‘Who on earth can that be? Help yourself, Dylan, while I just go to the door.’ Ruth hurried off. Dylan heard her exclaim, heard a male voice reply.
Instantly she thought—Ross! She pushed back her chair, then knew she was crazy. It couldn’t be Ross. He had no idea where she was; he was in York with his lover. He wouldn’t even be thinking about her, let alone coming to find her. Images rose up in her head ... Ross with another woman, Ross making love to Suzy, his dark hair mingling with her blonde strands.
Jealousy and hatred choked her. How could she eat when she felt so sick?
The door into the hall opened and Ruth was back with a middle-aged man. Dylan looked at him, blue eyes dark with pain, and met a penetrating gaze.
‘This is Dr Trafford,’ Ruth told her. ‘By pure luck he happened to be called out to a farm near here and...’
‘I saw your car and your footprints going across the field,’ Henry Trafford told Dylan, undoing his thick tweed overcoat, which Ruth took from him.
‘He loves detective stories,’ said Ruth, laughing. ‘So he—’
‘Used my eyes and my brain,’ Henry interrupted, ‘and worked out that whoever had been in the crash was here, with Ruth. Doctors and detectives have a lot in common, you know—we both have to use guesswork to form a diagnosis. I guessed whoever had been in the car when it crashed might be injured, so I came to see if I could help.’
Dylan shook her head. ‘I wasn’t really hurt—just some cuts and bruises, and a sprained ankle, although I have no idea how I did that. But I’d be very grateful if you could ring a taxi firm for me, or drive me to the nearest taxi office.’
Henry made a wry face. ‘My dear girl, no taxi could get up here tonight. The hills are far too steep, everywhere is snowed in and the police are advising people to stay put except in real emergencies. I had the devil of a job getting to the farm, and I’ve got chains on my four-wheel drive. The phone lines are down, too, I’m afraid, and my mobile isn’t working.’
Her face falling, Dylan sighed. “Oh, dear.’
Looking at the food on the table, Henry said, ‘You were just going to eat? Don’t let it get cold. It looks and smells delicious.’
Ruth smiled at him. ‘Wash your hands and face and sit down, Henry—there’s far too much for two.’
‘I was hoping you’d ask!’ With alacrity he went to the sink while Ruth piled spaghetti and sauce on Dylan’s plate, offered her a dish of grated cheese, then held out a woven basket heaped with sliced home-made bread.
Henry sat down, his face pink from cold and wind, running a hand through his curly white hair, and Ruth served him before taking what was left in the dish for herself.
‘I’ll take a look at you later,’ he told Dylan. ‘Then I’ll have to go—this is the sort of night when medical emergencies pile up. I must get back to my surgery in case I get called out again.’
‘I hope your patient is okay now,’ Dylan said shyly.
‘My patient?’ he repeated, looking puzzled.
‘At the farm?’
His face darkened, and he said curtly, ‘No, he died, I’m afraid.’
Ruth looked at him in concern. ‘Oh, I’m very sorry, Henry. We’ll miss him.’
Dylan wished she hadn’t asked, but Henry shrugged his broad shoulders.
‘Oh, he was in his eighties and had been very ill for a long time. It was a blessed release for him, and for his family. Can I have some more bread, please, Ruth?’
Dylan watched Ruth cutting bread, giving him two slices, saw their eyes meet and a smile flash between the two of them. Obviously they were very close—just good friends, like her and Michael, or something more than that? She didn’t know them well enough to guess.
‘More wine?’ Ruth asked, and he sighed.
‘Wish I could, but I can’t afford to drink too much tonight. I need all my reflexes working perfectly.’
Dylan found him an uneasy companion; his combination of hard common sense and offhand courtesy had a bitter tang to it. She sensed he did not like women much. There was a coldness in his eyes whenever he looked at her, amounting almost to rejection, and it hurt. She was in a state to find any rejection, even that of a stranger, painful to take.
Suddenly he said, ‘What the hell’s that?’ staring at the glass door out of the kitchen into the garden.
Ruth and Dylan looked round and both laughed.
