Kelsie settled into her seat and glanced out the window as she waited to see what would transpire in the crossing. She watched a helicopter take off and wished she could get on her plane now and head back home.
She hadn’t been sure what to expect of the next hour but it hadn’t been coach travel and three border controls as well as immigration control, where they all needed to actually get out of the coaches, troop through the customs and immigration, and have their passports stamped.
It became less glamorous by the second as once everyone was back on board their driver navigated the maze of transit lanes and down into a train shell that encapsulated their coach for the trip under the Channel.
Kelsie felt a tiny twinge of claustrophobia as their compartment was sealed and the coach engine switched off.
The hostess had handed out bottles of cold water and then picked up the microphone. ‘All lights and air will be shut down now and just letting you know it can get hot if there are delays.’
There were groans from the occupants and she hastened on. ‘Usually it only takes about thirty-five minutes once we’ve started.’
‘But we haven’t started yet,’ the coach driver said cheerfully. Then proceeded to share. ‘We’ll be in the tunnel, which is about forty metres under the Channel. Coaches and vans travel in one type of railway carrier and cars have a double-decker carrier, while lorries have carriers with open sides.’ He looked up into the rear-view mirror so he could watch the faces. ‘And there is an emergency tunnel running parallel to our tunnel in case of fire.’
Kelsie shuddered and decided she’d fly across if she ever came to France again.
Half an hour later, without drama of any kind, they popped out the other end into the English countryside, and she even spotted the famous white horse of Dover on the hillside as their coach zipped them towards Folkestone.
When they pulled up in the station, despite the English sleet a brass band jazzed them onto their new train and the mood, flattened by the officialdom and dimness of the tunnel, lifted again as the hostesses pointed out a printed list on the station wall that allocated their carriage by name.
Kelsie was destined for ‘Audrey’, and she could see the white dining cars laden with crockery as she spotted the beautiful Pullman carriage that would carry her to London—on her own. Peacefully. Without Connor Black.
Except that Winsome found her. At least there was no Connor cruising along behind her, though she couldn’t help a glance back to see if he was there.
‘May I join you? I’m all alone. Connor was called away.’ Winsome was puffing a little and Kelsie thought she looked a little pale. ‘And I haven’t got your address. Or given you mine.’
There’d been a reason for that. Then the end of the sentence clicked in. She blinked. ‘Called away? From the station?’
‘No. From Calais. In the helicopter. One of his patients may have gone into labour.’
‘Oh?’ Kelsie would have taken more notice if she’d known it had been Connor soaring off. She didn’t envy him the crossing in this weather. Served him right. Black widow indeed.
‘Apparently his patient rang him very early this morning and after brunch, so he thought he might need to go. It wasn’t too much of a shock when he abandoned me.’
He’d abandoned me, too, Kelsie thought, or maybe I abandoned him? But she didn’t say it. At least he’d told his grandmother he was going, but, then, his gran had probably been nicer to him than she’d been.
Later, when she had time to think clearly, she would have to consider whether that had been a factor in him leaving her cabin so precipitously. Maybe even why he’d left? she needed to think hard about that. But Winsome was looking at her hopefully.
What was she thinking? Winsome was all alone. ‘I’m sorry. You poor thing. I’d love you to join me. I was feeling quite sad that I might not see you again,’ Kelsie said with a smile.
Winsome settled down opposite Kelsie in the big plush seat and they both gazed at the silver ‘1927’ plate above the doorway.
‘You haven’t got rid of me yet.’ It was said quietly and Kelsie wasn’t even sure if she was supposed to have heard, and she chewed her lip as she tried not to laugh.
‘I love these carriages,’ Winsome said in a louder voice. ‘The way they’ve created scenery in the wood. Look at that castle there. All made out of slivers of different-coloured wood.’
Kelsie pointed. ‘You’ve got an island and palm trees above your head, there. Just under the luggage rack.’ Winsome craned her neck and Kelsie hoped she didn’t strain her back as the older lady bounced around in the seat to look at all the murals made of wood.
