Wildflower Hill Read Online Free PDF Page A

Cigarette?”
    Beattie shook her head, but Cora lit up, her chin lifted so her elegant white throat was on show. “So, Billy’s being investigated over diddling the figures at Proudmoore’s.”
    Beattie refocused, bringing her attention back to Cora, to the present. Henry wasn’t here. All her courage started to flee; she hoped she could regather it when he arrived. “Diddling the . . . ?”
    “Aye, falsifying the account books. He’s running off before the police catch him up. His pa got him a job with a friend in Tasmania. Bottom of the world. Where he belongs.” She glanced around, making sure nobody was listening. “He did it, sure as anything, Beattie. He told Teddy so. Skimmed two hundred pounds for himself.”
    “Henry’s not involved?” Billy worked in accounts as Henry’s supervisor at a shipping firm.
    Cora shook her head emphatically. “No, Henry’s not got itin him. But Billy, he’s a bad seed. I’ll be glad to see the back of him.”
    Beattie forced a smile. “Teddy will miss him. He’ll be lonely.”
    “Teddy will be fine,” Cora purred, lifting her eyebrows suggestively. “I’ll keep him very close company.”
    Beattie couldn’t look at her. Why was it she, not Cora, who had fallen pregnant? The injustice of it burned, and suddenly, she needed to get away from Cora, with her perfect flat bust and stomach. She turned, began to hurry away, her head down, pushing people out of the way. Cora called after her imperiously, not used to Beattie cutting her out, but she ignored Cora’s voice, all of the other voices, the laughter, the pressing mob.
    Then he caught her. “Beattie?”
    “Henry!” Her voice was half relief, half fear.
    “What’s wrong? You’re quite pale.”
    “I’m . . .” She pulled herself together. “I have to speak with you. Now.”
    “You’re speaking with me.”
    “I mean about something important.” She looked around wildly. “Somewhere private.”
    He drew his eyebrows down, an expression so familiar to her. She loved his serious face, his intelligent eyes. She loved them so much it hurt her. She tried to hope. He would know what to do. He would help her.
    “Well, then,” he said, and grasped her wrist gently. They approached the back room, and Henry pushed the door inonly to find another couple, half dressed, on the daybed. With a muttered curse, he closed the door again. “Outside,” he said, not letting her go.
    Now he led her through the crowd and down the stairs. His firm fingers were reassuring, and Beattie started to feel a strange peaceful acceptance, almost as though she were in a dream. The night air was cold in contrast, and she hadn’t brought her coat. She could smell approaching rain, the strong odor of bus fumes from up on Douglas Street.
    “What’s this all about, then?” Henry asked. He gazed down on her with his steady gray eyes, and she savored the moment. She was madly in love with him; love would solve everything. Then a chill breeze sprang up and reminded her she had bare arms and a belly full of baby.
    “Henry, I’m pregnant.”
    He froze. A statue. Even in the dark, she could see his pupils shrink. For the first time since she’d met him, he looked uncertain. A second passed, another, and another, and her dreamy sureness washed away. He didn’t move nor say a word. She felt the sting of approaching tears, then the warm relief of them forming and flowing over.
    “Oh, Beattie,” he said at last, so softly and so tenderly that it terrified her.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry.” As though it were solely her fault, as though there were something bad and faulty about her that had caused her to fall pregnant. As though he had nothing to do with it at all.
    “No, no. I’m sorry,” he said. “I can’t . . .” He dropped hishead, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then gathered himself again and met her eyes. “My darling, I am married to somebody else. You know that.”
    Her veins grew cold. “But . . .