‘It’s only Fred,’ Ruth said. ‘I must go and put him in the shed when I’ve finished eating. He must be freezing out there, but he almost knocked the shed down a few hours ago. He hates being locked in there. What he wants is to get in here, but he would cause havoc’
Pushing away his empty plate, Henry gave a satisfied sigh. ‘That was terrific, Ruth. You’re a good cook. You should open a restaurant; I’d be one of your best customers.’
‘Too much like hard work,’ Ruth said.
He laughed. ‘Well, if you’ve finished eating, Dylan, I’ll check you out before I have to go. Ruth, will you be our chaperon?’
The examination was brief but thorough; he looked at her bruises, listened to her pulse, took her temperature, then listened to the baby’s heartbeat through his stethoscope, inspected her ankle and agreed with her own diagnosis.
‘You’ll do, but I think you should stay here tonight—it would be unwise to try to travel in these conditions. By morning the phones should be working okay.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Sorry, must dash. Thanks for the meal, Ruth, best I’ve had for ages.’
Dylan caught sight of Ruth’s face, saw something in the twist of her mouth, her hazel eyes, that made Dylan wonder. Maybe this was not such a platonic relationship after all, at least where Ruth was concerned. Or was she imagining things?
Ross was just leaving his hotel when the receptionist called him back. ‘Mr Jefferson, an urgent phone call for you!’
It must be Dylan, he immediately worked out, hurrying back, but the voice was that of her sister, Jenny, sounding upset
‘Ross? Oh, thank goodness. I remembered Dylan told me you were going to some meeting in York but I wasn’t sure which hotel she had said you would be staying at. This is the third one I’ve tried! Ross, Dylan hasn’t arrived yet. There’s a blizzard raging outside, and I’m worried about her.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
Ross sat in the hotel reception, thinking hard for several minutes, then he rang the police station in the village close to his home.
‘Hi, John, Ross here—have you been past my house today? I’m worried about Dylan. She isn’t answering the phone, but she was supposed to be staying with her sister tonight and hasn’t arrived. I wondered if you’d seen lights in our house?’
The local constable had a slow, calm way of talking. He took his time replying. ‘No, there weren’t any when I drove by at five o’clock, although everyone else had their lights on indoors—it was pretty dark by then. So, as you’d asked me to keep my eye on the place while you were away, I thought I’d better check Dylan was okay. I rang the doorbell, but nobody came, so I took a walk around, looking in the windows—no sign of anybody inside, and I noticed that the flower wagon wasn’t in the garage, so she must be driving. If she hasn’t reached her sister’s soon I should get on to the police down there.’
‘Thanks, John, I will. Look, this is the sister’s phone number. If you hear anything, you can reach me there.’
He put down the phone and walked out of the hotel, anxiety churning in his stomach. What had happened to Dylan? Where was she? If her car had gone she must have set off for Jenny’s—why hadn’t she arrived yet? Horrific images filled his head as he started the engine and slowly drove out of the hotel car park. God, what had possessed her to leave home in this weather?
It took him what seemed an eternity to drive from York to the Lake District, heading for Jenny’s house; there was no motorway between the two parts of the country—he had to use the ordinary roads, which were icy and dangerous, so that it wasn’t safe to drive at anything but a snail’s pace. It was very
late when he arrived, but Jenny and her husband were still up. There were lights all over the ground floor of the house, and Christmas lights flashed on and off on the Christmas tree in the window of the sitting room.
When he rang the bell the front door burst open within seconds. Jenny, in a hyacinth-colour woollen dress, stared at him in disappointment, looking past him, obviously hoping to see her sister behind him or in his car.
‘She isn’t with me,’ Ross said flatly, his own heart sinking. ‘She hasn’t got here, then?’
Tears welled up in Jenny’s eyes. She had her sister’s colouring, but in a brighter shade; her brown hair had a tinge of red, her eyes were bright sapphire-blue, her skin was matt white and she had a warm, rounded, matronly figure which had always been fuller than her sister’s slight, slender body. Five years older than Dylan, she had looked after her little sister like a second mother and they remained very close.
‘No. Oh, Ross, I’m getting really worried. I rang the local police, but they had no reports of her being involved in an accident, or taken to hospital around here.’
