Baby on Board. Liz FieldingЧитать онлайн книгу.
proportion to their true meaning.’
She shook her head.
‘You have to remember the good things. Remember how happy you made them both.’ He squeezed her arm reassuringly, then touched the sleeping baby’s head. ‘I’ll see you both later,’ he said, taking a step back, saving the picture of the two of them in his mind before tearing himself away.
Grace unlocked the door to her workshop, kicking aside the mail so that she could get the buggy in, turning on the lights.
She’d expanded from her original tiny workroom, moving into this wonderful airy space when it had become vacant a couple of years ago.
She’d kept the walls and furnishings a stark black and white to accentuate the vivid colours of her jewellery. At one end there was a secure walk-in storage space for the basic tools of her trade and a tiny office. There was her working area, with her drawing board and the workbench where she put together her designs.
The centre of the room offered a display area for photographs of some of the special pieces she’d made, as well as the dramatic spiral stands that Toby had designed and made to display examples of her work.
There was a comfortable seating area for clients who came to discuss special commissions and at the far end was another long workbench where she worked with the students who took her classes.
She didn’t waste time going through the mail, but put it to one side to take home with her. Instead, she made the most of the fact that Posie was asleep to download and pack up the Internet orders for beads, findings, the jewellery kits that kept the cash flow ticking over.
After that she called Abby, a stay-at-home mum who’d taken one of her classes and proved to be one of her most talented students. She was happy to come in for a few hours a day for the next couple of weeks and, while Grace was waiting for her to arrive so that she could walk her through the Web site ordering systems, she took the armature for the tiara she’d designed from the workroom, the tray with the teardrop pearls and each size and colour of semi-precious stone she would use, counted and placed in individual compartments. Then, with the deceptively simple design in front of her, she began to build the sparkling fairy tale confection that a young bride would wear on the most special day of her life.
When, finally, it was finished, she sat back and looked at it, glad she’d come here. Glad she’d done something positive. Something life-affirming.
Posie, who’d been an angel and had slept while she’d worked, finally woke and began to make her presence felt.
‘Well, haven’t you been a good baby,’ she said, as she lifted her bag from the carrier and plugged in her bottle-warmer before changing her.
She was just about to settle on the sofa in the customer area, when there was a tap at the door.
Josh would have just walked in despite the ‘closed’ sign on the door and, expecting it to be Abby, she called out, ‘It’s open.’ Then, as she realised it was neither, she said, ‘Oh, Toby…’
Her disappointment must have been evident because he didn’t come beyond the doorway.
‘I know you’re not open but I saw your light on and I thought I’d come over and see if there was anything you need. If it’s a bad time…’
Toby Makepeace restored and made bespoke rocking horses across the cobbled yard of what had once been a huge coaching inn, but had long since been converted into craft workshops and small boutiques. He was easy to get along with and she’d taken him home as her ‘date’ the last time Josh had come home on a proper visit.
Still trying to prove to him, or maybe just to herself, that he didn’t mean anything to her. No, definitely to herself. He hadn’t given her a thought a minute after he’d left her sleeping in his bed.
Toby, unlike her other ‘dates’, had quickly cottoned on to the reason for his presence and had played his part to the hilt. Michael had teased her about him for weeks afterwards, referring to him as her ‘lovelorn swain’ until Phoebe had finally told him to stop embarrassing her.
Had Phoebe seen, understood more than she had ever let on? She had never said anything, but she’d never pressed her about boyfriends, either. She’d never remarked on the fact, that despite the fact that Grace had always said she was too busy to get involved, she had always managed to have a date when Josh had come home.
It must have been blindingly obvious, now she came to think about it. Bless Phoebe…
Toby had laughed when she had told him and it had somehow cemented a genuine friendship and he had been the first person she’d thought of when she’d needed help at the hospital.
‘No,’ she said, ‘it’s never a bad time to see a friend. I don’t think I ever thanked you properly for what you did.’
‘Don’t even think about it,’ Toby said, closing the door, coming across and giving her a hug. Leaving his hand on her arm. It was no more than a gesture of comfort from a friend, but it was where Josh’s hand had so recently lain. It felt so much like an intrusion that it took all her concentration not to pull away. ‘Anything I can do, you know you only have to ask.’
‘Actually, I’m just about to feed Posie. If you really want to make yourself useful, you could put on a pot of coffee.’
Posie, growing impatient, began to whimper.
‘Poor little angel,’ Toby said, touching a finger lightly to her cheek before taking himself off to fill the coffee-maker. ‘But at least she’s still got her real mummy to take care of her.’
Grace sighed. There really was no point in explaining the finer points of surrogacy. She supposed most people would think that. She’d thought it herself until Josh had put her straight. She glanced at her watch. It had been more than an hour since they’d gone their separate ways.
What on earth could be taking so long?
Nothing good, she was sure. But there was nothing she could do about it now and she crossed to the sofa, settled herself in the corner against the arm and offered Posie the bottle. She sucked for a moment, then pulled away.
‘What’s up, sweetpea? I thought you were hungry.’ She offered her the bottle again and this time she seemed to settle.
‘Do these need posting?’ Toby said, distracting her.
‘Sorry?’
‘These packages,’ he said, nodding towards the pile of padded envelopes on her desk as he spooned coffee in the filter. ‘I’m going that way at lunch time. I’ll drop them in at the post office if you like.’
‘Oh, right. Yes. That would be a huge help,’ she said, seizing on his offer. ‘If you’re sure.’
‘I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.’
‘You’re a brick. Pass me my bag and I’ll give you some money.’ Then, ‘They all need to be sent “signed for”,’ she apologised as she handed over the notes.
‘No problem,’ he said, tucking the money into his back pocket before sitting beside her. ‘It’ll mean all the more time to chat up that dark-haired girl behind the counter.’
‘Sarah?’ She smiled. ‘Good choice. She’s absolutely lovely. So how long has that been going on?’
He shrugged. ‘I’ve been taking my post to her about twice a week since she started there.’
‘And that would be what—five, six months?’
‘I thought I’d take it slowly.’
‘Er… No. That’s not slow, Toby. That’s pathetic. Why don’t you just ask her out?’
‘Because, if she said no, sheer embarrassment would mean I’d have to go all the way into town to the main post office whenever I wanted a stamp.’
Grace clucked like a chicken and he