Wedded in a Whirlwind

by Liz Fielding

  ‘I have to find her, Daisy. I need to find her.’

  ‘I’ll put out the word. It’ll take time. If she doesn’t want to be found…’ She left Manda to fill in the rest. ‘I’ll catch up with you this evening at the screening.’

  ‘Right.’ Then, casually as she could, ‘Actually, before you go, would you see if you can find a number for Dr Nicholas Jago, at the University of London?’

  ‘The guy you were holed up with in that temple?’

  ‘Yes.’ She avoided Daisy’s gaze, picking up her pen again, making a pretence of jotting down a note. ‘We talked about the documentary and he said he’d like to see it. He was probably just being polite, but it won’t hurt to give him a call and invite him along to the screening tonight.’

  ‘Okay.’

  ‘Tell him that he’s welcome to bring a guest.’

  The screening was for the network chiefs, the press, overseas buyers. After the awards they’d picked up for their first documentary, there had been considerable interest in the new film and Manda had laid on a buffet and a well stocked bar to keep the hacks happy.

  She left Belle and Ivo to greet their guests-she was their ‘face’ after all-and kept herself busy with the money men. She’d positioned herself with her back to the door, determined not to be caught watching for Nick.

  According to Daisy, he’d said he’d be delighted to come. But ‘delighted’ might just be being polite. Or maybe Daisy was being kind.

  Neither Belle nor Daisy had said a word about the fact that she’d been trapped in the dark with a good-looking man for fifteen hours. Which suggested they suspected that the two of them had connected in some way.

  Fortunately, she was still scary enough that neither of them had dared broach the subject.

  Daisy hadn’t said whether he was bringing a guest and Manda didn’t ask.

  ‘Manda?’

  She turned as Daisy touched her arm, excusing herself, gladly, from a monologue on the necessity of tax incentives for film-makers.

  ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing. I could see you were glazing over, but I’ve been thinking about Rosie. She’d go back to the places she knew. Where she felt safe. I just thought…’

  ‘What?’ But Daisy’s attention had been caught by something behind her and she turned to see what it was.

  A man. Tall, dark, freshly barbered and shaved.

  ‘Nick…’ His name caught in her throat.

  ‘Hello, Miranda.’

  Daisy waited for an introduction but she couldn’t speak and, after a moment, she said, ‘I’ll…um…go and start shepherding people through, shall I?’ Then, to herself, ‘Yes, Daisy, you do that…’

  ‘You look…different,’ Manda finally managed. ‘In a suit.’

  ‘Good different, or bad different?’

  ‘Good.’ In a dark bespoke suit, shirt unbuttoned at the neck, the kind of tan that was so deep it would never completely fade, he made everyone else present look stitched up, dull. No wonder Daisy had been staring…‘Not that you looked bad…’Oh, good grief. So much for walking away, not looking back, just being grateful for that one day. Sophisticated, scary Manda Grenville was behaving like a fifteen-year-old who’d just been smiled at by the hottest guy in school. ‘…before.’

  ‘Without a suit.’

  Without any clothes at all.

  She peeled her tongue from the roof of her mouth, rounded up a few brain cells and finally managed a slightly hoarse, ‘How’s your shoulder?’ It wasn’t sparkling conversation, but it was safer than the pictures in her head of Nick Jago naked beneath a waterfall. Nick Jago with his mouth…

  ‘How are you, Miranda?’

  ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Absolutely great. Working hard, but…great.’

  ‘No nightmares?’

  ‘No…’ No nightmares. Just hot, hot dreams…‘You?’

  ‘No nightmares,’ he confirmed. ‘Just dreams. Did you get my message?’

  ‘Ivo told me. Yes. How is it? With your family?’

  ‘They’ve changed. I’ve met my half-sister, too. I’ve you to thank for that.’

  ‘You’d have got there.’ Then the hard question. ‘Are you on your own? Didn’t Daisy tell you that you could bring someone.’

  ‘Why would I bring someone, Miranda,’ He said, ‘when the only person I’m interested in being with is here already?’

  ‘Really?’ Trying to be cool when you needed a cold shower was never easy, but she did her best, looking around the widest shoulders in the room before saying, ‘I haven’t spotted the slinky blonde.’

