Chapter 54
HENRY
They were enjoying dinner at one of Henry’s favourite restaurants on the King’s Road when Marielle upended his world.
They were halfway through the starter. He still remembers what he was eating. Lobster. It turned to rubber in his mouth after she had spoken, making it impossible to swallow. He’d just stared at her, chewing, while she gabbled away.
She was pregnant, she said. Seven weeks. Baby was due mid-February.
He’d had to spit out the mouthful of lobster discreetly into a napkin before he could find his voice.
‘It’s a miracle, Henry. It’s marvellous.’
‘But you’re forty. That’s … that can be dangerous.’
‘Don’t be so silly, darling.’ She laughed. ‘Women are having children much later, these days. It’s not like when our parents were young.’
He had to put his cutlery down. He’d lost his appetite. He had to pretend to be pleased, of course. He’d never considered, for one moment, that she might conceive naturally. Not when they were told there was such a tiny chance and she was getting older.
She reached across the table and clasped his hand. ‘I’m so happy, Henry. I’ve never been so happy.’
He wondered if he might be sick. His mind raced with all the possibilities. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Perhaps they could get a live-in nanny. Marielle was bound to lose interest once the baby was born. She took her hand away and resumed eating.
‘It’s funny,’ she continued. ‘I’ve had no morning sickness. I feel great, actually.’
He appraised her. She looked great, radiant, in fact.
Her skin was clear, her eyes shining, and her hair even more lustrous than usual.
But as she came to life right there before him, he felt part of himself wither and die.
He couldn’t say what he really felt, not in the restaurant with other diners seated so close to them, and not to her, his beloved.
His wife. He had no choice but to sit there and listen while she prattled away about how amazing it was going to be, how they would decorate the nursery, which cot they would choose – ‘It has to be white, Henry. I love white for babies,’ as though the baby was a mere accessory or a piece of furniture she’d been coveting for years.
And he stared at her, utterly speechless the whole time, wondering how she could possibly be so deluded.
As he sat there, watching as she talked, he knew he had to do something.
Anything. Because this couldn’t happen. This really couldn’t happen.
A baby couldn’t be part of their lives. He needed to think.
He was good under pressure – that was partly what made him an excellent surgeon – and he’d never felt as pressured as he did right then.
But his mind worked in brilliant, twisted ways. It always had done. It was his superpower.
And just like he knew it would, a plan was already beginning to take form.