The second wives club, p.22
The Second Wives Club, page 22
“I know.” He nodded. “And I can’t wait to tell her when she wakes up.”
natural-born bastard
Luca took a large bite of almond croissant and chased it with a swallow of cappuccino. It was a weekday, but the breakfast table was laid out with all the care of a lazy Sunday morning, with freshly squeezed orange juice in a glass jug and his favorite newspaper, the Financial Times, carefully folded and placed to one side.
“This is very nice,” he mumbled through a mouthful. “What’s the occasion?”
“Nothing in particular. It’s just nice to still have you here at…,” Alison glanced at the kitchen clock, “…nine o’clock. You’re normally long gone by now.”
“I know. But as long as I make the ten-thirty train, I can get to that meeting in Reading by one o’clock. It seemed stupid to go all the way into the office first.”
Alison looked up at the skylight and noted that the morning clouds were starting to spit with rain. “I can drive you to the station if you like,” she offered. She was desperate to keep him in a good mood for the conversation she was about to instigate.
“Thanks.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand. “You make my life so much easier, do you know that?”
“We aim to please.” She smiled and poured him some more juice. Her chest felt tight with apprehension. She knew she was running out of valuable time…that all too soon he’d be in “work mode,” heading off to his meeting, his mind on business matters rather than personal ones. She felt like a high diver, about to hold her nose and jump off. “By the way…,” she tried to keep her tone as casual as possible, “…as long as you have a little extra time, I need to talk to you about something…something very important to me and, I hope, to you.”
“Oh?” He was reading the front page and sounded distracted.
“It’s about having a baby.”
Now she had his full attention. He turned and smiled broadly. “You’re pregnant!”
Her spirits sank, and she was immediately annoyed with herself for starting the conversation in a way that could be misinterpreted. Now she was going to have to disappoint him. “No, sadly, I’m not. But I’d like to be.”
His expression clouded slightly. She was unsure whether it was through disappointment or dread because he knew what was coming next. But he recovered well. “It’ll happen, cara mia. It’s early days.”
“Well, that’s the thing,” she ventured, determined not to lose her nerve or momentum in getting her message across. “It isn’t early days.”
He looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”
She let out a long sigh. “The truth is that I haven’t used contraception since we first started sleeping together. So it’s not early days at all, I’m afraid. You see, when I was young, I was diagnosed with polycystic ovaries—”
He held up his hand, baffled by a medical term outside his command of the English language. “Wait a minute. You were diagnosed with what?”
“Polycystic ovaries. Basically, it’s a condition that means it’s harder for me to get pregnant.”
“I see.” He looked troubled. “So why didn’t you tell me this before we got married?”
Alison was taken aback by the question, and she frowned and recoiled slightly. “Does it matter?”
He looked at her, astonished. “Well, if it means you can’t have children naturally, then yes, I would say it matters very much. A husband and wife need to know everything about each other, there must be no secrets.”
Alison winced inwardly, thinking about her secret nose job and all the hidden photographs from her childhood that told the true story. God forbid that Luca should ever find out about it.
“I didn’t deliberately keep it a secret,” she countered, worried that he was accusing her of tricking him. “You can get pregnant naturally, and many people with the condition do, and to be honest, I thought I’d be one of them. So it didn’t seem important to mention it.”
“I see.” His eyes had hardened. “So what are you saying—that it now seems you are one of those who needs extra help?”
She nodded silently, waiting for his reaction.
“And how do you know that? Is it just guesswork or has someone told you?”
“A bit of both really. My gut instinct told me I should see a specialist, which I did, and he says I may need help to conceive.”
“So, first a medical condition you don’t tell me about, now a visit to a specialist behind my back too.” He was silent for what felt like an interminable amount of time, staring at his empty plate. Then he looked up at her. “What level of help?”
His face remained impassive, but Alison felt an overwhelming sense of relief that he was even expressing an interest in understanding the situation. Perhaps everything was going to be all right after all. “I’m not sure yet. I’ve had some preliminary tests and am getting the results this afternoon.” She paused a moment, composing herself for the next bit, trying to make sure she sounded as matter-of-fact as possible. “And they’ll probably need a sample of your sperm too.”
In a voice that was ominously low and measured, he said, “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with my sperm.”
“I know, I know,” she quickly reassured him. “I told the doctor that, but he said he still needed it.”
Luca’s mouth had set into a firm line, and a small twitch was visible in his left cheek. “Did you tell him that I have two strong and healthy boys?”
“Yes, I did, but he said that sometimes things change.”
Luca stood up quickly, his chair making a sharp scraping noise on the wood floor. Alison jumped slightly.
“No, they don’t,” he said stiffly. “They don’t change at all. As I said, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with my sperm.”
“Of course there isn’t, darling,” she placated. “The problem is all mine, I know that.”
“Then you won’t need my sample, will you?” he said with finality, grabbing the newspaper from the table and walking toward the kitchen door. “Now I have to go. I don’t want to miss the train.”
