Modern Romance Collection February 2025, #1-4

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

S IENA WAS WASHING UP , looking out of the kitchen window into the garden at the back of the little terraced house. In the summer it was a holiday let, but she had rented it for the winter. In the garden, a robin and a blackbird were hopping about. She must put out some more food for them.

She moved slowly towards the back door that opened on to the garden. Her gait was ponderous now...gravid. Her feet had disappeared from view, and sitting down and getting up was a slow business.

As she scooped up some more birdseed and scattered it on the paved area beyond the back door she felt the baby move and turn within her. She stilled a moment, letting the movement subside.

Her time was coming...her due date approaching. No longer weeks—only days.

She walked slowly, ponderously, to the sink, filled up the kettle, set it to boil. A cup of tea to while away the time. She could do some sketching—but what for? She’d done a little, from time to time, but had no heart for it. The one of the garden and seascape that she’d made at the hotel in Selcombe had never been finished. She did not want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about the time she’d spent there that had ended so disastrously...

She felt a twisting inside her—like ropes pulling tight, into knots.

Isn’t this enough of a mess without...?

She tried to pull her thoughts away, as she had been training herself to do ever since she had fled, so urgently, so desperately, to find refuge here in this anonymous little house. Somewhere she could hole up...hide...

But how could she hide? This place, this time, was a respite only. Nothing more than that. Soon—and it was coming ever closer—in a handful of days, she must see Vincenzo again. She might wish with all her being that she need not do so, but how could she deny him?

Impossible to do so.

Her words, hurled at him so long ago now, speared in her head.

‘I am handcuffed to you—shackled to you!’

Emotion twisted inside her again. The irony of it was hard to bear.

I didn’t want anything to do with him because I loathed him. Now...

She stared blindly out of the kitchen window as the kettle started to boil. Outside the birds pecked hungrily at the seed she’d scattered for them, unseen by her. Emotion came again—a physical pain, stabbing at her. Unbearable to bear—and yet she must. For what else could she do but bear it? What else but endure the ultimate folly she had committed?

Not her pregnancy—not that at all.

A smothered cry of anguish broke from her and she turned away, hand pressed against her mouth, tears starting in her eyes.

How can I bear it?

But it was beyond answering.

Vincenzo pulled the car against the kerb, turned off the engine. He looked at the small terraced house he’d parked outside in this market town in a popular tourist area of East Anglia. He knew what to expect—he had checked it out online, on the holiday letting agency’s website, when Siena had given him her new address. He’d offered to pay for it, but she’d refused. She was refusing all financial support and he had accepted her refusal. As he had accepted everything else...

He felt himself tense. This would not be easy, but it had to be done. Her due date was imminent and he would be here, at her side. Literally so—for he’d rented the house next to hers, also a holiday let, and would stay for the duration. Stay while he could be of use to her.

And then...

No, he would not go there. Not yet.

Impossible to look beyond what was about to happen.

Starting right now.

With a determined movement he got out of the car, walked up to her front door, rapped on it with the knocker. She knew he was coming. He had texted her when he’d set off from London, having flown in the day before. He’d told her his ETA here, then texted again, pulling over on the outskirts of the town, to say he was making his way to her house.

She’d simply texted back:

OK

His mouth pressed. ‘OK’ was not what it was...

But there was nothing he could do about it. Nothing except what she wanted him to do.

Accept her decision.

The one she’d made all those months ago, when she was fleeing from him...

Siena heard the door knocker, tensing immediately. For a moment she did not move. Then, heavily, she levered herself up and out of the armchair she’d sunk into to watch something mindless on TV. It took her a while to get up—it increasingly did now. Ponderously she made her way out of the living room, down to the front door, steeling herself to open it.

He was standing there, tall against the wintry dusk. She felt her stomach clench, her senses reel from his physical presence after so long a time, but she stood back so he could come inside.

For a moment, though, he was motionless. Siena assumed he was taking in just how very different she looked from when he had last seen her.

‘I told you I would look like an elephant by this time,’ she said.

She kept her voice neutral, and so was his reply.

