Freya felt her jaw dropping.
'I see. I'm sorry. It must be hard for you.'
Richard sighed and, neither agreeing or disagreeing, said, 'My friends are all urging me to get married again. To provide Amelia with a new mother. But I can't do that. Even if it were as easy as they make out. Jenny was very special. And we've all heard the saying about marrying in haste and repenting at leisure.'
He switched off the car engine and, turning to her, said, 'There's just time for a quick coffee before my early evening surgery. If you'd like a cup, you're very welcome.'
'Well...yes, thank you,' she said, taken aback by the offer. 'But what about your daughter? Where is she?'
'At school.'
'Here in the village?'
'No. Amelia has just started as a day pupil at Marchmont. The mother of one of her friends will be dropping her off soon. I have a housekeeper sort of person who comes in each day during the week to make the evening meal, and she stays with Amelia until surgery is over.'
'It can't be easy for you,' Freya murmured. She was getting to know more about Richard Haslett than she'd bargained for.
As he put a steaming mug of coffee in front of her, Freya looked around. The house was large and airy, furnished with taste and style. But as soon as she'd stepped inside she'd felt something missing and had recognised it immediately. It lacked a woman's touch. There was no mother.
She of all people knew what that felt like, but hopefully Richard's daughter would be more fortunate than she'd been. He looked like the kind of man who would attend to his daughter's every need.
'So, tell me about yourself,' he was saying carefully, with the memory of the brush-off he'd got that night in the hotel surfacing. 'What's brought you to these parts? You're a Londoner, aren't you?'
Freya shrugged slim shoulders inside the tweed suit.
'There's not a lot to tell. Yes, I do live in London and until recently worked as a nurse on the children's ward in one of the big hospitals there. I've had a few chest infections recently and was feeling quite exhausted, which prompted my GP to advise me to take it a little easier. I applied for the job at Marchmont School on a whim, and here I am.'
'I see,' he said thoughtfully, having noted that there were no personal details forthcoming. 'So do I take it that you have no family commitments?'
'Yes.'
She could have told him that it was lack of that very thing that had brought her to this place. But she could no more tell this stranger about the ache that was her constant companion than inform him that he was right about not wanting to replace his daughter's mother.
He checked his watch. The chat was over.
'I'm afraid that's it, Freya,' he said. 'You need to be making tracks if you want to be back at the school before nightfall...and I have just five minutes to get to the surgery.'
As he locked the door behind them she asked, 'Do you have partners in the practice?'
'Yes. One recently qualified young registrar who is shaping up nicely. You must pop in when you get a chance and I'll show you round. In the meantime, it's goodbye until our paths cross again, and with the health of two hundred pupils to oversee, I don't think it will be long before that happens.'
Not so long ago she would have groaned at the thought of an acquaintance that looked like him being so close, but it showed how much she'd thawed out over recent days. She was actually looking forward to working with this seemingly uncomplicated man who was facing up to his grief with a kind of quiet dignity.
Freya didn't sleep much that first night. All was silent in the annexe where she was based, but she knew that not far away in the dormitories it would be a different matter.
She could remember the sounds from long ago. The rustlings and whisperings, the giggles and the tossing and turning as gradually those in the narrow beds drifted off to sleep.
Was her child amongst them? she wondered achingly. She wasn't expecting her to be...and would she know her if she was? Tomorrow she would be scanning faces with her heart beating faster, hopes rising as they always did, only to be dashed.
In her bleakest moments she comforted herself with the thought that in seven years her daughter might seek her out. But what state would she be in herself by then? Her heart a dried, shrivelled-up thing after all the years of longing and regret?
Freya was aware that if she did find her child at Marchmont it wouldn't be easy. She wouldn't be able to simply introduce herself after all this time. The girl's needs would be paramount, as would those of her adoptive parents. Hopefully her daughter was having a happy life with a loving family. Neither she nor they might want her to have contact, now or ever, and she'd need to go through the proper channels to find out. But all Freya really wanted right now was to see her daughter and know that she was happy and loved. If she ever had the chance to be some part of her life at some point in the future, it would be a bonus.
All live-in staff ate in the dining room at the same time as the boarders but at separate tables and, once Freya had been introduced to those present at breakfast, she fixed her gaze on the new intake of pupils.
They were all shapes and sizes. Small, tall, dark, fair, thin, fat. A jumble of girls from privileged families, and there wasn't one of them that made her take a second look.
It was like she'd said to Poppy. If she'd been starring in an old movie, her baby would have been born with some sort of distinguishing mark that would have been easily recognisable and the story would have gone on from there.
But she hadn't. Her only distinguishing features had been a covering of golden down on her small head and eyes of the deepest blue, like those of her young mother.
Poppy, who was almost as desperate as herself to find her daughter, had seen a child with those features and a resemblance to herself, and had wished her into being her lost daughter.
But she hadn't come back with a name. If she had, it would have been so much easier. According to what her friend had said, she'd seen the child in the gathering of parents and pupils on the first day of term and strangely she'd been alone. No relatives in sight.
