She had the phone number of Luke's parents. Three times she started to telephone, and three times she aborted the call while it was still ringing. There was no way her pride would risk being answered by someone else, lamely explaining that she had known Luke in England, and was he there, please? She could see, as vividly as if they were in front of her, the significant glances his family would exchange.

One of Luke's passing fancies! Still fooling herself, poor thing!

And if he picked up the receiver himself? Hey, Luke…remember me? I'm Pippa-no, Pippa!

In the end she wrote to him, and it took four attempts to get exactly the tone of voice she wanted: pleased about the news, cheerful, not asking, demanding or even faintly expecting-"just thought you'd like to know."

She sent the letter off and began a week of agony, two weeks, three. Oh, God, he was going to ignore her! He probably felt entitled to. No strings. That had been the deal.

But she knew that if Luke, who was all the world to her, could brush her off in such a cheap, callous way, her heart would break forever.

After a month he telephoned, full of apologies. He'd been away from home, and his mail had just piled up. His voice was friendly, concerned, but not lover-like. In the joy of being able to believe in him again she found she could cope.

"How are you feeling?" he asked. "Queasy? Poor thing."

She actually managed to chuckle. "Luke, I never felt better in my life. It's no big deal."

"You're all right about it, then? I mean, you want to have the baby?"

"Of course. I'm looking forward to it."

"And it's okay-as things are? You don't feel the need of anything boring and old-fashioned…like a husband?"