Evelyn ran her fingers over her stomach. She thought she could feel it changing shape already, a small dome forming where there had been none before; it was rounder, fecund. The clothes at her costume call today had felt tighter than they ought to have done. Of course, no one had noticed. No one knew her and so they wouldn’t have spotted a couple of extra pounds that hadn’t been there when she auditioned.

She could fix it, go back to the way things were before with a simple appointment. It wasn’t illegal any more. She wouldn’t have to seek out some dirty backstreet clinic. This was the 1970s. It was her right as a woman to choose what she did with her own body. Evelyn contemplated the irony of this, considering how she had got into this mess in the first place.

She assumed that her situation would work in her favour when it came to persuading a doctor she was in need of help. She was unmarried, without a boyfriend or even any relationship with the father of her child, and no steady income. Anyone could see that she wasn’t best placed to bring a child into the world. She could just take herself off, get it sorted, and no one need ever know.

But she would know. She would know, and that knowledge would eat away at her for the rest of her life. Children had always been in her future. There had never been a time when she hadn’t assumed she would have some one day, and she couldn’t imagine herself growing old without children around her. And somewhere deep inside her, she knew she would make a wonderful mother – she had learned enough about how to be a terrible one from her own.

The trouble was, she hadn’t imagined it would happen just yet. She had no husband, wasn’t even close to getting married, and more importantly, she had just landed the job of her dreams, which would open up a whole world of possibilities. Evelyn Mountcastle was on the cusp of everything she had ever wanted for her career. Surely, that ought to make her decision an easy one. And yet . . .

She stood up and shivered as she reached for a towel. The bump was more obvious when she was upright. She looked down and marvelled at it, the way it proclaimed the existence of new life, impossible to ignore.

But her timing couldn’t have been worse. This was precisely the wrong moment to be pregnant. Julian would kill her for a start, his big fat agent’s fee going up in smoke when they had to recast her role. There was no way the production company would wait for her to have the baby, and in the meantime her dream job would be gone. But if she hung on to the part, then she would lose the baby. She was no spring chicken – thirty already. In fact, this might be it. The egg that was busy dividing inside her right now could be her only chance to be a mother.