Nina prodded him in the stomach, making him flinch and laugh. ‘I don’t mean like that. It’s more about… well, what Don blurted out.’ She became more serious. ‘We are getting on, in a purely biological sense. The risks start to increase almost geometrically every year once a woman passes thirty, and the older the man is the more the likelihood of complications too.’
‘What kind of complications?’
‘Just getting pregnant in the first place becomes harder, for a start. Then there are things like an increased risk of pre-eclampsia, high blood pressure, gestational diabetes—’
‘I thought you were a doctor of archaeology, not pregnancy!’
‘Ah, well,’ she admitted sheepishly, ‘when Lola was still at work, I got worried about her and the baby’s health, so I did some reading about any potential problems she might have. What?’ she went on, seeing his mocking expression. ‘She’s the first close friend I’ve had who’s been pregnant. I wanted to be prepared if anything happened to her!’
He chuckled. ‘See? This is that whole micromanagement thing again. Pretty sure the UN has a couple of actual medical doctors on staff somewhere.’
‘Oh, shut up,’ she said, jabbing him again. ‘The point is, it made me realise that the odds of anything going wrong with Lola’s pregnancy were pretty low — but the risks start rising once a woman gets to my age.’
‘But they should still be pretty low,’ Eddie said. ‘I mean, you’re in good nick — you exercise, you’re not a lard-arse, you don’t eat junk, you don’t even drink all that much any more. And I’m still in exactly the same shape I was in when I left the SAS.’
Nina eyed his midsection sceptically. ‘Uh-huh.’
He made a rude sound. ‘Okay, so maybe I’ve put on a little weight in nine years. But I’m not spending every day running twenty miles with a full pack of gear any more, so what do you expect? Anyway, we’re both in decent nick, so that should put us in a better position than most people our age right from the start.’
‘It’s not just about health, though. There are some things that are still a danger even if both people are in perfect condition. I don’t want to be morbid and depressing, but the chances of a miscarriage go up enormously after thirty. And then there are higher risks of delivery complications, birth defects—’
‘Birth defects?’ Eddie said sharply, straightening.
‘Yeah, I’m afraid so. Autism’s more common in kids with older parents, as well as Down’s syndrome and other genetic disorders.’ She took in his oddly stricken expression. ‘What’s wrong? Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring you down so much.’
He shook his head. ‘No, it’s okay.’
‘Is that something you’re worried about?’ But there was something deeper to his reaction, she realised. ‘Something you’ve seen?’
His reply took a moment in coming. ‘Yeah.’
‘Where?’
‘On a job,’ he said, tone becoming brusquer. ‘Can’t talk about it.’
After six years together, she was attuned enough to her husband to pick up the nuances of those rare occasions when he discussed his professional past — first as a British special forces soldier, then a hired troubleshooter. ‘A job, not a mission?’ The difference was small, but crucial. The latter were covered by the laws of state security; any secrets from the second stage of his career, however, would be kept for more personal reasons.
‘Doesn’t matter. Let’s just say I’ve seen that kind of stuff. And that I don’t really want to talk about it.’
Nina decided not to push him. ‘Okay, no problem. You and your secrets, though,’ she continued, deliberately teasing in the hope of changing the subject. ‘I think I know you fairly well by now. And after everything we’ve been through together, I can’t believe there’s anything in your past that could shock me.’
Eddie smiled. ‘Nah, probably not.’
But she couldn’t help noticing that he hesitated before replying.
2
Eddie Chase stared disconsolately up at the flaking ceiling, debating whether it was worth getting out of bed.
There was little to look forward to if he did. It was unseasonably hot and unpleasantly humid, the temperature in the cramped studio flat already uncomfortable even at this time of the morning, but things would be no better outside. He had no job, was almost out of money… and in the middle of a bitter separation from his wife.
What the hell had gone wrong? He and Sophia had married less than a year and a half earlier, in a mad whirlwind of passion that he thought would last for ever. But everything collapsed with shocking suddenness, leaving him stunned and blinking in the wreckage.
The wedding — practically an elopement — was only a month after they met, so the first time Chase was introduced to Sophia’s father was after the honeymoon. And Lord Blackwood had made it clear with every aristocratic curl of the lip that his daughter’s marriage to a soldier — not even an officer, but a common squaddie! — was something of which he utterly disapproved. Sophia soon afterwards found herself cut off from her father’s money for the first time in her life — and not long after that, Chase began to find himself on the outside looking in as she renewed old friendships. Friendships exclusively of the male, young, upper-class and wealthy variety.
So now he was here, alone in a crappy rented flat overlooking a congestion-clogged main road through one of the grottier parts of London. He couldn’t even open the window to let in cooler air without it being joined by noise and diesel fumes.
Staying in bed was not an option, he finally decided. If nothing else, years of military routine made inactivity seem almost criminally wasteful. He shoved away the covers and rolled upright.
The sight of his surroundings lowered his mood still further. One room; that was what his life had been reduced to. He even had to share a bathroom with one of the other tenants.
But the damp-stained studio was not nearly so depressing as what was on the little folding table by the door. Chase stared at the documents poking out of the torn envelope like spilled guts from a small animal. They were from Sophia — or rather, her solicitor — and one of them, once he signed it, would probably be the last thing she ever wanted from him.
If he signed it.
He let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a growl. Sophia was seeking a divorce, to get rid of him as soon as possible so she could hook up with whichever rich, braying arsehole from the City she’d set her sights on. Under British law, before a divorce could be granted husband and wife needed to be separated for at least two years, or there had to be reasonable grounds.
Adultery was one of these, and it had certainly been a factor; Sophia had practically rubbed his face in it before he finally moved out, unable to tolerate her taunting any longer. But there were two problems. The first, in which he saw the hand of her father, was that Sophia wanted Chase to be the one who admitted to an affair. Daddy dearest was protecting the reputation of his daughter — or, just as likely, the Blackwood name. An heiress sleeping around behind the back of her war hero husband was irresistible gossip fodder, whereas some yob from Yorkshire betraying a beautiful aristocrat would arouse nothing but sympathy for her.
The second was more simple. He didn’t want to end the marriage.
For all Sophia had done to him, for all the arguments and screaming and unfaithfulness… he still loved her. He had made a commitment to her, a promise, and the thought of breaking that promise was almost physically painful. Though he was no longer a member of the armed forces, he still placed a high value on duty, honour and loyalty — even if Sophia did not.