A tall, ridiculously handsome waiter in formal white tails trimmed with gold braid bowed, imparted his name as Samuel, and offered them a glass of champagne.
Surprisingly, even Winsome declined more bubbly, but nodded vigorously when he suggested tea.
Along came the silver teapots, sandwiches, caviar and quail eggs, pikelets and the inevitable scones and clotted cream. When the trolley with pastries and cakes was offered, Kelsie could see that nearly everyone shook their heads and declined. She didn’t blame them.
She was learning to taste the array of food only. Neither of them had spoken for the last five minutes and Kelsie felt obliged to open conversation. ‘Connor missed another lovely meal.’
The quail-egg wafer stopped halfway to Winsome’s mouth and landed back down on her plate as if she’d been waiting for just such an opportunity. ‘I want to talk to you about Connor. Do you mind?
Kelsie bit back a laugh. As if I could stop you, she thought, but it was a poor choice of topic, Kelsie admonished herself. ‘Why should I mind?’
‘How much do you know about Connor’s childhood?’
Actually, he’d always been more interested in her childhood but she knew a little. ‘That he lost his mother at a young age and he didn’t get on well with his stepmother.’
Winsome was nodding. ‘Both true. You know he was there when his mother died. Did he tell you that?’
Kelsie felt cold all over. ‘No. Just that she’d drowned when he was twelve.’
Winsome looked sadly surprised. ‘I thought he might have told you more. He changed from a happy-go-lucky boy to a serious young man that day.’ She sighed. ‘All of us changed.’
Winsome shook her head with regret. ‘He told me once it was his fault. That he should have told her to come back. Shouted it out. It’s funny how youngsters can blame themselves for something they have no control over.’
Winsome gazed into the distant past. ‘I always blamed his father but really it was my daughter’s fault. She was headstrong. Impulsive. She was always losing things. Took after me in the way she’d misplace things like her handbag, her purse, keys—it used to drive Connor’s father mad but she’d just sail on serenely.
‘The day she died she’d lost her engagement ring in a rock pool, and she left Connor on the beach, even though the tide was coming in.’
Winsome sighed. ‘A freak wave came, she hit her head badly, and it didn’t end well.’
Kelsie remembered the serious young man who’d been the Connor she’d known. How good she’d always felt when she’d made him laugh. How good he’d said he felt when he cared for her. ‘He was always going to be a doctor.’
Winsome sighed again and looked at Kelsie. ‘I think he felt at some deep level it was his life’s work to care for the people he loved from that day on.’ She smiled softly. ‘Caring for people. He has been there every inch of the way since my husband died. I was ready to curl up and die then but Connor made me sit up and believe I still had a life to live. That’s not a bad trait to have.’
‘So the loss of his mother is what made him so controlling.’
‘Controlling?’ Winsome’s head came up. ‘He’s not controlling, not in a negative way.’ She laughed. ‘He cares. Worries. Gives in all the time to me, but he worries all the same, and, yes, sometimes I humour that and allow him to boss me around a litt
le. But that’s not controlling. He doesn’t do it for his own gratification.’
The old lady looked concerned. ‘He might have seemed that way to you,’ she continued. ‘You probably did need time to spread your wings before marriage and luckily you were tough enough to take it. Sometimes you just have to trust your instincts.’
She shrugged. ‘And it hasn’t all been bad for Connor. He loves his work. Has made a difference to so many couples. And, yes, with the work he does now, he does have to weigh risks and make decisions so he can help a woman come to a viable pregnancy, and he’s used to organising things.’
The faded blue eyes looked directly at Kelsie. ‘But Connor’s nowhere near controlling. What on earth made you think that?’
‘My father was a very domineering man. Worse when he drank. My mother left him, one Christmas, when I was fourteen. She died not long after and I never saw her again.’ She looked out the window where lonely countryside stretched away into the distance. ‘I vowed I would never let someone run my life again. Or ruin it.’
