Just as she was turning to put her kettle on the hob she saw something looming through the blur of whiteness which was the world outside.
Leaning forward, Ruth peered incredulously. Someone was in the field. Someone of extraordinary shape, apparently as wide as it was high. A sort of walking blob. A white walking blob.
And what on earth was its companion? Half the size, just as white, but with what looked amazingly like horns on its head.
A primeval shiver ran down her back.
The blizzard lessened slightly a second later and she got a clearer view. The first shape she identified was Fred. A Fred made much larger and rounder by his outer coating of snow.
How stupid to be scared of Fred! That would teach her to let her imagination run away with her! But who was that with him? As the two of them came through the gate into her garden Ruth stared fixedly, trying to identify the other shape plodding slowly along, holding on to Fred’s coat. Was it...could it be...a woman under all that snow? A very fat woman.
‘Oh, my stars!’ Ruth exclaimed, almost dropping the kettle. Not fat, she realised—just very pregnant.
Putting her kettle on the hob, she hurried out of the back door. The plodding figure raised her head and Ruth felt a pang of pity as she saw the pallor of the small, delicate face. Why, she was just a child! The weariness in the big blue eyes, the tremor of the soft pink mouth, which showed no trace of lipstick, made her look about fifteen.
‘Are you okay?’ she asked the girl, knowing it for a stupid question the second she’d asked it. Of course she wasn’t okay! She was obviously limping, she had cuts and bruises on her face, and she looked exhausted and in pain.
‘Sorry to be a nuisance,’ the girl whispered. ‘Could you ring for a taxi for me...? And I ought to tell a garage. I crashed my car over there...’ She waved a hand vaguely at the field.
So that was it! Ruth said comfortingly, ‘Let’s get you indoors first. You look as if you’re chilled to the bone.’
Putting an arm around her, Ruth helped her the rest of the way to the back door. Fred followed, but Ruth firmly shut him out.
‘Wait there. I’ll sort you out later!’
He gave her a furious glare and stood there, pawing the snowy ground as if about to charge the door. She wouldn’t put it past him.
‘Don’t you dare!’ she yelled at him, before turning to look at her guest.
First things first. She couldn’t let the girl sit about in those damp clothes; she would catch pneumonia.
‘Let me take your coat and boots, then you can sit in front of the range. It’s been alight all day. These old ranges burn anything, you know. Such a blessing. I feed half my household garbage into it. I do have an electric hob, too, which is useful if you’re in a hurry, but you can’t sit in front of that and toast your feet the way you can with a range. What’s your name, by the way? I’m Ruth Nicholls.’
As she talked she unbuttoned the girl’s snow-encrusted coat and slid it off her shoulders. Her mind was working fast at the same time. She must ring Henry and get him to come out.
‘Dylan. I’m Dylan Jefferson.’
‘That’s an unusual name—Dylan,’ Ruth said, hanging the coat in her hallway to drip on to the tiled floor. ‘I thought it was a man’s name. Welsh, isn’t it?’
‘Yes, Welsh. It means up from the sea...’ Dylan couldn’t stop shivering. ‘My mother was Welsh.’
Poor girl, she looked as if she was about to give birth any minute, and Ruth did not want her doing it here. She wouldn’t have a clue how to help. The very prospect raised goosebumps on her skin.
‘And there’s that poet...’
‘Dylan Thomas. Yes, that’s why she chose that name. She was hoping for a boy, but I arrived, and she had been thinking of me as Dylan, so she decided to keep the name.’
Pushing the girl down on to a chair right in front of the range, and kneeling down beside her, Ruth began to take off her shoes and socks. Imagine coming out on a day like this without boots!
‘Oh...’ she muttered in dismay, as the second sock came off and she saw the sprained ankle, the flesh swollen and very tender, an angry red. ‘Oh, dear, this looks painful—did you do this in the crash? You don’t have any other injuries, do you?’
‘Nothing serious,’ the girl said, leaning towards the heat of the range.