‘Hardly,’ he replied, temporising. ‘But you are very near your time now.’

He walked in. The narrow hallway only just let him pass her. The brush of his sleeve made her stiffen, and as he walked past she caught the distinctive trace of his aftershave. For a second she felt faint with familiarity...with memory.

Memory she must not allow.

Too dangerous.

Too pointless...

Because he is not here for me! He is here only because I am about to give birth to the baby I have conceived. No other reason.

No other reason at all.

And I must have no other reason either! Must allow myself none.

She must match him in the way she was with him now.

‘It still could be up to another fortnight,’ she said, following him as he stepped into the little sitting room. ‘I hope it isn’t, though—I just want it over and done with.’

He turned to look at her, his face unreadable.

‘How was the drive?’ she asked, to take her mind off what it did not help her to think about. ‘It’s not the easiest part of the world to get to.’

‘It was fine,’ he said. ‘Sat nav did it all.’ His eyes were on her still, and still unreadable. ‘How have you been keeping, Siena?’ he asked.

‘OK,’ she answered. ‘My ankles have swollen a little, but—’

‘That’s not good!’ he cut across her sharply, frowning.

She shook her head, negating his reaction. ‘I’m within normal range. No sign of pre-eclampsia. All my readings are fine. I saw the midwife this morning, and she’s happy with everything. She said that if I’m not in labour by midweek she’ll come again to check on me.’

She didn’t want him fussing.

‘Can I make you a coffee?’ she offered, to stop any more questions. ‘This place comes with a coffee machine—though it’s probably a bit basic for you. Come into the kitchen and see.’

She led the way, knowing she was waddling, but there was nothing she could do about it. Absently, her hand touched her distended abdomen, as if she were patting a puppy that did not know how much disruption it was causing, but whose feelings she did not want to hurt all the same.

Because it’s not your fault, little one. None of this. You couldn’t help being conceived the way you were!

‘There’s a choice of coffee pods,’ she said, opening an ornamental tin box beside the coffee machine on the worktop. ‘I’ve used all the decaf ones. And anyway, these days I prefer something that’s more easily digestible. I’ll make a mint tea for myself.’

She went to fill the kettle, memory filling her head as well. She’d asked for a mint tea at the end of that tasting menu dinner at the seaside hotel and had never drunk it.

She had run instead.

Knowing she had to.

It had been too dangerous...much too dangerous...to do anything but run...

But I ran in vain.

She snapped the memory off. There was no point to it...no purpose.

He was stepping forward to make his selection of coffee pods and Siena moved away. For the first time she was glad of being the size she was. She could not have looked more different than she had that night at the hotel in Devon. Then, pregnancy had given her a bloom, enhancing her looks.

Dangerously so.

Disastrously so.

She pulled her thoughts away again. She must not indulge them. However hard—unbearable—it was to have Vincenzo here now, at this time, she had to endure it. He had a right to be here.

It was not his fault any more than it was her baby’s fault that her life was now the mess it was. The mess that was infinitely worse than she had ever thought it would be the day she’d found herself pregnant.

Anguish bit again.

She took a breath as she flicked on the kettle, steadying herself as she often must now.

Vincenzo switched on the coffee machine, turned to look at her. ‘I was wondering,’ he said, his voice careful, ‘if you would like to have dinner with me tonight?’

She shook her head. ‘I get very tired now, and I go to bed very early. Do try the pub in the market square for yourself, though. It’s supposed to be pretty good—at least by local standards.’

‘Thank you—I’ll try it out.’ His eyes were resting on her, still unreadable. ‘And how are you , Siena?’ he asked. ‘Not just physically, but—’

‘I’m fine,’ she said, cutting across him. There had been concern in his voice, and she did not want that. She could cope with him being here only by keeping well clear of anything personal. ‘Like I said,’ she went on, ‘I’m just keen to get a move on now.’

He nodded in acknowledgement. ‘That I can understand,’ he said. He paused a moment. Then, ‘Do you want to tell me what your birth plan is? I... I would like to be there...or close by...if you will allow me.’