He followed her into the house and nodded to Jenny’s husband, Phil. ‘Sorry to arrive at this hour...’
Phil made a reassuring gesture. ‘My dear chap! We’re as worried as you are. Glad to see you.’
Ross smiled gratefully at him. ‘I talked to our police back home; she isn’t there. Her car had gone, so she certainly left—something must have happened to her.’ His voice deepened, roughened as he said that. He felt them watching him with anxiety that matched his own.
‘Maybe when it started to snow heavily she had the common sense to drive to a hotel and check in there for the night?’ Phil suggested. ‘That’s what I’d do.’
‘She’d have rung to let me know she was okay!’ protested Jenny. ‘She would know I’d be worried sick if I didn’t hear.’
‘If the phones were working, maybe—but some phone lines are down; they said so on the TV news.’
Ross sighed. ‘Maybe I should call the police again?’
Jenny nodded. “The number of our local station is written on that pad beside the phone.’
The desk sergeant Ross talked to was quietly reassuring. ‘There is probably a good reason why she hasn’t rung. I expect she is safe somewhere, sir, don’t think the worst. In weather like this the wisest thing is to get off the road; in fact some roads in the district are quite impassable. We’ve had to close them to stop drivers getting themselves bogged down in snow. We haven’t heard of any accidents involving your wife or her car. I’ll certainly alert all our cars to keep an eye open for her, but as you can imagine we’re stretched to our limit at the moment. There isn’t much else I can do.’
‘She could have had an accident somewhere else, en route, of course,’ Ross thought aloud.
‘Yes, that’s certainly possible. I’ll circulate a description of the car to other areas and see if they have any news. If we hear anything you can be sure we’ll ring at once, but take my advice, go to bed and try to sleep. I’m sure you’ll have good news in the morning.’
When Ross relayed this to Jenny and her husband Phil nodded. ‘I think he’s right. We can’t do anything else tonight. We might as well get some sleep. Now, Jen, be sensible—come to bed. Ross, we got the spare room ready for Dylan—you know where it is. I think you should turn in too. You look dead on your feet.’
Shaking his head, Ross said wearily, ‘I couldn’t rest for a second while I don’t know what’s happened to her.’ Guilt was burning in his stomach. That morning Dylan had begged him not to leave her, pleaded with him to take her with him, and he had refused. He wouldn’t even listen to her, he had brushed her worries aside as typical female jitters, not taken her seriously.
He wished to God he could turn the clock back and have a second chance. If anything had happened to her he would never forgive himself.
‘I’ll be up later,’ Jenny told her husband, who gave her a wry look before turning away.
‘Don’t sit up all night fretting, Jen. It won’t do Dylan any good, you know,’ he said as he left the room.
Ross was staring at the Christmas tree, watching the fairy lights, gazing at the silver bells and delicate glass birds, red, yellow and blue, which nested in the pine branches.
The scent of the tree reminded him of his own home, of the forest he loved so much, the tall, cathedral-like acres of pines, the dark shadow beneath them, haunting and mysterious. God, he wished he was there now, with Dylan, all this misery and guilt forgotten. If only he hadn’t gone off to the conference in York! If only he had taken notice of Dylan’s anxiety, stayed home with her as she’d asked!
His tall, lithe body was heavy with exhaustion, his hard-featured face pale, his mouth taut.
‘Have you eaten? Can I get you something?’ Jenny gently offered.
He shook his head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘Cup of tea or coffee?’
‘No, I’m fine, thanks.’
Firmly, Jenny said, ‘Well, I’m making some tea—if I don’t do something I’ll go crazy! I can’t bear sitting here doing nothing while she’s somewhere out there, maybe dying of hypothermia. Even if she’s in her car she’ll be getting colder and colder and—’ She broke down, sobbing, tears beginning to run down her face. ‘Oh, Ross, I’m so scared for her...’
He pulled a paper tissue from a box on the table and dried her face, his arm around her heaving shoulders.
