As the memory of the accident had come flooding back there’d been guilt mingling with her raw grief, the sickening knowledge that once again she’d done something incredibly stupid.
It hadn’t been the fates punishing her for all the times she’d wished the pregnancy had never happened. She’d meted out her own punishment and now she was wishing that she’d followed her child into the next world.
All right, she’d saved the toddler, but at what cost. The little boy’s mother had only been feet away. She should have let her rescue her own child. Her own response had been a reflex action, which was typical of the way she was. Acting without thinking and then having to live with regret.
Maybe one day she would be able to tell Blair how she was hurting, but not now. In these first few hours of despair she was having to accept that her life would never be the same again. Her light had been extinguished. Her bouncy zest gone. Long empty days lay ahead.
You’re worrying too soon, Blair told himself as he drove home for a quick bite and a change of clothes. How did you expect Imogen to behave when she heard that she’d lost her child?
He already knew the answer to that. He’d expected her to need him more than ever. To cling to him in her despair like the lifeline that he wanted to be for her. But he was being ridiculous.
As someone who came into contact with the quirks and foibles of the human mind all the time in the course of his work, he should know better than anyone that shock and injury often brought about strange behaviour.
Simon was on the point of letting himself in when Blair got home, and his younger brother observed him in surprise.
‘And where have you been until this late hour?’ he asked. ‘Not at the police station again?’
Blair shook his head. ‘No. I’ve just come from the hospital. Imogen has lost the baby.’
‘So it was yours.’
‘In everything but blood…yes,’ he informed him abruptly.
Simon was eyeing him questioningly. ‘You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Have been all along.’
‘Yes, if you really want to know.’
‘We could have a double wedding,’ his brother suggested tactlessly.
Blair glared at him. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Lauren and I got engaged tonight.’
‘That’s great news,’ he said, dredging up a smile, ‘but you’re going to need a sensitivity transplant if it’s going to work.’
‘Huh? What do you mean?’
‘That you should be talking about my marrying Imogen at a moment like this. She’s devastated by what has happened.’
Simon had the grace to look ashamed.
‘Sorry,’ he mumbled. ‘It just seemed…’
‘Give it a rest, will you?’ Blair snapped back, and flung himself under the shower.
They’d taken Imogen’s handbag into the hospital with her at the time of the accident and Blair had told Celia on the phone that he would take her door key and call at the apartment to pick up some clothes and toiletries for her.
He’d also impressed upon the nursing staff that he wanted to be there when she saw the baby. Whether she wanted him around or not, he knew he had to be there. His heart ached for her. There seemed to be so little he could do.
When he arrived at the apartment he quickly gathered what was needed and was about to leave when the smell of paint caught his nostrils. He paused. The door of the spare room was ajar and when he pushed it open he saw that it was half-decorated in nursery paper.
There were paint pots on the window-sill and a trestle table with a bucket of paste resting at one end. Draped over the stepladder was a paint-splashed smock. Reaching across for it, he pressed it against his cheek and wept for the waste of it all.
When he got back to the hospital Celia and Brian were there. Blair was relieved to see that Imogen’s father had perked up, although he was still a long way from looking his usual brisk self.
‘They let us see Imogen for a few moments,’ Celia said, ‘and she’s asked us to arrange Joy’s funeral for when the consultant decides she’s well enough to attend.’
She glanced at her husband who was gazing sombrely through a window in the hospital corridor. ‘Brian is relieved that there is at least something he can do for her and the baby. It was a terrible moment when they brought it to her.’
‘She’s seen her!’ he exclaimed with the feeling that he’d just been struck a blow to the heart.
‘Yes,’ Celia said tearfully. ‘Just for a few moments. She was too weak to hold her any longer.’
‘I see,’ he said slowly. And he did. He saw quite clearly that the moment he’d gone Imogen had asked to see the baby again and the nurses had ignored his request.
He knew he couldn’t blame them. He had no claim on her. They would know by now that he wasn’t Joy’s father. That he wasn’t married or engaged to Imogen. In fact, he was a nobody in the present situation.
But there was no sign of his ravaged emotions as he approached her bed once more. All that mattered was Imogen…that her distress be curtailed as much as possible and that her body should heal. He would cope with the aftermath of what had happened when those two things had been accomplished.
‘Just a few moments with the patient if you don’t mind, Dr Nesbitt,’ the sister said when he’d arrived at the ward. ‘The consultant has seen Imogen and so far is pleased with her progress. There doesn’t seem to be any brain damage from the fractured skull, which is most fortunate, and as for the stomach injuries and broken bones, we shall be keeping a close watch on them. But as we both knew, it’s early days yet.’
‘Yes. I keep telling myself that,’ he told her sombrely.
As Blair began to move towards the bed she called him back and said in a low voice, ‘I’d like a quick word before you leave.’
‘So you’ve seen Joy,’ he said gently after he’d planted a kiss on what could be seen of Imogen’s brow.
Again there were no tears. She just nodded and turned her head away.
‘Was she beautiful?’
Another nod was all he got, and now she’d closed her eyes.