Ruth could see some of them: mostly cuts and bruises on face, hands, neck, which she had noticed when she first saw the girl. It could have been worse. Dylan had been lucky.
‘I’ll ring my doctor and get him to come out and take a look at you.’ Henry would find a bed for the girl in the maternity hospital. At this time of year there were surely not many local women having babies!
The kettle was boiling, filling the kitchen with steam. ‘I’ll get you a cup of tea. Now, don’t put your feet too near the grate; you don’t want chilblains.’
Ruth busied herself making tea, covered the pot with her old knitted cosy and got out two large bright yellow mugs. But before she poured the tea she decided to ring Henry. That was when she discovered that there was no dialling tone.
Her heart sank. She put the phone back, tried again. Still nothing. The phone was as dead as a doornail.
Dylan was watching her anxiously. ‘Are the lines down? That was what I was afraid of this morning. Snow always brings the phone lines down where I live.’
Ruth forced a smile, trying to sound reassuring. ‘We do have a problem with it here, too. They’ll soon have the break mended; they always do. Let’s have a cup of tea then I’ll try again.’
If she couldn’t ring Henry she would have to put this girl into her car and take her to the village. Ruth’s home was right on the outer edge of Stonelee, at least a twenty-minute drive to Henry’s house, with a sharp drop downward followed by a steep hill rising to the village. Not an easy drive in any weather, it would certainly be difficult, if not downright dangerous, with a blizzard raging.
‘Would you like something to eat?’
‘I’m not hungry.’ The girl folded her hands around the mug of tea and sipped, eyes closed. Ruth had put three spoonfuls of sugar in; if anyone had ever needed blood sugar it was this girl.
‘Have a slice of toast,’ Ruth coaxed. ‘You aren’t in any pain, are you?’
Dylan laughed huskily. ‘Don’t encourage me to be a hypochondriac! I’ve had little aches and pains every day for weeks; I think my body is allergic to pregnancy. I never even had a headache when I was dancing.’
Ruth looked surprised. ‘You were a dancer? What sort of dancing?’
‘Ballet.’ Dylan sipped her hot tea gratefully.
Eyes brightening, Ruth said, ‘I used to love going to the ballet when I lived in London, but I haven’t been for years now. I had to move back up here to look after my mother, after my father died. She had a stroke, which meant giving up my job, of course, and my flat in London.’ She stopped dead, wondering why she was telling this stranger so much about herself. She rarely talked to anyone about her personal life. This girl didn’t want to hear her life story!
‘And you miss it,’ Dylan breathed with eager sympathy. ‘I know just how you feel—I’m a Londoner, I only moved up here in the spring, and I still haven’t got used to living miles from anywhere. I miss dancing, and all my friends and the audiences, and... But it’s city life I miss the most. There’s always something to do, theatres, cafés, and you’re surrounded by all those other people. You can jump on a bus or a tube train and go across town in no time.’
‘Yes, that’s the joy of London.’ Ruth smiled at her. ‘Do you live near here?’
‘No, we live close to the borders, just below Hadrian’s Wall. I was on my way to visit my sister; she lives a few miles from here.’
That reminded her. She glanced at the phone on the wall. ‘I wish I could ring her to let her know what’s happened—she’ll be worried. I wonder if it has been reconnected yet?’
‘I’ll try again.’ Ruth got up and lifted the phone. Dylan read her ex
pression and sighed.
‘Still dead? Have you got any neighbours with a phone?’
Regretfully, Ruth told her, ‘There isn’t a house within half a mile, I’m afraid. My nearest neighbours are a builder and his wife, the Horrockses, and they’re away in Canada, visiting their daughter and her new baby. I do have a car, but I don’t think it would be very safe to try to drive to the village just yet. If we wait an hour or so the snow might have stopped or the line may be reconnected.’ Ruth paused, nervously eying Dylan. ‘You aren’t about to have the baby, are you? You aren’t having pains?’
‘No, I don’t think so, thank heavens.’ Dylan smiled at her, picking up her anxiety. ‘I’m sorry for putting you to all this trouble, but you won’t have to cope with childbirth too, don’t worry.’