  And finally he smiled. As if she’d just told him everything he wanted to know. Well, she had…

  ‘Fliss made her bed with Felipe Dominez, Miranda. I advised her to lie on it. I’d have told you that if you’d hung around for another thirty seconds.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘And you could have thanked her. It was down to her that the rescue services reached us so quickly.’

  So Fliss Grant was in love with him, Manda thought, feeling almost sorry for the woman. If he’d loved her in return she would never have written the book…

  ‘Did she give you back your documents?’

  It wouldn’t hurt to remind him of what she’d done.

  ‘There was no need. I had backup copies of everything. She knew that.’

  ‘Of course you did.’ Then, ‘So, here you are. Finally. It took you two months to make up my head start of thirty seconds?’

  ‘I got held up in the village. It was my home for nearly five years…’

  ‘I’m sorry, Nick. Of course you had to stay. Was it terrible?’

  ‘No. Just a bit of a mess. Nothing that hard work and a few dollars couldn’t fix.’

  ‘Money that you supplied.’

  He shrugged. ‘It was nothing. I stayed for a week, made sure everything was back on track for them, that’s all.’

  Far from all, she suspected…

  ‘And then?’

  ‘And then…’ He looked at her for a moment, the smallest smile creasing the corners of his mouth, his eyes. ‘And then, my dearest heart, we both had things to do. Everything happened so fast between us.’

  ‘Was it fast? It seemed like a lifetime, everything slowed down…’

  ‘Facing death, everything becomes concentrated, intense. We needed time to catch up. Time with our families. Time for work.’ He took her hand, slid his fingers through hers. ‘The future was waiting for us. We’ve finally caught up with it.’ Then, ‘Are you free after the screening? Can we have dinner? Talk?’

  ‘Talk? What about?’

  ‘Book signings. Your documentary. The fact that you knew my father and never told me. The rest of our lives.’

  The rest of their lives?

  She opened her mouth, closed it again.

  ‘The rest of our lives?’ she repeated. Then shook her head. ‘No…You can’t…’

  ‘I’ve spent the last two months thinking about you in every waking hour. Dreaming about you in every sleeping one. And the truth is, Miranda, I can’t not. I want to be with you. Always. Marry me.’

  ‘Manda? We’re about to begin.’

  She looked round, realised that the room was empty apart from Daisy, who was holding the screening room door open.

  ‘Go ahead without me,’ she said.

  ‘But…’

  ‘I’ll catch the rerun, Daisy. Right now, I’ve got the rest of my life to plan.’

  They found a small Italian bistro nearby. Manda couldn’t have said what she ate, or how it tasted, or even what they talked about. Only that they talked and laughed and that suddenly everything was in its place.

  When they finally emerged into the chill of the December night, Christmas lights everywhere, Nick said, ‘How did you get here?’

  ‘By cab.’

  ‘Me too.’ He looked up and down the street. ‘We’re not likely to pick one up here at this time of night.’ He held out his elbow and she tucked her arm around his. ‘Which way?
’

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, in no hurry to find a cab, let go of this moment. End the evening. ‘What will you do now?’ she asked as they began to walk.

  ‘I’ve been offered a chair at the university.’

  ‘Here in London?’ She thought about Cordillera. The wildness of the rainforest. A magical pool where a man and woman could pretend they were in Eden. ‘It would be very different from what you’re used to. Won’t you miss fieldwork?’

  ‘The aching back, the lack of basic facilities, the shortage of funding?’

  ‘The magic moment when you find something that’s a piece of the jigsaw,’ she prompted, not believing him for a moment. ‘That helps bring the picture of ancient lives into focus?’

  He glanced at her. ‘I’d still get my hands dirty once in a while,’ He said. ‘Not in Cordillera. The structures are not safe. But we’re running other sites. And the slightly higher than average profile I’ve achieved, thanks to the earthquake, will be a big help in raising funds.’

  ‘So? You’re going to take it?’

  He shrugged. ‘I’m waiting for the right incentive package.’