Winsome shook her head. ‘No wonder you weren’t sure you were doing the right thing, getting married, if your home was unhappy.’
Then her eyes focused on Kelsie and her voice didn’t waver. ‘But Connor is a world away from how you say your father was. I think it would be quite normal to have trust issues after that.’
Was that true? Was that a big part of the reason she’d run that day? She’d thought about it a lot since then. Had she been scared to love because of her parents’ bad marriage? ‘It’s probably why I’ve never really been into Christmas since then, though Connor bought me a little tree once.’ She thought about that and couldn’t help but smile. ‘It was very cute.’
Winsome studied her with sympathy. ‘That’s the sort of thing Connor does.’ But she frowned as she thought it through. ‘So you left Connor all those years ago because you thought he was like your father?’
Had she? ‘I guess a few things were said when I left home that started me thinking. It seemed to fit into a few thoughts I’d already had about wishing I could just run my own life for a change. But blaming Connor doesn’t seem quite as logical when I look at it now.’
Did it mean that Connor had never been the reason she’d run away? Was that how it had been? Was that why she’d still not found a man she was comfortable to share her life with? Or was it because she’d been waiting for the magic she’d experienced with Connor? She didn’t want to consider that she’d blown it with him for a second time.
Winsome was gazing off into the distance. ‘A good marriage is worth waiting for.’
Kelsie thought about the man Connor had become, how wonderful he’d been with Anna and her baby, his sense of humour, his sincere affection for his grandmother, the way he’d held her when she’d let him.
Then she thought about the way he’d organised her in the run-up to their wedding that had never happened. What if none of it had been his way of controlling her but all so it would be easier for her? And she’d balked and panicked unnecessarily when she’d let him down.
She thought about the last twenty-four hours, how they had been able to talk and connect when they hadn’t been fighting over silly things, how he’d made her laugh.
Winsome had reached the point of her story and Kelsie came back to the present. There was new determination in his grandmother’s voice. ‘He needs a life partner to give him balance.’
Didn’t we all? But Kelsie wasn’t going there. ‘I hope he finds one.’ She had such a lot to think about before they arrived.
Winsome didn’t look at all put out by her noncommittal answer. In fact, she looked like the mischievous older lady from Venice all those hours ago. ‘Oh, I think he will.’
Connor was having a day from hell.
His flight across the Channel had been horrendous, with turbulent wind gusts and heavy sleet, and he decided he hated helicopters almost as much as trains.
Plus he’d been unsure if he had done the right thing by his grandmother or by Kelsie, but at least they’d been on the ground. Safe in the damn train.
It hadn’t actually snowed on the flight but it had been falling heavily on the wild drive to the hospital.
Connie Wilson’s labour was being stubborn. Stuck in the on-off contraction phase that robbed the mother of sleep. Her uterus contracted irregularly and inconsistently in strength, and therefore she wasn’t any closer to actual birth but a lot closer to exhaustion. It was a pattern of an hour of contractions, none for two hours, three hours of contractions, and then none.
Connie and Harry were physically and emotionally exhausted and stressed and he felt bad that he hadn’t been there earlier to allay their fears.
‘Latent phase of labour is unpredictable,’ he explained for the third time in a quiet voice. ‘It’s much more difficult to look at this slow start as a natural progression, especially when you have gone through so many medical procedures to finally get to this stage.’
He crouched down beside Connie and looked into her frightened eyes. ‘It is normal, though.’ He didn’t say it could go on like this for days.
Connie smiled damply. ‘I know. They told us in prenatal classes. And again when we arrived here this morning. But I guess I needed to hear it from you. Thank you for coming. I do appreciate it.’
She shrugged. ‘Maybe I don’t have the faith in my body that I should have but it has let me down. We couldn’t fall pregnant without help and I just worry I won’t be able to give birth to our baby without help.’
