She couldn't help smiling at his cynicism. 'A bastard to the end,' she said without rancour.
He smiled. 'I mustn't step too much out of character, now must I?'
'I didn't realise you had ever done it!'
'I haven't,' he drawled unabashedly. 'And I can't quite see Carmichael as the Knight in Shining Armour either!'
'Rand is just concerned about me—'
'He wasn't concerned for three days, so why now?'
She bristled indignantly at his scepticism. 'He didn't know about the fire—'
'Most places in the world can be reached by telephone now, Merlyn.' Christopher's voice was scornful.
Her cheeks were fiery-red. 'I wanted to see you today so that I could apologise for yesterday, not argue with you again!'
'Can I help it if I think you're making a fool of yourself over a man who doesn't deserve you?' he answered harshly.
'Just because he's interrupted your precious schedule for filming—'
'Damn the film,' he ground out. 'It's you we're talking about now!'
'I can take care of myself, thank you!' Merlyn's eyes flashed warningly, remembering the last time she had claimed that, to Rand, and the fact that she had almost burnt to death hours later.
'I'm only trying to point out to you that Carmichael has as much reason for wanting you out of the way as Hillier does. More—because without you we can't go on filming!'
'What did you just say about Rand?' she gasped disbelievingly.
Christopher gave an impatient, sigh. 'Carmichael never wanted this film made, Merlyn. And your portrayal of Suzie must be bringing back memories he would rather forget. I'm only pointing out the possibility that he—'
'Get out of here,' she ordered shakily.
'Merlyn, try and see past your blind love for the man—'
'I said get out,' she repeated shrilly. 'I don't want to listen to any more of your lies! You—'
'Merlyn,' her mother cut in authoritatively. 'Calm yourself this instant. Mr Drake—'
'I know,' he declared harshly. 'Leave. Maybe you could try and talk some sense into your daughter,' he told the older woman disgustedly as she escorted him to the door.
'I don't know why you let that young man in here,' Merlyn's mother fussed around her tidying the bed. 'Every time he comes here he upsets you. And that isn't good for the baby. No more visitors today, I think. And you had better have a sleep now so that—'
'Baby?' Merlyn recovered enough to murmur, 'What baby?'
'Why yours of course, darling.' Her mother removed the bag of grapes from the bed with a delicate wrinkle of her nose. 'You've had enough trauma during the first few weeks already, without that young man—'
'Mother, what baby?' Merlyn exploded, her body stiff with tension.
Auburn brows rose in hurt surprise at the aggressive outburst. 'You always did have a temper.' Merlyn was rebuked. 'Even as a child— Merlyn, surely you realised you're pregnant?' her mother said impatiently as Merlyn looked ready to give another angry exclamation.
Pregnant? A baby? Well of course she was expecting a baby, the part of her that was still sane retaliated, that's what happened when you were pregnant.
She just hadn't realised she was pregnant. But usually as regular as four following three she realised she had missed a period over three weeks ago. That first time with Rand…?
'Mummy, are you sure?' she voiced uncertainly.
Her mother looked affronted. 'I didn't do all those years of training not to be able to tell a woman when she's pregnant,' she informed Merlyn haughtily. 'Even if it is my own daughter!'
'I—But you don't seem—shocked?' Merlyn was, breathlessly so! Of course she hadn't come to the Lake District with the intention of having an affair with anyone, and so the question of precautions hadn't arisen. But even so…!
'I'm not,' her mother dismissed. 'I was a little disappointed you hadn't chosen to tell me about it yourself, but as you now say you didn't even know—!'
'I had no idea,' Merlyn confirmed dazedly.
'As long as you can assure me that the unpleasant young man that just left isn't the father I think I'm even quite happy at the prospect of being a grandmother again.' Her mother looked at her hopefully.
'Christopher isn't the father—'
'Thank goodness,' Merlyn was answered with obvious relief.