  ‘Oh.’ They turned into a major shopping street. A cab stopped outside a restaurant to disgorge its passengers. They ignored it. Walked on. ‘What kind of incentive would it take?’

  ‘I’ll know when I hear it.’ He glanced at her. ‘What about you? Where do you go from here?’

  She shook her head, coming back to the real world. ‘I can’t think of anything but Rosie at the moment.’

  ‘The little girl you rescued?’

  Manda stopped.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  ‘She ran away, Nick. Months ago. I only found out today.’ Her breath condensed in the freezing air. ‘She’s out here somewhere, in the city.’ Then, looking around, realised where she was. ‘Oh, God. This is where we found her. Just down here.’

  And she pulled away and ran down a side alley, coming to an abrupt halt as she saw the Dumpster. For one crazy moment she’d thought she be there, digging around for food.

  She turned and laid her face against Nick’s coat as he caught up with her, put his arms around her.

  ‘She’ll die, Nick. I’ve let her down. I should have been there.’

  ‘Shh.’ She felt his breath against her hair as he kissed her, but she pulled away.

  ‘Rosie! Do you hear me?’ she called. ‘I’m not giving up on you. I’ll come back tomorrow. Search every alleyway in London if I have to, but you will not die, do you hear me?’

  She clapped her hands over her mouth. Shook her head. Tears freezing on her cheeks.

  ‘Manda…’

  ‘What?’ she asked crossly, rubbing a glove across her face. Then she realised that he wasn’t looking at her but over her head and swung round, caught her breath as she saw the small, defiant figure standing glaring at them.

  ‘Rosie?’

  ‘Is he your boyfriend?’ she demanded.

  Manda swallowed.

  He’d said ‘the rest of our lives’ but it was too soon for anything except knowing how much she had missed him. How much she wanted him to stay. How much she loved him.

  ‘This is Nick, Rosie,’ she said, grabbing all of those things and putting them together. ‘He saved my life.’

  ‘What did he do?’

  ‘I was falling, down into a horrible dark place, but he held on to me even when he might have fallen too. And I’m here to hold on to you.’ She crossed to the Dumpster, put her hand on the lid. ‘Hungry?’ she asked, knowing that she was going to have to open it. Knowing that she would do anything. Then, remembering something that Belle had told her about living on the streets as a child-the one thing they’d have given anything for-she said, ‘Or maybe you’d like to come to my place and I’ll make you a bacon sandwich. With ketchup.’

  ‘Is your boyfriend coming?’

  Nick Jago looked at this beautiful woman. He’d loved her before he’d even seen her, he realised, his heart stolen by the mixture of strength, vulnerability-something more that made her everything she was. Then, when he’d seen her, his eyes had confirmed everything his heart had already known. It was as if his entire world had been shaken to bits and then, when it had been put back together, everything had somehow fallen into place. And then she had gone, whirled away from him in a helicopter before he could say the words. Still running?

  He didn’t know, but he’d given her space, given himself space for the whirlwind of feelings to be blown away.

  But it hadn’t happened. Sometimes, in the darkest moment, you met your destiny and he knew, without doubt, that she was his.

  ‘I’m not Miranda’s boyfriend, Rosie,’ he said, moving to join her. ‘I’m the man she’s going to marry.’

  And when Miranda turned to stare at him, he held her gaze, daring her to deny it. She didn’t. Her silence was all he needed and, taking off his coat, he said, ‘You know that incentive to stay in London that I was talking about?’

  She just nodded as he wrapped it around the freezing child.

  ‘I just heard it.’

  ‘Rosie!’ Her room was empty. Her bed not slept in. Manda didn’t know what had woken her, only that she’d known, instantly, that Rosie had run again. She turned as Nick joined her in the bedroom doorway. ‘She’s gone, Nick.’

  It had been six months. It hadn’t been easy, but they’d made it and, now that Social Services were ready to approve their adoption, she’d been certain they were through the worst. And Rosie had been so excited about being their bridesmaid.

  Now, with the wedding less than a week away, she’d run again.

  She turned to Nick and buried her face in his chest. ‘What now?’

  ‘I think she may have started taking food again,’ Nick said. ‘I thought maybe she was just a little unsettled-about staying with Daisy while we’re on our honeymoon.’

