by Anne Mather
Rachel shook her head. "What is it you want to say to me, Joel?" she demanded. "Let's get it over and done with, shall we?"
Joel halted by a trolley laden with bottles and glasses. "There's only you and I here, Rachel," he said quietly. "There's no hurry."
Rachel's eyes widened and she glanced towards the door as if measuring the distance. "I thought you told me Heron was here!" she exclaimed.
Joel sighed. "All right, so he is. But he's in his own rooms. To all intents and purposes we're alone. Does that satisfy you?"
Rachel remained where she was, thrusting her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket. "I don't think there's any point in dragging this out, Joel," she declared. "Your father rang me this evening and told me he'd been speaking to you."
"Rachel, for God's sake, come and sit down!" Joel stared at her grimly. "I'm not about to seduce you or rape you or do any of the things your agile imagination is summoning up. I just want to talk. Talk - that's all."
Rachel's breathing quickened. "What about?"
"Come and sit down, and I'll tell you."
Half reluctantly, Rachel came down the steps and perched on the edge of the couch. She didn't take off her coat and when he held out a glass of colourless liquid she had to take her hand
out of her pocket to take it. "Wh-what's this?"
"Dry Martini and soda. That is innocuous enough for you, isn't it?"
Rachel nodded, taking the glass. "Thank you."
Joel went back and poured himself some whisky and then came to join her on the couch, lounging back in his seat, nearer than she would have preferred. "Now, what did my father tell you?"
Rachel shrugged awkwardly. "Just - just that you - had been talking to him."
Joel's expression was scathing. "Just that and nothing more? He rang just to tell you he had been speaking to me!"
"No, of course not." Rachel coloured. "He - he had other things to say."
"Such as what?"
"I don't have to tell you that."
Joel sounded scornful. "Did he tell you I'd spoken to the surgeon who is to perform the operation ?"
"No." Rachel shook her head. "Why - why did you speak to Mr. Lorrimer?"
"I wanted to know the facts." Joel drew up one knee, resting his outstretched arm upon it, studying the liquid in his glass. "It's not going to work, you know."
"What's not going to work?" Rachel felt a tightening of her stomach muscles. "What are you talking about?"
"The transplant. I don't like it."
"What don't you like?" Rachel's face was a little paler now.
"Oh, don't look so concerned. If anyone can do it, Lorrimer can, I'll grant you that." He sighed. "It's not that. It's the effects - afterwards."
"What do you mean?" Rachel stared at him.
Joel shook his head. "Look, Sara is a child, right?"
"That doesn't make any difference. I asked that -"
"Let me finish!" Joel paused, and then went on: "As I said, Sara is a child. The problems she's had this far have - well, retarded her physical growth slightly, haven't they?" Rachel reluctantly nodded and he continued: "All right. Fortunately the effects have been minimal so far. But if the transplant takes place - the transplant of an adult kidney, healthy or otherwise - she's going to need some kind of suppressive drugs to survive. And you know what suppressive drugs do, don't you ? They stunt growth!"
"I don't believe you." Rachel was chilled. "Mr. Lorrimer said there was every chance that the operation would be successful."
"It probably will be. Technically, at least. But ring Lorrimer if you don't believe what I say. Ask him to explain it again. He's already explained these things, both to you and my father, but I guess your main concern was that Sara should survive the operation. I don't think you've thought about afterwards, have you ? Well, I'm not happy about it."
"You're not happy about it!" she echoed unsteadily. "How do you think I feel? What you're forgetting is that Sara can't survive on the machine for the rest of her life. Oh, I know great advances have been made, and she could live for years ... But that's not a satisfactory solution, is it? I want her to have the chance to lead a normal life."
"So do I!"
"Oh, yes? Is that why you're telling me these things? Why you're trying to frighten me into calling off the transplant?"
"I'm not trying to frighten you, Rachel. For God's sake, all I'm suggesting is that - well, perhaps you shouldn't rush into this. Sara has adapted herself to the machine - she's not dying or anything. As you say, great biological advances have been made during the past few years. Maybe there are even greater advances to be made in the future. Perhaps you should wait a while and consider. Rachel, I want what's best for the child, too, you know!"