Alison rose from her chair and reached for her car keys, her mind racing with how she could try to change his mind during the short drive to the station.
“I thought you wanted us to have a child as much as I do,” she said as they pulled away from the curb outside the house.
“I do.” He didn’t look at her, only stared straight ahead.
“Well, when they have identified my problem…,” again, she was careful to place all blame on herself, “…it might be something where I won’t stand a chance of getting pregnant unless you are prepared to give a sperm sample. Like, you know, IVF or something.”
He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, and she wondered if he was going to ignore her for the rest of the journey. But then he took a deep breath.
“I do want us to have a child together, but not like this, with doctors poking and prodding us,” he said with an expression of deep distaste. “Creating a new life should be natural, not scientific.”
“The pregnancy will be natural.” She was painfully aware that her tone was starting to sound pleading. “I’ll still carry the baby and be eating for two and all that. It’s just that I might need a bit of help to conceive, that’s all. And then we’ll have our wonderful child.” She took her eyes away from the road briefly to look at him for reassurance, but it wasn’t forthcoming.
“I don’t know.” He shook his head slowly. “I think we should carry on trying to have a baby naturally for at least another year.”
Another year. While it no doubt seemed the easiest thing in the world for him, Alison knew that at the age of thirty-six, she didn’t have time to wait around on the off chance that she might…and it was a very large “might”…fall pregnant. Her frustration erupted on the surface.
“For God’s sake, Luca, what difference does it make whether the baby is conceived in a four-poster bed, on a beach, or in a bloody test tube? It will still be our child biologically, I’ll still carry it and give birth to it, and we’ll still bring it up together.”
“It makes a difference to me,” he said quietly. “A big difference.”
“But why?” she pleaded. “After all, I know you love me, so why on earth wouldn’t you want me to have our baby in whichever way we can?”
The station was in sight now, just beyond the set of traffic lights they were edging their way across. Alison turned into the parking lot and pulled up outside within yards of the ticket booth, leaving the engine idling.
“Why, Luca?” she asked again.
He opened the door and placed one foot on the ground, then turned to face her. “Because I can’t guarantee that I would feel the same way about a child created by doctors as I would about my two boys created by love in a natural way.”
If someone had plunged a knife straight into Alison’s heart, she couldn’t have felt any greater pain than she did right then. “You bastard,” she whispered through the veil of tears that had filled her eyes. “That was a really cheap shot.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.” He shrugged. “You asked me a question, and I gave you an honest answer. That’s all.” He got out of the car and slammed the door. “Thanks for the lift,” he added through the open window. “See you tonight.”
She jammed the gear shift into reverse and angrily revved the engine, making it clear to everyone in the vicinity that she was less than pleased. She backed out of the parking lot and, after turning the corner so she was out of sight, pulled over to the side of a quiet residential street, where she sat sobbing with her forehead pressed against the steering wheel.
Coming to terms with the reality that she might be unable to conceive naturally was hard enough, but her tears were less on account of her physical misfortune and more from the frustration and anger at finding herself married to a man who made her feel less of a woman because of it.
Well, I think it’s good news.” The doctor gave her a half-smile and then went back to studying the test results in front of him.
“Great!” Alison managed to smile back despite the dull ache in her chest that had been there ever since that morning’s conversation with Luca.
“It seems you might have a problem with your fallopian tubes, in that they appear to be stuck beneath your ovaries.”
“That’s good news?” Her brow furrowed with concern.
“Yes, because it can probably be fixed with a minor operation.” He looked up at her. “It’s much better to know what’s wrong so it can be put right. Quite often, the women who have the greatest trouble conceiving are those for whom we simply cannot detect what the problem is.”
“I see.” Alison knew she was supposed to feel reassured by this, but she was still uncertain. “So what happens next?”
“A laparoscopy just to confirm that the problem is what I think it is, and then, assuming that’s the case, a simple surgical procedure to free your tubes.”
“And after that I might have a chance of conceiving naturally?”
“If the tubes turn out to be healthy, yes. I’ll be able to examine them further when I operate,” he said, as if discussing something as simple as an oil change. “But we’re also going to put you on a course of hormones to help you ovulate properly.”
Alison digested what he’d said for a few moments. “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Fingers crossed, it won’t be.” He flicked through her chart. “Now, what’s happened to your husband’s sperm sample?”
“Um…” Alison felt and looked uncomfortable. “You don’t need it now, do you?” “It’s still worth doing, just to be sure that it’s not contributing to your problems conceiving. We should still cover all the bases.” He looked at her curiously. “Mrs. Rossi, does your husband even know you’re here?”
She nodded miserably, unable to control the tears welling in the corners of her eyes. Her chest felt as tight as a trampoline. “Yes, he does. But he won’t give a sperm sample.”
The doctor leaned forward, his expression one of concern. He held out a box of tissues. “Why not? Am I to assume he doesn’t share your enthusiasm to have a child?”
