Stirling leans her back against Joe's chest, smiling as she feels his hands wrap around her body to rest lightly on her belly. She covers them with her own. He moves closer against her, resting his chin on her right shoulder.
"What do you think?" She whispers, not wanting to break the intimate, peaceful mood that surrounds them.
He's silent for a moment, gazing out the glass in front of them. "It's stunning; breathtaking; beautiful, really. But nothing compared to you."
She turns her head slowly toward him, enjoying the effect the reflection of London's brightly lit night skyline has on Joe's kind, soulful eyes. "Well played, Sergeant Penhale! I do believe your romantic side is showing."
She turns further and kisses him softly on the cheek, smiling as she lays her head on his left shoulder with a contented sigh. The view truly is amazing.
She feels his lips press against the top of her head. "I just want you to remember this moment." He rubs her stomach lightly. "Especially when you're cursing my name, plotting my demise, with your feet braced, body racked with pain, pushing out this sprog. Just remember what a loving, romantic husband I am."
Stirling's whole body stills. "And then he ruined it. He opened his mouth and completely ruined the moment."
She steps out of Joe's warm embrace, turning to look him straight-on. "What on Earth would possess you to bring that up now?" She feels a bubble of hysterical laughter rising in her throat and swallows it down. "We're both happy, content, relaxed, enjoying each others' company. We're together, looking at this breathtaking view of the London skyline, all within the romantic and intimate confines of this private London Eye capsule. And you then bring up the pain of child birth."
She shifts her eyes slightly to the right, just over his shoulder, pleased to see their hostess is sitting in the far corner of the capsule, her eyes closed and ear buds in, listening to her iPod.
Joe shoves his right hand into his black trouser pocket, gesturing with his cast-covered left. "What possessed me to bring it up? Oh, perhaps the fact I was touching your very large stomach and I could feel our baby moving. Or maybe it was the fact in four to five weeks, you're due to deliver. Actually, according to the books, you could go anytime now."
Stirling feels a stab of excitement in her chest at the thought of finally meeting the small being who has been causing such turmoil in her stomach for months. That feeling is quickly replaced by knee-knocking fear.
"Are you okay?" Joe asks with concern as she pales. Suddenly, a reason for her moodiness comes to him. "You're not feeling any pains, are you? Contractions?"
He reaches a hand out toward her but she backs away.
"You're not understanding me, are you? You can't fathom why I might be miffed about what you said?"
He sighs, longing to touch her. "I was just making a silly joke. Obviously, it was a real clanger. Come here, Cheeky."
He holds out his hand again and gently takes hers, drawing her close to him, pressing his chest up against her back, cuddling her belly. He whispers softly in her ear. "I understand. You're nervous. You're scared. It's a big change. I just thought we could talk about it. I'm scared too. I'm worried about you. And the baby."
Stirling is quiet for a moment. "I'm afraid. I'm a bloody doctor, seen dozens of babies born, and I'm afraid of the pain." She laughs ruefully. "How many women haven't I told to just pant through it, push through it, tuck your chin into your chest and bear down harder? But the thought of doing it myself? Terrified! They should take away my medical credentials!"
She turns slightly and leans her head against his chest, closing her eyes, trying hard not to tremble.
Joe is silent, thinking. "It's like the nightmare you had when we visited the Isles of Scilly, isn't it?"
She nods her head.
He tightens his left arm around her. "I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. You won't be alone. I promised you, remember?"
She looks down and taps the pager clipped to his belt. "And what if that goes off?"
"This?" He backs away from her slightly and removes it, holding the device up between them before clicking off the power. "They know. I'm off the roster until this little one arrives." He rubs her stomach again, still fascinated by the hard, round shape.
"You are?" She looks into his eyes, a single tear dropping onto her cheek. "Since when?"
"While you were talking with Doc Brian about your change in plans, I contacted my inspector and requested leave for this week. I also let him know I would not be available for special duties until after the birth of our baby."
"What did he say?"
"He agreed with my request and said he would remove my name from the Special Ops active roster until I contact him to have it reinstated."
She stares at him silently, a heavy weight lifting from her heart.
Joe leans forward, kissing her nose softly, before giving her a smile. "I'll be sticking close to Portwenn for the next little while."
Stirling wraps her arms around him, pulling him close. He grunts in surprise at the strength of her squeeze. "Thank you," she whispers in his ear.
He wraps his left arm gently around her, turning back toward the glass wall. They stand, bodies close together, relaxed in each others embrace, as they watch the skyline slowly change, the capsule rotating back toward the ground.
