Phoebe appeared in the doorway precisely at one o’clock. She looked tired and her hair stood up on end, but the look in her eyes was one of pure determination. “It’s time to go back.”
“You’re not going anywhere until you eat,” Gabe replied. “I made some sandwiches, and you will have two. Understood? I’ll make you a cup of tea. Or would you prefer coffee?”
Phoebe made a face at him and shrugged, but obediently took a seat at the old kitchen table and reached for a sandwich. “You’re starting to sound like a parent,” she observed as she accepted a mug of tea. “I like it.”
“Well, all children eventually start to parent their parents.”
“Is that so? I’m not senile yet, son. You don’t need to parent me. Just drive me to the hospital.”
“Sorry, Mum. I wasn’t implying that you’re senile,” Gabe replied with a guilty smile. His mother was as sharp as ever, and that included her tongue.
Phoebe bit into her sandwich. “Not too bad. I should teach you how to make some simple dishes, so you can help Quinn once the baby comes. I hear you can now boil an egg,” she added with an impish smile. Once she finished her meal, she ran a hand through her hair to tame it. “I’ll just pop into the loo and meet you outside. I hope your father has eaten,” she added, checking the time. “Do you think we should bring him something? I can’t imagine he’ll be very pleased with the lunch choices at the hospital.”
“I don’t think Dr. Spencer would approve. You can make him all his favorite dishes, minus fat, salt, and taste, once he’s back at home.”
Phoebe nodded. “You’re probably right. He’ll have to suffer hospital food if he hopes to get better, but he won’t be happy about it.”
“No, he won’t be.”
Gabe held the door for his mother and followed her down the corridor toward his father’s room. The hospital was much busier now, with patients being wheeled or escorted down corridors, harassed nurses dashing from place to place, and a lunch cart making its rounds. The corridor smelled of mashed potatoes and some sort of meat. Phoebe hurried along, narrowly avoiding a collision with a nurse who came out of one of the rooms. She stopped dead when she reached Graham’s room.
“He’s not here,” she said, turning to Gabe.
“They probably took him for some test.” Gabe walked over to the nurses’ station. The nurses from last night had been replaced by a young blond woman and an older black nurse, the latter on the phone. “Excuse me. We’re here to see Graham Russell,” Gabe said.
“Are you next of kin?” the blond nurse asked. She looked uncomfortable and wouldn’t meet Gabe’s gaze.
“Yes.”
“I’ll just page Dr. Spencer for you,” the other nurse promised, having finished the call. “She’s just down the hall, I believe. Why don’t you have a seat?”
Gabe led Phoebe to a row of plastic chairs and took a seat next to her. His mother’s head swung from left to right like a pendulum as her gaze searched for either her husband or the doctor, but she spotted neither. It took a good ten minutes for Dr. Spencer to finally appear. She walked briskly down the corridor, her face unreadable.
“Mrs. Russell, Dr. Russell,” she said by way of greeting. She suddenly looked very young and vulnerable.
“Where’s my husband?” Phoebe demanded.
“Mrs. Russell, I’m terribly sorry,” the doctor began.
“Sorry about what?”
“Mr. Russell became very agitated when Dr. Nixon informed him that he’d have to remain in hospital for several days. He said he wanted to go home and tried to get out of bed. He became quite irate.”
“So you moved him?” Phoebe asked, her expression hopeful.
Dr. Spencer stared at her shoes, her face pale against her white coat. “Mrs. Russell, we tried to calm him down, but he became so upset that he suffered another cardiac event. We did everything we could.”
“Are you saying he’s dead?” Phoebe whispered.
“We tried to resuscitate him, but I’m afraid his heart was too badly damaged. He died almost immediately.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Phoebe cried.
“We did, but you must have already left for the hospital. We thought it best to tell you in person and not break the news to you while you were driving,” Dr. Spencer explained. “I’m terribly sorry.”
Phoebe sank into the chair she’d vacated only a moment ago. She was white as a sheet, her eyes glazed with disbelief. . “He’s gone,” she muttered. “Just like that. Can I see him?” she asked, her head snapping up to confront Dr. Spencer.
