fatherâs funeral still reverberated through her mind. Laura took a deep breath and contrived, with surprising ease, to force the dream out of her thoughts.
Outside her curtains a thin light glowed. She switched on the bedside light and looked at her watch. A quarter to seven. She swung her legs round to get out of bed. In sitting position she paused for a moment. Her head felt light and the nausea remained. A little surge of excitement told her that reaction to the nightmare was not the reason why she still felt sick.
Cautiously she rose to her feet. Her mouth was dry. She crossed to the kitchenette and took out a packet of coffee beans. But their sharp smell immediately conjured up the metallic taste of vomit in her mouth. Laura returned the packet to the cupboard, filled a glass of water from the tap and, sipping it, went through into the bathroom.
She took off her nightdress and looked at herself in the long mirror. During her teens it had seemed impossible to Laura that she would ever love the body that had prompted so many disgusting encounters. Marriage to Michael had not changed her attitude one iota, though with Philip at times, just for a little while, she had ceased to see herself as dirty and defiled.
Now, as she looked in the mirror, Laura positively loved what she saw. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping them slightly away from the tingling nipples. She ran her hands down her sides, till they rested together on the smooth flatness of her stomach. The nightmare was forgotten. Well-being flooded through her.
She turned to the sink to clean her teeth. As she opened the tube, the peppermint tang of toothpaste rushed up her nostrils. She only just had time to poise herself over the lavatory bowl before she threw up.
Laura knew, but needed formal confirmation. She wished there was some kind of simple do-it-yourself test that could be bought over the chemistâs counter, but there wasnât, so she had to go to the doctor.
She knew during the days of waiting for the test results to come back. She had known from the moment she missed her period. Her body had always worked with metronomic accuracy. Even during the worst traumas of her teenage years, the curse had never failed to arrive on time, accurate to the day, almost to the hour.
She rang the surgery at the appointed time and discovered, with very little surprise, that she was officially pregnant.
âMichaelâs not the father,â said Laura.
âNever occurred to me for one
teensy
moment that he might be.â Rob was in one of his high moods. His voice swooped down dramatically on to individual words. âYou wouldnât want to reproduce anything like
that
, would you?â
âNo.â
âSo am I going to be let into the
bijou secretette
of who it is?â
âThe father?â
âMm.â
âNo.â
âOh. Oh well, there you go. Itâs not that you donât know, is it? I mean, you havenât been putting it around
so
much that it could be virtually any cock in the London telephone directory?â
âNo.â
âNo, thought not. Not your style, is it, Laura sweetie? Now if itâd been
me
â¦â He spread his hands wide in a gesture of mock-modesty. âI mean, where would one begin? In the last week alone the candidates must be in double figures. Oh dear, I have been a bit
reckless
recently. Still, what can a chap do? Itâs the penalty of being absolutely
gorgeous
â something I have to live with. Men just swarm round me â positively
swarm
â bees round a honey-pot ⦠and, though I say it myself, a very nice little honey-pot Iâve got too. No, I think, all things considered, itâs just as well there isnât a womb at the end of my arsehole.
So
many suspects ⦠I donât think Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes,
pooling
their resources, would ever find out whodunnit.â
Laura giggled. Now the doctor had confirmed
Outside her curtains a thin light glowed. She switched on the bedside light and looked at her watch. A quarter to seven. She swung her legs round to get out of bed. In sitting position she paused for a moment. Her head felt light and the nausea remained. A little surge of excitement told her that reaction to the nightmare was not the reason why she still felt sick.
Cautiously she rose to her feet. Her mouth was dry. She crossed to the kitchenette and took out a packet of coffee beans. But their sharp smell immediately conjured up the metallic taste of vomit in her mouth. Laura returned the packet to the cupboard, filled a glass of water from the tap and, sipping it, went through into the bathroom.
She took off her nightdress and looked at herself in the long mirror. During her teens it had seemed impossible to Laura that she would ever love the body that had prompted so many disgusting encounters. Marriage to Michael had not changed her attitude one iota, though with Philip at times, just for a little while, she had ceased to see herself as dirty and defiled.
Now, as she looked in the mirror, Laura positively loved what she saw. She put her hands to her breasts, cupping them slightly away from the tingling nipples. She ran her hands down her sides, till they rested together on the smooth flatness of her stomach. The nightmare was forgotten. Well-being flooded through her.
She turned to the sink to clean her teeth. As she opened the tube, the peppermint tang of toothpaste rushed up her nostrils. She only just had time to poise herself over the lavatory bowl before she threw up.
Laura knew, but needed formal confirmation. She wished there was some kind of simple do-it-yourself test that could be bought over the chemistâs counter, but there wasnât, so she had to go to the doctor.
She knew during the days of waiting for the test results to come back. She had known from the moment she missed her period. Her body had always worked with metronomic accuracy. Even during the worst traumas of her teenage years, the curse had never failed to arrive on time, accurate to the day, almost to the hour.
She rang the surgery at the appointed time and discovered, with very little surprise, that she was officially pregnant.
âMichaelâs not the father,â said Laura.
âNever occurred to me for one
teensy
moment that he might be.â Rob was in one of his high moods. His voice swooped down dramatically on to individual words. âYou wouldnât want to reproduce anything like
that
, would you?â
âNo.â
âSo am I going to be let into the
bijou secretette
of who it is?â
âThe father?â
âMm.â
âNo.â
âOh. Oh well, there you go. Itâs not that you donât know, is it? I mean, you havenât been putting it around
so
much that it could be virtually any cock in the London telephone directory?â
âNo.â
âNo, thought not. Not your style, is it, Laura sweetie? Now if itâd been
me
â¦â He spread his hands wide in a gesture of mock-modesty. âI mean, where would one begin? In the last week alone the candidates must be in double figures. Oh dear, I have been a bit
reckless
recently. Still, what can a chap do? Itâs the penalty of being absolutely
gorgeous
â something I have to live with. Men just swarm round me â positively
swarm
â bees round a honey-pot ⦠and, though I say it myself, a very nice little honey-pot Iâve got too. No, I think, all things considered, itâs just as well there isnât a womb at the end of my arsehole.
So
many suspects ⦠I donât think Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple and Sherlock Holmes,
pooling
their resources, would ever find out whodunnit.â
Laura giggled. Now the doctor had confirmed
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