Place. At eleven-thirty exactly she was shown into the doctor’s room.
It was time to have her suspicions confirmed.
Mr Hardwicke was Adeline’s doctor and he had attended to the childhood ailments of all three Lovell children. The big room with its waxy floral arrangements, polished desk and green leather examination couch were so familiar to Isabel that she didn’t even glance around her. Mr Hardwicke had crossed the room to greet her and now he was shaking her hand. She forced herself to smile and focus on what he was saying.
‘ … since you were married. Congratulations, and so forth. How time flies. It hardly seems a year since you were a little girl down with that nasty bout of measles. Dear me. Sit down here, now.’ Behind his desk again the doctor folded his hands and beamed at her. ‘Well, Mrs Jaspert. What can we do for you today?’
Carefully Isabel took off her cream leather gloves and laid them on her lap, smoothing the fingers flat. The big solitaire diamond in her engagement ring flashed at her.
‘I think I’m pregnant.’
‘Well, well. That’s very suitable. Well done. I’m sure you’re right. Tell me the symptoms, will you?’
Isabel told him, keeping her eyes fixed on her folded hands.
‘That sounds like it to me. Well now. We’ll do a couple of little tests, and I’ll examine you to make sure everything’s in perfect order. Then you can go home and tell Mr Jaspert the good news. I’ll call in my nurse, and perhaps you would slip behind the screen there and undress and then put yourself on the couch so we can take a look at you?’
Isabel did as she was told. She stretched out on the white towel laid over the green leather and the nurse put a blanket over her. The doctor’s face was wreathed in smiles as it loomed over hers, hovering unnaturally close and then dissolving back again with the light flashing off the gold-rimmed spectacles.
Isabel fought against the nausea and the faintness. The doctor’s voice boomed in her ears.
‘Try to relax. Just a little examination.’
The blanket was taken away and Isabel almost screamed as his gloved fingers touched her thigh. It took all the shreds of her willpower to force herself to be still while the fingers explored her.
At the end of it, inexplicably it seemed, Mr Hardwicke was still smiling. Was it possible that he didn’t feel her shuddering? Isabel wondered.
‘There now. That wasn’t so very terrible, was it?’ He was peeling off his gloves, and the nurse tucked the blanket back again. ‘How long have you been married?’
‘Three months.’
‘And I can confirm that you are at least two months pregnant. Nothing at all amiss there. You’re very lucky, you know. Some young people have to wait for ever. Boy or a girl, would you like? Boy first for Mr Jaspert, I expect? You can get dressed now, my dear.’
Isabel was thinking of the hotel room in Florence with the view of the Duomo from the balcony, the high white bed and the nights with Peter. On one of those nights, then, it had happened.
‘Mrs Jaspert? Would you like to get dressed?’ The nurse was holding her clothes, one hand stroking the soft furs with unconscious envy.
When she was dressed again and sitting opposite the doctor at his desk, Isabel felt the nausea releasing its grip.
Mr Hardwicke was writing her notes, nodding and smiling. ‘You’re a healthy young lady, Mrs Jaspert. I foresee no problems at all, but perhaps you would like to consult an obstetric specialist? I can give you the name of the best man, or perhaps Lady Lovell will have some advice for you as far as that goes. Nearer the time of your confinement, perhaps? That will be in mid-November, so far as I can judge. During your pregnancy you should continue to live as normally as possible, eat a healthy diet, and take as much rest as you feel you need. Not too many parties, crowded rooms and late nights, eh?’ His eyes twinkled at her behind his spectacles. ‘Any questions you want to ask me?’
Isabel’s fingers tightened on her gloves. ‘Yes,’ she said abruptly. She knew what the question was, but she hadn’t tried it out in her head. She had been too busy concentrating on not fainting. ‘What about our … married relationship? Might it be dangerous for the baby to … to … Surely that would stop until afterwards?’
Mr Hardwicke leaned forward reassuringly. ‘Your married life can certainly continue as long as it is comfortable and pleasurable for you both. Some young couples stop in the last few weeks, others continue right up until the time of confinement. It’s a matter of personal choice.’
Isabel stared at him. She had been certain that she would be able to take her pregnancy back home with her like a shield.
‘But … I’d be afraid. For the baby, you know.’
The doctor was looking at her more carefully now. ‘There really isn’t any need to worry. Mother Nature has arranged things as logically as she always does. But if you do feel particularly anxious perhaps the best thing would be to discuss it with your husband, explain what you feel, and ask him to be extra gentle with you. It is his baby too, remember. Or would you prefer it if I spoke to him? I couldn’t recommend months of complete abstinence for a newly married couple.’
‘No,’ Isabel said hastily. ‘No, I’ll talk to him myself, of course.’
Automatically she reached for her handbag and pulled her fur around her shoulders.
‘Are you quite happy,’ the doctor asked gently, ‘with the physical side of your marriage?’
Isabel stood up. Her chair rocked precariously for a moment before she reached to steady it. ‘Yes. Perfectly happy.’
Mr Hardwicke’s smile had faded a little as he walked round his desk to open the door for her. ‘It does take a little time, you know.’
As he stood there, kindly and familiar, with his fingers not quite touching the doorknob, Isabel almost told him. She opened her mouth and moistened her lips, and saw his eyebrows go up a fraction as he waited. But his expectancy touched her reserves of pride and she squared her shoulders against him.
‘Like all kinds of other things in life,’ Isabel said brightly.
The doctor nodded, as if conceding a point, and opened the door for her. Isabel went down the wide, carpeted steps to the street, pulling on her gloves and smoothing the leather over each finger as if the fit of them was her most important concern.
*
Peter was home early, for once. Isabel was finishing her five o’clock cup of tea in the drawing room when he came in. He stood awkwardly in his City clothes, his newspaper in one hand, not quite looking at her and waiting to see how she would receive him. It was as if part of him wanted to apologize for the night before, but his stubborn truculence wouldn’t allow it. If Isabel was prepared to be civilized and pretend that nothing had happened, then he could do the same, but if she was still angry he could use that as an excuse to let his own anger flare up again.
Looking at him in the coolness of her new detachment, Isabel thought it was odd that Peter could handle his constituents and colleagues so expertly in his overbearing way, yet had no idea how to deal with his own wife.
Isabel smiled. ‘What sort of day did you have today?’ she asked him.
Peter shrugged with relief. So last night hadn’t happened.
‘Quietish. I may have to fly to Berlin tomorrow for a day or so to close a piece of business.’
Isabel nodded. She knew that Peter’s trading on the metal market was currently concerned with armaments, but she didn’t enquire beyond that.
‘Shall I ring for a fresh pot of tea?’
‘No, this will do.’
‘Cream?’
She gave her husband his cup and watched him sit down opposite her.