“Yes. He’s been moved to the mortuary.”
“The mortuary,” Phoebe whispered in disbelief. “He won’t like it there. It’s cold.”
Dr. Spencer glanced at Gabe, as though hoping he’d step in.
“Mum, why don’t I take you home?” Gabe suggested. He was gutted by his father’s death, but his first priority was his mother, who was clearly in shock.
“I have to see your father. I’m not leaving until I do.”
“All right. We’ll go see Dad.” Gabe nodded to Dr. Spencer. “If you would…”
“Of course. Come with me, please.”
Gabe linked his arm through his mother’s to steady her. She looked as if she could barely walk, but she shuffled after Dr. Spencer. She looked confused and terrified, and Gabe wished he could spare her this.
“Mum, how about I go see Dad and you just wait outside?” he suggested, but Phoebe shook her head.
“No, son. I need to see him and say goodbye privately. We were married for over forty years. I can barely remember my life before Graham,” she said, her voice wistful. “He was difficult at times, stubborn and opinionated, but he was honest, hardworking, and loyal to a fault. He loved me, and I loved him. Thank you.” She suddenly looked up at Gabe.
“For what?”
“For Emma. She made him so happy. I’m so glad he got to meet her before…” She didn’t finish the sentence, but Gabe knew what she meant. “I’d like to go in alone,” Phoebe announced.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You wait outside, you hear?”
Gabe nodded and watched his mother disappear with Dr. Spencer through the mortuary door, then turned away. Though he wanted to support his mother, he was grateful not to have to see his father laid out on a metal slab. He’d see him at the funeral where Graham would be dressed in his best suit, with his hair brushed and his moustache trimmed. His father would appreciate that final bit of vanity. Graham Russell would hate for anyone to see him in his hospital gown with gray stubble covering his cheeks and his thinning hair in disarray.
Gabe sank into a chair and covered his face with his hands as silent tears slid down his unshaved cheeks. His father was gone. His mother was a widow. Emma had just lost another person she loved. And he would have to tell her.
Chapter 26
The clock struck midnight, but Gabe’s mind was too restless to go to sleep, despite the fact that he hadn’t slept at all the night before. His mind kept replaying the events of the day. Gabe couldn’t help wondering if giving in to his mother and remaining at the hospital instead of taking her home to rest would have made any difference. Was he responsible for his father’s death? Had she stayed, would Phoebe have been able to calm her husband down and prevent another heart attack? Dr. Spencer didn’t seem to think so, but it was possible, and for the rest of his days Gabe would have to live with the guilt.
Phoebe regained her self-control when she came out of the mortuary, but the ride from the hospital was a sad one, the silence broken only by Phoebe’s sighs. Gabe wanted to comfort her, but there wasn’t much he could offer besides the usual platitudes, and he knew his mother wouldn’t welcome those. Halfway home, Phoebe asked Gabe to turn around. He pulled over and looked at her. Her helplessness and frustration had been replaced by a look of determination.
“Take me to a funeral home. You know, the one that did your uncle’s funeral. Charles Mace and Son.”<
br />
“Are you sure you want to do this now?” Gabe asked.
“Yes. I want to have the funeral this week. Tomorrow, if possible.”
“Why, Mum? What’s the rush?”
Phoebe turned to face him, the glint of resolve in her eyes positively frightening. “Your father didn’t want any fuss. We talked about this, and that was what we decided. He asked to be cremated.”
“Did you know he’d had previous heart attacks?”
“No, but no one lives forever, and once you get to a certain age, you must look reality in the face,” she said bravely. “I’ll ring everyone tonight. Whoever wants to pay their respects will be there, and whoever doesn’t will make an excuse whether we hold the funeral tomorrow or next week.”
“I’ll stay with you, Mum,” Gabe said. “For as long as you want me to.”
“You’ll do no such thing. You will attend your father’s funeral and then you will go to New Orleans. And you will get married next month.” Phoebe pinned Gabe with a look that dared him to argue with her at his own peril.
