More Than A Dream. Emma Richmond

isn’t. Or, at least, not yet...’ Laughing, she added, ‘It’s all right, you can say it!’

      ‘Moi?’ he asked with a grin. ‘I’m much too polite. However...’

      ‘Quite.’ Still smiling, she queried, ‘Have any luck in finding a new stable?’

      With a friendly arm round her shoulder, he steered her into the lounge and seated her on the sofa before collapsing beside her. ‘No, the owner and I had a long talk, and I decided, after much deliberation, to leave them where they are.’

      ‘Because?’ she asked lightly. She knew this husband of hers well enough to know that, if the owner had a problem, financial or otherwise, and unloaded it on to Charles, Charles would immediately set about finding a solution, and therefore wouldn’t dream of adding to his troubles by taking his horses away. Unless of course it was the owner’s mismanagement, or laziness, that had created the problem; then it would have been a very different story.

      ‘Oh,’ he dismissed, ‘he’s had one or two problems... Why are you laughing?’

      ‘No reason,’ she denied with a fond smile, ‘go on.’

      ‘Nothing to go on with. I just decided to leave them with him for the time being. Anyway, with the racing season finished, there’s no immediate hurry. So, want to go out for lunch before your hospital appointment?’

      Knowing it was what he wanted, she nodded. ‘Love to. Where shall we go?’

      ‘Ciros?’

      ‘Great. Will we get in?’ She knew very well that, with the town still crammed to capacity after the film festival, restaurant bookings were like gold dust.

      ‘Of course.’

      ‘Of course,’ she laughed, and wondered not for the first time what levers he used in order to get a table when no one else could. ‘I’ll go and get ready.’

      They were welcomed as Charles was welcomed everywhere, with delight, with a grin and with excellent service. He explained to the head waiter that she was to have a scan that afternoon, and would therefore need to drink at least one and a half pints of liquid. Not an eyelid was batted, not a comment made, and she was smilingly presented with a large carafe of water, and one of orange juice. Charles watched her with smiling concern as she battled to drink the required amount without once going to the ladies’.

      ‘God, I’m glad I’m not a woman!’ he exclaimed fervently when they were ready to leave. ‘Is it really necessary to drink all that?’

      ‘So they say. Apparently the scan won’t work properly otherwise. Don’t ask me why, because I don’t know. I did ask,’ she added comically, ‘but I didn’t understand the answer.’

      Hugging her to his side, he kept his arm round her as he escorted her back to the car.

      * * *

      The scan itself went off without difficulty; it was when she returned to the reception desk for her card, after a hasty visit to the ladies’, that the troubles began.

      ‘Ah, Madame Revington,’ the receptionist said, and then, presumably remembering that Melly was English, proudly displayed her talent in that direction. ‘Dr Lafage,’ she enunciated slowly, ‘he is wishing to see you. Oui?’ she asked triumphantly.

      ‘Oui, très bien,’ Melly complimented. ‘Where? And, more importantly, why?’ she asked lightly. ‘I didn’t have to see him before.’ Registering the woman’s total incomprehension, she gave a wry smile, and because she couldn’t be bothered to dredge up her shaky French she turned to Charles, and silently asked him to translate for her. Which he did with a fluency she envied. He would only intercede if she asked, because he said the only way for her to learn the language fluently was to practise on every conceivable occasion. Which was true, she thought wryly, but it made life very complicated sometimes.

      ‘She doesn’t know why,’ Charles informed her with a smile. ‘Probably just routine.’ Thanking the receptionist, he collected Melly’s notes and, with a hand solicitously beneath her elbow, escorted her down to the antenatal clinic.

      Dr Lafage saw them straight away. Another one who spoke English, which only went to emphasise how lazy the English were at learning foreign languages.

      ‘Madame, m’sieu,’ he smiled, ‘please be seated. Now, we would like for you to go on the monitor. Yes? You have been on it before, I understand.’ Consulting the notes that Charles had given him, he nodded. ‘Yes, last month.’ Leaning back in his chair, he beamed at her. ‘Tell me how you are feeling. You have backache, perhaps? Headaches?’

      ‘No. Cramp sometimes, heartburn; other that that, I feel fine.’

      ‘No dizziness? Faintness?’

      ‘No.’

      ‘Bien. You are eating properly?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Taking the tablets for the iron and vitamin?’

      ‘Yes,’ she agreed a little impatiently. ‘Is there some problem?’

      ‘Well, we hope not. Are almost sure not, but...’

      Beginning to feel more and more alarmed, she sought Charles’s hand and then held it tight. ‘But?’

      With a long sigh, he explained, ‘Your blood-pressure is a little high—nothing to get alarmed about, just a little higher than we would like. And it might be best if we had you in for a few days, just to be on the side of safe...’

      ‘But if it’s only a little bit high...’

      ‘It is true, it is not a matter for too much concern, but we would like for you to rest.’

      ‘I do rest! And, if I need to rest more, I will!’ she insisted. Her face reflecting her worry, she asked faintly, ‘There’s nothing wrong with the baby, is there?’

      ‘Non! Non, the baby is fine...’

      ‘Then why? If the baby is fine...’

      ‘It is fine; please, you must not get distressed. It is only that we have the minor concern that it is small, not growing as fast as we would like. There is nothing to worry about, but we would like to put you on the monitor, just for safety’s sake for half of the hour, and then, if that is all right, which I’m sure it will be,’ he reassured hastily, ‘you may go home. But next week we would like you to come for another scan.’ Getting to his feet, he waited until they stood and then walked round the desk to escort them to the door. Smiling down at her, he patted her shoulder. ‘Don’t worry, all will be well, I’m sure.’

      Then why say anything at all? she wondered. Searching his face as he opened the door and beckoned to a passing nurse, trying to see if there was something he wasn’t telling her, she turned to her husband. ‘Charles?’ she asked helplessly.

      Taking her face between his palms, he smiled down at her. ‘Stop worrying and do as the doctor says. You go with the nurse; I’ll have a chat with him, find out what I can. Go on, I’ll come along and find you in a minute.’

      Nodding, she gave the nurse a worried smile, and accompanied her along to one of the cubicles. Obediently climbing on to the bed, she lay back. What did the doctor mean, small? How small? And what did he mean about not growing? The nurse, unfortunately, didn’t speak English, and all the French Melly had ever known had flown out of her head. All she could remember was how to ask for the pen of her aunt. The damned stupid things they taught you in school. She could conceive of no situation whatsoever when anyone might need to ask for the pen of their aunt! Why couldn’t they teach you useful things? Like how to ask about small babies? Giving an agitated little sigh, she tried to relax. Getting worked up might affect the baby’s heartbeat, which would be picked up by the monitor, and then they would keep her in.

      With her tummy exposed and the monitor strapped in place, Melly had nothing to do but listen to the