"Do you? Do you?" Rachel thrust the glass she was holding on to a side table and got to her feet. "Why? Why? So you can take her away from me?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
Joel rose now, but Rachel backed away from him. "Don't try to deny it. You father told me what your have in mind."
"Which is?" Joel's voice was icily cold.
"Adoption!" Rachel's lips moved bitterly. "You want to adopt Sara. That was what you threatened to do in the beginning, wasn't it? When you first discovered that you had a daughter! What an arrogant swine you are!"
Joel finished his whisky and dropped the empty glass carelessly on the carpet. "So that's what he told you, did he?"
"Do you deny it?"
Joel shrugged. "Would it make any difference if I did?"
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Joel shook his head. "No. I don't deny that I want to adopt Sara - "
"That's crazy!" Rachel spoke distractedly.
"Why is it crazy?"
"You don't even like children!"
"On the contrary, I like Sara very much."
Rachel moved her head confusedly. "But you always said - "
"I know what I always said. And I used to believe it, too. But not any longer. Success that comes too easily is no challenge. I've been a fool, Rachel. You don't know how much of a fool!"
Rachel put up a hand to her forehead. Her head was aching dully and she felt sick. "I - I won't let you do it!" she cried, and his expression became a little cruel.
"Won't you? How will you stop me?"
"By marrying your father."
"Is that what he said?" Joel asked contemptuously.
"What if it is?"
He shook his head. "Oh, Rachel, now who's the fool?"
"Don't you dare to call me a fool!" she stormed, her breast heaving. "Oh, why did I ever allow myself to become involved with this family?"
"Because you loved me," replied Joel, stepping close to her so that when she automatically backed away she came up against the wall behind her. She tried to twist away from him, but he was too quick for her and his fingers slid round her throat. "You love me now, if you'd only admit it."
"You? You?" Rachel forced a scornful laugh. "I hate you!"
Joel's fingers tightened, his thumbs massaging the vulnerable muscles that surrounded her windpipe. "Have a care, Rachel," he advised her, his eyes narrowed to slits between the thick lashes. "Don't tempt me to do what I wanted to do to you when you disappeared six years ago."
The tension in Rachel's body snapped, and she went weak, swaying against him. It had all been too much for her and she no longer felt capable of making any decision.
"Let me go, Joel," she begged wearily, her face pressed against his chest. "Please - I can't take any more!"
Joel's hands were unsteady as they slid the suede jacket from her shoulders and it fell unheeded to the floor. He gathered her closely against him, his hands moving possessively over her back, fitting her body into his so that she could feel him tremb- ling, too. He kissed her then, hot passionate kisses that aroused an answering passion inside her which she was not strong enough to resist.
"I don't want to hurt you, Rachel," he muttered, against her " mouth, his breath mingling with
hers. "I just want to love you. Let me love you, Rachel. Stay with me ..."
But it was those words which brought Rachel to her senses. What was she doing, she thought hysterically, allowing him to touch her like this? Kissing him with an abandonment that invited everything she got! He wanted to love her, she didn't doubt it. It was his way of saying he wanted to make love to her. But making love and loving were two vastly different things. And while her senses cried out for his possession, ached with the memory of that unforgettable night they had spent together, she had to remember the outcome of that folly and what he was trying to take from her now.
Tearing herself out of his arms, she faced him, shaking uncontrollably. "Oh, yes, you'd do that, wouldn't you?" she accused emotively. "Sleep with me and then tell James what you'd done! What a victory that would have been, wouldn't it? How would it have sounded in a courtroom preferring custody of the child? Is that what you think? What would you say? That the mother is a loose woman - engaged to one man and having an affair with another - "
"Rachel, you're talking nonsense!" he grated. "For God's sake, let me explain - "
"I don't want your explanations, Joel!" "Rachel! Come here!"
