietly. She was aware of some of what was going through Helen’s
mind and was glad the girl had this distraction. They’d talked
about Helen’s need to find work, to generate enough income to
support herself and the baby, but she knew Helen lacked the
confidence to search for freelance work. With this in her portfolio
that search would be slightly easier.

Helen looked up questioningly
at Dawn, tearing her eyes away from Rosa’s.

“Do you see now? You are
talented. You can be a freelance photographer. You just need to get
out there and sell yourself. This can be your calling card.”

“I don’t even know what kind of
photography I want to do.” Helen was aware of the whine in her
voice and didn’t like it.

“I should think you can do
whatever you turn your mind to, my dear. Besides, Derek will help
you. Goodness knows he wittered on enough in our lessons about how
to sell ourselves. As if an old biddy like me is going to make a
living from photography.”

“But you…” she cut across
Helen’s protests, “
you
, have a talent. And a need to make it
pay. So get out there girl and
make
it pay.”

Looking at the fierceness in
Dawn’s face, Helen was suddenly daunted. Dawn was usually so mild.
She wondered if Dawn was tired of having her moping around the
house. She was about to apologise for being a nuisance when
something clicked in her mind, as if she had suddenly gained access
to Dawn’s true intentions. This was Dawn’s
Mother
face.
Being a mother was obviously about more than putting plasters on
grazed knees and soothing away nightmares. It was also about
knowing when to be hard, knowing when to push and when to pause.
Her own mother had opted to give her children space to find their
own way but she, too, would be the first to be fierce when the
occasion demanded.

So, rather than protesting or
feeling defensive, Helen decided to take Dawn’s advice. Back in her
room after breakfast, she fired up her laptop and dug out the notes
Derek had given them on how to approach freelance work. It was good
to have a purpose again.

Chapter
Thirteen

“Ms Morley? You can come through
now.”

Helen swallowed, wiping her
sweaty palms on her trousers. Looking around the room she caught
sight of a woman smiling encouragingly at her. The woman was
resting a book on her enormous bump and the sight made Helen feel
warm.

“Helen? Come on, it’s your
turn.”

Maggie tapped Helen’s knee and
nodded at the uniformed woman who had summoned them and was now
disappearing down a corridor.

“Oh, Mum, I’m not sure I can do
this.”

“It’s just a scan darling, to
make sure everything is okay. You’re lucky; we didn’t have them in
our day. We just crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.”

Helen followed her mother down
the corridor. “What if everything isn’t okay?”

“Then we’ll know now rather
than in six months’ time. Forewarned is forearmed darling, now do
come along.”

Helen smiled at her mother’s
impatience. She knew her mother was keen to see her first
grandchild and didn’t share the horrid dread that had kept Helen
awake half the night.

They were taken into a small
dimly lit room with a bed and a monitor. The midwife gestured for
Helen to lie on the bed and asked her to roll up her t-shirt.

“I just need to apply some gel.
It might be a bit cold.”

“That’s okay, it’s baking
outside.” Helen tried to hide her nervousness.

“Just relax. We’ll see little
one in a minute.”

The midwife spread
freezing-cold gel across Helen’s slightly rounded stomach, then
took a handheld gadget and moved it in steady sweeps across her
skin. She wasn’t looking at Helen but at the monitor, which was
turned away from Helen and her mother. Obviously if it was bad news
the woman wanted to be able to break it gently.

The midwife was silent as she
studied the monitor. A small crease appeared between her brows.

“Is everything okay?” This time
it was Maggie who sounded nervous.

The midwife didn’t respond
immediately and Maggie was about to repeat her question when the
midwife turned and smiled, releasing the tension that had built
around her silence.

“Everything is more than fine.
Two lovely strong heart beats.”

“Two?” Helen’s stomach dropped
like an out-of-control rollercoaster.

“Twins,” the midwife confirmed.
“It’s too early to say what gender, but definitely two.”

She swung the monitor around
and swept her gadget across Helen’s stomach again. As they all
watched the screen, white lines appeared out of the blackness. At
first Helen couldn’t make any sense of them. Then a head appeared
and a spine. As the gadget ran down the side of her stomach another
spine appeared.

The midwife began clicking with
her mouse, taking various measurements on screen. She talked as she
worked, explaining that she was measuring the size of the heads,
the length of the spines, looking for abnormalities.

“It’s harder to tell with
twins, as they’re all jumbled together. You’ll be able to see
better at your twenty-week scan. Your midwife will tell you all the
details. Would you like a copy of the picture?”