[I’m trying to sneak in bits of actual SB dialogue here and there, to keep it kind of authentic, e.g. about Beirut (I''d never been able to make it up myself); but I am not stealing: so I say it beforehand]

Mason had not really drunk on that day. Just had had a drink, bracing himself up for the forthcoming ordeal: to go and spend the holy day with the only family he had now. Unfortunately, his father and Gina had not negotiated a Christmas truce, so he had no wish to go home: the place sort of resembled downtown Beirut on a good day. Besides, Mason’d always thought Christmas was a state of mind; and his state of mind was far from cloudless and happy.
What about Julia, he wondered, why didn’t s h e find a better way to spend Christmas?
Dr. Merrick was the name. But when Mason found out the man’s specialty, this made the whole thing even more mysterious. What was Julia doing in the maternity ward? She was not pregnant, was she? It occurred to Mason he actually knew very little about her. If she was to stay at hospital at this special time of the year, well, maybe she was pregnant and there was a risk of miscarriage. Mason felt he needed to find out.
It was not hard. He just had to pull one or two of his old tricks.
No, there was no risk.
No emergency, either.
Everything was perfect, just a minor surgery.
Mr. Capwell, no need to worry. She’ll be all right in a couple of days.
And, hopefully, that will help her conceive, the nurse added.
Mason had to pull on his best poker face, though every new bit of information stunned him more and more.
There had been times when Mason thought Julia to be an uptight overambitious prude. A smart lawyer, a worthy rival in the courtroom, but a hopeless pain in the neck. Then he partly changed his mind, appreciating her helping Mary during Mark’s trial. But still, in his eyes she stayed an irreconcilable feminist whose longing for independence overshadowed every natural instinct a woman must have had.
But these days – it appeared he had misjudged her again. How beautiful she looked when holding the baby! A perfect model for a Madonna. She’d make a wonderful mother if her luck held through the surgery.
Distractedly Mason walked to Julia’s ward. She was not in; she’d been taken to the operating room. And the ward looked very sterile. Clean walls, white blinds, absolute isolation. How was she supposed to feel here, all alone? On such a day, too.
He sat down on one of the chairs. A book on the bed cabinet caught his eye. A statute book? A study of feminism in America? He turned it over. A romance. Well, possibly, just possibly, she was not that acerbate a female, either. And he had to admit she was an attractive woman, after all. “Oh Julia,” he said to himself, sarcastically. “Always in control, aren’t you.”
Mason could see it clearly now: there was hurt in her, indeed. She just always managed to stand tall and never complained; this was the reason she could seem so self-sufficient, so invulnerable and infallible. Only to those who were too lazy or too blind to stop and take a good look.
He started putting two and two together. The nurses in the infants’ ward, they knew her name, it must mean she visited quite often. Watching strange babies, yearning to be able to have one of her own. Yearning so passionately that she agreed to spend Christmas here, in this godforsaken ward. That, in his opinion, was admirable, and no laughing matter.
Mason could hardly help Julia with her mission or repay her for her kindness. He could do one thing, though; and he would.
He stood up and walked to the nearest phone. He’d have the ward decorated. A Christmas tree and all. And a gift toy for Julia.
When he made all the necessary arrangements and settled it with the nurses who at first took it into their heads to protest, Mason came back to the infants’.
“Too late, Mr. Capwell,” apologized the nurse. “No more visitors today.”
He sighed with relief he couldn’t conceal.
“You’ll be able to take your baby boy home pretty soon,” said the nurse who must have misinterpreted his sigh. “In a week or so.”
Mason’s jaw dropped. Oh no. Not so soon. He panicked again.

*
When Julia came to her senses she did not quite recognize the ward. It looked as if a magician, or a group of elves, had worked here. There was a Christmas tree on the table, garlands on the walls, a wreath on the door, and, next to her pillow, there was a little chubby teddy-bear in a red Christmassy hat. Julia clutched the toy to her.
“Lionel,” she murmured with a smile and fell asleep again.
She woke up later and found she was still hugging the teddy bear. She felt good, only too weak to move.
Lionel entered the room carrying a poinsettia plant. “Merry Christmas, Julia!” he said jovially, then looked around. “Oh. I came to help you celebrate Christmas, but it looks as if somebody''s beaten me to it.”
“Thank you so much for the decoration,” Julia said from the heart. “It has turned a sick day into a real holiday, Lionel; you’re a true friend.”
“I am,” Lionel acknowledged. “But it’s not me who’s done the room – so nicely.” He pointed to the poinsettia to prove his point.
Julia was taken aback. “But--”
She bit her tongue.
“A secret admirer?” Lionel teased. “The father of your dream baby, maybe, eh?”
Julia blushed. She was saved by Minx who entered the room at that moment.
“There she is!” Minx exclaimed and hugged Julia. “Merry Christmas!”
“Merry Christmas to you!”
“I just had to come to see that everything is alright,” Minx explained.
“Everything''s fine! I''m fine. It was just a minor operation.”
“And so, is it my son who’s grown reasonable and had the ward decorated for you?” Minx asked with affectionate pride.
Julia gave Lionel a panicky glance.
“Well, mother… As a matter of fact...” he stammered.
Julia nodded significantly.
“Yes,” he blurted out. “I had it all ordered beforehand.”
“You look great,” Minx told Julia. “You’re even not pale; I’m so glad you feel good.”
Oh yes, Julia’s cheeks were burning.

/Olga Lissenkova/

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