Slinging one towel around my hips, another in my hand, I head back into the bedroom. They’re together between the sheets, naked, sheened with sweat, silent.

He lies with his head pillowed on her breasts, stroking her belly.

Her eyes follow me in. “Thought I was going to wash your back?”

I scrub the towel into my wet hair. “From the sound of things, you were otherwise engaged.”

She flashes teeth, then wriggles out from under James. “Just have to do my own then.” And she too heads for the shower.

James sits up and I toss him a robe. “Michael,” he begins, “I know I’ve already said it, but thank you. There aren't many men who would have done what you did. Ensuring that I would be the father of her first. I’d always assumed it would be a lottery between us.” He shakes his head, rubbing a palm over the back of his skull. “I still can’t believe I didn’t notice what you were up to, the pair of you.”

My voice wry, “It's not as though there aren’t other options. Mouth, ass, face, tits. She was happy so long as it was you inside her.”

I take the armchair, leaning forward on my elbows. “And let’s not forget, there's not many men would have done what you did. First, share her, then give her to me.” I hover, trying to find the right words. “Let's forget what men usually do. Let's remember instead what friends do for each other.”

*****

The Present - Klempner

There’s a tap on my door. “Mr Klempner? May I have a word?”

I drop my book again. “Of course, Sutcliffe. What is it?”

Sutcliffe twists back, glancing left and right along the walkway. “I thought I should tell you… Mr Hartwell, he’s objecting to your move. He’s trying to stop it.”

“Don’t worry yourself, Sutcliffe. That’s my problem, not yours. He’ll not succeed at more than delaying matters. You just keep relaying any news.”

“I’ll do that, sir.” He turns to leave.

“Sutcliffe…”

“Sir?”

“I’ll not forget this.”

his cap.

*****

James

has chosen to have my

be

find the sun and blue skies are not only inside

to do with the

The beach? Take her to a

I head for her room.

spins, turning her face from

“Charlotte?”

What’s wrong?

Is she crying?

her shoulders are shaking, a tremble running through her

Yes, she’s crying…

look at me. What’s

stride over, pull her close, hold her tight. Her face buried against my chest, I stroke

Mood swings?

Flooded with hormones?

Or something real?

Master. I’m being silly, I know,

say. I tilt her head up, make her look at me, blotchy-faced and swollen-eyed as she is. “Whatever it is…” Then I delve for a handkerchief, pushing it into her

me the soggy handkerchief back then thinks better of it,

wide windowsill, then hold out a hand, pulling her down beside

it,”

much; you, Michael, my mother. And now the baby’s

“But?”

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