“Mum,” he protested.
“Don’t ‘Mum’ me. Gabe, your father was an old-fashioned man. He was born in the 1930s, lest you forget. He was thrilled that you and Quinn finally got together, but he wanted to see his grandchild born to parents who are legally wed. He recalled the stigma of being born a bastard all too well, and he didn’t want that for your baby.”
“But Dad wasn’t a bastard,” Gabe replied, confused.
“No, but his older brother was. Your grandfather got a girl pregnant before he went off to fight the Huns in 1914. He was barely sixteen. Lied about his age to enlist. He would have married her had he known, but she didn’t find out about the baby until after he’d gone. She died of influenza shortly after the child was born. The boy was raised by her parents, but your father knew him.”
“Were they close?”
“No. Lance hated your father, and blamed him for being the legal heir to the Russell estate. It was quite sizeable in those days. Your grandfather provided for Lance, but he wanted the lot. He was very resentful.”
“What happened to him? Dad never mentioned him.”
“He was killed in the Second World War. His widow moved to Canada. She had family there.” Phoebe reached out and took Gabe’s hand. “Promise me you will get married.”
“I promise,” Gabe said, hoping Quinn wouldn’t think it callous of him to want to get married a month after his father’s death.
By the time all the arrangements had been made and Phoebe rang everyone, it was dinnertime, but neither one of them was hungry. Phoebe took a sleeping tablet and went to bed, while Gabe reluctantly called Sylvia. The thought of telling Emma about her grandfather’s death made his heart feel as if it were wrapped in barbed wire. She was too young to know this much loss. The only saving grace was that she wouldn’t see the coffin glide toward the flames of the crematorium as the doors closed on Graham Russell for the last time.
“I’m very sorry for your loss, Gabe,” Sylvia said once he told her. “I hoped you’d have better news.”
“So did I.”
“Well, don’t worry about Emma. She’s just fine. You take all the time you need.”
“May I speak to her?”
“Of course. Emma, Dad’s on the phone,” Sylvia called.
“Hello, Daddy,” Emma said. She sounded breathless, as if she’d come running.
“Hello, darling. How are you getting on?”
“I’m okay,” Emma replied. “When are you coming back?”
“Not just yet.” Gabe opened his mouth to tell her about Graham’s passing, but the words just wouldn’t come. He couldn’t bring himself to break her little heart, so he decided to wait. What was it his mother always said? Good news will keep, and bad news won’t leave. “What did you do today?”
“I went to the zoo with Logan and Jude. Logan had the day off,” Emma explained.
“Oh? How was that?”
“I like the one in Edinburgh better because Mum used to take me there,” Emma added, her tone wistful. “Anyway, Logan and Jude had a big row, and then Jude left.”
“What did they argue about?” Gabe asked, curious what caused the bust-up between brothers.
“Well, Logan said that Jude needs to go to a method one program because he’s addicted to being heroic. Jude is nothing like a super-hero,” Emma added. “But maybe that’s just his disguise.”
“Maybe.” Gabe took a deep breath and exhaled to keep his voice even. “And then what happened?”
“Jude told Logan to mind his own business. He used a lot of bad words, and then he called Logan a pouf. What does that mean?”
“I’m not really sure,” Gabe lied. He wasn’t about to explain to a four-year-old what sexual orientation meant or that ‘pouf’ was a derogatory term for homosexual. “Did you tell Grandma Sylvia about the row?”
“No. Logan told me not to.”
“I see. But you had a good time otherwise?”
“Yes, it was good,” Emma replied. “Logan bought me ice cream and a stuffed giraffe. I am going to call him Cecil.”
“Well, that sounds like a fine name for a giraffe. But remind me not to ask for your input on a name for the baby,” Gabe said.
“What’s wrong with Cecil?” Emma whined.
“Nothing, darling. I was only joking.”
“Anyway, I want to call the baby Aidan.”
“Why’s that?” Gabe asked. He hadn’t expected Emma to have a say in naming the baby, but she’d clearly given it some thought.