'But Brandon Carmichael is,' she told her in a hushed voice, still unable to fully take in the prospect of motherhood herself. She didn't feel pregnant. Of course she didn't, that sane voice mocked her again, she could only be five weeks along at the most. It just didn't seem possible that in approximately thirty-five weeks' time she would hold Rand's child in her arms. Rand's child. She had to tell him about it. After the tragedy of the loss of his other child he deserved to know about this one.
'I thought as much when he arrived here last night,' her mother nodded. 'I like a man who's decisive enough to know what he wants, even if he has to go through me to get it,' she added ruefully.
Another thought had occurred to Merlyn, would Rand want to know about her baby? That other baby, the one he had lost, had been Suzie's child too. Would he want to know about the child they had conceived, not through love—at least, not on Rand's side—but through blinding need? The question was really irrelevant, whether Rand wanted the baby or not she intended telling him about it.
But it suddenly became important that she read that notebook of Suzie's. It could never make her hate Rand, as he had claimed it would, but it might help her to understand him a little better.
'I think I would like to rest after all, Mummy,' she settled back on the pillows. 'Do you mind?'
'Not at all, darling. I'm just glad you've decided to be sensible.' Her aristocratic features softened as she bent over Merlyn. 'I know I haven't been the best mother in the world to you and Richard, but I am pleased about your baby.'
'There's very little chance that Rand will want to marry me,' she told her gently.
'I didn't raise a daughter who couldn't meet a challenge,' her mother told her encouragingly.
'Single parenthood is more than a challenge, Mummy—'
'Nonsense! You want the baby, don't you?' She looked at Merlyn frowningly.
'Oh yes.' Her eyes glowed like emeralds.
Her mother nodded, as if she had never doubted what Merlyn's answer would be. 'Then it will all work out, you'll see. Your father and I intend helping you all that we can, and—'
'Daddy knows too—? He didn't do all those years of training either, not to be able to tell when a woman is pregnant,' she said dryly at her mother's raised eyebrows.
'Exactly,' her mother confirmed with satisfaction. 'And you are not to worry about a thing. Your father and I have discussed it, and by the time the baby is old enough for you to want to resume your career I'll be thinking of retirement, and—'
'I'm sure there will be no need for you to do that,' Merlyn cut in with shocked dismay; she knew that her mother had never thought of retirement, and she wasn't going to let her make that sacrifice for her. 'As you said, I'm sure it will all work out, without your having to make such a drastic step,' she said lightly. 'And I'm sure Rand will want to help out financially.'
'Do you want that?' Her mother frowned at the strain Merlyn displayed at this last comment.
'I want my baby to know its father,' she decided firmly. 'And Rand is the type of man to want to recognise and take on his responsibilities.' The last was added a little bitterly as she realised Rand would probably never love her child.
'Oh, darling…!' Her mother squeezed her hand comfortingly, tears glistening in her hazel eyes.
'I'll be all right, Mummy.' Merlyn gave an over-bright smile. 'I'm your daughter, remember?'
'You certainly are.' Her mother straightened. 'I never realised how much until today.'
She had never heard that proud tone in her mother's voice before, had always felt she was something of a disappointment to her parents, refusing the opportunity to go to university i
n favour of becoming an actress. And probably a lot of parents would feel disappointed with a daughter who was pregnant and had received no proposal to marry the father. She suddenly realised she was proud of her mother too.
Her hands trembled slightly as she took out the notebook from the drawer beside her. The last month of Suzie Forrester's life. What had Rand done to induce the self-hatred he felt? God, how she dreaded reading about it.
The notebook was obviously different from those others that Suzie had written as a way of expressing her feelings, a way of venting her emotions during the terrible months of her illness. This book had been written by a woman broken spiritually and emotionally, and as Merlyn read page after page she realised why Suzie had been filled with a rage that had made her hate Rand for what he had done to her.
Suzie hadn't miscarried her baby at all, Merlyn learnt during those first anguished pages, but had been persuaded by Rand and her doctor that to receive the treatment she needed the baby would have to be sacrificed. Or she would die.