He understood that. Wished he could do more. ‘That’s perfectly understandable but I believe in your body’s ability to do this. And you can take comfort that it’s a very common mindset from parents who have gone through assisted reproduction, like you have.’
She sighed. ‘And you have kept telling me I’m not sick or a patient.’
Connor looked at the worried father. ‘That’s because everything is normal. The baby’s monitoring has shown lots of reserves yet, but as her mum you need a good sleep.’
At least Connie was listening but he could feel the tension vibrating from Harry and he’d bet Kelsie would say it wasn’t helping Connie’s body to relax when they all knew her husband was desperately impatient to see their baby and his wife safely at the end of this pregnancy from hell.
‘Exactly!’ Harry pounced on the opportunity to have input. ‘She needs sleep. So let’s do something about it. Can’t we finish this business with a Caesarean?’ Connor could see the anxiety he was feeling because of the cumulative stresses of many miscarriages—and here they were so close to having all their dreams come true.
And he was probably on the defensive for his wife whom he couldn’t help, either physically by taking her pains or with his usual mental ability to solve problems. For a man used to running his multinational business and dealing with problems immediately, he looked like he was having a hard time being utterly powerless for once.
Connor could sympathise but he wasn’t going to rush into a Caesarean just because Connie had prolonged early labour. This was his business and it was his job to make unemotional, yet correct decisions.
He didn’t believe in unnecessary Caesareans because there were risks in every operation and these pregnancies were so hard to come by that statistically he dealt in choosing the lesser risk. Normal birth was much less risky for mother and baby.
Connor ran his hands through his hair, unsure how to help until unexpectedly the image of Kelsie, serene and confident, on the train came to him. He looked up and caught both the worried parents’ attention with his sudden smile.
Maybe it was time for a little midwifery magic. He just wished she was there to do it for him but he’d try his best.
‘I believe Connie can and will do this by herself. When your baby is ready. You’re doing amazingly well.’ Connor recited Kelsie’s words and the calm and positive way she’d said them. ‘Both of you. Your baby is very determined, just like her dad and mum, but we have to wait for the labour
to establish itself properly.’ He pulled up a chair and sat down.
‘Let me tell you a great story about what happened on the way over in the train.’
Connie’s eyes grew wider as Connor explained about Anna’s baby’s decision to arrive between countries, in a train and feet first, and as he concluded his tale with how he’d seen them that morning before Paris and how well they’d both looked, Connie sighed back into the bed. He saw her search out her husband’s eyes and nod.
‘Maybe I could have one of those sleeping tablets we keep refusing and just have a rest. Wait for it to happen instead of being so determined it has to happen this minute. I do want a birth like that.’
Connor stood up. ‘I want you to have a birth like that too.’
He smiled, could feel the tension dissipate in the room as they finally accepted a delay in their expectations. ‘I can’t promise you a train carriage but I can promise you a couple of hours’ sleep.
‘The good news is that a large percentage of women do wake up in labour after a sedation at this point. So hopefully you’ll be one of them.’
He looked at Harry. ‘They have a desk you can use for work if you don’t want to leave the building, but I do think you should leave Connie to rest when she gets the sedation. She could text you when she wakes up.’
Harry looked at his wife. ‘Is that okay with you, Con?’
She nodded. ‘I am very tired.’
‘Let’s get this sorted, then.’ Connor glanced at his watch. The train wasn’t due into Victoria for another two hours.
If Connie went into labour he’d have to arrange for someone else to meet Winsome. He’d set that up just in case. In the back of his mind he still had all his balls in the air. He knew where Kelsie was heading tonight and he still had time to talk to her before she left.
Back in the Pullman carriages, rattling towards London, Kelsie and Winsome had passed the towers and keeps of the English countryside during the meal, leaving behind the manors and ploughed paddocks of the country towns.
Passengers were dozing in their seats, replete or even having over-indulged, and the waiters had begun clearing the tables as they began to pass through more suburban areas.
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