A southern star, p.18
A Southern Star, page 18
Christie bit back her disappointment as Blake stood by the car, making no move to help her after opening the door. Her mind flashed longingly back to the remembered sensation of his hands on her waist as she climbed into the car silently. Blake did not speak again for several minutes, wondering when Christie would notice, wondering whether he should say something, unable to think of another solution, bracing himself to maintain a friendly distance, a brotherly demeanour.
The feeling that had gripped him at the hospital still shocked him with its intensity. The news that Christie was ambivalent about her pregnancy, even keeping the baby, had shaken him to the core, her responses to the doctor’s words filling him with a sudden awareness of something he had never realised before.
“Blake.” Christie turned to look across at him as he turned off before a bridge she had driven over with Lisa. “This isn’t the way to Lisa’s house, is it? I thought we needed to cross the Shotover River to get back to Arrowtown?”
“You said she’s not home,” he replied briefly. “So we’re heading to my place.”
Struck dumb, Christie looked at him. “I’ll be fine at Lisa’s,” she said eventually, finding her voice. “You’ve got work.”
“My place,” Blake repeated. “Doctor’s orders.” Christie said nothing, knowing she should protest further, not torture herself with an afternoon with Blake, imagining his teasing, his warm glances, sharing his home. She sank back into the seat, telling herself she was too tired to make excuses, trying despite everything to ignore the shiver of anticipation.
“Your place then,” Christie said ungraciously.
“You can’t be well. I expected more of an argument,” Blake said, his voice casual as he watched the road.
Christie flushed, sure her feelings were obvious, painfully aware of Blake’s perceptiveness. “I just want to rest,” she snapped.
“Sounds like a good idea,” he said calmly.
Christie could see they were in the country; she was unable to stop looking at the scenery, the river that she knew twisted through the gorge, flashes of it visible every now and then. Blake turned into a tree lined driveway winding up the hillside. Christie frowned. “Is your new home close by?” she asked, remembering the location Scott had mentioned.
Blake nodded, explaining he lived in an old cottage made of the local schist stone, that he was having his new home built on the same property. Christie fell silent as the car rounded the curve of the driveway, seeing a picture perfect stone cottage and the tasteful stone and wooden house under construction to the side.
“You’ve based the design on the cottage,” Christie said before she could stop herself, appreciating the raked lines, the picture windows, the stone features. Blake watched her silently, remembering her refusal to help.
“Come into the cottage and rest,” he said tersely. Christie looked at him quickly, hurt by his words, his tone.
“Of course,” she said, acknowledging to herself Blake did not want to show her around, realising she was too tired in any case and in no state to look around a building site.
Christie climbed out of the car, suddenly overcome by weariness, walking towards the cottage. She heard the car boot close, realised Blake was carrying her bag. She stopped, suddenly uncertain.
Blake walked past her, unlocking the door, disappearing inside. Slowly, Christie followed him inside, looking around in amazement at the cosy lounge and kitchen, the polished wooden floors covered with rugs, the open fireplace. She saw a small hallway, heard Blake moving around in one of the rooms. Not knowing what to do, Christie sank into the sofa, her mind a tumult of emotion, finding the interior of the cottage cool, restful, after the unbearable heat of the day.
Christie looked around as Blake walked into the lounge. He seemed ill at ease, distant. “Do you want some lunch…to rest?” he asked. “Or TV, a magazine…” His voice trailed off as he did not look directly at her.
“If I could just rest in your spare room,” Christie said, unable to disguise the slight tremor in her voice. She couldn’t read his expression as he finally looked at her.
“Down the hall on the left,” Blake said. Christie stood up, walking past him in the small compact room, intensely conscious of his presence. She walked into the room he had indicated, stopped abruptly. Tears of anger and embarrassment filled her eyes; she took a step back. Images of the previous night filled her mind; she started trembling.