Leyland plus Michael and Christopher are waiting for them at the bottom.
"Enjoy that?" Christopher asks with a grin.
"It was stunning!" Stirling says, leaning against Joe. "Let's eat!"
The men laugh at her as they climb in the Bentley. They choose a seafood place with a stunning view of the Thames. After the meal, they relax around the table and talk for hours, Leyland always present in the background to add a comment or two and keep the stories from becoming too exaggerated.
Joe marvels at the way the three of them play off each other; the two men joining forces to tease and hound Stirling, who fights back with lightning fast wit and a sharp tongue. And yet, he never feels excluded from the conversation. By the end of the evening, Michael and Christopher are teasing him just as badly, forcing Stirling to jump to his defence.
"They're always like that, aren't they?" Joe asks later that night as he lies in the darkness, staring up at the intricately decorated bedroom ceiling of their suite. Stirling snuggles against him, her head on his chest.
"I'm afraid so. They bring out the best and the worst in each other. But they're perfect for one another and are truly amazing at what they do. Michael is a fearless barrister – I know he scares the Chief. And Christy is an amazing paediatrician. The children – and the mums and dads – love him."
Joe pulls a piece of her hair playfully. "They both adore you."
She smiles, her fingers tickling Joe's bare chest. "It's like what I imagine being a little sister with two big brothers must be like. They'll protect you to their last breath but you still have to put up with all the big brother teasing and pranks."
She sits up, looking at him in the dark. "They like you, too."
He pulls her head back down against his chest. "How can you tell?"
"They don't include just anyone in their teasing."
Joe heaves a sigh of relief. "Thank god. The Chief isn't alone. Don't let Michael know this but, he scares me, too."
Stirling laughs and kisses his chin before snuggling close and drifting off to sleep.
Monday morning, they go clothes shopping for Joe.
"You can't wear your Special Ops kit all week," Stirling says as she browses the men's clothing racks at Selfridges & Co. on Oxford Street. "I mean, we're just standing here shopping and you're attracting attention."
She gestures to several older women staring at him from a nearby pullover display and a little boy who points at them as he is dragged away by his harried-looking mother. "I'm waiting for The Met to storm the floor."
He instantly feels self conscious, folding his arms over the large white letters spelling Special Ops across the front of his T-shirt. He tries to lean nonchalantly against a display of designer boxers. "How do you know they're not just staring at your very large belly?"
She glares at him before glancing down at his black, paramilitary-style boots. "We're even going to have to buy you trainers or something."
He ends up with several different outfits plus new boxers, socks and shoes. He changes into a new outfit in one of the dressing rooms, coming out with his uniform and boots in a store bag.
"That's better!" Stirling smiles and takes his arm. "Now everyone won't think you're here to arrest them or take down a terrorist cell."
As they walk out the front of the department store, Joe feels somewhat uncomfortable. He notices Leyland standing with a group of fellow drivers, laughing and talking as he waits.
"Maybe we can walk somewhere from here," he says, turning to Stirling, desperate to find some way to avoid being driven about by the chauffeur.
As far as Joe is concerned, Leyland and the stately, luxury car attract far more attention than his Special Ops kit. And he feels self conscious having the elderly gentleman escort them around the city while store doormen trip over themselves to open the car door for him.
"What is there to do around here?"
Stirling laughs. "What is there to do? Take your pick. We can walk up Baker Street and visit the Sherlock Holmes Museum. And Madame Tussauds is not far, just down Marylebone Road. Plus Regent's Park and the zoo are just one street over from the wax museum. Or we could walk down Oxford Street here to Hyde Park. There's lots to see and do there."
They end up walking up Baker Street, much to Leyland's great distress.
"But I can drive you, Miss Stirling," he says. "Should you be walking that far in your condition?"
"It's not that far; I'll be fine," she says, setting the shopping bags in the boot of the Bentley. "You might as well drive home. What time do you normally fetch Christy and Michael?"
"About half five."
"How about we meet you at the Prince Albert Road entrance to Regent's Park around five o'clock?"
Leyland hesitates. "I really feel I should stay and drive you, Miss Stirling. It's a very long way to walk."
The chauffeur glances at Joe, looking for support. But walking was his suggestion in the first place. And now Joe is feeling a bit uncertain about his great idea. He opens his mouth to say something but Stirling cuts him off.
"Don't fuss! You're being a worry-wart." She kisses Leyland on the cheek before linking arms with Joe and walking determinedly down the street.
In the end, Leyland is right. It is a lot of walking for her and she's moving a lot slower by lunch. Not that she complains. After visiting 221b, they meander up to Madame Tussauds, where they discover the wait to be ridiculously long.
