'You don't need to bother.'
'Maybe,' he said calmly, 'but I will nevertheless. Someone has to look after you.'
'That's what the staff here are for.'
'I can stand not being forgiven,' he told her levelly, 'but I am also responsible for you as I was the cause of your upset when you went rushing off.'
'No one is responsible for me, Richard,' she said wearily. 'That's how it's always been and that's how it's going to stay. And what about Anita?'
'What about her?'
'Christmas Day...she's expecting you, isn't she?'
He smiled for the first time.
'I think I can fit you both in.'
'Don't do me any favours. But then you haven't, have you?' she reminded him coldly.
He bent and touched her cheek with gentle fingers, but she shrugged his hand away and with bleak resignation he turned to go.
'Goodnight, Freya,' he said from the doorway. 'It looks as if we might be spending Christmas together after all.'
There was no answer and he went out into the dark night with the feeling that he would be as welcome as the cold wind in the winter when he turned up the next day.
'We'll go to see her in the morning,' Poppy said when he'd convinced her there was no need to go rushing off at that hour to visit her friend. 'Once the girls have opened their presents we'll be off. The turkey can look after itself.'
'I'll be visiting myself some time early in the morning,' he told her, 'as I'm going back home now.'
'Freya and I go back a long way,' she said soberly. 'She's had some hard knocks in her life and deserves some happiness. Are you going to be able to provide it, Richard?'
'I don't think so,' he told her with equal sobriety. 'She'd driven down to Gloucestershire to see me and we'd quarrelled. She was very upset, with good reason, and I think that's why she had the accident on the motorway.
'I was devastated before, but feel even worse now that I was inadvertently responsible for her being hurt. But I'm sure she'll be telling you all about it herself soon, and when she does you'll know why I'm not the one who's going to make her happy.'
'Oh, dear,' Poppy said. 'I had such high hopes for you both, and so had she.'
'Yes, I know,' he told her, 'but there was something in the background that she didn't know about.'
'You've got someone else?'
'No. Nothing like that. No one could compete with Freya.'
'Then why?'
'She'll want to tell you herself,' he said, and left it at that.
When Richard had gone Freya sat staring into space. She'd been desperate for the comfort and support he'd come to offer, but had repulsed him. She'd taken everything he'd said and twisted it into something else because her hurt inside was far greater than the visible scars of the accident.
And as to that she was mortified. Never before had she been involved in an accident that was her fault. But, she thought grimly, never before had she been told that her lost child was found. She could be forgiven for not being her usual competent self after that.
But supposing she'd been killed before the reunion that she'd ached for all these years, what then? Richard's problems would have been solved.
Yet she couldn't wish that on him. He must have felt he was living in a nightmare when she'd turned up so soon after he had lost his wife and Amelia the woman who she'd always thought had been her mother.
Why, for goodness' sake, hadn't they told the child she was adopted long ago? If Amelia had been aware of the circumstances of her birth, her natural mother turning up on the scene might have been a cause for joy rather than trauma.
And now she was going to have to decide what to do. Richard had shifted the burden onto her shoulders and if he thought she was going to do anything to upset her daughter he understood her even less than she thought he did.
She'd waited this long. She could wait longer if she had to. At least now she could see her child, cherish Amelia from a distance until she somehow worked out with Richard what would be best for Amelia.
'You really do need to get some sleep,' a young nurse said from the doorway. 'I've brought you some painkillers. How much pain are you in?'
'A lot,' Freya told her briefly, but knew what the nurse was offering wouldn't take it away. Only being with Richard and Amelia could do that, and she and Richard were about as far away from each other when it came to trust and love as they could get.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Richard hadn't slept, and as he set off to visit Freya early on Christmas morning he thought with a tight smile that he had better not nod off or he might end up in the next bed, and Freya wouldn't like that.
He was going early to avoid Amelia, which was in keeping with the rest of the bizarre situation that he found himself in. He knew if he went later they would be there. Poppy, Miles and the girls.
If he waited, he'd be able to hold his precious child close and wish her a merry Christmas. But he was going to forgo that pleasure because he wanted Freya to see Amelia on her own, to let Freya know that he trusted her to act in Amelia's best interests and not reveal her identity until they'd both decided the time was right.
For one thing, she was making it plain how she felt about his deceit and he knew his presence would blight their meeting.
He'd made it plain why he'd done what he had, and he knew that, in spite of the heartache it had caused for both of them, he would do it again if he had to.
She was sitting up, picking at her breakfast, when he went in and she looked a mess. The bruising on her face was deepening and her cheekbones seemed to have disappeared in the swelling around them.
He wanted to take her in his arms and tell her how much he loved her, but he could imagine how much she would believe that. He ached to let her know that he was glad that she was Amelia's mother, that of all women she was the one he would have chosen to be her blood mother. There was no disloyalty to Jenny in the sentiment.
His wife had stepped into the shoes of a desperate young girl and had found fulfilment in the role of adoptive motherhood. She'd been a kind and generous woman and he knew she would have begrudged Freya nothing.
