Baby Out of the Blue. Annie West

he wasn’t just using her for his own ends.

      It wasn’t until two weeks later, when she still hadn’t had her period, that she’d even considered the alternative. And even then it had been hard to believe that that reckless consummation had had such a result. It was five weeks now since Demetri had come to her apartment. She’d already received notification that he’d contacted his solicitors about the divorce. Dear God, what was she going to do?

      The appearance of her employer forced her to shelve the problem for the moment. Although Olga Ivanovitch was almost seventy, she strode into Jane’s office at the gallery with all the vitality of a much younger woman. A Russian Jew, whose parents had been living in Germany just before the last war, she and her family had fled to England. It was her father who’d founded the gallery, but Olga who had made it a success, moving the premises from Croyden to their present enviable position in the West End.

      In long skirts and with a cloak floating freely about her tall generous figure, she looked a little like an ageing flower-child, Jane thought. But Olga had been her mentor, taking her on when all Jane had to commend her was a degree in fine arts from a redbrick university and an enthusiasm Olga had recognised that matched her own.

      Now Olga brushed back her mane of incongruously red hair and said impatiently, ‘Did he come?’ And, although she’d lived in England long enough to have mastered the language completely, her accent still remained for artistic effect.

      ‘He came,’ agreed Jane, knowing at once who Olga was talking about. A famous collector of antiquities had expressed an interest in the set of bronzes Jane had brought back from Bangkok. He’d promised to call at the gallery that morning to examine them again and make his decision.

      ‘And?’ Olga couldn’t hide her excitement.

      ‘He bought them,’ Jane responded drily. ‘He wants them packed and delivered by courier to his home in Suffolk.’

      ‘Wonderful!’ Olga was delighted. ‘And a healthy commission for you, too, leibchen. You have done well. I must send you away again. You have the knack for finding treasure in the most unexpected places.’

      Jane managed a small smile, but inside she felt chewed-up, unable to think of anything but the cartridge she’d hidden in her bag. Her hand stole disbelievingly over her flat stomach. Was it possible that Demetri’s baby was already growing inside her? How soon would it be before it became noticeable? How soon before Olga suspected that something was wrong?

      And, as if she’d already sensed her employee’s abstraction, Olga rested a hip on Jane’s desk. ‘You are looking pale,’ she said, dark brows drawing together above her long nose. ‘Are you getting enough sleep? Or is that young man of yours keeping you up half the night, hmm?’

      Jane shuffled the papers on her desk. ‘I don’t have a young man, Olga. I’ve told you so a dozen times. Alex Hunter and I are just friends.’

      ‘Does he know that?’

      Predictably, now that the news of the bronzes was out of the way, Olga was directing all her attention towards her assistant. How would she react when she found out Jane was having a baby? How would Alex react when she’d already assured him that her relationship with Demetri was over?

      Playing for time, she said weakly, ‘I beg your pardon—’

      ‘Mr Hunter,’ said Olga testily. ‘I was asking if he was aware that you have nothing more than friendship in mind?’

      ‘Oh…’ Jane made a helpless gesture. ‘Our relationship isn’t that serious. I like Alex. He’s good company. But we’ve only known one another for a comparatively short time.’

      ‘Long enough.’ Olga was persistent. ‘I worry about you, Jane, I really do. When are you going to put the past behind you and get on with your life?’

      ‘Oh, I—’

      Jane was still trying to think of an answer when Olga spoke again. ‘Isn’t it time you thought about getting a divorce?’

      Sometimes Olga’s perception was truly startling, Jane thought incredulously. At any other time, she might have admired her ability to sense what she was thinking. But not today. This was one occasion when Jane would prefer to keep her thoughts to herself.

      While she waited for Jane to answer, Olga rummaged in her pocket and drew out a pack of her favourite Gauloise cigarettes. Placing one between her lips, she flicked her lighter, inhaling deeply before blowing a stream of blue smoke into the air above their heads. Jane had never liked the smell of cigarettes and this morning she found it nauseating. Feeling the bile rising in her throat, she made an incoherent little sound and then rushed wildly out of the room.

      In the small bathroom that adjoined the gallery, she was violently sick. Leaning against the tiled wall afterwards, a tissue pressed to her mouth, she thought it was a long time since she’d felt so ill. What had she eaten, for God’s sake? She’d only had toast for breakfast, so it couldn’t be that. Mind you, she hadn’t really wanted any breakfast. She’d been feeling distinctly out-of-sorts since she’d got out of bed.

      And then, feeling immensely stupid, she realised what was happening. It wasn’t food-poisoning. It wasn’t even the smell of Olga’s cigarette, although heaven knew they were an acquired taste. No, this had to be the start of morning sickness, and if she needed any further confirmation of her condition, this was it.

      A tentative tapping at the door roused her. ‘Jane? Jane, are you all right?’ Naturally, it was Olga. ‘Is something wrong?’

      Everything, thought Jane heavily, struggling to pull herself together. But she managed to say, ‘No, I’m OK, Olga. I think I must have eaten something that disagreed with me and when I smelled your cigarette—’

      ‘Mein Gott!’ Olga sounded horrified. ‘My cigarette has made you ill?’

      ‘No. No, not really.’ Jane felt ashamed. She couldn’t let Olga take the blame for something that was her own fault. She opened the door to find the old woman waiting outside, wringing her hands anxiously. ‘Sorry about that.’

      Olga said something Jane couldn’t understand and then wrapped her arm about the younger woman’s shoulders. Thankfully, she’d ditched the cigarette but Jane could still smell the scent of tobacco on her clothes.

      ‘Leibchen,’ she murmured with evident concern. ‘Are you sure you and Mr Hunter are just good friends?’

      ‘What do you mean?’ Jane tried to sound confused but it didn’t quite come off.

      Olga sighed, looking down at her with considering eyes. ‘Because…well, because I am wondering if there might be another reason for you feeling—unwell, no?’

      ‘Another reason?’ Jane swallowed.

      ‘Do I have to draw you a picture, leibling?’ Olga turned to take her by the shoulders, making it impossible for Jane to avoid her calculating stare. ‘Is it possible that you might—be fooling yourself?’

      ‘Fooling myself?’Jane blew out a breath, wondering if it was worth pretending she didn’t understand. Giving in, she said, ‘Are you suggesting I might be pregnant? Is that what you think?’

      Olga shook her head. ‘I’m simply saying it’s a possibility you should consider, no? You wouldn’t be the first young woman to fall for the charms of a handsome young man like Mr Hunter.’

      Jane pulled away from her. ‘I’ve told you!’ she exclaimed fiercely. ‘Alex and I—Alex and I have never—’

      ‘Never?’ Olga was sceptical.

      ‘Never,’ retorted Jane crossly. ‘Now, can we talk about something else?’ She scrubbed at her mouth one last time and then started back towards her office. ‘Have you given any thought as to where we might find the other pieces Sir George is looking for?’

      Olga shrugged, following her more slowly, and Jane knew the old woman still