There would be other babies, once she was well, Rand had told her, persuaded her. And with a breaking heart Suzie had sacrificed the baby she had waited so many years to conceive.
Tears streamed down Merlyn's cheeks as she read of the terrible loss that had haunted Suzie through all the months that had followed, her only consolation—although even that hadn't seemed as important as the loss of her baby—had been that she did seem to be getting better. Although it hadn't been the doctor's treatment that had done that but the self-help she had found, and she had wondered time and time again whether the doctors could also have been wrong about the baby. She had never once blamed Rand, knew that he had wanted children as much as she did, if not more, and that he had suffered too.
And then a week before her death Rand had told her there could never be another baby, that when they had taken her child from her they had found it necessary to perform a small operation that meant she would never be able to conceive again.
Suzie had left Rand, gone to London, hating him with every fibre of her being for the death of her child.
Those days in London had been a nightmare, Suzie reliving again and again the loss of her child and her inability to have any more.
The last entry in the book had been written on the morning she died. She had made her decision, she wrote, couldn't change the past, that had gone, but she could, and would, change her future.
By eight o'clock that night she had been dead.
At her own hand? Had she driven into that tree deliberately, with the intention of 'changing her future'? The police had reported that no other vehicle had been involved, and the road had shown no signs of oil or grease where she had swerved off it, and no mechanical or structural damage to the car other than that incurred by the accident had been reported either.
Rand certainly believed that Suzie had taken her own life because he had lied to her. She knew now that was the reason he hated himself and wanted her to hate him too.
Only she didn't. Her heart ached for the pain Suzie had known, but it also ached for Rand, for the agony he must have gone through mentally and kept hidden from Suzie all those months after their baby had died, for the decision he alone had had to make, knowing that once Suzie was told the truth she would hate him. As she had.
He believed he was responsible for the death of his child and then his wife, when all he had wanted to do was keep Suzie alive.
Rand was wrong about Merlyn completely, she did still love him, and she wanted to see him again, if only to tell him that her feelings for him hadn't changed and that they never would. Even if he could never love again he deserved to know that.
God, she had let one night and day already pass letting him believe she had read the book and despised him as much as he had thought she would. She wasn't going to let another night pass the same way. He had had no choice but to want Suzie alive.
She swung her legs over the side of the high hospital bed, feeling a little dizzy as she attempted to stand for the first time in four days, wishing the floor didn't seem quite so far away. Her legs felt sore too, where the burns were still healing. But if she could just get some clothes on she could ring for a taxi to take her to Rand's home.
'I just came to—What are you doing?' An astounded Christopher came to a halt in the doorway as he witnessed her struggles to get out of bed.
'What am I doing?' She reminded him that it was only six-thirty, too early for visiting hours.
He looked abashed. 'I came back to apologise for my behaviour earlier,' he muttered.
'You did?' she mocked.
His cheeks flushed angrily. 'There's no need to rub my contrition in my face,' he bit out tautly. 'All we ever seem to do lately is argue. We're going to have another argument right now if you don't tell me what you're doing?' He frowned as she finally managed to get her feet to the floor. 'You're in no condition to be out of bed,' he scowled as he came forward to steady her. 'Where are you going?' he prompted impatiently.
'Be a dear and get my clothes out of the closet over there.' She indicated the cupboard as she sat down weakly on the bedside chair.
'But—'
'Please do it, Christopher,' she asked wearily. 'You said you didn't want to argue any more,' she reminded him.
He strode angrily over to the closet, taking out the clothes Liza had got ready and her mother had brought in to hang in there ready for her discharge in a few days' time. 'I don't know what wild-goose chase you're on, but—What's this?' he frowned as he picked up the notebook that still lay on her bed.
'Nothing.' She unsuccessfully attempted to snatch the book out of his hand. 'Christopher, don't!' she cried desperately as he moved out of her reach to begin flicking through the pages. 'You can't use any of that in your film,' she told him stubbornly as he whistled softly through his teeth at what he was reading. 'Satisfied?' she glared at him resentfully as he silently handed her back the book.
