‘Yes?’ His voice was even more chilled now. ‘What sort of help do you want from me?’ he prompted at her silence. Joanna didn’t know what she had expected-outraged denials of the child being his, stunned silence perhaps, but certainly not this coldness and that disturbing tattoo of his fingertips against leather.

‘Yes?’ he finally said distantly, his fingertips beating a soft tattoo on the desktop. Not even by the blink of an eyelid did he show he was in the least disturbed by what she had just told him. How did you tell a man you were expecting his child, and that you were terrified of bringing it into the world? She decided there was no other way but the truth. He seemed to stiffen, although his expression remained bland. They had done much more than just talk together, and they both remembered that very well.

‘And I seem to remember you called me Joshua the last time we-spoke together,’ he drawled. She swallowed hard, beginning to wonder what she was doing here, how this man could possibly help her. ‘Joanna,’ he greeted her abruptly, his expression cold.

He looked exactly what he was, a successful man. He looked completely alien to the man she had met in Canada, his dark hair cut shorter, revealing several strands of grey among its blackness, the dark grey three-piece suit he wore superbly tailored, as was the white silk shirt beneath, the grey tie looking as if it were made from the same material. His eyes narrowed on her as he invited her to sit down, eyes like a storm-tossed sea in mid-December-and just as cold. Joshua was sitting behind an imposing leather-topped desk, a distinctly masculine room, the walls lined with books, the decor brown and cream. Still, the price Joshua’s patients were paying for his skills was phenomenal, they should receive this first class treatment. When twelve o’clock finally came she was shown into the actual surgery, not a second before twelve but not a second after either. She dressed with care the day she went to his office, finding the waspish receptionist to be Angela Hailey, although she was polite enough as she showed Joanna into the plush waiting-room, with armchairs and furniture more like you would find in a lounge than a doctor’s waiting-room. His receptionist proved to be particularly obstructive, the only way Joanna could get to see him being to make an appointment to visit him professionally! Joanna had hesitated about contacting such an important man, but a faint fluttering sensation in her body of the new life forming inside her had her running to the telephone in a panic. She had been right about there not being many Joshua Radcliffes in the London telephone book, and only one of them was a doctor-in Harley Street! It had come as a shock to her to realise what an important and distinguished man he was, the lighthearted man enjoying his skiing holiday suddenly turning into an austere Harley Street specialist.

The failed marriage carole mortimer