The Midwife's Secret Child. Fiona McArthur
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had never been about Faith—it was about Chloe.
All about Chloe.
But now he was here. Raimondo’s dark eyes travelled slowly over her and, surprisingly, they narrowed, as did his mouth. Even as the eternal optimist, Faith could see something was wrong.
Well, whatever it was, she knew it wasn’t her fault. She lifted her chin higher.
The possible implications of Raimondo revisiting her life opened like an unexpectedly dark flower in front of her and sent a flutter of maternal panic to quicken her breath.
He had rights.
She’d confirmed his claim in letters.
His name on the birth certificate, something she’d considered long and hard, saw to that as well.
She frowned and looked away in out-of-character confusion until accidentally glimpsing Dianne, her caving mentor, her caring friend and also her silver-haired boss, at the counter gesturing to Raimondo and the clock. The tour owner’s hands were making exuberant waving motions as she encouraged Faith to commence the tour.
Faith glanced guiltily at the time. Five past ten already. The group peered her way expectantly.
All who had paid, including the man at the door, had arrived and it was time to leave. Good grief. It felt like too much to switch brains to tour guide after the shockwave of Raimondo’s arrival.
Compartments.
Faith could do compartments.
Faith would have to do emergency situation compartments. Navigating herself and other people through life challenges was her bread and butter in her real profession as a midwife and she’d just have to drag that skill across to caving tours with the man she’d thought she’d never see again.
She could do that.
Mentally she clanked shut doors and boxes in her brain like a theme park gate keeper—clang, bolt, lock until all darting terrors were mostly inside… But Raimondo still loomed across the room. The man who was never coming back. And with a scowl as if he’d been the one left holding the baby.
Faith moistened her suddenly dry lips and cleared her throat.
Later. It would have to be later. ‘Good morning. My name is Faith.’ She remembered the way his soft vowels had caressed her name and, darn it, she could feel the heat on her cheeks but she pushed on and smiled more determinedly. ‘I hope you’re all as excited as I am to enjoy the glories of Binimirr Cave this morning.’
Her gaze swept over the others, avoiding the tall, overwhelming presence of the Italian man who’d positioned himself to the back of the group. With a tinge of tour guide unease she hoped his shoulders would fit through one particular narrow opening she could think of in the labyrinth ahead, but reassured herself he’d managed last time. When she’d given him the private tour all those years ago.
Her gaze refocused on the other participants, realised belatedly that the backpackers were in shorts and shook her head. She should have seen that earlier. Every time she crawled through the labyrinth she came home with scratches on her knees and she always wore jeans.
She said gently to everyone, ‘This isn’t your normal ramble through the paths and steps of a tourist cave. This adventure tour you’ve signed up for is off the level track and through rough confines. Which means you have to crawl over rough gravel on your knees, squeezing your shoulders and balancing on uneven rocks.’
Faith smiled, admittedly a little blindly, as her brain batted at her like a bat outside a window trying to comprehend why Raimondo would come back when he’d explained very gently five years ago why he never could or would.
Stop it. Clang. Stay locked.
She rubbed her own elbows and knees. ‘Unless you’re okay with losing your skin I’m very happy to give you a few minutes to pull some jeans on or buy some knee and elbow guards.’
Most of the participants had arrived on the dusty bus parked outside the shop and the scantily clad young couple peeled off from the group and headed for the tour bus at a fast jog. They were very sweet to be so eager. The quiet, nervous man crossed to the inexpensive knee supports and selected a set to purchase.
From the corner of her eyes she could see Raimondo standing to the back like a dark predator, motionless, an ability she suddenly remembered and had admired then, as others shifted and chatted, and against her will she slowly turned her face his way. Their eyes locked, his cocoa irises merging with the pupils, eyes so dark and turbulent with unexpected questions. And hers too, seeking answers and maybe reassurance as well.
Until the flare of connecting heat that she remembered from their first ever shared glance, all that time ago, hit her like a blast from a furnace. The flush of warmth low in her belly jumped into life and warned that despite her attempts at blocking out the past she ‘knew’ this man. In the biblical sense. Knew him too many passionate, mind-blowing times in that brief window of craziness.
A hot cascade of visceral memories flashed over her skin the way it had when he’d explored her with his hands. So long ago.
Heat scorched suddenly sensitive skin and molten memories surged with a thrust of explicit detail in her mind until she tore her eyes away, her breathing fast and her mouth dry. Like falling into a hot spring. Good grief.
How was she going to stay sane for the next ninety minutes, having him there, behind her, the whole way around the tour?
She glanced at Dianne but her boss was taking money at the till. Dianne couldn’t help. Shouldn’t help. It was Faith’s problem. No. She’d do it. And when this cave trip was over she’d find out what this was all about because she’d done nothing wrong.
As usual, it only took a couple of brief wardrobe adjustments until the adventurers were ready—shame it had felt like hours—and she was glad Raimondo hadn’t chosen this moment of waiting to approach. She told herself she was relieved. Very relieved.
Because she would do this on her terms.
Finally, the party reassembled and she directed everyone to the wall hung with helmets and headlamps, where she picked up a large and small helmet from the wall and two headlamps on elastic headbands. ‘Grab a light and find a helmet your size—they’re grouped small, medium and large—and I’ll check your straps and talk about using your lights before we leave here.’
Then she lifted her head and walked steadily over to Raimondo. Practising the words in her head. This is unexpected. How unexpected. What a surprise.
‘Raimondo.’ She handed him the helmet.
‘Faith.’ Just his smooth utterance of her name with his delicious Italian accent made the gooseflesh lift on her arms—unfortunately her hands were too full to rub the irritation.
‘This is unexpected.’ That had sounded too breathless and she reined in her control. ‘As you can see—’ she gestured with the helmet at the group just out of earshot ‘—it’s my responsibility to return all these people safely to the surface.’ That came out much more firmly. ‘I can’t have distractions so we can talk later, if that’s why you are here.’
She waited.
‘Certainly.’
She nodded. Get away now. ‘I hope you enjoy the tour.’
He inclined his dark head. ‘I enjoyed it last time.’ The ‘with you’ remained unsaid. She spun away from him and began to check every other person’s chin strap except his—she couldn’t quite come at that—until everyone was helmeted, including herself.
After the usual jokes and selfie photos, and some fast Snapchat posting by the teens, they left the tourist shop to cross the dry grass in an enthusiastic crocodile of intrepid cavers.
She chewed her lip, a habit she’d tried to break when she was nervous, though it certainly wasn’t the cave Faith was worried about. It was Raimondo and her own lack of concentration