‘I’ve just seen your father and Celia,’ he told her without referring to the baby again.
He felt like an inarticulate acquaintance instead of someone who adored the ground she walked on, and knew he wasn’t coping as well as he should.
He didn’t stay long. He knew the staff wanted Imogen kept quiet during these first hours of recovery and also he still sensed that she didn’t want him there.
But it wasn’t going to keep him away. He would go insane if she started asking that he should not be allowed to visit.
‘What was it you had to say to me?’ he asked the sister on his way out.
‘I just wanted to explain that we didn’t ignore your request that you be there when Imogen saw her baby,’ she said apologetically. ‘It was at her insistence that you weren’t present.’
He managed the grimace of a smile.
‘No problem. I understand. The last thing I want to do is upset her.’
It was Saturday and, though he had little inclination to do so, Blair called in at the practice to see what was happening there.
The short weekend surgery had just finished and Andrew met him with a worried, slightly petulant expression on his face, which Blair concluded had something to do with missing some time on the golf course.
‘I’ve been in touch with George Redvers, a retired colleague of mine, who will come in to cover Dr Rossiter’s absence if that is all right with you,’ he said.
‘I’d want to speak to him first,’ Blair told him.
Whatever was going on in his private life, the integrity of the practice was very important to him and taking on new staff at a moment’s notice was something he rarely did.
‘George is picking me up in a few moments,’ Andrew said. ‘We’re off to the golf club. How about having a chat with him while he’s here?’
Blair frowned. He was in no mood for
it, but he supposed it was a good idea to meet the prospective locum while he had the chance.
When George had gone Blair breathed a sigh of relief. That was one thing sorted. If only the rest of the things that plagued his mind could be dealt with so easily.
After Blair had gone, Imogen slowly opened her eyes and found herself looking up into the face of a perplexed nurse.
‘What’s with you and Dr Nesbitt?’ she asked. ‘He’s worried sick about you and you don’t seem to care.’
Care! Imogen thought wretchedly. It was caring that was weighing her down like a leaden rock. The aching love for her baby, who’d had to be hastened into the world before its time and then not lived to see it.
And there was her love for Blair, a separate, precious thing that for some reason she didn’t want to think about during these dark days.
She knew he’d told the staff that he wanted to be there for her when she was shown the baby, but she knew that she didn’t want that. He’d distanced himself ever since finding out she was pregnant and she couldn’t blame him.
She’d had to put her hopes and dreams of being with him on hold because she’d been pregnant…and so had he. But none of it had been the fault of the defenceless baby that she’d lost. She knew that, but did he?
If only she could run away and hide, she kept thinking, away from all the pain and uncertainty. But in plaster casts and bandages there wasn’t much chance of that.
The odd thing was that her father’s presence was more acceptable than Blair’s these days. Probably because for once he was demanding nothing of her.
Amazingly he’d had nothing to say but words of encouragement, urging her to get better soon, and she hadn’t the heart to tell him that she wasn’t bothered whether she did or not.
The family of the child she’d saved had been to see her. Seeing their distress at the consequences of her brave action, she’d felt bound to try to lighten their guilt.
‘I did what anyone would have done,’ she’d told them weakly. ‘You have nothing to blame yourselves for.’
As the days passed, Blair visited Imogen once daily in the evenings, which left him time to keep the practice on an even keel.
George Redvers was an asset in her absence. He was pleasant and capable and the patients liked him, which helped to ease Blair’s burden.
He would have visited her more often but it was still there, the feeling that she didn’t want to see him. So he left the daytimes free for her father and Celia and spent a short time with her each evening.
She still had the plaster casts on her arm and legs, but her other injuries were healing and her strength was slowly returning with each passing day.
Their conversations were pleasant enough. They chatted about everything under the sun except themselves, and Blair accepted that it was how she wanted it.
A lot of the time they talked about the practice. He sensed that Imogen felt safe when work was the topic, though she never mentioned coming back and he was now looking at her return from the point of view of ‘if’ rather than ‘when’.
He had steeled himself to wait, convinced that one day the woman he’d fallen in love with would be waiting when he walked into the ward, but so far she was still absent.
‘Did Jackie Cathcart ever come back to arrange a termination?’ she asked one night.
He shook his head.
‘Not to my knowledge. I could check her notes to see if she’s seen either Andrew or George, but somehow I don’t think so. Why do you ask?’ he wanted to know.
‘She’s got a very sick husband and had had an affair, ending up pregnant. She was adamant that she wanted a termination, but I asked her to consider it for a little while and I’ve been hoping that she decided against it.’
He’d been watching her carefully to see if the discussion was upsetting her, but she was perfectly calm and for the thousandth time he wondered what was going on in her mind.
The following night she told him with the same lack of emotion that the consultant had said she was well enough to attend Joy’s funeral and that it had been arranged for the next day.
‘It’s in the morning, so I’ll understand if you can’t be there because of the practice,’ she told him, and for the first time since the accident he let his frustration show.