Chapter Twelve
Christie spun around as she realised Blake was standing, framed in the doorway, slouching slightly as the top of his head met the top of the door frame. “I can’t,” she said, her voice trembling dangerously. “And I won’t, I told you last night I—”
“Christie, just let me explain—”
“No,” she said furiously. “I can’t believe you thought you could bring me up here and just move me into your room.” Her voice broke with the strength of her emotion.
“I won’t mention last night then,” he retorted, his voice low, scathing. “You weren’t too worried then.”
Blake saw Christie’s face bleach white, instantly regretted his words. “Christie, listen.” She glared at him, still furious at his assumption, humiliated by his reference to the previous night. “I don’t have a spare bed. But I’ve changed the sheets. Try and relax.” His smile was humourless. “And don’t worry. I’m under no illusions about the reception I’d get if I tried to join you.”
Christie burned with shame as she realised he was only trying to help; instead, she had immediately jumped to conclusions. Blake gestured to the towels he had put on the freshly made bed, politely suggested she have a shower, try and cool down. “Thank you,” Christie murmured, unable to meet his eyes, tiredness washing over her. She shut her mind to Blake’s presence, suddenly desperate to rest in the cool peace of the bedroom. Blake left the room abruptly, saying nothing further.
Christie returned to the bedroom after a shower, feeling refreshed, calmer as she got into the bed, determined not to think about Blake. The sheets felt cool, scented lightly of soap powder. She felt a light breeze in the room, playing on her face, realised Blake had opened the window, pulled the curtains to shade the room from the harsh sun. The curtains moved slightly in the gentle breeze; Christie watched them sleepily, trying to empty her mind of the exchange with Blake just before, the words they had thrown at each other. Eventually, she turned her head into a pillow that still held a hint of masculine scent and fell asleep.
When Christie woke she sensed it was far later in the day; sleepily, she reached for her mobile to check the time. I’ve been asleep for hours, she thought, shocked to see it was early evening. She lay still for several minutes, feeling suddenly awkward at the situation, hoping Blake would drive her back to Lisa’s place. Christie was still tired but felt rested, more relaxed, knew Lisa and her family would be home in only a few hours.
The swooping anxiety about the baby was gone; the discussion with the doctor had finally made her focus, plan. The cautious optimism she had felt before her trip to Dunedin was returning; she resolved to contact her mother, confide in her, ask her to travel to Queenstown to be with her for the birth. She remembered the billboard she had seen advertising airfares from Sydney to Queenstown; she wondered where in Australia her parents would be on their trip in a few months.
I do have savings. And the contracting will start shortly after the birth… Christie’s mind ran on, making plans, thinking through options. The days with Lisa’s family had made her realise what a glorious part of New Zealand this was; she knew the house sitting would allow her to explore, to enjoy a relaxed way of life.
Christie slid out of bed, pulling on a new summer dress she had brought in Dunedin, making a face as she thought of the cost of the clothes she still had in Auckland compared to the maternity clothes she had carefully selected in Dunedin at a budget chain store, only buying the clothes for herself after making sure the baby had everything it could possibly need. Except for toys, a small voice said inside her. Christie shook her head slightly, brushing her hair, hesitating before leaving the bedroom.
Blake looked around as Christie appeared from the hallway, unable to take his eyes away from her, her long legs, the hem of a blue printed dress swirling just below her knees, skimming over the curve of her stomach, the vee of the neckline emphasising… He swallowed, noticing her clear eyes, her calm untroubled expression betraying only a hint of tiredness.
Relieved at the obvious improvement in her demeanour, Blake smiled at Christie, leaned against the kitchen bench. “Looking better,” he said, his voice low. Christie inclined her head slightly, suddenly nervous. Blake’s face was polite, impassive, but his eyes, his voice… A shiver of longing went through her; she clamped down on it instantly.
Christie was still unnerved by Blake’s failure to tell her the truth about his work, embarrassed by the assumptions she had made. The whirlwind trip to Dunedin had been exhausting as she had fought her attraction to Blake, tried to plan for her baby and deal with the reality of Paul’s complete lack of support. Blake’s reaction to her conversation with Scott, Blake’s perceptive questions contrasted with his own lack of disclosure had put Christie on her guard, made her cautious.