'I told you that you didn't need to come, Richard,' she said coldly when she saw him. 'Poppy has phoned to confirm that she and Miles are coming later with the girls, and if you've come early to brainwash me into saying nothing to Amelia, you're wasting your time as—'
'I haven't come to do anything of the kind,' he interrupted with pain-filled gravity. 'And in any case, I can't imagine anyone being able to do that.'
'What?'
'Brainwash you.'
'Very funny. If you'd have let me finish, I was about to say that you're wasting your time because I've already made up my mind what I'm going to do.'
'And what's that?' he asked.
'What you want me to do. I'm going to say nothing to Amelia until the time is right, and we both need to agree when that is.'
Relief was washing over him in a warm tide.
'Thanks for that, Freya. I'm glad you see it my way...that she comes first.'
'What other way did you expect me to see it?' she said bitterly. 'I loved her before I knew I was her mother and every time I see her from now on I will love her even more because I'll be seeing her with new eyes.'
'It's because of that I'm here so early,' he said tightly. 'I don't want to be around when you two meet. It will be a very special moment for you and I don't want to put a blight on it.'
Freya looked at him in surprise.
'It's Christmas Day! I know that you weren't expecting to see Amelia today if the arrangements we'd all made had remained in place, but now the opportunity is there and you're going to let it pass! The chance to spend some time with your daughter?'
'Correction,' he said bleakly. 'She's your daughter...not mine. I shall be leaving shortly.'
'But, of course, there's Anita!'
'Yes, there's Anita...and Charlie and his wife...and Marjorie Tate from Marchmont is joining us. It will be lik
e that night in the hotel when we first met, a gathering of good friends.'
Freya eyed him despairingly. It had gone. All the rapport between them. The sweet chemistry. The desire. They were behaving like strangers because they were both hurting.
He'd just said that Amelia was hers, not his, and she wanted to tell him that eleven years of loving care couldn't be wiped out like that. He was her father by everything but blood, and never would she come between them.
She wanted to cry out to him that he was the one she would want to be the father of any other children she might have. But the gap between them was widening by the minute and if Richard couldn't bear to see her with Amelia today, was he going to see her as the usurper for evermore?
She didn't want him to spend Christmas Day with a gathering of people who'd known him so much longer than she had, but the words wouldn't come. He was behaving as if that part of their lives was over. As if the night they'd spent in each other's arms had meant nothing.
Finding her child had been her dream for years and now it had actually happened. In a short time her daughter would walk into the room and the dream would become reality. Why was there always something to spoil life's great moments? she asked herself. Had she found the child only to lose the man?
Richard's voice broke into her thoughts and the question he was asking brought her back to basics.
'How long are they going to keep you in?'
'I might be discharged tomorrow.'
'I'll come for you and take you to my place if you like,' he suggested. 'Poppy will have her hands full with the girls, but I'll be able to look after you undisturbed. After all, you did want us to spend Boxing Day together.'
Freya shook her head.
'Why not?'
'That was before...'
'You found what a liar I am?'
'Maybe. I'd rather go home if you don't mind. I won't be in anyone's way there.'
'So I'll drive you home and look after you there.'
'I thought you were wary of us being alone.'
'That was before I'd confessed my sins. Now that it's all over between us, you should be quite safe.'
Freya flinched. Maybe he was using what he'd done as an excuse to get out of a tricky situation. That he'd wanted it over between them all along.
She pushed away the uneaten breakfast and, lying back on the pillows, closed her eyes.
'What is it?' he asked anxiously, bending over her. 'Are you in pain?'
'No,' she told him wearily. 'I just want to be left alone.'
'All right,' he agreed gently. 'I'll go, but before I do, can I give you this? Merry Christmas, Freya.'
As she gazed in surprise at the flat gift-wrapped package that he'd placed in her hand, he kissed her briefly on the brow and went.
It was a photograph of Amelia in a smooth olive-wood frame and Freya caught her breath when she saw it. It was like looking at herself way back in time. Amelia wasn't smiling. There was a sort of uncertain resentment in her expression and as Freya hugged the photograph to herself she wondered if it was to remind her that here was a vulnerable child.
When she came with Poppy and her family later in the morning, Amelia stood near the door with bent head, scuffing at the flooring with the toe of her shoe as she had on other occasions when she hadn't been happy.
As Freya's eyes devoured every inch of her, Amelia said, without looking up, 'You're not going to die, are you?'
'Certainly not,' she told her briskly with fast-beating heart. 'I intend to live to a ripe old age.'
That brought forth the glimmer of a smile.
'I thought you might be dead when Dad phoned last night to say you'd been in a car crash.'
Freya glanced at Poppy and her friend met her gaze with the raised eyebrows of someone not tuned in.
'You cried, didn't you?' Alice said sympathetically, and Poppy continued to look nonplussed.
'A bit,' Amelia admitted, with eyes still downcast.