"You're not standing in that queue," Joe says, escorting her past the tourist attraction in a desperate search for a place she can rest. He finally finds a spot at a small cafe next door to the museum. After snagging an extra chair from a table, he helps her sit down near the edge of the pavement.
"Just wait here. I'll be back in a minute."
"Joe!" Stirling calls after him but he's off, crossing the street and entering a newsagents on the corner. She gives up, leaning against the back of the chair to rest her sore lower back. Her feet throb and she glares at her shoes, angry at their sudden betrayal.
As if the first 36 weeks aren't bad enough, the final four are obviously when your entire body goes to hell.
She's still griping grumpily to herself in her mind when Joe returns a few minutes later carrying two paper bags by their handles.
"Do you think you can walk to the park?" he asks, helping her up from the chair.
"Of course I can," she says cockily, an edge to her voice.
He gives her a funny look, unconvinced. "Maybe I should call Leyland to come and get us?"
"No!" She flinches as the word comes out much louder and sharper than she expects. "No. That won't be necessary. I can make it to the park. It's not that far."
They walk side-by-side down Marylebone Road to the York Gate entrance of Regent's Park. Following York Bridge, Joe helps her cross both the Outer and Inner Circle before entering Queen Mary's Gardens.
"There's a really beautiful place to sit by the Triton Fountain," Stirling explains, pointing ahead. She flinches slightly as she feels a twinge of pain in her lower back. By the time they reach the benches situated around the splashing fountain, she's waddling like a duck.
"I guess this was a rather stupid idea of mine," she says laughing, collapsing with relief onto the bench. Her back is stiff and her feet burn with pain.
"It's my fault," Joe says, sitting next to her. "I talked you into it. I didn't want Patrick driving us all over the city like we were royalty."
She looks at him curiously. "I didn't know it bothered you." She hesitates for a moment, biting her bottom lip in thought. "It used to bother me, too. I guess I just became accustomed to it. Terrible. But Leyland can be so insistent."
She takes a deep breath and kicks off her shoes, squishing her toes in the grass. "We'll use the tube tomorrow. That's what it's there for."
They enjoy a relaxing picnic lunch in the park, Stirling curling up on the bench against Joe afterward and promptly nodding off. She sleeps for an hour before waking with a start, turning to find him watching her with a smile.
"Bloody hell! I fell asleep!"
"I know." He laughs, pulling her back against him and kissing her forehead. "I enjoy watching you sleep. You look so peaceful."
She looks at her watch. "Half two already! Now we don't have time for the zoo."
"We don't need to go to the zoo," he says, stretching out his legs. "I've been quite happy sitting here. But I wouldn't mind seeing the lake. There is a lake around here somewhere, isn't there?"
Stirling scrambles for her shoes, pushing her swollen feet back into them before standing up awkwardly. "This way," she says, pulling him by the arm back the way they came.
They spend the afternoon wandering slowly around the boating lake and enjoying the gardens and scenery. They stop occasionally to rest Stirling's feet and back on a bench. Around half four, they start toward the Avenue Road entrance by Prince Albert Road. Leyland and the Bentley are waiting for them, parked along the Outer Circle.
He frowns as they approach. "Miss Stirling, you're limping," he says, walking toward her to lend assistance.
"I'm fine, Leyland," she says, waving him off as she leans against Joe. "My feet are a bit sore. You were right; I was wrong. Perhaps it was a bit too much walking."
She relaxes with a sigh in the back of the car, leaning against the soft shoulder beside her and falls asleep again.
The chauffeur's disapproving silence speaks volumes. Joe feels like a cad.
"She's out like a light," remarks Michael as he slides into the backseat on the other side of Stirling. "You wore her out, Joe, you old dog. What did you do, make her wander over half of London?"
Leyland clears his throat loudly. "She insisted on walking. She sent me home."
Michael snickers and leans across her unconscious body. "Now you've done it! He's offended."
Joe feels even worse.
After picking up Christopher, who sits in front with Leyland, the vehicle turns toward home. Stirling sleeps the whole way, even through Michael's rather boisterous description of a particularly annoying client who visited his office that day.
"She sat down and I could see her knickers," he says, leaning forward toward Christopher. "That's how short her skirt was. And she kept crossing and uncrossing her legs. I felt like I was starring in a remake of that Sharon Stone movie. What was it called? Basic Instinct."
