Chapter 23

ANNE RUSHED to the bathroom, and with no time to close the door, leaned over the toilet and threw up. She weakly reached her hand to the lever, flushed, keeping her head curled above the toilet as she waited for the next wave of nausea to hit, thankful Terrence had gone to work hours ago. The next onslaught came, after which she flushed again immediately, but the disgusting smell of vomit still clung to the air. She shivered, then scooted the bathroom rug under her as protection from the cold tile, wondering if she could make it back and forth to the bedroom to get her robe before she threw up again. Deciding not to take the chance, she rested her forehead against the ceramic bowl and closed her eyes.

A voice brought her to attention, and Anne looked up, momentarily confused.

“Something you ate?” Darby was standing by the door, cool disdain oozing from her like slime from a snail.

“I guess.” Anne wiped her mouth, relieved that her empty stomach had started to settle down. She swallowed. “I thought you would have left when Terrence did.”

“He gets up too early for me. I’ll see him over at High Street later.”

Anne nodded. She felt wrung out and her mouth tasted awful. She wished Darby would just go away.

“Do you have everything you need in the other bathroom? I didn’t get a chance to check.” She felt a little ridiculous, acting the hostess while practically hugging the toilet.

“I have everything I need. So do you think it’s the flu?” Before Anne could think of a reply, Darby went on, “It can’t be food poisoning; I feel fine and I assume Terrence didn’t get sick or he wouldn’t have gone to work.”

Anne brushed her hair back behind her ears, trying for nonchalance. “It must have been something I picked up on the trip over.”

“Or something you picked up before you left. Anyway, there’s coffee made. Apparently, Terrence made it before he left. Want me to bring you some?”

Beware of Greeks bearing gifts. If Darby brought it, it would probably be poisoned. Besides, Anne was off caffeine for the duration.

“No, thank you. I’ll just get into the shower. If you like, I’ll make breakfast when I get out.” God, why had she said that? The thought of cooking eggs or sausages made the nausea rise up again, but her empty stomach had nothing left to retch up, and she willed it to calm.

“Not for me. I’m a yogurt-and-granola girl. I’ll leave you to your shower.” Darby closed the bathroom door.

Anne let the hot water run over her, feeling whole worlds better after she was done. She got out of the shower, looked around the bathroom and realized she hadn’t brought her toiletries bag in with her. Bundled in a towel, she went to the bedroom to get her things. Her heart caught in her throat when she opened the door. Sitting on the bed in front of Anne’s open toiletries bag, was Darby, looking smug and holding a bottle of prenatal vitamins.

Anne’s heart sunk from her throat to her stomach. “What are you doing?”

“Good news, Anne. You’re not sick, you’re pregnant.” Darby’s voice dripped with gleeful contempt.

“How dare you go through my things?” She couldn’t believe Darby’s flagrant disregard for her privacy. “This is not your home.”

“Not really yours either. I was fairly certain that bout in there was morning sickness. I remembered you didn’t drink any wine last night, so I thought I’d take a look.”

“You had no right to go into my things.”

Darby made a pretend pouty face. “Oh, no. Are you going to tell Terrence on me? Go ahead, tell him; he doesn’t know about the baby, does he?”

“This is none of your business.”

Darby put a finger to her temple in pretend concentration. “I’m a trained investigator, so I should be able to figure this out. Let me think. Terrence has wanted children all his adult life, but only with the right woman, his perfect woman. He stupidly thinks that perfect woman is you. Ergo, if he thought you were pregnant with his child, he would be announcing it from the bloody rooftops.”

“Get out of here.” Anne’s voice was barely a whisper.

Darby threw the vitamin bottle on the bed, and stood up. “Not just yet, you little bitch. I’m not finished.”

Anne leaned weakly against the door frame. “Finish then.”

Darby’s eyes shone with malice as she continued. “You saw how happy he was just that you are working on putting a home together with him. A baby—correction, a baby with you—would have him delirious. As he doesn’t seem to know, my deduction is that the baby isn’t his. All of this, coupled with the knowledge that I share with most of the civilized world, that you were another man’s mistress until, what, less than two months ago, leads me to the conclusion that the baby is your boyfriend’s, not Terrence’s.”

Anne absorbed Darby’s tirade in silence, trying to remove herself emotionally from what was happening. She couldn’t think of anything to say in her own defense.

Darby, her face flushed with unleashed anger, didn’t seem to care if Anne responded or not. She held up Anne’s cell phone. “So then I checked your mobile…oh, please don’t look so righteous, Anne. Regular calls from Andrew Grainger. Who is—I presume—the baby’s father?”

“Get out.” Anne finally managed a response, then closed her eyes as currents of agonizing pain swam around her head. “Get out of here. Leave me alone.”

“I’m going. I’ll stay somewhere else tonight. But you had better tell him and you’d better do it soon. If you don’t, I will. Can you imagine what this whole mess with you has already done to him professionally? After everything he’s done to build his career, you tear it down and make him look like a fool.” Darby spit her words out like poison darts, then slammed every door between the bedroom and the front door on her way out.

Anne slumped to the floor, put her face in her hands and wept.