And then her mind kept replaying those stolen moments in Blake’s arms, his voice whispering in her ear, his hands stroking her, his bitter, cold words to her afterwards.
Now that she was here, with Blake, in his house—in his bed—Christie still felt ill at ease, unsure how to bridge the chasm between them, unsure whether it was wise to even try. She stayed silent, conscious again of the time.
“I was just thinking about dinner.” Blake’s words jolted Christie out of her thoughts; her eyes widened slightly. She knew she should tell Blake she wanted to go back to Lisa’s place; somehow, the words failed to come. Christie’s eyes moved to a supermarket bag on the bench. Blake answered her unspoken question. “While you were with the doctor.” Christie stepped from the doorway into the kitchen, stopped, suddenly uncertain.
“Doctor’s orders,” he reminded her. The warmth in his eyes made her throat constrict, she swallowed, looked away, steeling herself to ask Blake to drive her back to Lisa’s, knowing she could not stay here. Christie heard the distant ring of her mobile phone, fled from the kitchen with a muttered excuse, snatching the phone from the bedside table.
Lisa’s voice came over the phone, clearly concerned, despite the poor reception. Christie sank onto the bed, interrupting, assuring Lisa she was all right, that there was no problem with the baby. Trying to alleviate Lisa’s concern, Christie told her about Blake taking her to the hospital, him asking questions, her own embarrassment. She could hear the smile in Lisa’s voice, becoming serious as Lisa asked Christie where she was now.
“At Blake’s,” Christie said, suddenly remembering what she had thought about a relationship between Blake and Lisa.
“Promising,” joked Lisa, making Christie flinch. “What a shame I’m at the wedding with Mum and Dad. You’ll have to stay.”
“I’m about to ask Blake to take me back to your place,” Christie said, defensive without knowing why.
“Why?’ Lisa’s astonishment was plain, laced with a thread of anger.
“Because I…” Christie fell silent, feeling suddenly awkward.
Lisa’s voice became cold. “Christie, think. The doctor said you should have someone with you. Explain to me why you seem hell bent on returning to an empty house?” Christie tried again, only to be interrupted by Lisa. “If you want to tie yourself to the past, go ahead. Just be up front with Blake. From what you’re saying, it sounds like he cancelled an important meeting to take you to the doctor, look after you, and is now cooking you dinner.”
“What meeting?” Christie asked faintly, realising Blake had been telling the truth when he mentioned his work commitments to Scott’s parents.
“Ask him,” Lisa said bluntly. “And don’t tell me he’s just being polite.”
“What’s it to you?” Christie asked, stung into replying.
“Nothing.” Lisa’s voice was almost weary. “Forget I said anything, Christie. I just rang to see how you were. Blake left a message. But for the baby’s sake, please stay at Blake’s place tonight. Don’t take chances. Not with the baby’s health anyway.” The smile was back in Lisa’s voice; she refused to explain her outburst further to Christie, said she wanted to get back to the wedding reception, hung up.
Christie shook her head, taken aback by Lisa’s words, acknowledging to herself she would be better off staying at Blake’s cottage overnight, telling herself it was for the baby’s sake. Just as she pushed herself off the bed to return to the kitchen her phone rang again; thinking it was Lisa ringing back she answered immediately with a friendly greeting, not looking at the screen, wanting to discuss what had been said.
Christie fell silent as Paul spoke; his words cold, arrogant, telling her not to contact him again, emphasising he had not wanted her to have the baby. “If you can’t sort out your birth control, don’t make it my problem, Christie.” Christie gasped with shock at his words, sudden clarity almost blinding her as she acknowledged Paul’s selfish, chauvinistic nature, his complete avoidance of responsibility.