‘Don’t, Jen. I’m sure she’s okay. The police are right; she isn’t stupid, she has probably found shelter somewhere—in a hotel, or someone’s house. As soon as it’s daylight I’ll start driving around to look for her myself. Someone is bound to have noticed that crazy car of hers. How could you miss it?’ He was trying to talk himself into believing that.
Jenny gave a shaky giggle. ‘That’s true. Typical of Michael to paint it with all those psychedelic flowers!’
Ross’s brows jerked together, his face suddenly harsh. ‘Was he into drugs, do you think? I always suspected...’
‘Who, Michael? Good heavens, no. He was a fitness freak, obsessed with taking care of his body, watching everything he ate or drank, spending hours working out. He did yoga, not drugs!’ Jenny gave Ross a thoughtful look. ‘You weren’t jealous of him, were you?’
‘Jealous?’ Ross laughed shortly. ‘Of that guy? You’re kidding.’ His face stiffened. ‘You don’t think she could have gone to him, do you?’
‘She can’t have—he’s still in America on tour.’
‘So he is. I’d forgotten.’ Ross gave a brief, unconscious sigh, then looked at her, forcing a pale smile. ‘Could we have that tea now, Jenny? And maybe you could rustle me up a sandwich or something? I didn’t feel hungry, but I’ve just realised I haven’t eaten all day.’
‘Of course I will,’ she promised, bustling off.
Dylan was already in bed by then, in Ruth’s spare bedroom, floating on a feather mattress which made her feel as if she was sinking into a cloud. Ruth had lit a fire of logs and pine cones in the small, white-painted iron grate to warm the room properly, and for an hour after Dylan went to bed the black reflection of the flames danced on walls and ceiling.
The fire had begun to die down but the faint red glow from the ashes was comforting, as was the soft whisper as from time to time ash drifted down through the iron grating into the pan below. Central heating did not give you the same frisson of pleasure, thought Dylan dreamily, floating off into sleep.
The only thing that would make this experience complete would be to have Ross in bed with her.
If only she wasn’t pregnant. If only her body was the way it had been when they first met. She ached to have Ross’s hands stroking, caressing her, his mouth brushing her skin, kissing her eyes, her mouth, her neck, travelling down to her naked breasts, his lips parting to let his tongue torment her nipples, before he sucked each into his mouth, his fingers sliding down between her thighs... Sensual images made her toss in the bed, hot with desire and frustration
.
What was the point in remembering? At this very moment Ross was probably in bed with Suzy, in York, and she could be sure he wasn’t thinking about her. She couldn’t bear to imagine what he was thinking about, let alone what he and Suzy were doing.
How long had it been going on? Jealousy stabbed inside her. How could Ross do this to her when she was carrying his child? How could he do it to Alan, the man he called his best friend?
Was Suzy behind the change in the way he had been acting these past few months? She had believed he was no longer interested in her because she no longer had the sort of body that had excited him when they were first married.
Sex had been terrific in those early days—was sex all he was interested in? Hadn’t he ever really loved her? Loved her, in every way, the way she loved him—mind, heart and body, every part of him. Had Ross only ever loved having sex with her?
She turned over again, biting her lower lip in anguish. She had to stop thinking about him, thinking about anything—she was so tired; she had to get some sleep.
She had been to meditation classes years ago, when she was dancing. It had been Michael’s idea. He was very into yoga and meditation, he believed a healthy mind meant a healthy body, and she had found the meditation techniques very helpful m preparing her before the curtain went up. You could reach a place of calm where nothing could touch you.
She went through some of those techniques now, emptying her mind, letting her entire body relax, sinking into a state of tranquillity which very gradually became sleep.
Ross made a phone call while Jenny was in the kitchen creating a sandwich for him. ‘Suzy? Look, I’m sorry I had to go. Dylan has got herself lost...’
‘Lost? What on earth...?’ the warm female voice exclaimed at the other end of the line.
‘She set off to visit her sister and never arrived, but we haven’t heard a word from her. There’s probably a perfectly simple explanation, but it’s worrying. Sorry to let you down, though.’
‘Forget it. No problem, darling—of course you had to go; I understand. I hope you find her soon. Be in touch when you can, Ross.’
The Yuletide Child Page 11