'Come here,' Freya said softly, and as Amelia came to stand by the bed she put her arm around the girl's bony shoulders. 'I'm not going anywhere,' she said gently. 'I'll be around all the time you're at Marchmont and we can spend weekends together if you like.'
'Can I come, too?' Alice asked.
'Of course,' Freya told her solemnly, as her parents exchanged smiles. Addressing Amelia, who was still encircled by her arm, she said, 'Now, tell me what your dad's bought you for Christmas. I've got some presents at my place for you all, but I'm afraid they'll have to wait until I'm out of here.'
That brought a lighter note into the atmosphere and when the two girls went to find the refreshment kiosk Poppy said, 'I had no idea that the poor child was so upset last night. She never expressed her fears to me. And as to her weeping, that's the first I'd heard about it. She must be terrified of losing anyone else she cares about.'
Freya nodded. This could be the moment to tell Poppy that she'd been right. That Amelia was hers. But her daughter might come back at any moment and she couldn't risk her overhearing.
Then there was another thing. Poppy, in her exuberance, might let something slip while Amelia was in her care. The amazing news would have to wait until the girls were safely back at school, she decided, and then she would thank her friend with all her heart for being the observant person that she was.
When they'd gone, the strangest of Christmas days continued.
It was all very festive on the ward but her heart wasn't in it. The three of them were separated on this day of celebration. Richard in the heart of the Cotswolds. Amelia in London. And herself incarcerated in a strange hospital.
What did the future hold for them? Nothing seemed clear, except that she was going to have to be patient...very patient...and it wasn't going to be easy.
It transpired that Freya wasn't discharged the following day. In the middle of the night she started with severe pains in the right side of her chest and in her stomach, along with breathing difficulties and a raised pulse rate.
The night staff sent for the duty doctor and when he had examined her he said, 'I suspect bleeding between the chest wall and the lung in the pleural cavity, or else it's a pulmonary embolism, which as we both know can be very serious.
'There were no signs of either when you were X-rayed on arrival but something seems to have gone wrong and it will be connected with the impact on the chest wall when you crashed. Maybe there has been internal bleeding since.'
Freya looked at him with horror-filled eyes. She'd told Amelia she wasn't going to die. It had been her very first promise to her child and if she didn't keep it...
'It's not convenient for me to die at the present time,' she gasped through the pain. 'My daughter has already lost one mother and she can't cope with losing another.'
Obviously used to incoherent dialogue from the sick and injured, the doctor smiled sympathetically and said, 'I doubt it's a pulmonary embolism as that sort of clot usually comes from the leg or pelvis, but I'll have it checked out. I'm sending you down for a chest X-ray and radionuclide scanning to find out what's going on in and around your right lung.'
As they wheeled her to the lift, one of the nurses said, 'We've phoned your doctor friend and he's on his way.'
'Oh,' she groaned.
Whether she liked it or not, it looked as if they would be spending Boxing Day together after all.
*
Richard endured the small talk and joviality at Anita's until he could stand it no longer and eventually offered his apologies and left. Leaving them to think that he was having trouble coping with this first Christmas as a grieving widower.
It was part of it, of course, but added to it was the fact that Freya was in hospital and Amelia far away in London...and every time he looked at himself he didn't like what he saw.
He felt isolated from them, yet it was his own fault. He could have stayed to see Amelia but, as he'd explained to Freya, he hadn't wanted to butt into her special moment. But at least Amelia would be back home at the end of the w
eek,' he consoled himself, so it wouldn't be too long before they were back to normal.
Yet what was normal? He wasn't sure of anything any more. It had been bad enough when he'd first found out who Freya was. He'd felt the foundations of his life with Amelia crumbling then. But since he'd been driven to tell Freya the truth, it had been ten times worse because he was in love with her and she didn't want to know him any more.
When he went upstairs to bed he was expecting another sleepless night, but he drifted off eventually, only to be aroused by the bedside phone a couple of hours later.
What the voice at the other end was saying had him shooting bolt upright in the bed. Freya was experiencing a setback, some sort of bleeding connected with the lungs, and she was undergoing tests.
'She has had chest problems in the past,' he said urgently. 'Are the doctors aware of that?'
'We think that it's something from the accident,' the woman said. 'We're checking for haemothorax—blood in the pleural cavity.'
'Yes, I know what it is,' he said tightly.
'And at the worst a pulmonary embolism,' she went on, ignoring the interruption.
'Tell her I'm on my way, will you?' he said, and before she could reply he'd put the phone down and was flinging on his clothes.
Surely it can't get any worse, he thought grimly.
He'd set off a chain of events that seemed hell bent on destroying them all. If he'd been more upfront with Freya, she wouldn't have come rushing down to see him on the day of Christmas Eve, and he wouldn't have been pushed into coming clean with her.
Because of that, she'd left in a hurry in a distressed state and had had an accident...and now complications had set in. Was Amelia going to lose her blood mother, too? And was he going to lose the woman he loved?
'I've told them it's the wrong time for me to die,' Freya said weakly when Richard walked into the ward. 'This afternoon I promised Amelia I would be around for a long time.'
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