Her voice was like ice as she cut through his tirade. “I have contacted you twice. Once to tell you I was pregnant, once to ask for a contribution for gear. And all you can do is blame me, tell me it’s not your child, tell me to get an abortion. Maybe the baby’s better off without you. I know I am.” Christie threw the phone on the bed, furious, shaking with emotion. Her hand crept to her stomach, unconsciously cradling the baby.
She turned, suddenly wanting to be out in the kitchen, be near Blake, feeling polluted by Paul’s views and attitude. Christie tensed with shock as she realised Blake was watching her from the doorway; she wondered what he had overheard.
“Paul,” Blake said his name matter-of-factly, calmly. Christie nodded, averted her eyes. “I didn’t realise,” he said, pausing as he thought back to what he had overheard, what Christie had said to the doctor. “I didn’t realise Paul wouldn’t support you at all.”
Christie looked at him, noticing he seemed extremely uncomfortable, his eyes shadowed. “Is that a polite way of referring to abortion?” Christie said bluntly as Blake looked away. “You said it yourself,” she continued. “I’m better off out of it. The whole thing was a big shock for me.” She paused, faltering. “To start with. You thought it was someone from the island. And then Paul didn’t believe the baby was his. When he was the one having the affair.” Christie shook her head, pleased she had gained enough distance from the whole thing to be able to talk normally to Blake.
“You told me before you told Paul.” Instantly, Blake regretted what he had said.
“And neither one of you trusted me,” Christie said without rancour. The unease Blake had felt ever since his intemperate comments to Christie when she had told him of her
pregnancy intensified as he listened to her now, realising how much his accusation had hurt her. Her comparison of him to Paul stung, embarrassing him. Christie watched Blake, unaware of his thoughts, not realising the impact her comments had had on him. “But thank you for everything today, Blake,” she said sincerely. “Lisa rang, mentioned you had to cancel a meeting?” He shrugged, told her it was no problem. “What meeting was it?” She pressed him for details.
“Just a routine sales meeting,” he lied.
Her eyes narrowed; she was silent a moment. “Blake, I’ve been thinking about tonight.”
He tensed, knowing she would want to go back to Lisa’s place. “Christie,” he interrupted before she could continue. “Of course I know I can’t make you stay here tonight. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.” He paused, his eyes intent on her. Christie opened her mouth to speak, crushed by his words, his reasonable, fraternal tone. “But I just think you should take the doctor’s advice, at least for tonight. I’ve got enough steak for both of us. If you want to go back to Lisa’s later, just let me know.” Blake paused again, gestured to the bed, his face impassive. “And if you decide to stay, I’ll take the couch.”
Christie took a deep breath, both reassured and disappointed at Blake’s platonic, relaxed attitude. Maybe I imagined the look in his eyes when I woke up, she told herself firmly. And it does make sense to stay in case there’s a problem with the baby.
“I would appreciate being able to stay, thanks, Blake.” Christie said politely. “If it’s not too much hassle for you.” Determined to match his platonic tone, fighting the mental image of the night before, she gave him a tentative smile. “I’ll just eat your food and kick you out of your own bed. No hassle at all.” Blake smiled back at her, relieved he had successfully persuaded her to stay, still thinking about what he had overheard from her conversation with Paul.
Christie moved towards the doorway, wanting to leave the bedroom, go out into the living area. Standing, talking to Blake in his bedroom only intensified the mental image of his embrace the night before, bringing a slight flush to her face. Blake moved back out of the doorway immediately, standing back as Christie brushed past him in the narrow hallway, following her into the kitchen, watching the hem of the dress move around her legs, imagining reaching for her as she walked slightly ahead of him.
He had noticed, of course, that Christie never mentioned the baby’s father and that clearly he was not around for her pregnancy. But he had not realised until today that Paul’s attitude was so opposed to the child, that he had wanted her to have an abortion, was providing her with no support whatsoever. Now here she was, in his own home, after showing him the friend card throughout the day, only allowing him in the consulting room after the doctor suggested it, refusing to help him with his new home.