'Where did you get that from?' he asked quietly.
'Rand. Who else?' she challenged, angry with him for his blatant invasion of privacy.
'I presume you're on your way to see him now?'
'Yes.' Once again she sounded defiant. He had had no right to read that notebook, no right at all!
'I'll drive you,' he told her softly.
Merlyn's eyes widened. 'You will?' she said uncertainly.
He nodded abruptly. 'I can't persuade you not to go?' He quirked his brows.
'No!'
'Then I may as well make sure you get there safely,' he shrugged.
This unexpected display of kindness from Christopher brought tears to her eyes. 'Thank you!' Merlyn gave him a shaky smile.
'Don't thank me,' he muttered. 'I still think you're making the biggest mistake of your life—'
'Oh don't,' she laughingly silenced him. 'Don't go and spoil it!'
He gave a terse inclination of his head. 'Do you need any help getting dressed?'
Colour highlighted her cheeks. 'I'll manage,' she mumbled awkwardly. Although she wasn't quite sure how; she already felt stiff all over, and as weak as a newborn kitten.
Christopher turned in the doorway to observe her laboured movements. 'Sure, you'll manage,' he drawled. 'Give me a call if you get into difficulties.'
'Into difficulties' in no way described the next ten minutes as she tried to dress herself, omitting the silky nylons Liza seemed to have put in; her mother would have realised she couldn't bear anything on her legs just yet. But through contortions and sheer will-power she managed to zip on the brown skirt and pull on the matching jacket over a cream blouse.
'Well,' Christopher surveyed her when she appeared in the doorway, swaying a little, her expression one of triumph because of her achievement, 'the most I can say about you is that you're decent. Almost.' He straightened her blouse in the waistband of her skirt, undoing several of the buttons on her blouse and refastening them where she had matched them up incorrectly with the holes. 'You wouldn't win any prizes in a beauty conte
st.' His hand beneath her elbow helped support her as they began the slow walk down the corridor to the exit. 'But I suppose you'll have to do.'
'Thanks!'
He shrugged. 'I've never believed in giving false compliments.'
'I can tell that!' she spoke between gritted teeth, each step an agony.
'Well I—'
'Miss Summers, where do you think you're going?'
Merlyn rolled her eyes expressively at Christopher before leaning back on the wall to turn and face the young nurse who eyed her scandalously as she bore down on them in the hollow-sounding corridor.
'Mr Drake is just taking me—'
'He isn't "taking you" anywhere,' she was informed briskly. 'You shouldn't be out of bed. And you certainly shouldn't be dressed.' She gave Christopher a disapproving glare, knowing he had to have helped Merlyn get as far as she had. 'I know for a fact that you haven't been discharged—'
'I'm only going out for a short time,' Merlyn protested. 'I'll be back.'
'This isn't a hotel, Miss Summers. We do not allow patients to come and go as they please—'
'She is a private patient, and she doesn't need anyone's permission to take herself out for a few hours,' Christopher was the one to tell the young woman with cool disdain.
The nurse bristled indignantly. 'Nevertheless, there are certain rules that still have to be adhered to—'
'Then you adhere to them,' Christopher said, taking a firm hold of Merlyn's arm to start walking towards the exit again. 'You would have made a perfect prison warden,' he added disparagingly.
'I'm sorry.' Merlyn turned to give the other woman a sympathetic grimace as she gasped her outrage at his insulting tone. 'He doesn't really mean to be rude—'
'Don't I?' he grated, turning to face the gaping nurse while swinging the door open for Merlyn at the same time. 'We're leaving now,' he challenged. 'Both of us!'
The nurse was galvanised into action. 'If Miss Summers is choosing to discharge herself there are certain papers that have to be signed, and—'
'I told you, I'll be back,' Merlyn called out to the other woman as the door swung shut behind them. 'You were a little hard on her, Christopher,' she scolded as he helped her into the passenger seat of his car. 'She was only trying to do her job—'
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