She looked at him uncertainly. ‘I... I don’t know. If you want to be at the hospital while it’s all going on, I guess I don’t mind. As for a birth plan... Well, nothing out of the ordinary. I assume I’ll want pain relief at some point. Other than that...just as it happens, I suppose. My grab bag’s all ready—by my bedroom door. That’s it, really.’

The coffee machine finished just as the kettle boiled. She turned off both, making her mint tea while Vincenzo reached forward to take his coffee. An ache filled her. To be here with him, like this, in such circumstances...

Isn’t it enough of a mess already? Without me messing it up even more?

Anguish clutched at her again. Why, oh, why had she allowed what was already an impossible situation...one she’d never wanted...to become so much worse?

‘Siena?’

Vincenzo’s voice made her start. Hastily, she grabbed her mint tea. ‘Come into the sitting room,’ she said, heading heavily for the kitchen doorway.

‘Are you all right? You look...upset.’

Concern was in Vincenzo’s voice. It hurt to hear it.

‘Just tired,’ she said, making her way to the armchair and lowering herself ponderously into it.

‘I’ll leave you in peace as soon as I’ve drunk my coffee,’ Vincenzo was saying.

She was grateful. This was an ordeal, and it was hard—so very hard.

But I have to get used to seeing him again—to him being around. I have to!

He was sitting himself down on the sofa opposite the armchair, crossing one long leg over the other. She wanted to gaze at him. Gaze at him and drink him in...

But I can’t. He isn’t mine to gaze at. He’s just the man who fathered my baby, and he is concerned only for that reason.

That was all she had to remember.

She took a sip of her mint tea, aware that he was speaking again.

‘Is there anything that you might like to do over the weekend?’ he asked.

‘Not really.’

She didn’t mean to sound indifferent, but the weekend was just another two days to get through—two days closer to her due date.

‘Well, then, I wondered...’ His voice was cautious, speculative, his eyes resting on her with the same careful expression. ‘I wondered whether you would feel up to an outing by car? Nothing strenuous. And only if you would like it.’ He paused. ‘You told me you grew up in this part of the country. Is that why you chose to base yourself here?’

‘It seemed as good a reason as any,’ she answered. ‘I know the district hospital has a good reputation, and I had to settle somewhere—at least for the duration of my being pregnant. What I’ll do afterwards I don’t yet know...’

Her voice trailed off. She could feel Vincenzo’s eyes resting on her, and wished they would not.

‘I would still like to help you—’ he began.

‘No.’ Her voice steeled. ‘Vincenzo, please—we’ve had this discussion. I... I need to make my own way after...after the baby is born. Deal with it in my own way.’

Deal with so much more than simply having a baby...

She gave a sigh. It was all such a mess. A mess from beginning to end. Vincenzo had said that it need not be—but it was.

Longing filled her, intense and hopeless. This whole situation was wretched—her unwanted pregnancy, her poor, benighted little baby being born into such a mess, with neither of its parents welcoming its arrival but seeing it only as a problem, a difficulty...

And now, on top of all of that—

She thrust it from her. What was the point of brooding over it? She had to cope with it—and she had to get used to coping with having Vincenzo showing up. What else could she do?

After all he would be doing it for years ahead. Years she could not bear to think about.

‘Maybe,’ she heard herself saying now. ‘Going for a drive tomorrow might be OK.’

His expression altered. Lightened fractionally. But it was still careful.

‘If the weather is sufficiently clement, we shall do so,’ he said. ‘Would setting off at, say, eleven suit you? We could drive out somewhere, maybe have lunch, then circle back? Have a think about where you might like to go. This part of England is all new to me, so I am happy to be guided by you.’

He drained the last of his coffee, set the cup aside, stood up.

‘I will leave you in peace now,’ he said. ‘Settle myself in next door. No, don’t get up. I can see myself out.’

‘Thank you,’ she said, glad she did not have to lumber to her feet.

At the door to the narrow hallway he paused, looking back at her. ‘You must phone me,’ he said, ‘at any time, if you have any need—’

‘I’ll be fine,’ she said.

