Free The Baby Verdict by Cathy Williams Page B

was vaguely soothing.
    â€˜Have you eaten?’ he asked bluntly.
    â€˜Why? Are you about to offer your talents as in-house chef?’ The man was simply trying to be pleasant, but for some reason she found it hard to stomach. She wished he had stuck to the brief he had initially presented to her—of a man who was ruthless, self-assured, autocratic and took pains to hide none of those qualities. She couldn’t cope with his wit, his sense of humour and, worst, his attempts to be considerate.
    â€˜Look,’ he said, standing up, ‘I’m beginning to wish that I hadn’t bothered to drop by. If you’d rather lie and wallow in your misery, then far be it from me to disturb you.’ He reached down for his jacket, and Jessica took a deep breath.
    â€˜I...’ she struggled, looking at her fingers. ‘I...I’m...’
    â€˜I haven’t got all day. Spit it out.’
    Wasn’t that more like it? He damned well knew what she wanted to say, but he was going to make sure that he didn’t let her off the hook.
    â€˜I’m sorry if I appeared rude.’
    â€˜You didn’t appear rude. You were rude.’
    Jessica blushed. ‘Okay. I apologise.’ This seemed insufficient. He still had his jacket in his hand, and she now realised that she desperately did not want him to leave. She didn’t want her final impression on him to be of an ill-mannered, surly, belligerent woman who had neither the good grace nor common courtesy to express her thanks to someone who had paid her a visit out of kindness. Much as she loathed the thought of being seen as a charity case, which was what his kindness implied.
    â€˜I’m so accustomed to my independence that I don’t deal very well when my body lets me down. I have a pile of work waiting for me at the office, and I simply cannot afford to take time off to be ill.’
    â€˜The place won’t self-destruct because you’re out of it for a few days.’ He sighed, and she eyed him surreptitiously as he dumped the jacket back on the coffee-table and looked at her. ‘So have you eaten? A simple yes or no answer will do.’
    â€˜Not much,’ Jessica admitted reluctantly.
    â€˜I’ll make you something.’
    Before she could object, he sauntered off and she lay back and closed her eyes. She wouldn’t swap her lifestyle for any of her married friends’ lifestyles, of course she wouldn’t, but for a minute she conceded that there might be one or two advantages to the married life. One of them had to be a husband who fetched cups of tea when necessary. None of her previous boyfriends had ever come near to fitting any such role, and Bruno Carr, despite the fact that he could bring a grin to her lips at the least expected moments, was definitely not the sort of man who could ever be a contender, but... She imagined someone thoughtful, caring, kind, good background and a dab hand at cooking. Might not be too bad after all.
    She was nodding off when Bruno said from over her, ‘Wake up, Sleeping Beauty. Feeding time.’
    Jessica rubbed her eyes and sat up, swinging her legs over the side of the sofa to accommodate the tray he was carrying.
    â€˜Nothing very fancy, I’m afraid.’
    He set the tray on her lap, and her mouth watered at the sight of two slices of toast smothered in creamy scrambled egg. Much better than anything she could have produced herself, but then scrambled eggs had always been a problem for her.
    â€˜Thank you very much,’ she said, tucking into the food, and only realising the depth of her hunger when she bit into the toast and egg. She had eaten nothing for the past day and a half. ‘Tastes delicious.’
    â€˜Things have a tendency to, when someone else does the cooking.’ He perched on the coffee-table and regarded her.
    â€˜You do this often, do you?’ she asked absent-mindedly, concentrating on feeding her hunger as rapidly as