Free A Question of Pride by Michelle Reid

don't mind!' she exclaimed, managing to sound convincing because it was the truth. She thought it was the best thing that ever could have happened to them. 'I think it's marvellous news!
    Nothing—nothing could be more complete than for you and James to have a baby of your own!'
    'I'm thirty-eight years old!' said Amy balefully. 'To—to be quite frank, I feel a fool!'
    Clea blinked, glancing furtively at James who was still watching her with a narrow intensity that hinted at anger. What was he thinking, she wondered, to make him look at her like that? Amy's free hand was fluttering nervously, and Clea returned her attention to her mother, realising that whatever was bothering James would have to wait, because she could see her mother was looking pretty frantic.
    'Don't you—want the baby?' she asked bemusedly. They had so much to give a child, she couldn't believe it was possible that they weren't over the moon about it.
    'Of course we want it!' James answered sharply, and the anger she'd seen in his eyes showed in his voice now, though he tried to contain it when he spoke again. 'Your mother is feeling a trifle—vulnerable just now, that's all.'
    Clea struggled to pull her ragged thoughts together, her stunned mind grappling with the irony of it all.
    'When is it due?'
    'October...'
    October!
    She saw, through a frantic haze, her mother smile shyly. 'October the fifth or thereabouts—you know how it is.'
    Oh, she knew how it was all right! She was going to get a new brother or sister, and become a mother herself, all in a space of a few days!
    'Well—' She made herself get up and squat in front of Amy and James, her limbs stiff and trembling in shocked reaction, taking a hand from each and squeezing them urgently, her smile brilliant enough to blind. 'I think it's wonderful!' she said. 'Accept my congratulations.'
    Damn yourself, Clea! she inwardly berated herself. And damn Max Latham, too!
    By the time Clea escaped to privacy of her own room that night, she felt emotionally shattered. It had become obvious from the moment her mother had told her about the coming baby that Clea could not spoil their pleasure by blithely saying, 'Snap!' And, as her shock dimmed and she'd begun taking note of Amy's nervous anxiety about her condition, she had to determinedly thrust all her own problems aside to set about convincing her mother and James that having a baby now would be wonderful for them.
    James was quiet, and coolly withdrawn. And Clea knew he had sensed something in her attitude, seen, maybe, her initial reaction and was angrily puzzled by it. James adored Amy, but he was still vulnerable enough in his feelings to be highly sensitive to others' opinions of his new role—especially Clea's opinion.
    For, if James valued anyone's blessing, then it was his stepdaughter's because he was very much aware of how close mother and daughter were.
    What a mess! She had come here for the express purpose of baring her conscience, so that she could then get herself in hand before having to face Max. Now all she seemed to have done was add to her own troubles, and her head ached with the weight of them.
    It was ridiculous, she sighed, leaning back in her bed to stare at the darkened ceiling. Like living on a balance scale, she likened with bitter humour. One minute up, the next down. Surely things couldn't become more complicated than this? Soap operas, eat your hearts out! she scorned.
    She was becoming a nervous wreck. Quiet, level-headed Clea Maddon was learning that the Fates could rock anyone's self-possession—except Max's, maybe. Clea couldn't think of a single thing that could manage to shake him!
    I'm having a baby! God, what was she going to do? And how many times had she asked herself that question recently?
     
    It was just gone eight o'clock when Clea crept silently down the stairs, dressed in jeans and a warm V-necked jumper over a brushed cotton blouse. It was unusual for Amy and James to be up at this time on a