A Special Relationship by Douglas Kennedy Read Free Book Online Page A

the job?’
    ‘I think I have to. But … uhm … that doesn’t mean I have to come back to London alone.’
    Another pause as I thought about that last comment. Finally I said, ‘I have some news too. And I have an admission to make.’
    He looked at me with care.
    ‘And what’s this admission?’
    ‘I’m not on antibiotics. Because I don’t have a strep throat. But I still can’t drink right now … because I happen to be pregnant.’

Three
    T ONY TOOK THE news well. He didn’t shudder, or turn grey. There was a moment of stunned surprise, followed by an initial moment or two of reflection. But then he took my hand and squeezed it and said, ‘This is good news.’
    ‘You really think that?’
    ‘Absolutely. And you’re certain …?’
    ‘Two pregnancy tests certain,’ I said.
    ‘You want to keep it?’
    ‘I’m thirty-seven years old, Tony. Which means I’ve entered the realm of now or never. But just because I might want to keep it doesn’t mean you have to be there too. I’d like you to be, of course. However …’
    He shrugged. ‘I want to be there,’ he said.
    ‘You sure?’
    ‘Completely. And I want you to come to London with me.’
    Now it was my turn to go a little white.
    ‘You all right?’ he asked.
    ‘Surprised.’
    ‘About … ?’
    ‘The course this conversation is taking.’
    ‘Are you worried?’
    Understatement of the year. Though I had managed to keep my anxiety in the background during our days in London (not to mention the week beforehand, when the first pregnancy test came back positive from my doctor in Cairo), it was still omnipresent. And with good reason. Though part of me was quietly pleased about being pregnant, there was an equally substantial portion of my private self that was terrified by the prospect. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that I never really expected to fall pregnant. Though there were the usual hormonal urges, these were inevitably negated by the fact that my happily self-governing life could not incorporate the massive commitment that was motherhood.
    So the discovery that I was pregnant threw me completely. But people always have the capacity to surprise you. Tony certainly did that. For the rest of the flight to Cairo, he informed me that he thought this pregnancy was a very good thing; that, coupled with his transfer back to London, it was as if fate had intervened to propel us into making some major decisions. This had happened at the right moment. Because we were so right for each other. Though it might be something of an adjustment for both of us to be setting up house together – and for us to be at desk jobs (he was certain I could talk my way into the Post ’s London bureau) – wasn’t it time we finally surrendered to the inevitable and settled down?
    ‘Are you talking marriage here?’ I asked him after he finished his little spiel.
    He didn’t meet my eye, but still said, ‘Well, yes, I, uh, yes, I suppose I am.’
    I was suddenly in need of a very large vodka, and deeply regretted not being able to touch the stuff.
    ‘I’m going to have to think about all this.’
    Much to Tony’s credit, he let the matter drop. Nor did he, in any way, pressure me over the next week. Then again, that wasn’t Tony’s style. So, during the first few days after we got back from London, we gave each other some thinking time. Correction: he gave me some thinking time. Yes, we spoke on the phone twice a day, and even had an amusing lunch together, during which we never once mentioned the big ‘elephant in the closet’ question hanging over us … though, at the end of it, I did ask, ‘Have you given the Chronicle your decision?’
    ‘No – I’m still awaiting an update from someone.’
    He gave me a little smile when he said that. Even though he was under pressure to make a decision, he was still refusing to pressure me. And I could only contrast his low key approach with that of Richard Pettiford. When he was trying to compel me