She became aware of a presence in the doorway and, looking up, found Niall standing there, watching her intently. He hesitated as if unsure he was welcome in her domain.
‘Are you okay?’ he asked softly, and for a moment Robina could almost make herself believe he still cared. Almost, but not quite.
‘Just tired,’ she said. ‘It’s been a long and…’ she slid him a look ‘…difficult day. And I still have the proofs of my book to finish. My editor expects them early next week and…’ She bit off the rest of her sentence. Why was she even bothering to tell him? He wasn’t remotely interested in her work.
He looked as if he was about to say something, then changed his mind.
‘Ella’s waiting for you,’ was all he said.
Robina’s heart felt as heavy as her legs as she slowly mounted the stairs. This wasn’t the life her parents—particularly her father—had envisaged for her, surely? Away from her country, her people, her family. Unable to carry a child—and perhaps never able to conceive again. Robina sighed. Perhaps she should end her marriage, even though it went against every grain of what she believed. She could return to Africa and give Niall a chance of one day finding happiness with someone else, even if the thought of leaving him almost tore her in two. Robina blinked hot tears away. They couldn’t go on this way, she decided. She had to do the right thing. And ask him for a divorce.
She paused for a moment outside Ella’s bedroom and composed herself, wiping away any evidence of her unshed tears. Pushing the door open, she saw that Ella was snuggled under her duvet, her favourite soft toy cuddled in her arms.
‘Can we have Mr Tickle?’ her stepdaughter asked, holding out the well-thumbed book.
Robina smiled as she inwardly suppressed a groan. They had already read Mr Tickle three times that week. Surely Ella was tired of it? But it seemed not. Robina climbed onto the bed and waited until Ella made herself comfortable in the crook of her arm.
She read the story as Ella’s eyes drooped. When she had finished, she gently eased Ella out of her arms. But as two bright blue eyes fluttered open, it seemed the little girl wasn’t quite ready for sleep.
‘Robina,’ Ella whispered. ‘I’ve been thinking. Would it be okay if I called you Mummy?’
Robina’s breath stopped in her throat. ‘Of course, darling. If you would like to.’ Her heart twisted. Why now? When she had been gathering the strength to leave?
‘It’s not as if I will ever forget I had another mummy. But I can hardly remember her. I used to ask Daddy about her, but it made him sad to talk about her, so I don’t ask any more.’
‘I think,’ Robina said carefully, ‘that you could talk to him now. At first, when somebody dies, it hurts so much that it’s difficult to talk about it. But in time it becomes easier. So maybe you should try talking to him again. I’m sure he doesn’t want you to forget.’ As she said the words her heart ached. She should try taking her own advice! She and Niall had never talked about the loss of their baby either.
‘You won’t leave me too?’ Ella asked. ‘I couldn’t bear to lose another mummy.’ She looked at Ella, her eyes—so like her father’s—round with anxiety. Robina squeezed her eyes shut, forcing away the wave of sadness that washed over her as she pulled the little girl into her arms and kissed the top of her head. She chose her words carefully. ‘I’ll always be here for you, mntwana—little one,’ she promised. ‘For as long as you need me. So whether you like it or not, you’re stuck with me. Just like a piece of chewing gum on your shoe. Only much nicer, I hope.’
Ella giggled and snuggled down in bed. ‘Okay, Mummy. Night-night.’
Robina stayed on the bed until she was sure Ella had fallen asleep. How could she ask Niall for a divorce now, when she had just promised Ella that she would never leave her? Whatever mess she and Niall had made of things, the little girl had been through enough heartbreak in her short life.
Her head throbbing with unanswered questions, Robina returned downstairs to her sitting room. To her surprise Niall was still there, gazing into the fire, apparently deep in thought.
He flung another couple of logs on the fire. The flames lit the room, chasing the shadows away.
‘I told Lucinda I would think about your proposal,’ he said. ‘We should have an answer for you by Monday.’ He stretched. He had changed out of his suit into more casual gear and his T-shirt lifted slightly with the movement, revealing a glimpse of his muscular six-pack. A memory of the sensation of his muscles tightening under her fingertips as she trailed a hand across the dark hairs of his abdomen flashed across Robina’s mind. Whatever their difficulties, she knew she still wanted him. Up until the miscarriage, sex had been what had kept them together even as emotionally they had drifted apart. Was it possible, she thought, to still fancy someone like mad even when you weren’t sure that you still loved them? Or them you?
Niall crossed the room, placed his hands on her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. ‘Are you sure that doing this documentary is the right thing for you? Isn’t it too soon? Too close to home?’
Robina flinched and backed away from him. She could just about cope with anything these days—except his kindness.
She turned her back to him and watched the flames flicker in the fireplace. ‘Perhaps my…’ she took a breath to steady her voice ‘…experience makes me the best person to be doing this.’
‘Maybe it does,’ he said gently. ‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t know how you feel. You’ve never told me.’
Robina shied away from his words. She had never talked to him about the loss of their baby, because she had refused to let herself think about it. It was still too raw. Every time she thought about the baby that almost was, the pain threatened to crush her. So it was easier, and better, not to think about it at all. But was he right? Should she be doing the documentary when she still felt so wretched? But all she had left right now was her career and she would do nothing to jeopardise it. And she needed to keep busy. It was the only thing that stopped her from going crazy.
‘I’m a professional,’ she countered. ‘I’m still a doctor. My personal feelings don’t come into it.’
He made no attempt to hide his disbelief.
‘I just wish you had discussed it with me first,’ he said tersely.
Robina swung round to face him.
‘I would have,’ she retorted. ‘If we ever spoke these days. I know you don’t want to hear about my work. You’ve made it clear enough that you don’t approve of what I do,’ she added bitterly.
‘That’s where you’re wrong,’ Niall protested. ‘I only ever worried that you were doing too much, especially when…’ He stopped.
‘Especially when I was pregnant and should have known better,’ Robina flashed back at him. ‘Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it right now.’
‘When are we going to talk about it? You’re never here to talk about anything.’ Niall’s voice was cold. ‘Maybe if you were…’
That was rich, coming from him. Why did he think it was okay for him to work most evenings just because he was a man? It was an old argument. She knew he held her responsible for the miscarriage—and she could hardly blame him. God knew, she blamed herself. He had asked her enough times to slow down. But she’d refused to listen. Her fledgling career had just been taking off and she hadn’t wanted to take time off. She had argued that millions of women worked until just before their babies were born.