Vanished by Danielle Steel Read Free Book Online

and yet he was even prepared to be pleased with a daughter. “We'll just have to have more, if it's a girl,” he said happily, and Marielle laughed. By then, she could no longer see her feet and hadn't slept decently in weeks. The prospect of more was a little daunting. On the other hand, she had blossomed in pregnancy, and the pain of the last several years seemed dimmer now with the excitement of life inside her. She sat for hours feeling the baby move, and waiting for the hour when she could hold it. It would fill a void that had been aching for years, and she knew that nothing would fill that void again except another baby. She had to tell herself again and again that it would not be Andre this time, it would be another child … he would never return, and still, no matter who this child was, she knew she would welcome him or her with her whole heart, and so would Malcolm.
    He ordered everyone in the house to take care of her, to cater to her every whim, to feed her practically every hour on the hour, and make sure she didn't fall or trip or get tired, but his staff was far less enthusiastic about her pregnancy than he was. They seemed to see it as an opportunity to be even more disagreeable to her, particularly the housekeeper who had been there for twenty years, through both previous wives, and continued to view Marielle as a very temporary intruder. The prospect of the baby made her a greater threat, so instead of being pleased, the most malevolent of them were actually angry. The housekeeper, the maids, the driver, Patrick, an Irishman Marielle had disliked since they'd first met, and even the cook and her staff of underlings were all annoyed at having to cater to Marielle's few whims, or even making special tea for her when she had one of her migraine headaches. They seemed to consider her headaches a sign of weakness in her, and they were often rude about her indisposition. Even the baby nurse Malcolm hired for her seemed to view Marielle as something of a lesser being. She was an Englishwoman Malcolm had hired on one of his trips abroad, and she had a face like a stone wall and a heart to match it. It was difficult to imagine her giving any kind of warmth or tenderness to a newborn baby. And when she arrived a month before the baby was due, Marielle was horrified when she saw her.
    “She looks like a prison warden, Malcolm. How can we let her take care of our child?” The real issue for Marielle was, why did they need her? She had taken care of Andre herself, but then the memory of that was too painful to endure, and there was no way now that she could discuss that with Malcolm. “I can take care of the baby myself.” But he only laughed at her and told her she was being silly. He wanted her to let everyone spoil her.
    “You'll be exhausted when the baby comes. You'll need to rest. Miss Griffin will be perfect. She has excellent references, is hospital trained. She's just what you need, and you don't even know it. You'll see, babies aren't as easy as you think.” She knew for a fact they were easier than he thought, but she couldn't tell him. At eighteen, she had taken care of her own baby, with no assistance from the likes of Miss Griffin.
    Miss Griffin announced early on that Marielle's migraines were bad for the child, and probably a sign of some very dangerous weakness in the mother. It was as though she wanted to shame Marielle out of them, but they were too severe for anything except a dark room and bed rest. A thousand things brought them on. Tension, worry, an argument with Malcolm, a cruel remark from a maid, a head cold, a virus, a late night, too much rich food, even a glass of wine. They were torture for Marielle, and she was always apologizing for them, as though they were a serious character disorder, just as Miss Griffin had suggested.
    Only Haverford, the English butler, was ever kind to her. He had never shown any undue interest in her, but he was unfailingly polite and always pleasant.