Christopher laughs. "I once had an assisting nurse who dressed and acted like that. For half the medical procedure I was conducting, I thought I was in a Benny Hill skit. I kept expecting the theme music to start up and Benny to appear and chase her around the operating table. She was a really good nurse, though."
Joe's attention bounces back and forth between the two men like a tennis match as they banter back and forth. Michael falls silent periodically as an interesting article catches his eye in the evening newspaper. But after he finishes reading, he starts the discussion right back up where he stopped.
Stirling sleeps through it all. And then head bobs her way through dinner, requiring Joe to lead her up to bed once they are finished afters.
"Remind me to listen to Leyland's advice from now on," she grumbles as he massages her aching, swollen feet. She glances down, flinching. "My ankles look as big as my thighs!"
"Like hell they do!" Joe says laughing.
She sleeps like the dead, barely moving through the night. And early Tuesday morning, she does something surprising – she rebuffs his advances.
"Too tired, Lover Boy," she murmurs half asleep, dislodging his hand from her breast and his lips from her neck as she rolls over to face him. "Let's just cuddle."
His mind reels in disbelief as she drops her left arm carelessly over his chest, snuggling against his right shoulder, her huge belly pressing hard against him as she throws her left leg over both his. Stirling's never said no to me – ever. That's when he realizes she's finally reached the point in the pregnancy when she's no longer interested in shagging. He's been expecting it; the books suggested libido might start decreasing any time during the third trimester. But he still feels disappointed.
He sighs as he puts his left arm around her shoulders, cuddling her closer. She hums and smiles in her sleep, kissing his chest as she snuggles against him. Somehow, he manages to fall back asleep.
They both have a lie in that morning, eventually roused by Leyland bearing a breakfast tray.
"I think we're going to stick close to home today," says Joe, watching the elderly man set the tray on the table. "Stirling seems pretty tired."
"If I might suggest, Hampstead Heath is very peaceful this time of year. It's a nice spot for an afternoon picnic. I can put something together for you if you like? And Mr. Michael mentioned he plans to obtain tickets to tonight's Arsenal football game."
"Arsenal?" Joe questions with a sneer.
"Yes. I understand they are playing Aston Villa."
Joe is instantly all attention. "Really?" He glances down at Stirling, still slumbering. "We're both big claret and blues fans."
"Mr. Michael is well aware," Leyland says with a smile. "One of his favourite past-times is teasing Miss Stirling about the team's dismal record of late."
Joe smiles at the thought. "I think she would enjoy seeing a game. I know I would."
"Well, I believe those are the plans for this evening." The chauffeur turns back to the breakfast tray. "Everything should still be warm but I suggest rousing Miss Stirling and eating soon. I will prepare a picnic lunch."
Leyland glides out as smoothly as he glides in and Joe once again feels a flare of embarrassment and guilt as he stares at the tray on the table. This servant business certainly has its appeals. He can understand the attraction of being waited upon. It's definitely relaxing not to worry about planning and making meals or cleaning up kitchen messes.
He gently kisses Stirling awake. "Brekkie," he whispers, making her smile sleepily.
"Yummy," she says, wiping at her eyes and stretching.
After breakfast and a quick shower, they dress for an afternoon on the heath. "I remember we all flew kites on Parliament Hill one afternoon," Stirling recalls as she sits on the edge of the bed, struggling to put on her boots. "God, it must have been five or six years ago."
"Isn't that my cardie?" Joe asks, suddenly noticing the green cardigan wrapped around her.
"It's mine now."
"Oh, really?"
"Yes." Her chin juts, as if daring him to challenge her. "I found it weeping in the back of your wardrobe and set it free to live with me."
He's silent for a moment, looking at her in the cardie. "It looks better on you anyway."
Stirling smiles and kisses him on the cheek. "Good answer."
They spend an enjoyable morning walking a small section of the extensive grounds of Hampstead Heath. Around noon, they meet up with Leyland near the Kenwood estate and collect a picnic basket and blanket from him.
"I can set out the meal for you, if you wish?" the elderly gentleman asks.
"No Patrick, I think I have everything under control," Joe says, taking Stirling's arm and leading her onto the estate's extensive grounds. He manages to find a quiet, secluded spot under some mature trees and lays out the blanket. He sets down the basket before turning to help Stirling sit.
"It's suddenly become a long way down." She plunks her arse down with a grunt, rubbing at her lower back. She lies back and rolls onto her left side. "I'll probably need your help to hoist me back up at some point."
"That can be arranged." Joe opens the wicker picnic basket. "What goodies has Leyland prepared for us?"