‘Of course I’ll be there,’ he said stiffly. ‘Joy wasn’t my child, but I’ve been involved enough in your pregnancy to feel I have some entitlement to be there and I will be. Even though I know you’d rather I didn’t attend.’
She swallowed hard and, ashamed of his irritation, he thought how frail she was.
‘I know I’m being difficult,’ she said, ‘but I can’t help it, Blair. I have this feeling that I’m being punished for falling in love with you.’
‘Why, for heaven’s sake?’ he exclaimed. ‘If you are being punished then so am I. Why does life with you have to be so complicated, Imogen?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said bleakly, and his anger melted like snow in the sun.
In an attempt to bring a lighter note into the conversation he reminded her that she had been invited to Simon’s forthcoming wedding to Lauren, which was to take place in the late autumn.
It had been a vain hope. She just shrugged and said, ‘I might go if I’m out of here in time. At least it isn’t a christening.’
As he drove home that night his spirits were at their lowest ebb. He couldn’t believe that Imogen didn’t want him at Joy’s funeral. It was the final snub. The straw that broke the camel’s back.
Yet he couldn’t give up on her. He would grit his teeth and carry on hoping. There was nothing else he could do. What Imogen was suffering from was a more complex thing than postnatal depression. It was grief that wasn’t being allowed to run its course because of needless guilt.
Brian, who Blair felt had mellowed somewhat in recent days, rang to discuss the funeral shortly after he arrived home.
‘I shall be there,’ Blair told the older man. ‘Though I’m not sure how welcome I will be. In Imogen’s eyes I’m connected with what happened to Joy. It breaks my heart to see her distress, but she won’t let me get near her. I’m hoping that after the little one has been laid in her resting place the wounds will start to heal, and I don’t just mean the broken bones.’
‘I didn’t know it was as bad as that,’ her father said. ‘What do you recommend? Counselling?’
‘Maybe. But I think Imogen has enough strength of character to come through this. Just as long as we are all there for her when she needs us. For myself, I’m prepared to take a back seat when the memory of it all becomes too much for her.
‘You don’t deserve this,’ Brian said gruffly.
‘Possibly,’ Blair told him wryly, ‘but, then, neither does she.’
There was an autumn nip in the air the following morning as they made their way to the small chapel in the grounds of the hospital, with Blair pushing Imogen in a wheelchair and Celia and Brian following on behind.
Back in the ward he’d watched in mute anguish as she’d placed a spray of tiny pink rosebuds on top of the small white coffin and now she was holding it on her knees.
He was dressed in a dark suit, white shirt and black tie, and when he’d arrived Imogen had thought in sudden despair that she wished all the ice inside her would melt.
Blair was everything she’d ever wanted. Kind, caring, strong, and so achingly attractive she couldn’t believe that she was behaving the way she was.
She knew she was hurting him, treating him badly, but it was as if she was no longer responsible for her actions. Some kind of out-of-hand force was driving her towards self-punishment and Blair was getting the backlash.
It was worse because she was captive in the hospital through her injuries. If she hadn’t been, she would have been long gone to somewhere where she could be alone to weep out her misery and get her life into perspective again.
As he’d tucked a rug around her legs he’d said, ‘I shall sit at the back during the service. If
you need me, you have only to call.’
She’d nodded mutely and he prayed again that once this was over things might change.
The hospital chaplain was waiting for them and when he’d taken the tiny coffin and placed it in front of the altar the service began.
It was reverent, and very moving, and Imogen was the only one not weeping. Blair wished she had been, but he surmised that she kept her tears for when she was alone.
From there they went to the cemetery for a short burial service before the coffin was placed in what was called ‘the baby circle’, where babies like Joy were buried in the company of other infants.
It was a tranquil and beautiful place, and once the service was over they left Imogen to say her own private goodbye before making their way back to the hospital.
Her face was bleached as if her lifeblood had drained away in the last few hours, but she was still dry-eyed and in the grip of cold composure. But it cracked momentarily when her father announced on the way back that he was due to have a heart bypass in the very near future.
‘I didn’t want to mention it until today’s ceremony was over,’ he told her, and Blair, who was aware of what the cardiac consultant’s report had said, was impressed by his consideration for his daughter.
‘You should have told me!’ she protested weakly. ‘I’ve been very selfish of late, thinking only of myself.’ She turned to Blair, making him feel once more that he couldn’t do right for doing wrong, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘I didn’t think it my place,’ he said levelly. ‘Your father needed to tell you himself.’
When they arrived back at the hospital a nurse was hovering to get Imogen settled back into the ward. Seeing her exhaustion, Blair didn’t linger as he knew she wanted him to go anyway.
When her father and Celia followed him shortly afterwards Imogen breathed a sigh of relief. The ordeal that she’d been dreading was over. Joy Gabriella Rossiter had been laid to rest with other babies who had never seen the light of day, and maybe now she could start making plans.
Sadly, at this moment in time they weren’t going to include Blair as it was still there, the confusion of mind and purpose that she’d experienced ever since losing her baby.
The Pregnant Police Surgeon Page 14