‘Are you worried about letting your husband know you’re safe?’
‘No,’ Dylan said curtly, her face clouding over at once, and Ruth wondered what was making her look so angry and sad. She couldn’t ask, of course. They would probably never meet again after today, and this girl would not want to talk about her most intimate secrets with a total stranger. Ruth knew she wouldn’t.
‘What job does he do?’
‘He’s a forester—our house is on the edge of his forest. All I ever see is trees now—pine trees mostly; it’s a commercial forest. There isn’t another house in sight.’ Her voice had a bitter ring to it. ‘I hate them! But he isn’t there at the moment; he’s at a meeting in York today.’ Falling silent, she stared into the red fire behind the grate of the range, then exclaimed, ‘The mobile! I’d forgotten it!’
‘Mobile?’ Ruth was bewildered for a second.
‘Phone. It’s in my bag.’ Dylan looked around for her bag, struggling to get up.
‘Stay where you are. I’ll get it.’ Ruth had put the bag down on the table. She handed it to Dylan, who hurriedly unzipped it, pulled out the mobile phone and tapped in Ross’s code.
‘No Service’.
‘Stupid, useless thing!’ muttered Dylan, trying again with the same result. ‘The whole point of having one of them is to use in an emergency, but so far I haven’t been able to use this one at all.’
‘Is it broken?’
‘No, it just isn’t picking up the satellite, I think. I’m not sure why. Ross says it depends on the location and the weather. Don’t they use radio waves? I suppose the snow is blocking the frequency, or something. I’m not very technically minded.’
‘Neither am I.’ Ruth considered the situation. ‘Look, why don’t you have a nice warm bath? I can lend you a nightie, dressing gown and slippers to wear, and I have a spare bedroom you can use. After your bath you can have a little snack—an omelette or scrambled egg on toast, if that’s all you really want, or some soup. But you can share my meal, if you like—I think I’ll make myself some spaghetti; it’s perfect for cold weather, quick and easy and very filling. I’ve got plenty of tomatoes, peppers and bacon for the sauce. Do you like spaghetti?’
‘I love it,’ Dylan said, getting up with care. ‘And I would love to have a bath, thank you. It would make me feel more human.’
Ross had unpacked his overnight bag and hung his clean shirts in the wardrobe, set out his shaving kit, toothbrush and toothpaste in the bathroom, all at his usual methodical pace. He liked a tidy space around him.
Looking at his watch, he saw he had fifteen minutes to kill before going down for a drink with his friends before lunch, so he sat down at the small table by the window to go over some notes he had made on subjects he wanted to raise during the discussions later. There was no time to waste. He must make sure his points were hammered home. But it was hard to concentrate, which was usual for him. His mind had always been very much under his control, as fit and disciplined as his body. Lately, though, he couldn’t be quite so certain of either.
The bitter row with Dylan was nagging away at him. It had been madness to marry her. They were too different. If only he hadn’t been so obsessed with her! He should have known she would never put up with his lifestyle. It was the opposite of everything she had known. She had always lived in a city. She didn’t understand country life. She liked crowds. They didn’t have any neighbours, and the few they did have had nothing in common with her.
He had hoped she would make friends with Suzy, but before long he had realised that was not on the cards. They were chalk and cheese, opposites of each other. It was a pity. He wished Dylan was more like Suzy in some ways—a little more down to earth, less volatile, less hypersensitive.
Desire had blinded him to everything in Dylan that made her the wrong wife for him. Her beautiful, supple body made his blood run hot, his hunger rise. He hadn’t cared in the beginning that she had never done any housework, knew nothing about gardening, was afraid of the forest he loved with a silent, intense passion. All he’d cared about at first was that he needed her, had to have her in his bed every night, the smooth-skinned warmth of her body moulded to his own.
Now he never touched her, slept in another bedroom as much as possible, tried never to look at her. Their marriage, in the physical sense, did not exist any more.