  It had taken a while before she’d trusted them enough to stop taking stuff from the fridge to keep in her bag.

  ‘But she adores Daisy. Can’t wait to stay with her and Jude next week. I thought she was sure of us. Settled.’

  There had been problems before, when they’d set the date for the wedding. She’d run away then too, afraid that they’d have babies of their own and wouldn’t want her any more.

  But when Nick had told her that wasn’t going to happen, had explained that Manda couldn’t have children of her own, she’d seemed to settle.

  ‘Don’t panic, Miranda. She always goes back to the same place. We’ll go and pick her up and get to the bottom of this.’ Then, frowning, ‘Did you hear something?’

  ‘It sounded like the back door. Burglars?’

  Rosie’s fiercely whispered ‘Shh…’ answered that question.

  ‘The kitchen?’ Nick suggested.

  They opened the door. Rosie had her head in the fridge and didn’t see them. The small boy, sitting on one of the kitchen stools, almost smothered by one of Rosie’s padded jackets, leapt to his feet, knocking over a mug tree, sending crockery flying as he bolted for the door.

  Nick cut him off, scooped him up, holding him easily, despite his desperate struggle. He was about five years old, his mop of black hair a matted tangle and skinny as a lath, but he had huge dark eyes and the kind of beauty that would melt hearts at twenty paces.

  Nick smiled at him, tucked him up against his chest and said, ‘Who’s your friend, Rosie?’

  She closed the fridge door very slowly, then turned to face them. ‘He was eating out of the bins behind the supermarket. I saw him the other day and I took him some stuff. Clothes, food. On my way to school.’

  ‘You should have told us,’ Manda said.

  ‘I thought maybe his mum would come back for him. Sometimes they just get out of their heads for a while, but then they come back. Like my mum did.’

  Until, eventually, she didn’t, Manda thought.

  ‘But she didn’t.’ Rosie’s shrug was a mixture of defiance and pleading. ‘I waited a week
and then I thought, since you can’t have kids of your own, he should come and live with us. I’ll need a brother,’ she added a little defiantly.

  ‘Does he have a name?’ Nick asked.

  ‘He’s called Michael.’

  ‘Rosie,’ Manda cut in as gently as she could, ‘you know it’s not that easy. I’ll have to call Social Services. He may have a family…’

  ‘The kind that leaves him on the street. I had family like that too.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘I know.’ She sighed. ‘There are rules and stuff. But you can fix it. You and Nick can fix anything and, besides, you said it was a pity Jude wasn’t old enough to be a page-boy.’

  ‘So I did,’ Manda said, turning helplessly to the gorgeous man who’d swept her up in a whirlwind of love, made her a family of her own. ‘Nick? Do you have any thoughts about how we can handle this?’

  He grinned and said, ‘I always think best with a bacon sandwich in front of me.’ He looked at the child in his arms. ‘Michael?’

  And Manda felt Rosie’s hand creep into hers.

  Five days later, Miranda Grenville and Nicholas Jago were married in a centuries-old London church that had been designed by Christopher Wren.

  It was one of those rare perfect June days when, even in London, the flower-filled parks still wore the freshness of early summer.

  As Miranda emerged from a vintage Rolls Royce on her brother’s arm, she paused for a moment while Belle and Daisy, her attendants, straightened the train of the simplest, most elegant ivory silk gown, giving the paparazzi time to take their photographs. This was, after all, the society wedding of the year.

  Nothing could have been further from the circumstances of their meeting in Cordillera. Everything pristine, perfect.

  Rosie, gorgeous in primrose and white organza, was almost beside herself with excitement. Michael, his hand clutched firmly in hers, was bemused in a tiny kilt and ruffles.

  The plan had been to go back, visit their pool, light their fire but they’d put their honeymoon on hold until they’d settled Michael’s future.

  ‘Ready?’ Ivo asked.

  She took a deep breath and said, ‘Not quite. I just wanted to say…’ She had a load of words, but in the end it came down to two. ‘Thank you.’ She didn’t have to say what for. They both knew. ‘Now I’m ready.’