He tried to take hold of her, but she eluded him, darting up the steps and out of the door before he could stop her. She heard him coming behind her and instead of waiting for the lift she began to run down the stairs. Round and round, down and down, her head was spinning, and her legs ached. Was he following her? Had he taken the lift? Would he be waiting for her at the bottom? The stairs seemed endless. How many floors, how many more flights? She didn't think she could go much further. The stairs seemed to be behaving in a most peculiar way, was she climbing the stairs, or descending them. Surely they were going up ahead of her. She put out her foot to mount the first stair, but there was nothing there, and she was falling, falling, bumping her arms and legs - oh, the pain! And then oblivion ...
CHAPTER TEN
RACHEL opened her lids to a brilliant light that hurt her eyes. She didn't know where she was. The ceiling above her was plain and emulsioned in white, and there seemed to be whiteness all around her. It was that that hurt her eyes.
She blinked and became aware of a throbbing behind her temples, and various aches and pains throughout her body. When she tried to move, she couldn't. She was lying in a narrow bed, and the bedclothes were so tight she couldn't move.
Panic rose inside her, but before it could manifest itself a face interposed between her and the brilliant white wall ahead of her.
"Now then, Mrs. Gilmour," said a gentle, feminine voice. "How do you feel?"
Rachel tried to focus on the smiling face, but it was difficult. She didn't know that face, and what was it on the woman's head? A cap? A nurse's cap! A nurse's cap!
"Sara!" she cried in agonised tones. "Where's Sara?"
"Sara is perfectly all right," the nurse assured her firmly. "It's you we've been worried about."
Rachel closed her eyes again. A tremendous drowsiness was sweeping over her again, and she hadn't the strength to fight it. "Sara," she said again, desperately. "Sara ..."
The next time she opened her eyes, the walls didn't seem quite so white, but perhaps that was because it was daylight outside. She frowned, trying to think. What was she doing here? If this was a hospital why was she in it? But her effort to think made her head hurt.
"Mrs. Gilmour?"
The voice was masculine this time, the face older, more lined. Rachel swallowed convulsively. "I - what am I doing here?"
The man in the white coat gestured to a nurse behind him, and she came forward to trickle some liquid between Rachel's lips. It was cool, and it felt good.
"Now, Mrs. Gilmour," said the man, "I don't want you to talk. Just relax. You're going to be all right."
"Why - where am I?"
"You're in hospital, my dear. Don't you remember falling downstairs?"
Rachel's brows drew together. Falling downstairs? Falling downstairs? She drew an unsteady breath. Joel! The apartment!
"Sara," she breathed unsteadily. "Where is Sara?"
"Sara is fine, fine."
"I want to see her. Where is she?"
"You mustn't excite yourself, Mrs. Gilmour," said the man sternly, drawing back the covers to lift her wrist. "You're not allowed any visitors right now. You'll see Sara, all in good time."
"She'll worry - Who's looking after her?"
"I understand her father has taken charge of her," replied the man firmly. "Now, I'm just going to - "
But Rachel wasn't listening. Her father! Joel! The apartment! She tried to move, but couldn't, and tears came to her eyes. The pain in her head was increasing. Oh, God, what was wrong with her? Why couldn't she move? Was she paralysed? She had to think .. . to think ... But thinking was so painful. The man's face Was blurring, when he let go of her wrist her arm fell limply on to the sheet. It she could just lift it again... Blackness was edging the limits of her vision. She had to ask, she must ask somebody ...
Her eyes flickered. Someone was sitting beside the bed. But that wasn't possible. Where had the man in the white coat gone - and the nurse... ? The man sitting beside the bed didn't wear a white coat. He was wearing a white shirt and a suede jacket. He was hunched in a sort of exhausted position, but she could feel her fingers lying in his. She moved her fingers experimentally. Relief flooded through her. She could actually move her fingers ...
The movement had disturbed the man and he lifted his head to stare searchingly at her. It was Joel. She knew that at once, even though he looked haggard and drawn, a blue shadow of beard darkening his jawline. She blinked again. The only light in the room was coming from a lamp beside the bed. It was night again. She must have slept all day!
