Page 140 of Mistaken Impression

I frown at him. “Don’t go there.”

He puts down his cup and holds up his hand. “Okay. But you went back to London in November, and it’s now April…”

“I know. I can do the maths.”

“Maybe. But what I mean is, why didn’t she tell you?”

“Why didn’t you?”

His brow creases. “Me? How could I have told you? I don’t know Ella. I’ve never even met her.”

“She’s on TV every Wednesday night. You knew that.”

“Maybe she is,” he says. “But I’m in the theatre every evening. When do I get to watch TV?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

His face clears. “And anyway, even if she is on TV, the shows are recorded in advance, aren’t they? So I doubt her pregnancy would have been that obvious.”

He has a point, and I nod my head, taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah… you’re right.” I feel like an idiot, but that’s nothing compared to all the other emotions fighting for attention.

There’s love… obviously. There’s an overwhelming urge to protect her, which is tricky, when she doesn’t seem to want to speak to me… and there’s fear. Fear that she’ll never be able to forgive me for what I’ve done. I suck in a breath, clenching my fist, struggling for control.

“Are you okay?” Calvin asks and I shake my head.

“Not in the slightest.” I put down my cup and get to my feet, pacing the floor, as I push my fingers back through my hair, yet again. “I screwed up, Calvin.”

“That much is obvious. Ella’s pregnant.”

I stop and look down at him. “That’s not what I mean. I—I got it wrong… about the studio… about the press.”

“You did?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t Ella who spoke to them about me. It was Kennedy.”

“How did you find that out?”

“She admitted it tonight, in front of everyone.”

“Oh… shit.”

“Yeah. I—I said some awful things to Ella when we broke up.”

“But it was a misunderstanding,” he says, trying to be reasonable, in the absence of reason.

“I don’t think she sees it that way.”

“Is that why she didn’t tell you about the baby?”

“I think so… in part. She said it was because she didn’t want me to feel obligated.”

“And do you?”

I remember Ella’s words. “Yes. I feel responsible… and committed, although I’m not sure exactly what it is I’m committed to. I asked if I could see her, and she didn’t reply. She’s said I can call, but I don’t know whether she wants me back.”

“But you want her back?”

“God, yes. I always did. I wish I’d never left now,” I say, looking down at him. “Speaking of which, would it be okay if I stayed here a little longer?”

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