With a smothered groan he looked at his watch. Why wasn’t Suzy here yet? She was supposed to slip up to his room in secret before lunch. Nobody must see her. Surely she wasn’t going to be late, today of all days?
Turning to stare out of the window, he saw a flurry of white flakes go past and stiffened. Snow! So the forecast had been wrong, and Dylan right. She would be frantic. He had better check that she was okay, reassure her.
Picking up the phone, he dialled hurriedly, but there was no reply. The phone rang and rang. Surely she couldn’t be outside in this weather? Remembering that he had left his mobile with her, he tried the number only to be told the phone was not in service.
For several minutes Ross sat staring out at the snowfall, which was clearly becoming a blizzard, his expression grim. Dylan was alone, with no phone.
She would be petrified, and with so short a time to go before the birth she might panic herself into starting labour. He couldn’t risk it. He would never forgive himself if she lost this baby. It would probably mean the end of their marriage.
He had to get back to her, make sure nothing was really wrong. Even though that meant letting Suzy down. It couldn’t be helped. What else could he do?
The phone next to him rang, making him start. It could be Dylan! He picked it up, said huskily, ‘Hello?’
‘Ross, darling!’ said a warm, sensual voice.
‘Suzy, where are you? Downstairs? Come on up. You know nobody must see you.’
‘No, no, I’m only just leaving. Alan hung around for ages before he went; I could have throttled him—but I’m on my way now, and I’ll see you at around three, okay? Leave the key of the room at the desk; it should be safe enough—everyone should be in this meeting of yours. Bye, love.’
‘Suzy, listen, I have a problem—’ Ross began, but the line had gone dead.
Damn! He replaced the phone with a growl of impatience. Oh, well, he would have to leave her a note, explaining why he wouldn’t be there tonight. He had to let her down. All he could do was hope she wouldn’t be too disappointed.
Lying back in the scented warmth of the bath, Dylan idly contemplated her naked pink toes at the far end and suddenly remembered Ross nibbling them one night when they’d shared a bath, each at opposite ends. While he softly licked and chewed her toes he had been caressing her intimately with his own, making her giggle and shiver with arousal.
‘I want you,’ Ross had said abruptly, in a voice deep with passion, and slithered like a snake up her body, pushing his hands under her weak, wet limbs to lift her, open her, so that he could slide inside, his face pillowed on her breasts as he made love to her.
They had made love everywhere in those early months of marriage. Now they never made love at all.
Was it Suzy? How long had this affair gone on? No, she wouldn’t think about it. It hurt too much.
Stifling a groan, Dylan climbed out, dripping, and put on the white towelling robe Ruth had given her, then sat down on the cork-topped bathroom stool to dry herself carefully. Her bruised ankle felt a little better, although the swelling was all the colours of the rainbow now.
Ruth had also lent her a Victorian-style white cotton nightdress, the bodice busy with lace and white silk ribbons, a blue velvet dressing gown which zipped up the front, and a pair of matching slippers. Dylan eyed them uncertainly. Would she be able to get into them?
To her relief, though, they were very loose and capacious and she had no problem.
As she came down the stairs the smell of food hit her and she realised with surprise that she was hungry. Earlier she had felt she never wanted to eat again—but it was hours since her last meal.
Odd how the body went on working even when you felt your heart was dead.
Ruth looked round, smiling. ‘How do you feel now?’
‘Warm and relaxed,’ Dylan admitted. ‘The spaghetti sauce smells good.’
‘It just occurred to me ... I put garlic in, can you eat it?’
‘Love it. Is there anything I can do to help?’
‘Thanks, but no need. Everything is ready. Sit down and pour us both a glass of wine. Unless you don’t drink at the moment? Can pregnant women drink wine?’
‘Just watch me,’ Dylan said, filling both the glasses on the table.
Ruth came towards her with a heaped dish of spaghetti, topped with the rich, red sauce. As she laid it in the centre of the table the doorbell rang loudly.
Dylan jumped, her eyes opening wide.
The Yuletide Child Page 10