Her mouth waters as he removes the food – sarnies, two wedges of beef pie, Greek pasta salad, fresh cut fruit, a large can of crisps –
"My favourite!" she cries, sitting up and grabbing the Pringles can with excitement. "He remembered."
"Sour cream and onion?" Joe pulls a face.
She sticks her tongue out at him. "Moreish for me!" She removes the plastic top and is about to pull the foil seal when he manages to snag it from her hands.
"Wait! Not yet! Let me serve up the other food first."
Stirling stills. "I think you better hand those Pringles back."
He looks up, his eyebrows arching at the tone of her voice. "Really?"
She nods her head. "I need those crisps."
"These crisps?" He shakes the can.
"Don't do that! You'll break them!" She grabs for it, snagging an edge and hanging on with her finger tips.
Joe yanks the can out of her reach. "I think you should have something healthier to eat first."
Her eyes narrow in a glare. "Who are you? The nutrition police?"
He's surprised by the flash of anger across her face. "No but I am in law enforcement. And I don't think these are very good for you." He shakes the can again, making her cringe. "According to the book, you shouldn't be eating all these empty calories. The Doc said – "
"A lot of opinionated and unreasonable things!" She sighs angrily. "So help me god, if I ever see that damn book again, I'm going to burn it and dance around in its ashes. Now, lug me that can."
She holds out her hand.
Joe feels a flare of anger. "Not until you eat a sarnie first." He deposits a wrapped roast beef sandwich in her hand.
She stares down at it, wide-eyed in surprise, before chucking it gracefully in a high arc over her right shoulder. "No."
"I can't believe you did that!" Joe stares in disbelief as the sandwich lands with a thunk about 10 metres behind them. "You just threw away a perfectly good sarnie that Leyland made for us. All because of this?"
He holds up the Pringles can and Stirling lunges for it. "Hand over the crisps, Joe!" she shouts, knocking him backward on the blanket as she scrambles for the can.
"No fricking way," he laughs, holding the coveted prize well beyond her reach.
And that's when the huge, out-of-control dog pounces. It appears to come out of nowhere, a wet, slobbering 50-kilogram mass of legs, claws, tongue and tail. It's already scarfed down the sandwich Stirling tossed so handily almost right in its path and, attracted by the scent of more scrummies, decides to join the picnic. The fact the two people appear to be 'playing' just adds to the large animal's excitement as it jumps on Stirling's back, forcing her belly-first on top of the picnic basket and face-first into the blanket. It tramples right over her, aiming for Joe and the delightfully noisy can of Pringles.
"Bloody hell!" he shouts as the dog crashes into him, knocking him over as it bites down on the can and rips it from his hand. With a spray of slobber and a well placed paw to Joe's face, it scampers off the blanket, intent on shaking the coveted cardboard can to death.
"Fecking dog!" he shouts, sitting upright and wiping at his face. His hand comes away smeared with blood. "Great!"
It's then he notices Stirling is still lying on the ground.
"Cheeky!" Joe scrambles forward on his hands and knees, grabbing for her as she lies moaning, her arms hugging her stomach. "Are you all right?"
"It hurts," she whispers, her eyes scrunched close in pain. "It hurts very, very badly!"
"Okay, just lie still."
Joe looks up wildly, straight into the face of a pale and petrified looking young man, bent over and out-of-breath, clutching a length of frayed leash. "It just broke," the man pants.
"Call an ambulance!" Joe shouts, startling the dog owner into action. He pulls a mobile from his anorak pocket and starts punching in numbers.
"You're okay. You're okay," Joe croons, petting Stirling's head as she struggles to sit upright, still clutching her very round belly.
"It hurts!" she says through gritted teeth. Suddenly, she grabs a fistful of his shirt, her eyes filling with tears. "What about the baby? Do you think the baby is okay?"
Joe tries to remain calm and keep the tremble of fear out of his voice. "I don't know but the ambulance will be here soon."
Stirling screams in panic and pain as the dog reappears, knocking her over again in its haste to get at the picnic basket. Joe shouts and shoves the animal off her, kicking the crushed wicker basket further away from them.
"Get that bloody animal under control before I strangle it with my bare hands," he roars at the owner, who quickly lunges for his hyper dog.
"I think he drew blood that time," Stirling hisses as she sits upright again, dirty wet streaks running down her cheeks. She clutches her side.
Joe gently lifts her mud-splattered shirt and winces as he sees the neat rows of bloody welts across the side of her stomach. He can also see where bruises are beginning to form on her belly.
He looks up, his eyes worried. "Where's the damn ambulance?" he shouts just as he hears the sound of an approaching siren.
