The Dutiful Wife by Penny Jordan Page B

to their Chelsea home, just in case she was recognised.
    Saul’s smile and brief kiss as he got out of the car outside the block that housed his company’s offices, and his promise not to be any longer than necessary before joining her, only increased her desperation and misery. If only she could just close her eyes and then open them again to find that all this was just a horrible, horrible nightmare, and that in reality she was safe, and she wasn’t pregnant at all. She might not be, after all. There was nothing yet to prove that she was.
    Nothing except those two missed periods, Giselle reminded herself grimly.
    After the chauffeur had dropped her off she went into the house, quickly checking that the concierge service they used had stocked the fridge, and ensuring that everything was ready for them to spend a few nights there—the beds freshly made up with the Egyptian cotton sheets that Saul insisted on, towels in the bathroom, and a supply of their favourite toiletries. Then she hurried out again, taking the tube to Oxford Street with its anonymous crowds, and hesitating apprehensively by the entrance to a large nationwide chemist store before going in.
    It was easy enough to find what she was looking for. In fact the choice of pregnancy testing kits was so large that it overwhelmed her at first, confusing her as she picked up one pack and then another, her fingerssemi-numb with nerves as she tried to read the instructions. She wanted one that she could use immediately, which would show her equally immediately whether or not she was pregnant. In the end, because she was taking so long and because she felt so self-conscious, she quickly picked up three different kits and put them into her basket, moving further down the shelves to add a tube of toothpaste and some other toiletries to cover the kits as she headed for the tills—just in case she saw anyone she knew. She recognised that she was probably overreacting. That was what guilt did to you. It made you feel hyper-aware of danger and hyper-sensitive to your own fear.
    It wasn’t the crowds and dusty traffic-fume-filled air of the city that made her break out into a sweat as she stepped back out onto Oxford Street, Giselle knew. It was her own fear and dread. The sudden ring of her mobile made her freeze, and her hands trembled when she saw that it was Saul who was calling her.
    ‘I thought we’d have dinner at that place on Berkeley Street, seeing as it’s one of your favourites,’ he told her, mentioning an expensive and exclusive London restaurant. ‘But it’s going to be at least an hour before I can get back home.’
    ‘That’s all right,’ Giselle managed to answer as she gripped the phone tightly.
    ‘What’s all that noise?’ Saul asked, obviously able to hear the sound of the traffic and other people on the street.
    ‘Oh, nothing. I’ve had to come out and get someorange juice for the morning. The concierge people had forgotten to get some in for us.’
    ‘I’ll see you in an hour,’ Saul repeated, before ending the call.
    An hour. Giselle felt as though her whole body was bathed in apprehensive sweat as she hurried down into the underground.
    The rush hour had begun and the train was packed, the heat in the packed carriage making her feel lightheaded and faintly sick. Maybe this was it. Maybe her period was going to start. Giselle prayed that it might, fighting back her nausea, wincing inwardly at the sight of a heavily pregnant woman seated in front of her, desperate to look away from her. She was thankful when she was finally able to exit the underground and make her way back up into slightly fresher air.
    Despite hurrying, and ending up with a stitch in her side from walking so fast, it still took her nearly half an hour from speaking to Saul to get back to the Chelsea house. Once she got inside she leaned against the closed door, welcoming the cool silence. Her head was throbbing and all she wanted to do was have a shower and then