For a moment longer he let his unreadable gaze rest on her. Then, with a final nod, after bidding her a murmured goodnight, he took his leave.

Leaving her alone.

Alone, alone, alone...

Tears welled in her eyes. Such useless tears...

Vincenzo rapped on Siena’s front door. It was a bright, sunny day, promising spring. A good day for a drive in the countryside. He was glad she’d agreed to it. She had not looked very well yesterday, he thought. Not ill, thankfully, but not...not blooming .

In her earlier stages, and at the seaside, there had been a radiance to her—a glow playing over her natural, effortless beauty which had been noticeably absent yesterday. Yes, of course her figure had ballooned, this close to full term, but it was more than that. There was an air about her of...not weariness, precisely, but lassitude, perhaps.

He frowned. Depression? He could understand that she was impatient for her due date to arrive, but there had been no eagerness for it.

His face shadowed. Nor could there be for him.

How could there be?

Bleakness filled him. The situation was damnable...

The door opened and Siena was there.

‘Ready to set off?’ he asked. He forced his voice to sound light.

She nodded. She was wearing a padded but lightweight knee-length coat that emphasised her bulk, but which was presumably warm enough for winter walking. Stout and solid-looking lace-up shoes were on her feet, and she was wearing fleecy trousers. Her hair was bunched back on her head, and her skin looked blotchy.

For a second Vincenzo wanted to ask if she was OK—because it looked as if she had been crying. He started to frown, but he got no chance to say anything, because Siena was talking, constraint in her voice.

‘I need to sit on a towel over a polythene bin bag,’ she said, and he saw she was holding both items.

‘Bin bag...?’ Vincenzo stared.

‘And a towel, yes. I’m only a handful of days away from my due date.’

Comprehension dawned. ‘I’ll put them on the seat,’ he said, and took them from her.

Settling her in to the passenger seat took some time, but it was done in the end. He helped her draw the seat belt around what once had been her waist. Then, finally arranged, she stretched out her legs and turned towards him.

‘Have you had any ideas where you might like to go?’

He could still hear that constraint in her voice, and could see it in the way she sat. Would this outing work at all? He could only try...

‘I’m easy,’ he said. ‘Do you have any preferences?’

‘Probably best not to try for the coast but stick to inland.’

She gave directions and Vincenzo followed them. The flat, arable landscape was very different from that of hilly, pastoral South Devon, but he made no reference to it. Their time there—the way it had ended—lay between them, unspoken of and impossible to mention. Instead, he asked general questions about the area, and Siena politely gave answers, her air of constraint still palpable.

As for him...

Their encounter yesterday had not been easy, but he had not expected it to be. What had been achieved between them—their comfortable companionship during their time in Devon—had gone.

I destroyed it.

And now—now all he could do was what he was doing. Being here to support her in whatever way he could, whatever way she would allow. Ready to take on the responsibility of a parental role he had never looked for but now had to shoulder.

However impossible that might be.

As he drove his eyes slid to her, sitting beside him, her face in profile, her gravid body expectant. Soon—within days—his life would change irrevocably and for ever.

It already has.

But not just because of the baby...

‘Shall we find somewhere to stop for lunch soon?’

Siena gave a little start at Vincenzo’s voice.

‘Yes, good idea,’ she said politely.

His question had interrupted her thoughts, which had been drifting, formless and shapeless, as they’d motored on. Though it had brought painful reminders of their time in Devon, it had been soothing, in a way, to drive around like this. She hadn’t been anywhere except to the local clinic and for hospital appointments.

Absently, as it so often did, her hand went to the swell of her body, as if with compunction.

Poor little mite. Coming into the world like this...

‘What about that place coming up?’

Again, Vincenzo’s voice interrupted her thoughts.

She looked to where he was indicating. It looked a decent enough place, typical Suffolk pink, prosperous-looking, with a blackboard sign outside saying Good Food! It would do as well as anywhere.