"Rachel?" he breathed unsteadily, leaning towards her. "Rachel, are you awake?"
She flexed her lips. "I -I think so." Then a terrible thought struck her. If Joel was here ... "Joel, where - where's Sara?"
He straightened his shoulders wearily, taking her hand in both of his. "Cool it, honey," he advised, stroking the veins of her wrist. "Sara's being taken care of. All you've got to think about is getting better."
"When can I see her?"
"Soon. Soon."
Rachel shifted restlessly, and as she did so she felt something that seemed to be bound about her head. Frowning slightly, she lifted her free arm and probed her scalp. It was swathed in bandages, and she could feel none of the hair that used to flow so freely about her shoulders when she was in bed. The probing made her realise how tender her scalp felt and she turned horrified eyes in Joel's direction. "What - what am I - wearing a - a bandage for?"
"Don't you remember?" he asked, shaking his head, his eyes amazingly tender.
"I - I know I fell downstairs. I - I remember hurting my arms and legs ..."
Joel lifted her hand to his lips and pressed his face to her palm. "It was my fault," he muttered in a harsh voice. "Mine! You were running away from me! Oh, Rachel, I've been out of my mind these past days!"
"D-days?" Rachel tried to understand him. "Wh-what do you mean?"
"Rachel, you've been lying here almost a week!"
"A - week!" Rachel gasped. "But - but - "
"Don't try to talk." Joel stretched out a hand and stroked a finger across her lips. "I must tell someone you're awake."
He half rose, but Rachel held on to his hand tightly. "Not yet. Joel. Please - how can I have been here that long? I - I don't remember ..."
Joel sighed, sinking back into his chair. "You were unconscious for several days. Rachel. Then - then you were operated upon."
"My head!" Rachel gasped. "They operated on my head, didn't they? Have they shaved off my hair?"
She was getting distressed and he soothed her firmly. "Rachel, let me get the doctor - "
"No, no!" She almost sobbed the words. "They did, didn't they? Answer me! They shaved my head!"
"They had to, Rachel. There was bleeding inside ...." He sighed heavily. "You're going
to be all right now. Your hair will grow again, just as beautiful as ever."
Tears flowed down her cheeks, and he dragged himself away from her and went in search of assistance. When the doctor and the nursing Sister appeared, Joel was not with them.
During the next twenty-four hours, Rachel learned to accept that she had had a very lucky escape from death, and that a shaved head was a small price to pay compared to the paralysis the cerebral haemorrhage had caused. She felt terribly weak and listless, but at least she could move, if very slowly, and the pain in her head was bearable. She asked about Sara, of course, when she could see her, and where she was staying, but the answers she received were frustratingly vague, and she was still not strong enough to assert herself.
A further two days made a lot of difference. She was eating something now, whereas at first food had nauseated her, and her strength was slowly returning. She could talk, without getting too tired, and propped on her pillows she enjoyed looking at the hospital gardens through the long windows.
"When will I be able to see Sara?" she demanded of the doctor, the next time he came to examine her, and he regarded her with a certain amount of consideration before replying:
"You can't see her yet, Airs. Gilmour. Because Sara is in hospital, too."
"You mean - for her treatment?"
"No. Not for her treatment. She's had the operation you wanted her to have."
"What?" Rachel stared at him disbelievingly. "Wh-what are you saying?"
"Sara had a kidney transplant a week ago, and I believe it to be a complete success."
"A - a - week - ago?" Rachel couldn't take it in.
"Now don't go getting upset about it. You've got nothing to worry about. She's in expert hands, believe me."
"But how could she have the operation ? When - when I was not there? Who gave permission?"
"I understand, in certain circumstances where previous permission has been given, the operation is permitted to go ahead. Besides," he paused, "wouldn't her father have that right?"
Rachel turned her face into the pillow. "So - so Mr. Kingdom is back from Germany," she choked.