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With a splutter of laughter, he climbed onto the bed beside her, held her in his arms. ‘You aren’t allowed to die,’ he said softly.
Opening her eyes, she stared at him. ‘Non?’ ‘Non.’
‘Well, if the ambulance doesn’t get here soon, or the doctor—’ Stiffening, she clutched at him, held her breath.
‘Pant.’
‘I don’t want to pant,’ she gasped. ‘Oh, boy, I need to push.’
‘Non, he denied worriedly.
‘Yes. Oh, God. Get some towels.’
‘Towels?’
‘Yes! Vite! Oh, Sébastien, quickly.’
Alarmed, he rolled to his feet, sprinted into the other room, grabbed a pile of towels and hurried back. He hovered, gave a ridiculous smile, asked foolishly, ‘What do I do with them?’
‘Oh, Sébastien!’ she exclaimed on a weak laugh. ‘Put them under me.’
‘Right. Put them under you. Be calm,’ he instructed himself. ‘Be calm.’ Gently raising her, he put several towels beneath her, closed his eyes, took a deep breath and smiled. A bit quirky, a bit lopsided, but a smile. ‘I’m all right now.’
‘Good.’
‘I must deliver it, yes?’
‘Yes.’
‘Right’
‘Everything will be fine,’ she gasped.
‘Oui. And I remind myself that we like to do things differently. How fortunate I read the books.’ He gave a shaky grin, then kissed her. ‘Raise your knees.’
She raised them, eyes fixed trustingly on her husband.
Walking to the other end of the bed, he took another deep breath, and rested both hands heavily on the counterpane. ‘Mon Dieu!’ he exclaimed weakly. ‘I can see the head.’
‘Is that good?’
‘Certainly,’ he said with more confidence than he was feeling. ‘Now you must push. It will be all right, my darling.’
‘I know,’ she whispered. She gave him a shaky smile, gasped on another sudden pain, and he smiled, tried to sound confident. But there was anxiety in his eyes as there was in her own. A slight shake to his voice. ‘That’s fine; keep pushing. Gently, gently...’
Oh, God. ‘It hurts.’
‘I know.’
Gripping the bed-head with hands that trembled, she waited for the next pain, then pushed and, astonishingly, felt the head emerge.
Eyes wide, they stared at each other.
‘Oh, mon dieu!’ Gently supporting the head with his large hands, he instructed anxiously, ‘One more.’
She pushed, and the baby slid out with no trouble at all.
‘It’s a baby,’ he whispered in awe.
Supporting herself on her elbows, she peered down, gave a shaken laugh. ‘What were you expecting? And is it all right?’ she queried worriedly. ‘Shouldn’t it be crying or something?’
‘Not if you’re lucky,’ a dry voice said from the doorway. ‘And I suggest you wrap him up instead of marvelling at the commonplace.’
‘Commonplace to you,’ Sébastien said in soft awe. ‘Not commonplace to me. I’m shaking.’ Gently wrapping the baby in a towel, he halted, glanced at the doctor. ‘The cord?’
‘I will deal with the cord,’ he said wryly. ‘How are you, madame?’ he asked as he deftly dealt with it and handed the baby to Sébastien.
‘Fine,’ Gellis said weakly.
‘Bien. Another push, if you please, for the afterbirth.’
Gellis obliged, and glanced at her husband as he cradled their new-born child in his arms. He looked—amazed. He glanced up, gave her an uncertain smile. ‘I can’t believe I did that.’
‘I can,’ she said softly as she held out her arms, gave him a smile that was soft with love. ‘What is it? Boy or girl?’ And he gave a comical blink.
‘I forgot to look,’ he murmured sheepishly. Lifting the towel, he smiled. ‘A boy. Oh, Gellis, we have a son. So perfect,’ he added almost reverently as he gently handed him over. Perching on the edge of the bed, he put his arm round her, lingeringly kissed her temple. ‘I was frightened to death.’
‘I was a bit nervous myself,’ she confessed.
‘Don’t get comfortable,’ the doctor warned Sébastien. ‘I need you to get some hot water, and then to ring the nurse.’ Dragging a piece of paper from his crumpled jacket, he handed it over. ‘Tell her to get her pretty little derrière over here tout de suite.’
And when Gellis had been cleaned up, the baby checked and washed, she stared down at the little miracle in her arms and gave a contented sigh. ‘He looks like you, don’t you think?’ she asked Sébastien softly as he came to sit beside her once more.
‘Gellis! He looks like a—’
‘Don’t say it,’ she warned.
‘But he does!’
‘He has your nose,’ she said decisively.
He smiled, glanced at the doctor. ‘The nurse will accompany us to the hospital? When the ambulance gets here,’ he added pointedly.
‘Hospital?’ the doctor asked blankly. ‘Why would you want to go to the hospital?’
‘Because we’ve just had a baby?’
‘A quite natural event, I assure you; women do it every day.’
‘Not this woman!’ Gellis said fervently.
‘True.’ Closing his bag with a snap, the doctor looked at her, smiled. ‘And I could have wished you had not done it at four o’clock in the morning. However, an easy birth,’ he informed her. ‘No complications, no stitches, no tears. Do you want to go to the hospital?’
A bit bemused, she shook her head.
‘Then I’ll cancel the ambulance. And I’m quite sure that monsieur is capable of changing the bedding, doing all that needs to be done. Congratulations,’ he added belatedly, then grinned. ‘I will forgo the customary drink until a more reasonable time. I’m going back to my bed. The baby will do very well until the nurse arrives. Don’t fiddle with him! Goodnight.’
