The following evening, however, she had been very subdued. When Rafe had asked her what was wrong she'd been evasive, saying in the end that she was just tired. But Rafe believed he knew what was bothering her. Her period—that event she could always set her clock by—hadn't arrived as expected that day.
He'd contained his own secret elation at being successful so soon, and had rung her again today from Tullamarine Airport just before he'd caught an earlier plane than he'd been intending. His original booking had been for a later flight, but he was anxious to get back to Isabel.
She'd been even more distracted during this phone-call, and when he'd said he was coming over as soon as he'd landed she'd fobbed him off, saying she was cooking dinner for her parents that night and to give her a call on the weekend.
Rafe suspected she'd come up with another excuse not to see him then as well. Which was why he'd decided to just show up on her doorstep.
The lights on in her town house told him she'd lied about going to her parents, and that really worried him.
What on earth was going through her mind? Had she realised she didn't want a baby so badly after all? Or was it just his baby she didn't want?
Rafe hoped it wasn't anything like that. He hoped she was just a little shocked, and perhaps worried over what to do where he was concerned. Perhaps she'd decided not to tell him. Naturally, she'd think the pregnancy was an accident on his part and not deliberate. Perhaps she was worried he wouldn't want the child. He stupidly hadn't thought of that. Perhaps she was going to break it off with him and have his baby on her own, as she'd always planned to do.
He didn't want to entertain that other awful worry that she might get rid of his baby. Surely Isabel wouldn't do that. Even if she was late, and thought she was pregnant, she couldn't be sure yet. Even the most regular women were sometimes late.
But she wasn't late, Rafe believed as he sat there, mulling everything over. She was pregnant with his child. That was why she was acting out of character.
The time had come for a confession.
A wave of nausea claimed his stomach as he alighted from his car. Rafe hadn't felt this nervous in years, in fact, he'd never felt this nervous. This was worse than having his photographs exhibited, or judged. This was him about to be judged. Rafe, the man.
What if Isabel found him wanting in the role as father of her child? What if she didn't think him worthy? What then?
Rafe had no idea. He'd just have to take this one step at a time.
* * * * *
Isabel couldn't settle to anything. She wandered out into the kitchen and started making herself a cup of coffee. Not because she really wanted one but just to do something.
She couldn't be pregnant, she began thinking for the umpteenth time as she waited for the water to boil. Rafe had religiously used protection.
But condoms weren't one hundred per cent safe, came the niggling thought. Nothing was one hundred per cent safe except abstinence. And they certainly hadn't abstained during the few days they'd spent together on Dream Island. It had been full-on sex all the time. Mind-blowing, multi-orgasm sex. The kind of sex which might cause a condom to spring a little leak.
And a little leak was all that it took. Isabel recalled seeing a documentary once where just a drop of sperm had millions of eggs in it. Millions of very active eggs with the capacity to impregnate lots of women, if the timing was right.
And the timing had been pretty right, hadn't it? Perhaps not optimum time, she conceded. That had been from the Thursday till the Saturday. But they'd had sex late on the Wednesday night and that could easily have done the trick. Sperm could live for forty-eight hours, that same documentary had proudly proclaimed. Surviving half a miserable day was a cinch.
Oh, dear...
Her front doorbell ringing had Isabel spilling coffee beans all over the grey granite-topped bench. It wasn't Rachel calling round. Isabel had not long got off the phone to Rachel, who'd told her not to be silly, she was only a day and a half late, she probably wasn't pregnant at all. Rachel had sensibly suggested buying a home-pregnancy test in the morning and putting her mind at rest.
But Isabel already knew what the result would be. She was pregnant with Rafe's child. She just knew it.
The doorbell rang a second time with Isabel still standing there, her mind still whirling.
It wasn't her parents. Tonight was raffle night down at their club. Nothing short of her giving birth would drag her mother away from that raffle.
Which event was a little way off yet.
Unlikely to be any of her new neighbours—whose names she didn't even know—wanting a cup of sugar. People rarely did that kind of the thing in the city.
No, it was Rafe. She'd heard the puzzled note in his voice when she'd put him off from coming round. But she simply hadn't been in a fit state to face him.