When the gathering had ended, the girl had disappeared before Poppy could find out her name. All of which had done little to raise Freya's hopes. But, having nothing better to contemplate, she'd still applied for the job and today was going to be very different from nursing on the paediatric ward of a big hospital.
It was a strange feeling as she acquainted herself with the layout and equipment of the sanatorium, yet it was pleasant to know that this was her place where she would be answerable only to Matron...and Richard Haslett.
The unusual interest he'd aroused in her was still there, especially after their chat in the house that had lost its mainspring. He'd obviously loved his wife a lot and wasn't going to be persuaded to do what was against his principles just for the sake of convenience.
It was perhaps just as well that he had the practice and his duties at Marchmont to keep him occupied. It must have seemed like a godsend to have a school of such repute on his doorstep when his daughter had been ready to move on from junior school.
Freya gave out paracetamol to a pupil with toothache during the morning and recommended a visit to the dentist, then went to seek out the fourteen-year-old with tonsillitis just to make sure that she was on the road to recovery.
When she got back to the sanatorium Freya saw that she had another patient. A girl was waiting outside with head bent, shoulders hunched, scuffing idly at the carpet with her school shoe.
She had a handkerchief wrapped around one of her fingers and even though she must have heard her approaching she didn't look up.
'Hello, there,' Freya said smoothly. 'What can I do for you?'
'I trapped my finger in the lid of my desk,' the girl mumbled.
'You'd better come inside and show me, then,' she said, and as the girl slouched across to the nearest chair she followed, thinking as she did so that this one reminded her of how she'd been all those years ago, sulky and miserable. Until
the big love affair with her tutor, and then she'd blossomed like a rose.
As Freya unwrapped the injured finger she was taking stock of the girl. She was fair-haired, pale-skinned, and at the stage of adolescence where she looked all bones and teeth.
Aware of Freya's scrutiny, she lifted her head reluctantly and Freya gasped. She felt as if someone had thumped her in the chest. She'd seen eyes like those every time she'd looked in the mirror for as long as she could remember.
The jaw line was the same, too. Straight and firm, culminating in the scowl that Poppy had described.
With a supreme effort of will Freya dragged her eyes back to the injured finger. It was badly bruised and the nail was beginning to blacken.
'I think a dressing soaked in witch hazel would be the best thing for this,' she said in a voice that sounded nothing like her own. 'It will ease the pain and take away the bruising. You'll need to come back tomorrow while I check to see if blood has congregated beneath the nail.'
'And what will you do then?' asked the sulky one.
'Just a tiny prick to release it,' Freya told her with a reassuring smile.
She felt as if the child must be able to hear the thumping of her heart, see the state of shock she was in, but she was squirming about on the chair and drooping again.
There was no way she could let her go yet.
'Er...I didn't see you at breakfast,' she said casually.
'That's because I wasn't there.'
'So where were you, then?'
'At home.'
'Ah! So you're a day girl.'
This time the reply was accompanied by a sigh.
'Yes. I live in the village.'
Freya pulled towards her the register that would record all treatments of those reporting to her. Excitement was taking over after those first few moments, of complete shock. If she wasn't mistaken about this child, the next thing she asked her was going to be of vital importance.
'What's your name?'
'Amelia Haslett.'
She'd had her pen poised above a pristine page of the register but it wasn't connecting. Her hand had gone slack and so had her mouth.
'You're Dr Haslett's daughter!'
'Yes.'
Disappointment was choking her. So much for her wild imaginings. Would she ever learn? Here was a child with deep blue eyes and a chip on her shoulder, and she'd been telling herself that the long search was over.
'Are you going to put a dressing on my finger, then?'
'Er...yes...of course,' Freya said weakly. 'And don't forget I want to see you tomorrow.'
'My dad can attend to it. He is a doctor.'
'Show it to him tonight then and see what he says.'
When she'd gone, Freya sat staring into space. For the first time ever she'd seen a child she thought might be hers. Incredibly Poppy had thought the same thing—this had to be the same girl.
A knock on the door brought her mind back to mundane matters. It was the matron, wanting to know how she was settling in. Putting her disappointment to one side, Freya managed a smile.
By lunchtime her mind was working more logically. It was almost certain that she was mistaken but, before giving up on Amelia Haslett, she had to speak to Richard. She was clutching at straws, but supposing that he and his dead wife were the adoptive parents of her child?
Amelia didn't look anything like him. She had the same golden fairness as herself when she wasn't hiding under a brown rinse...and the same eye colour, but there was nothing to say that his wife hadn't had the same colouring, too.
How was she going to phrase the question? she asked herself as she watched the girl during lunch. It was a very private and personal thing to ask if your daughter was adopted.
The girl looked happier now that she was with her friends, and Freya reflected that they'd both lost their mothers at an early age. They had at least one thing in common and even if Amelia wasn't hers, she could still relate to her over that. But it wasn't taking away the feeling of sick disappointment.