She shook her head and took a tissue, blowing her nose loudly. “No, it’s not that. He’s as keen to have a baby as I am, but he thinks it should be conceived naturally.”
“I see.”
“Silly, isn’t it?” she said with a false laugh. “A grown man thinking like that.”
He nodded. “Silly, perhaps, but not uncommon, I’m afraid. I get a lot of reluctant men through these doors, dragged here by their girlfriends or wives.”
Alison stopped dabbing her eyes with the tissue. “Really?”
“Yes. They see any level of medical help as a threat to their masculinity.”
She had already concluded that this was likely the reason for Luca’s blanket refusal to give a sample, but it helped to hear that he wasn’t the only overly macho fool on the planet.
“So how are they eventually persuaded to come along?” she asked.
The doctor smiled. “Usually the woman has got hold of him by the ear…or somewhere even more painful…and pulled him in here. That, or she’s managed to convince him that if he really loves her, he’ll give her what she wants.”
Alison was pretty certain the former option would never work with her hotheaded Italian husband, though the latter option was certainly food for thought.
“But from what you’ve said, it sounds like I may not have to resort to persuasion after all?” she ventured aloud. “Because if this operation is a success and I do the hormone therapy, there’s a strong chance I will conceive in the normal way?” She felt queasy with apprehension, awaiting his answer.
“I don’t know about a strong chance, but there’s certainly a better chance than if you don’t go ahead and have the treatment,” he replied.
“In that case, let’s do it,” Alison said. “And I’ll worry about my pigheaded idiot of a husband another time.”
ooh-la-la—aaaarrrrgh
Standing back to admire her handiwork, Julia smiled to herself.
The hallway was covered in darkness, except for a small, scented candle flickering on each stair leading up toward the bedroom. She had been worried it might appear eerie, but the end result was exactly what she was looking for—mysterious and romantic.
James was due back at any time, having been away for the past week on a business trip to New York, and Julia wanted to show how much she’d missed him. So she planned to do it the way she expressed most of her emotions…through sex.
Stepping carefully past the trail of candles, she walked up into the bedroom and flicked on the lights. The bed looked pristine and inviting, with its newly laundered white bed linen and plumped-up pillows. Julia had scattered pink rose petals across it for extra effect.
She started to light yet more candles, positioning them along the mantelpiece above the fireplace and on the small tables on either side of the bed. Picking up a remote control, she aimed it toward the wooden cabinet at the foot of the bed, from which was protruding a plasma TV screen. In James’s absence, she’d retired to bed early the night before and watched two Brad Pitt movies back to back.
As she pressed the close button, the TV made a whirring noise and disappeared from view into the chest. She didn’t want any distractions tonight.
Opening the table on her side of the bed, she knelt down in front of a small, concealed CD system and inserted Morcheeba’s “Who Can You Trust.” Otherwise known as great, sensuous shagging music, she thought with a wry smile.
Padding barefoot across to the vast closets lining the far wall, she opened one door and stooped down, peering all the way into the back. Turning her head sideways, she reached in and fumbled around until her hand felt the black plastic bin liner she was searching for. Her bag of tricks.
Tipping the contents onto the bed, she contemplated the selection of outfits laid before her. Nurse perhaps? No, wore that one a couple of weeks ago. What about the dominatrix? No, she’d only tried that on James once, and he hadn’t seemed as keen as other boyfriends in the past. In which case, it was the trusty old French maid.
Stuffing the other clothes and accessories back into the bag, she dropped her robe to the floor and pulled on a black thong. Next came the black corset and miniskirt, followed by the frilly white apron. She tried the small mob cap but, deciding it looked too goofy, put it back in the bag with the other rejects.
Lastly, she carefully eased on the black fishnet stockings and squeezed her feet into six-inch, black stiletto heels.
Standing back, she glanced in the mirror. The stockings and heels accentuated her long legs, and the corset showed off her breasts to great effect. Julia liked what she saw. To her, the definition of modesty was the art of encouraging others to realize how wonderful she was.
“Oooooh, monsieur, tu es trop grand!” She pouted.
Teetering across to the door, she flicked the lights off just in time to hear a cab pulling up outside and James saying thank you to the driver. She lay on the bed and waited.
Well, that was quite some homecoming!” James smiled forty-five minutes later, picking a rose petal off his bare chest and throwing it onto the floor.
“We aim to please.” Julia, naked except for her stockings and high heels, was still straddling him, her hair cascading messily but sexily over her shoulders.
“I haven’t seen the French maid’s outfit in a while. I’d forgotten what a turn-on it was.” He grinned, idly playing with one of her nipples.
“It was that or the nurse, and if I remember rightly, Doctor, it was only a couple of weeks ago that you sent my temperature sky-high,” she teased.
“Then I’ll just have to take you shopping for some more. I find uniforms so sexy, though I draw the line at traffic wardens.”
Julia laughed, straightened her back, and started to slowly rock backward and forward, her inner thighs brushing his penis.
He closed his eyes. “Mmmm, that’s lovely.”
