LITMIR.BIZ

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CHAPTER FOUR

      ‘CAN I ask you an enormous favour?’

      Emily lifted her eyes from the baby’s face and met Harry’s clear blue gaze. Maybe one day she’d be immune to watching him with the baby in his arms as he fed her, but not today or any time soon.

      ‘Sure,’ she said, wondering if her voice was as husky as she suspected.

      ‘I need to go to London. I didn’t really give them much warning that I was going to be taking time off. I’ll go on the train, I think it’s the quickest, and I shouldn’t be gone more than five hours—six, tops. I’ll leave all the feeds ready for you—the made-up packets are a doddle, even I can manage them, and with any luck she’ll sleep for most of it, but I need to go and talk to my boss, and I can’t really take her with me.’

      ‘Why not?’ she suggested, just to see what he said and to find out if he’d thought it through. ‘It might be quite useful—you know, make the point of how tiny she is and all that.’

      He shook his head, his mouth kicking up in a wry smile. ‘No. My boss is a woman. There’s no way she’d be impressed by that. She’d expect a woman to get child care to cover a meeting. She won’t make an exception for me. And I know it’s a pain, and I promise I won’t make a habit of it. It’s really just this once. And, yes, I could take her and dump her on a secretary or something on the way in, but it isn’t really fair on the secretary and it certainly isn’t fair on Kizzy. I’ve already thought about doing it, and if I didn’t have to ask you, I wouldn’t. I know you’ve got more than enough to do, and I’ll make it up to you—babysit yours so you can get some work done or something. Look after them while you get a massage. Whatever you like.’

      She put him out of his misery. ‘Done. You can babysit for me while I work, and I’ll have a massage. And you can pay for it,’ she added, waiting for him to renege, but he didn’t, he just nodded and looked relieved.

      ‘Thanks, Em. I owe you.’

      ‘I know. The meter’s running.’

      He chuckled and lifted the baby against his shoulder, burping her. Hell, he was getting good at it. Those big strong hands cradled her with a tenderness that made Emily want to weep, and now he was relaxing into the role, Kizzy obviously felt safe. Emily envied her. She’d give her eye teeth to be cradled in his arms with him staring adoringly down at her like that.

      She shot to her feet. ‘More tea?’

      He shook his head. ‘No, I’m going to turn in. I’m shattered. So—is that OK for the morning, then?’

      ‘Tomorrow?’ she said, startled, and he nodded.

      ‘Sorry—didn’t I mention that? Is tomorrow a problem?’

      ‘No,’ she said, mentally scanning her diary. ‘Except the decorators are starting.’

      ‘Hell,’ he said softly. ‘Could you keep an eye on them? Make sure they’re OK and don’t do anything silly?’

      ‘Have you agreed colours?’

      ‘Colours?’ He looked suddenly overwhelmed, and she took pity on him. He’d had a hard day, and the learning curve must seem to him as steep as Everest.

      ‘Don’t worry. I expect they’ll be doing preparation for a day or two. I’ll pick up some colour charts for you, or they might have some. If all else fails I’ll decide for you—but don’t blame me if you come back and find the hall sore-throat pink!’

      ‘You wouldn’t,’ he said, his eyes filled with panic, and she chuckled.

      ‘Don’t push your luck. Go on, go to bed and we’ll sort the rest out in the morning.’

      He nodded and stood up, the baby asleep in the crook of his arm, and he paused beside her and looked down into her eyes. The light was behind him so she couldn’t read his expression, but his voice was gruff.

      ‘You’re a star, Em. I don’t know what I would have done without you.’

      And without warning he bent his head and brushed his lips lightly against hers, then with a murmured, ‘Good night.’ He went upstairs and left her there, still reeling from his touch…

      The overhead lines were down.

      He couldn’t believe it. He’d had the day from hell. His boss had grilled him like a kipper about when he was going to be able to return to work, he’d had his contract terms pointed out to him in words of one syllable, his mobile phone battery had died and now this.

      The train had come to a shuddering halt midway between stations, and there was nothing they could do but wait for the lines to be repaired. And in the meantime the air-conditioning was out of action because the train wasn’t running, and the staff were wandering up and down, handing out bottled water and reassurance while the entire world got on the phone and told their loved ones what was going on.

      Except him. Because his battery was flat, because with everything else he’d had to do he’d forgotten to put it on charge. And now Em wouldn’t know where he was or be able to get hold of him, and some woman next to him had recognised him and was hell-bent on making conversation. He would have borrowed her mobile and phoned Em, but her number was in his phone so he couldn’t get it and besides he didn’t want the number registered on the woman’s call log, because there was just something persistent about her that rang alarm bells.

      So he sat, stripped down to his shirtsleeves and wondering if it would be rude to take off his shoes and socks, and endured her conversation in the sweltering heat and worried about Kizzy and whether Em was coping, until he could have screamed.

      Where was he?

      She looked at her watch again, and tried his mobile once more, just in case, but either he was stuck in the underground, it was switched off or the battery was dead.

      And Kizzy was refusing her feeds. She’d been sick, she’d spent most of the afternoon with her legs bent up, screaming, and finally Em had got Freddie and Beth off to bed and was pacing up and down, Kizzy in her arms turned against her front for comfort, and she was grizzling and hiccupping and it was tearing Emily apart.

      She shifted her from one arm to the other because she was getting cramp, but as she settled her on the other side her breast brushed Kizzy’s cheek and she turned her little head, instinctively rooting for the nipple.

      And with her maternal instinct kicking in, Emily’s nipples started to prickle and bead with milk, even though it had been months since she’d given up feeding Freddie.

      Months and months, but as far as her body was concerned it could have been yesterday, and she pressed the heel of her hand against the other breast and bit her lips to hold back a whimper.

      Oh, she ached to feed her. The instinct was overwhelming, and Kizzy felt it, too, nuzzling her and sobbing, and in the end it was more than she could bear.

      How could it hurt? Wetnursing had been around for ever—for as long as mothers had died in childbirth, other women had fed their babies for them, and no one had thought twice about it. It was only now, in this sanitised age where bottle-feeding was an accepted option that anyone would even blink at the idea.

      And anyway, she didn’t need food, she needed comfort, poor motherless little scrap, and if Emily could provide comfort for this tragic infant, then who was she to deny it?

      She sat down in the middle of the sofa, unfastened her bra and lifted it out of the way, then turned the baby to her nipple, brushing it against her cheek, and as if she’d been doing it all her life, Kizzy turned to her, opened her mouth and latched on.

      There. Just like that, peace was restored. The hiccupping sobs faded to nothing, the only sound in the room was the rhythmic suckling of the baby, and cradling her close, Emily stroked the back of the tiny starfish hand pressed against her breast

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