When would she see Richard again? she wondered. And would she have the nerve to put the question when she did? Richard's visits to the school would be spasmodic. Probably fewer now than before as she herself was now employed to attend to the pupils' health care.
As the day wore on Freya came to a decision. She would do nothing. Nothing at all, except watch and wait. Maybe circumstances would show her what to do. They sometimes did.
In the meantime, she would seek out Alice, so that she could report back to Poppy when she next spoke to her.
Which would be soon, in the light of recent events. Plump and contented, her friend's daughter didn't know what it was like to be miserable. She would have adapted to boarding school like she did everything else, sensibly and with sweet reason.
'So I was right!' Poppy crowed delightedly when Freya rang to tell her that she'd seen her young look-alike.
'Not exactly,' she said with a sigh. 'Amelia is the daughter of the school's medical officer. That was why she had no parents with her on the day you saw her. She lost her mother not long ago, and as a local GP her father would either have been at his practice in the village or engaged on Marchmont business. She probably knew this place well enough before becoming a pupil, so it wouldn't be as strange to her as it would to a child like Alice.'
'So I wasn't right after all,' Poppy said as her delight oozed away.
'Well, I don't know. The girl's certainly nothing like her father and I can see myself in her, but I'm afraid that it's just going to be coincidence.'
'How do you know she's not adopted?' Poppy persisted.
'Again, I don't. When I get to know him better I shall ask her father—and you can imagine how much I fancy doing that. But about your Alice. Let's talk about her, shall we?'
'Yes,' her mother agreed eagerly. 'How is my pumpkin?'
'Great. Just great,' Freya told her as the contrast between the two girls came to mind, with the memory of a downcast face and the slenderness of bony adolescence uppermost. Had Richard Haslett any idea how miserable his daughter was? she wondered.
If Freya had been hoping to ease herself into the routine of the school during that first week she was disappointed. A bug causing sickness and diarrhoea was spreading amongst the pupils and she was kept fully occupied, taking temperatures, putting the sufferers on a twenty-four-hour fast and watching over them generally.
The situation did have one advantage. Richard Haslett was on the premises much more than he normally would have been, and every time she saw him she wanted to ask him outright if his daughter was adopted.
She didn't, of course. She couldn't. There was the hope in her that the answer might come from another source, and as she twisted and turned at night in her quiet room she searched for another way to find out.
'So how's it going?' he asked one afternoon as she came back from a tour of the dormitories. 'You won't forget your first week here in a hurry, will you?'
Freya shook her head.
'No way.'
'How many of the girls are confined to bed?' he asked.
'Thirty,' she told him. 'As you can see, I'm full up in the sanatorium and the rest are in the dormitories. Fortunately Amelia seems to be steering clear of the bug so far. She didn't come back to me with the trapped finger so I take it that there was no problem.'
When she looked up his dark hazel gaze was fixed on her so intently that she felt her colour start to rise.
'So you've met my daughter?'
'Yes. I've met your daughter.'
'And what did she have to say for herself?'
Freya found herself smiling. If he was hoping for comfort of some sort, he wasn't going to get it. Yet neither was she going to tell him that Amelia had been abrupt and uncommunicative.
'Not a lot,' she told him.
He sighed.
'Amelia is missing her mother terribly. She and I are close but it's not enough to make up for Jenny's absence.'
'Well, of course it isn't,' she said l
evelly. 'I lost my mother when I was just a little older than your daughter, and, it was terrible. For one thing, I didn't have a father like you. To mine I was just in the way. Which is why I was bundled off to boarding school.'
'And what did you do?'
'Lots of stupid things, I'm afraid.'
His gaze was still fixed on her with the same intensity as he commented, 'Seeing you in your uniform and listening to the way you talk to your young patients, I can't imagine you ever doing anything stupid.'
Freya turned away with the bitter taste in her mouth that talking about the past always brought.
'I'm a different person now,' she told him flatly. 'I've learnt my lesson.'
Dark brows were rising as he took that in.
'Now you're making me curious.'
'Don't be,' she said in the same flat tone. 'My life doesn't warrant it. But about your daughter...' It was on the tip of her tongue but she couldn't ask it, so she said awkwardly, 'I'll keep my eye on her if you like. Having once been in the same position.'
He flashed her a smile.
'It's good of you to offer, Freya. Thanks. Though from what you've told me, it was much worse for you.'
'One gets by,' she said, and wondered just how fitted for the job he would think she was if he knew the truth.
The gastric bug had gone and life was settling into a calmer phase when Freya saw Amelia walking disconsolately past her window one afternoon.
There was no one else in sight and, having nothing better to do at that moment, she went outside and caught up with her.
'And where are you off to?' she asked with a smile.
'I had a headache and my form tutor sent me outside for some fresh air,' Amelia said with graceless brevity.
'Do you want me to give you something for it?'
The girl shook her head.
'No. It will go.'
'It's what I'm here for, you know,' Freya reminded her.
Amelia hunched her shoulders and let that pass.
'Why do you keep staring at me?' she asked out of the blue.
Freya swallowed hard. Had it been that obvious?
The Nurse's Child Page 3