Loren's Baby. Anne Mather
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shortly.
‘Pretending to be engaged!’ She laughed again, feeling more lighthearted than she had done for days. ‘Really, Laurence! If I wanted to come with you, do you think a little thing like gossip would stop me?’
He assumed an offended air. ‘It’s different for you,’ he maintained. ‘You’re young—and very attractive. And you don’t hold any position of authority in the college. I’m its principal. I can’t afford to behave in a way that might prove detrimental to my office.’
Caryn relented. ‘Oh, Laurence! All right. Don’t look so mortified. I know what you mean, but—well, I’ll think about it.’
‘About what?’ He was eager. ‘Marrying me?’
‘No.’ She quickly disabused him. ‘Going with you. As your “fiancée”, if necessary.’
He leant towards her appealingly. ‘Do give it careful thought, won’t you?’ he implored, but Caryn had the uneasy feeling that her association with Dean Mellor was being stretched to the limits.
It wasn’t late when he took her home; no more than ten o’clock. Laurence seldom indulged in late nights. He always said he liked to go to bed and read for an hour before attempting to go to sleep, and consequently he retired earlier to compensate.
Caryn climbed the stairs to her flat rather thoughtfully. She wasn’t sure what she ought to do about the trip to America. It was true, the idea of visiting that country was exciting, but as Laurence’s fiancée? Real or imagined? She shook her head. Somehow she was loath to commit herself to something that might prove more difficult to get out of later than she could imagine.
There was a light showing under her door, she saw as she reached the top of the stairs, and she frowned. Generally, Laura kept the baby in their flat, finding it easier that way. She did occasionally babysit in Caryn’s rooms, but that was usually when Bob was inviting some friends round to play cards, and she had not said anything about that tonight before Caryn went out. Still …
Caryn found her key and inserted it in the lock, and entered her living room. Then she stopped in astonishment. Laura was there, sitting nervously on the couch, but opposite her, his long length draped casually over one of Caryn’s armchairs, was Tristan Ross.
He came to his feet as she entered, and she noticed half with impatience how incongruous his dark green velvet evening suit looked in the apartment. Before going out she had washed some of the baby’s clothes and some nappies, and spread them over a clothes airer to dry. There were some blankets folded over the arm of one chair, and a half empty feeding bottle standing on the table, as well as a pair of her shoes and the tights she had worn for work that day strewn carelessly in one corner.
Laura stood up, too, and looked at her apologetically, making a helpless movement with her shoulders. ‘Er—Mr Ross came just after you left, Caryn,’ she explained awkwardly. ‘He insisted on waiting.’
Caryn pressed her lips together for a moment, and then met Ross’s eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’ She paused. ‘You should have phoned.’
He acknowledged this silently, and then looked at Laura. Taking her cue, she moved clumsily towards the door. But Caryn stopped her: ‘Don’t go, Laura …’
‘I think what we have to say needs to be said privately, don’t you?’ Tristan Ross suggested dryly, almost matching the words she had used at his house, and Laura nodded her head and made for the door.
‘He—he’s in the bedroom,’ she murmured for Caryn’s benefit, and Caryn smiled her thanks.
But when the door had closed behind her, Caryn had never felt more humiliated in her life. She despised herself for the slummy state of the room, for the obvious lack of organisation. And she despised him too for coming here and making her feel so small. Was he comparing this place to his beautiful home? How could he not do so? Still, she reflected cynically, perhaps it would persuade him that his child did not deserve to be brought up here.
Now she said curtly: ‘Have you seen—him?’
‘The boy?’ He inclined his head. ‘Yes, I’ve seen him.’
Caryn dropped her handbag on the floor. ‘And?’
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