He pulled across to it, driving the car into a small but busy car park—another encouraging indicator. Getting out took a while, and she flexed her legs, feeling elephantine and regretting, for a moment, having come out at all. But they were here now, and she was feeling hungry. Besides, she could do with using the facilities...

Vincenzo guided her inside. Memory pierced of how they’d toured the Devon countryside, explored the Jurassic Coast, how they’d walked along Jane Austen’s Cobb, in Lyme, and then tried out the Ammonite Pavement to look for fossils. How that midwife with the jumpy dog had told her to enjoy being pregnant, said how excited she must be feeling, and Vincenzo too, how happy they must be...

How hollow that had sounded, even then.

And now—

It was a thousand times more hollow...

‘Will this table suit?’

Vincenzo’s polite enquiry interrupted memories that only brought pain.

‘Yes, it’s fine. I’ll join you in a moment.’

She disappeared off in the direction of the washrooms. She felt self-conscious, walking across to them, but there was nothing she could do about that. On her way back to the table a few minutes later she caught a woman seated at another table giving Vincenzo the once-over. He was oblivious to it. As she approached the table the woman saw her, saw how pregnant she was, and looked away, consigning Vincenzo to the category of ‘taken’.

But he isn’t, is he? And one day—one day when he is simply doing a duty visit to the baby he never asked for, never wanted, would never welcome but only feel responsible for—he will meet a woman who will captivate him, who won’t mind that he has a spare son or daughter somewhere in England, by a woman he only ever spent two nights with...

She dragged her thoughts away. Why torment herself with them? To what purpose?

None.

She sat down heavily in the chair Vincenzo had stood to draw back for her, murmuring an awkward thank-you.

If the baby arrives on its due date, then in a couple of weeks’ time Vincenzo will be gone. He’ll be back in Italy. Back in his own life. And I—

But she didn’t want to think about that.

Could not bear to.

Vincenzo finished his beer. His mood was bleak. He and Siena had made stilted conversation over lunch, and now she had disappeared off to the Ladies’ again. The rest of the day stretched ahead. And all the days until her time finally came.

Had it been a mistake to turn up like this? Should he rather have left Siena alone at this time, not insist he be there?

Heaviness weighed him down. The situation was impossible.

And he had made it so.

That night in Devon—

He stamped down his thoughts. They were to no purpose. The situation was as it was.

Damnable.

Memory speared in him—the words Siena had hurled at him all that time ago.

‘I am handcuffed to you—shackled to you!’

His eyes lifted from the menu.

Dread filled him at the future looming for him.

But it had to be faced. No escape from it.

His eyes went across the room. Siena was emerging from the Ladies’ room, making her way towards him. He got to his feet, holding her chair for her to sit down. There was an odd expression on her face. Puzzled...

‘I’m sorry if this is TMI—too much information—but I seem to be bleeding.’ She frowned. ‘It’s not much, but it’s definitely blood. I’m not sure what to do. Probably best to ignore it. I’ll phone the midwife when we get back. I’m sure she’ll just say it happens sometimes and tell me not to worry about it.’

She moved to sit down, but Vincenzo forestalled her. ‘I think we ought to go,’ he said.

She looked at him. ‘Don’t you want a pudding?’

He shook his head. ‘I’ll pay the bill,’ he said, picking up the chit.

He crossed to the bar.

‘I’d like to pay,’ he said.

The barman, who was pulling a pint for another customer, nodded. ‘Be right with you.’

‘Now,’ said Vincenzo.

Whatever he’d put into his voice—and he’d done so quite deliberately—it got results. Moments later Vincenzo was walking back to Siena. She was resting her hand on the back of her chair, as if leaning her weight on it.

He held his arm out to her, and though she hesitated for a moment, she took it. She was soon leaning on him, and frowning slightly.

They left the pub, Vincenzo ushering her into the car deliberately unhurriedly. He helped to settle her, ensuring, as she stipulated, that the towel was thickly folded over the bin bag. Then he got into his side of the car, but did not start the engine immediately. Instead, he keyed a destination into the sat nav.

‘What are you doing?’ Siena asked beside him.

He turned towards her.

‘I’m taking you to hospital,’ he said.