Chapter Twenty-One

Oliver drummed the cover of his small leather notebook, intensely aware that he had made no entry for several weeks. Was Helena pregnant? He glanced at the inter-connecting door as he had so many times on previous nights. If she was, he must take care not to endanger his possible heir; if not …

As their stay in Florence lengthened, impatience and frustration won. Helena, her hair loose against the snowy white pillow, was reading but laid down her book as Oliver crossed to an ornate gilt chair and drew it up to sit facing her. ‘I thought, my sweet, that perhaps we should talk.’

She smiled at him. ‘You have guessed!’

‘I think I have. But I need to hear it from you.’

‘Well I can’t be sure, Oliver, but yes, I think I am pregnant.’ She paused, and he saw a soft glow in her eyes. ‘Isn’t it wonderful?’

‘But when were you going to tell me?’

‘I didn’t want to raise your hopes in case I was wrong.’

He rose and went over to the bed to kiss her gently on the lips. ‘Then I shall continue to respect your privacy.’

Helena found their stay in Florence idyllic; her spirit gloried in the paintings, the museums and the beauty of the city itself. It was nearly time for them to leave when she began to tire easily.

Then once they reached Venice she began to feel queasy, and it was not confined merely to the mornings. When one day she couldn’t face even tortellini for lunch and they were forced to go back to their hotel, he was adamant. ‘We must return home at once. There is no point in staying any longer – even the gondola affected you.’

‘It was the movement in the water. I’m sorry, Oliver, I know I’m being a nuisance.’

‘Nonsense, Helena, but we need to consult Dr Haverstock to have your pregnancy confirmed anyway.’

They both turned as a soft knock came at the door with the familiar call, ‘Permesso?’

Oliver glanced at Helena who called back, ‘Avanti.’

She waited until the maid had left after replacing their bathroom towels then said, ‘Dr Haverstock?’

‘Yes, if you recall, he and his wife were guests at our wedding.’

London, despite it being the beginning of August, was damp with drizzle and it was a relief to be welcomed in Carlton House Terrace by a cheerful fire in the drawing room. The journey had been tiring and when the parlourmaid brought in their refreshment the dainty egg and cress sandwiches were welcome, though Helena was dismayed to find that she had developed an aversion to tea. ‘I hope it passes,’ she said to Oliver. ‘A proper cup of tea was one thing I was really looking forward to.’

‘I’m sure Dr Haverstock will reassure you. I shall make an appointment at his consulting rooms in Wimpole Street as soon as possible. Until then, Helena, I think you should rest as much as possible.’

‘It’s not an illness, Oliver. Lots of women have to look after large families while carrying a child.’

‘They, Helena, are not carrying the heir to Graylings.’

Helena began to feel bored with little to occupy her but to play the piano and read. Oliver was out most evenings at his club, and she found the bookshelves in the small library distinctly uninspiring.

‘I need some new books,’ she told him one morning after breakfast. ‘I was reading the other day that Foyle’s have opened a new bookshop in Charing Cross Road.’

‘I shall take you myself.’

Helena knew that Oliver would be bound to suggest worthy literature and she wanted the freedom and privacy to choose romantic novels and perhaps a few detective stories, not only for her own pleasure but to take with her to Graylings to lend to Molly. His presence would only be constraining. ‘But hadn’t you planned to see your lawyer? Honestly, Oliver, I’m quite sure that if I take Jane with me I shall do perfectly well.’

‘And you feel up to it?’

She nodded. ‘I seem to feel the nausea only in the mornings now.’

The following Monday Nicholas arrived at the Wimpole Street practice just as the polished mahogany door to Andrew Haverstock’s room opened. ‘I shall see you in one month, Lady Maudley, when I hope to see you much improved.’ Despite the warm weather, the elderly dowager’s shoulders were caped in mink and as she inclined her head, Nicholas wondered where and how women of her class learned to so perfectly convey graciousness and condescension.

‘We have a busy week ahead as usual,’ Andrew said, and Nicholas followed him into his consulting room to where the appointments book lay on the large polished desk.

Nicholas glanced down, leafing through until he reached the page for Wednesday, when his hand stilled. He remained silent for one long moment, then said, ‘Mr and Mrs Faraday? Didn’t you attend their wedding earlier this year? When you had to postpone Lady Trentley’s appointment?’

‘I’m impressed you remember. They are at their London House, having recently returned from Italy.’

‘Is the London house close?’ Nicholas managed to keep his enquiry one of light interest.

‘It’s in Carlton House Terrace. I had cause to visit there once, when as a child Oliver developed measles.’

Nicholas simply gave a nod and their conversation turned to medical discussion. The morning was a busy one and it was their habit to lunch together, so it was only when his first afternoon appointment was cancelled that Nicholas was able to clear his mind. He left the practice and made his way to Regent’s Park, hoping that in the fresh air he would be able to think calmly, logically. On Wednesday he had a full diary, so there could be no question of cancelling his appointments. Already the thought of seeing Helena again was sending adrenalin racing through his veins, even though he knew he was being unrealistic. It was over a year since that fleeting scene in Cadogan Square; so much had happened in her life. Nicholas was hoping that the magic would have gone for him too, that he would see her as an attractive young woman, nothing more. At least he would then be able to dismiss the whole episode as nothing more than a foolish fantasy.

He continued walking along the tree-lined paths until reaching the lake, and in an effort to escape his tormented thoughts, paused to watch and then smile at the excitement of a small boy who was trying to launch a red sailing boat. Seeing that he was hovering dangerously near to the water, his uniformed nanny leaned down and crossly pulled at his shoulder. ‘Come back, Master Peter. You’ll be splashing your sailor suit.’

Her concern was not for the child’s safety, only to keep his clothes pristine, and Nicholas disliked hearing a grown woman address a child in such a subservient way, thinking that it was hardly surprising that the aristocracy and upper classes grew up with an innate sense of superiority.

The brief episode lingered in his mind, an uncomfortable reminder that Helena was a member of that privileged section of society.

As he continued on his way and eventually left the park, he knew he must face the fact that he was fooling himself. Already his every sense was impatient for Wednesday to arrive. Should he try to remain out of sight, ignore her presence? Would he be able to? The layout of his consulting room was such that his desk was not in view when the door was open, and so Nicholas had no fears that he and Helena might inadvertently catch a glimpse of each other. His hearing was acute – he could always hear Andrew’s door open and the muffled sound of farewells – and so it would be easy to manoeuvre a meeting.

The thoughts continued to plague him until he felt the threat of a headache; that he could easily remedy, but so far no one had invented a panacea for a lack of common sense, not when the heart was involved.