‘You’ve not been doing too much? You know you have to look out for yourself, remember what the doctor said...’
She gave him a slap, and told him Dewint even carried her handbag for her. She giggled and said she thought he quite liked it.
They sat before the blazing fire, discussing names. Neither of them mentioned the name Freedom, that was the past, this was the future... Suddenly, as she leaned forward to poke the fire, Harriet gasped, and put her hands to her swollen belly. The colour drained from her face and she winced with pain, clung to Edward... ‘Oh, God, something is wrong, get an ambulance... Oh my God, Edward, I’m losing him, for God’s sake help me...’
The ambulance took Harriet to the local hospital as there was no time to drive across London to the clinic they had booked. Harriet’s doctor was there within the hour, and she was rushed into the delivery room. Edward, who had studied all the procedures, had to remain outside, frantic with worry. Nurses came and went. He paced the corridor, lighting cigar after cigar, until at long last the surgeon came out and removed his mask. ‘Well, she’s all right — we’ve saved her.’
‘What about the baby?’
‘It’s the baby who’s all right, she’s a tiny little soul, but a fighter. You can see her as soon as she’s cleaned up. Harriet’s still out, she’ll be coming round in fifteen, twenty minutes.’
‘A girl? It’s a girl? Does Harry know?’ He shook his head. ‘Of course not... Is she all right? Is my wife all right?’
The surgeon led Edward to a chair before he could fall down, then sat next to him. ‘She’s a little cracker, but be prepared — she’s very tiny, weighed in at two pounds. But she’s got everything in the right place. She’s in the incubator, but you can hold her soon enough, okay? Want to come through? Then you can see your wife...’
He led Edward to the Special Care Baby Unit, past rows of bawling babies, to a side ward. There, in something that looked to Edward like a huge cake stand with a clear dome over it, lay his tiny daughter. A nurse, her eyes smiling over her face mask, beckoned him.
‘She’s a sweetheart, come on, take a look. You know, we had a fight on our hands, and she fought along with us.’
Edward’s heart was thudding in his chest, his lips were dry. He swallowed hard, leaned over and looked down into the incubator that was keeping his daughter alive. He gasped and smelt the disinfectant on his own mask. The little girl was like a miniature doll, and all he could think of to say was, ‘Look at her hands, look at her hands.’
The child was wriggling, and her miniature fingers were splayed out, pushing at the tubes in her nostrils. The nurse let him stay for ten minutes, and then they told him he could see his wife, she was coming round.
‘Has anyone told her yet? Has anyone told her the baby’s all right?’
The nurse shook her head. Harriet was not fully conscious, and he would be the one, he could tell her himself.
Edward took Harriet’s hand and she moaned, turned her head and realized he was there. As soon as her eyes opened he bent close, kissing her, whispering, ‘Baby’s fine, it’s all right, you did your stuff. We got the wrong sex, but who cares? She’s beautiful, and she’s all right.’
‘It’s a girl...? It’s a girl?’ She gave a deep, shuddering sigh. ‘Oh, it’s a girl, a girl...’
‘Hey, now listen, maybe it’s fate, and I don’t want any nonsense. We just thank God we have her, and I won’t leave here until you smile... Come on, give me one of your smiles.’
He stroked her forehead gently, and she smiled wanly. ‘Poor Norman will have to redecorate the nursery, we got the wrong colour.’ Her face puckered and she wept.
Edward kissed her tears. ‘My God, she’s the image of you, spitting image... Now you get some rest, I have to go and get some of your things, you left in a bit of a hurry.’
Alex arrived at the small, private clinic shortly before the child was born. Barbara was ready to go into the delivery room, but the nurse left them alone for a few moments. Alex sat close, wearing a green gown and mask and holding Barbara’s hand as she went into labour, never leaving her side throughout the birth. When at last he heard the baby’s cry his heart thudded, and he found himself weeping.
‘You have a son, Mr Barkley, and what a boy, he’s so strong.’
Alex was beside himself with joy as he held his son. He turned his tearful eyes to his wife. ‘Barbara, look at him, he’s perfect, he’s the most perfect baby I have ever seen... nine and a half pounds, nine and a half pounds...’
The baby was laid gently on Barbara’s stomach, and they both looked into the tiny face with the long, black eyelashes. Already he had curly black hair, and at less than one hour old he was the image of his father, Edward Barkley. Barbara could see only Edward’s face, the baby was so much his child that Barbara hated him. She turned away, unable to bear it.
Alex picked up his son and showed him off, proudly, to anyone he could find.
‘This is my son, my little boy... isn’t he the most perfect baby you have ever seen in your life?’
Left alone, Barbara prayed that Alex would never find out, never know the truth. She had spoken only a few words to Edward since hearing about the birth of his daughter. Harriet was still in the hospital, and rumour was rife about Harriet’s condition, her mental state — no one imagined there could be anything physically wrong with her. Barbara had said simply that if Edward ever gave so much as a hint of the true facts about her child she would make sure his darling wife tripped over the edge she was always teetering on. Edward was disgusted, and even signed a paper Barbara’s lawyer had drawn up.
Barbara had no fear that Edward would ever try to see his child, and she knew she would never be welcome at the manor. She had hoped for another girl, they were so much easier than boys. She wondered how Edward would feel about the situation now, she knew he had been as desperate as Alex for a son. She pursed her lips, thinking it served him right.
After a great deal of argument, Alex had put his foot down and chose the baby’s name. He had called Edward to tell him — he would be known as Evelyn. Barbara hoped he would change his mind and agree that Evelyn was not a boy’s name, but when she tackled him yet again he suggested she take a look at Evelyn Waugh’s novels. Barbara retorted that she’d never heard of her, either. Alex laughed and said he simply wanted to call his son after his beloved mother, and in the end Barbara had acquiesced.
Later that night, when the nurse came in, the baby was crying.
‘Don’t you want to hold him, Mrs Barkley?’
‘No, I’m too tired, you give him the bottle, I’m too tired.’
Harriet came home from hospital. She had recovered from the Caesarean operation, and showed no signs of the post-natal depression that everyone had been expecting. Edward sighed with relief, but it was just like Harry to break all the rules. The doctor did say to Edward that until the baby was well enough to leave the hospital he should keep a careful watch on his wife.
Harriet accepted her daughter, and called her Juliana. Joking with Edward one night she said that the baby was jinxed as all her nursery toys were for boys, and they referred to her as ‘Jinks’. The nickname stuck, and Juliana was known as Jinks from then on.
With Dewint, Harriet visited the baby daily for two months. The doctors believed that not bringing her home straightaway had worked to Harriet’s advantage. They felt that Harriet’s attitude to Jinks was slightly standoffish, she didn’t seem to want to pick the baby up or hold her. Part of the problem was that Harriet was afraid to — the baby was so tiny, so vulnerable. But the time she spent at the hospital with the nurses, learning to care for her, to feed her, gradually enabled Harriet to grow accustomed to handling the baby. Edward went along as often as possible, and it was with relief that he noticed Harriet’s increasing eagerness to visit her.