Emma giggled. “Because there’s a boy named Aidan at school,” she replied shyly.
“And you like him?”
“I think he’s nice. Don’t tell Miss Aubrey,” Emma warned, her tone suddenly serious.
“I won’t. Your secret is safe with me.”
“I have to go. Grandma Sylvia is calling me to take a bath now. Come home soon, Daddy.”
“I’ll come for you as soon as I’m able. I love you.”
But Emma had already hung up. Gabe tossed his mobile onto the bedside table and went to pour himself a large whisky. He needed to calm his nerves before calling Logan. He’d suspected, of course, that Jude was using, but if Jude was a heroin addict, Gabe didn’t want Emma anywhere near him. He wondered if Sylvia knew, but believed she didn’t realize the extent of Jude’s addiction, which was why Logan had asked Emma not to say anything.
Under normal circumstances, Gabe would have gotten in his car and fetched Emma home right away, but he could hardly leave, especially with the funeral looming tomorrow afternoon. For the moment, he had to put everything aside: Jude’s drug habit, Luke’s imminent return, and Quinn’s newfound family. Tomorrow he would see his father on his final journey. Then, life would resume.
Chapter 27
Quinn stowed her mobile back in her purse and meandered along the river. On this sunny, crisp morning, the Mississippi sparkled and shone like an endless ribbon of light. It was vast, wider than any river Quinn had ever seen, and there were many different boats, both commercial and private. She saw several steamboats docked at various points, their crews preparing for cruises down the river. Quinn briefly considered taking a cruise, but changed her mind. She wasn’t in the right mood to appreciate it. In fact, she was in a terrible mood. She’d tried to reach Gabe all day yesterday, but her calls had gone directly to voicemail. She’d texted him and received a terse reply telling her that he would ring her as soon as he could. He had rung early in the morning, but she’d been in the shower and by the time she called back, he didn’t pick up.
That wasn’t like Gabe at all. Quinn woke up every day to a loving text wishing her a good morning and telling her that he was waiting for her call. Speaking to Gabe before starting her day made her feel cherished and safe. A day without him felt all wrong, especially after her unexpected encounter with Luke. Quinn was grateful he hadn’t come round again, but he’d never been one to give up on an idea easily, not when he rea
lly wanted something. Did he want her, or was he just testing the waters to see if she was gullible enough to take him back? She wasn’t. Their conversation had left her feeling soiled and angry. She didn’t want to rehash their relationship or explain why she was with Gabe. Her private life was no longer any of Luke’s business, and she wished he’d leave well enough alone.
But Luke had spoken to Monica Fielding, and Monica, being an evil witch, would probably run straight to Gabe and try to plant seeds of doubt in his heart. Gabe Russell was a smart, sophisticated, confident man, until it came to his feelings for Quinn. He’d waited a long time for her, and although he never mentioned Luke, she knew some small part of him feared she might harbor regrets and consider taking Luke back if he ever came groveling. Now that she was carrying Gabe’s child, his fear would be even greater because he stood to lose not only Quinn, but his baby. Since they weren’t yet married, and given what had happened with Jenna McAllister, he had every right to worry.
Quinn leaned against the metal railing and stared sullenly over the water. She felt very much alone and homesick, and wanted nothing more than to book the next flight to London and leave New Orleans. She needed to see Gabe in person, and tell him he had nothing to worry about—ever. Luke was in the past, and she would never, even if things didn’t work out between them, try to keep Gabe away from his child.
Quinn sighed with frustration. She would have booked a return flight today if it weren’t for the call she’s had from Rhys last night. He had set things in motion, and there was no turning back. He’d sounded brusque and businesslike on the phone, his mind already on the project.
“Quinn, sending a camera crew to the States will put a serious dent in our production costs, so I came up with the next best thing. I reached out to a freelance cameraman we’ve worked with in the past, and he just happens to be between assignments. He’ll be arriving in New Orleans sometime tomorrow. He’s based in Charleston, South Carolina, but he said traveling to Louisiana for a job is not a problem for him. He’ll call you when he gets there. His name is Jason Womack.”
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