A Question of Pride by Michelle Reid

quick glance at him, she could see that he looked more approachable, his eyes warmer, his mouth not so tightly drawn. 'Look at me,' he insisted gently, and she turned her face up to him, eyes big in her pinched, pale face. 'For some reason known only to you,' he began quietly, 'you've decided to bring an end to our relationship.' Clea preferred that to
    'association', it had a more intimate ring to it. 'I can't say that I'm surprised because, quite frankly, I'm not... I suspected something of the kind before I went and that is why I'm here tonight.'
    Just as she'd supposed, Clea thought heavily. He watched her face, misread the abject misery there for fear, and sighed impatiently. 'I'm not going to throw things at you, or shout—' though he was near to doing that now '—I just want to understand, then I'll leave again... Does that make it easier for you to explain?'
    No, it made it harder! Because it proved that she'd been right all along and he didn't care for her at all.
    I'm having your baby!
    'I own this flat, Max,' she informed him thickly. Her frantic mind was groping for the right words, the way to say that small remark that would make all of this sensible.
    'I know you do,' he sighed. 'But ...'
    'And this weekend, while I was at my mother's...' she trudged on, ignoring his impatient interruption.
    'And she dropped two surprises on my lap, one of which doesn't concern this now, but the other does ...'
    She took in a deep breath and held on to it. 'I have my twenty-first birthday coming up next month ...'
    'Clea—you're losing me again!'
    'Then let me finish!' she bit out, the tension in her pulling her delicate skin taut across her cheekbones. 'I have to explain this my own way! I have a birthday coming up,' she repeated heavily. 'And my mother gave me this—this endowment policy—taken out by my father when I was born. It matures on my birthday. It's for a lot of money. James said ...'
    'And who the hell is James?' Max bit out angrily. He looked as confused as Clea felt. His black brows drawn into a straight line, eyes flashing silver-blue fury. 'The man who's usurping me in your bed?' he enquired derisively. 'The man who ...'
    'James is my stepfather!' she enlightened witheringly.
    'James Laverne,' she told him, her own expression as derisive as his now, as anger at him made her forget everything else but looking disgustedly into his face. '1 have mentioned him to you before but, as usual when I tell you anything personal, you haven't bothered to listen properly. James Laverne is a stockbroker—a very successful one. And he's going to invest the money, so I won't have to worry about an income for a long time. So ...' She dragged in another deep breath. 'I have my flat, and no financial worries.'
    'Which adds up to—Clea being of independent means, and therefore no longer in need of a well paid job with me.' He thought he'd solved it, and his mouth twisted unpleasantly, his sarcasm cutting into Clea so she had to struggle to maintain some composure.
    'I left your employ before I knew about the money,' she pointed out cuttingly. It was all right for him to mock, but he didn't know what all this was leading up to. 'And,' she added tightly, 'I already have another job waiting for me.'
    'So it's only poor Max who's being given the elbow!' he concluded, on a crack of dry humour.
    Anger made her jump up from her chair to stand glaring at him. 'And could poor Max give a damn?' she sliced back bitterly. It was decaying into a slanging match as she had known it would.
    'Not if scenes like these are to be the norm from now on, no,' he drawled. 'I don't think I do give a damn.'
    'Good,' she said, fielding his contempt, with only a flicker of her lashes to reveal how his words had hurt her. Cold purpose pushed up her chin. 'Then knowing just how you really feel about me makes it a lot easier for me to say what I've been finding difficult to tell you.'
    At last! his long-suffering expression said.
    'I'm going to have a