Fiddle with him? A bit nonplussed, they stared at each other and burst out laughing. The baby gave a start, a little cry, and went back to sleep. Gazing down at him in wonder, neither of them really believing it, Sébastien gently touched the baby’s cheek. ‘I’m glad the ambulance was late,’ he said softly. ‘A special moment. I want to go and tell the world.’
‘Start with my parents.’
‘Oui,’ he smiled, but he didn’t immediately move.
She didn’t know how long they sat there, just staring at their baby, but it seemed a long time, until Sébastien stirred, gave a rueful smile. ‘Monsieur had better change the bedding.’
‘Yes.’ Reaching out her hand, smiling up at him with as much love and wonder in her face as his, she murmured gently, ‘You were brilliant. Thank you. If you hadn’t been here...’
Squeezing her fingers, then raising them to his mouth, he answered huskily, ‘I will always be here. Thank you for our son. And now I will go and get the Moses basket, blankets, nappies...’ With a laugh, a little shake of his head, he said wryly, ‘And so it begins. A new life. Don’t stop loving me, will you?’
Eyes filmed with tears, she shook her head.
‘Bien.’ Dropping a warm, lingering kiss on her mouth, he went to get all the necessary bits and pieces, and, when the nurse arrived, the baby was wrapped warmly in his cot, Gellis was asleep and Sébastien was watching her.
Don’t stop loving me...
‘Gellis,. Gellis!’
With a little start, she blinked, turned to stare at him.
“The lights are green.’
‘What?’
‘The traffic lights. They’re green.’
‘Green? Oh, green.’
Feeling stupid, she quickly set the car in motion.
‘What were you thinking about?’ he asked quietly.
‘Thinking? Oh, nothing,’ she sighed. ‘Nothing at all.’ And wanted to weep. Had it all been acting? All of it? He’d been loving, kind, tired, because the baby had kept them awake at night—and during the day—but there had only ever been the normal difficulties associated with having a new baby. He hadn’t been impatient, or irritable. Just wry.
He’d given no clue at all that he was intending to walk out on them both. Or had he not been intending to? Had it just been impulse? Because he’d had enough of domesticity? Certainly he didn’t look like a domesticated animal. Glancing at him, at that strong profile, firm mouth, she sighed.
They didn’t speak after that, but she was aware of the puzzled glances he gave her from time to time, the brooding intensity that emanated from him. And his bewilderment must be far greater than her own, mustn’t it?
As she began picking up the signs for the terminal, she asked quietly, ‘Have you seen the Shuttle? Used it?’
He shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge. Have you?’
‘Mmm, a few months, ago. I came—on holiday.’ As she had kept coming on holiday to France in the small, useless hope that one day she might see him, find out the truth. ‘It’s brilliant.’
‘Good. A new experience for me.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed helplessly. Halting at the booth, she purchased their tickets with her credit card, was advised on the times of the trains and wished a good journey.
‘Do you want anything from the duty-free shop? Or shall we go straight to the train?’
When he didn’t answer, merely frowned, she bit her lip, wondered if he actually had any money on him. ‘I can lend you some money...’ she began awkwardly. ‘I mean...’
Glancing at her, he smiled. But it wasn’t Sébastien’s smile. It wasn’t gentle, just rather mockingly amused.
‘I wasn’t a deck hand for free. I got paid.’
‘Oh.’
‘But thank you anyway. I need to change it into francs. And I’ll pay you back for the tickets when I come into my—“inheritance”.’
She nodded, drove round to the parking area beside the duty-free shops.
Queuing up for coffees, she watched him, watched other people watch him. He didn’t look like a tourist. In fact, he looked like an extra from a movie. One about mercenaries, or piracy on the high seas. People gave him a wide berth. Probably wisely. There seemed very little of the old Sébastien left. This man was bigger, tougher. Harder.
‘Yes?’
Swinging around, she quickly apologised. ‘Sorry. Two coffees, please.’
After paying for them, she carried them over to a vacant table, and continued to watch Sébastien, tried so very hard to come to terms with this unreality. She didn’t honestly know how she felt about him. In an odd sort of way, he fascinated her—perhaps because he was so very different from the man she had once known. Maybe she was still in shock.
As her mother had been—and then thoughtful, understanding. ‘Go,’ she had finally urged. ‘If you don’t, you will always wonder. Go, and be very careful.’
Yes, she would be careful.
He finished changing his money, put it carefully in his wallet and returned it to his back pocket. Looking round, he spotted her, began strolling towards her. Lithe, at ease, yet somehow alert. There was an arrogance about him, a look of indifference, dismissal, almost, of others. He looked as though he didn’t give a damn about anybody, but cross him at your peril.
In clean jeans and a grey T-shirt, he wore them with the same ease he wore everything, whether it be dinner jacket or cords. Clothes didn’t make Sébastien. Sébastien made the clothes. Or had.
‘I got you a coffee,’ she told him quietly. ‘I didn’t get anything to eat. I didn’t know if you were hungry.’
He shook his head. Still standing, he picked up his coffee, tasted it, choked and replaced it on the table. ‘How can anyone make something so good taste so bloody awful? Don’t tell me you like it.’
‘No,’ she replied with a small smile. ‘I think that has to be the worst coffee I have ever tasted in my life.’
‘For sure,’ he agreed fervently. ‘I sometimes think the English make ruining coffee into an art form.’
‘Probably. Shall we go?’
She had a moment’s fear when they drove through the British and then the French frontier controls, but their passports were merely glanced at and then returned.
