Just Another Miracle!

by Caroline Anderson

‘But I need—’

  ‘Tough,’ Poppy snapped, her patience at an end. ‘Either make the decision alone, or wait for James. Just now he needs to be left alone.’

  ‘Ignorant girl,’ Helen muttered, just as the connection was severed with a crash. Poppy rubbed her ear and glared at the phone. Ignorant, indeed! Helen was the ignorant one—ignorant of the children’s needs, of James’s needs, manipulating and engineering time with him at the expense of his family life—

  Poppy stormed through into the kitchen, ripped open the cupboard doors and emptied the contents out all over the floor. Banishing Bridie to her bed, she attacked the cupboards, restacked them and then started on the wall units.

  Two hours later the kitchen was gleaming inside and out, and Poppy was still seething a little. Had Helen tried to contact James at the hospital? Probably.

  ‘Damn her!’ Poppy growled, and stomped across to the drawing room. While William was safely asleep she’d finish the curtains and rehang them, and the room would be as good as finished—not that James would appreciate it, considering what had happened to George while she’d been busy in there.

  She had the cordless phone with her and kept looking at it, willing it to ring. Should she call the hospital and ask how George was? She didn’t like to disturb them by making the phone ring on the quiet ward in the middle of the night, but the suspense was killing her.

  She’d just put the curtains aside and was reaching for the phone when it rang anyway. She grabbed it, her heart in her mouth.

  ‘Poppy? It’s James.’

  She swallowed. ‘How is he?’ she forced herself to ask, afraid to hear the answer.

  ‘OK. Better. They’ve done a scan and there’s no sign of haemorrhage or anything untoward. No swelling, nothing to concern them at all, and apart from feeling a little bit sick he seems fine. He’s asleep now.’

  Poppy couldn’t speak. Her throat was clogged with tears, her whole body was shaking and she thought she was about to collapse.

  ‘Poppy? Are you still there?’

  She sat down on the sofa with a plonk. ‘Yes—yes, I’m still here.’

  ‘They’re going to review him in the morning but they’ll probably let him home before lunch.’

  ‘Good. Do you want me to come and relieve you in the morning so you can get to work?’

  ‘Work?’ he said incredulously, as if she’d suggested he might want to go and catch some foul disease. ‘Poppy, there’s no way I’m leaving his side until he’s back to normal. I’ll bring him home and stay with him and William until they’ve both recovered.’

  Poppy couldn’t have been more surprised if he’d told her he was going to live on the moon. What had happened to the father who had never had time for his sons? Had she really managed to get through to him, or was it the threat to one of his sons that had finally reached him and made him realise how precious they were?

  Whatever the reason, he seemed to have finally got there, and Poppy could only be grateful for the boys’ sake. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, then,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Yes. How’s William?’

  ‘Fine. Sleeping.’

  ‘Good. Any calls?’

  ‘Helen. She was gomg to ring you. I tried to talk her out of it.’

  There was a second or two of silence, as if she’d said something unexpected, and then he repeated that he’d see her in the morning and put the phone down.

  She sat looking at the receiver blankly for a moment. Had James disapproved of her trying to put Helen off? She sighed heavily. ‘I don’t know, I can’t do right for doing wrong,’ she muttered under her breath, and went back to her curtains.

  It was nearly three o‘clock in the morning before she finished them and hung them up, but it was worth it. They looked wonderful, and the room was now complete except for the carpet, which was being cleaned and repaired at a specialist cleaners before being delivered.

  Tired but still not sleepy, she made herself a drink and went up and checked William again before going into her flat and leaving the doors open, as she did when James was away.

  At four-thirty, when she was still restlessly fidgeting, William crept into bed beside her and snuggled into her arms. ‘My head hurts,’ he whispered.

  ‘Does it, darling? I’m sorry.’ She kissed his brow gently, just beside the stitches, and snuggled him even closer. ‘Want me to tell you a story?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  So Poppy, ever the storyteller, invented a story about a little boy called William who went on an adventure and found he’d got a twin.

  ‘And they all lived happily ever after,’ she finished.

  ‘Is that all?’ he mumbled.

  ‘Mmm. Go back to sleep, I’ve got you.’

  ‘How’s George?’ he asked round a yawn.

  ‘George is fine. Your father rang to say they’ll probably be home in the morning.’

  ‘Good. I miss him,’ William mumbled sleepily, and, snuggling into Poppy’s arms, he fell asleep.

  Bridie crept onto the bed, curled into a ball against Poppy’s feet and immediately started to snore, and within seconds Poppy, too, had fallen heavily asleep.

  That was how James found them at seven-thirty when he came home to shower and change. He had gone into William’s bedroom and found him missing, and blind panic had sent him racing for Poppy’s room, only to find his son there curled up asleep in Poppy’s arms, the dog sprawled across the foot of the bed, tail wagging a welcome.

  Relief sapped his strength and he sagged against the doorframe and scrubbed a hand over his eyes. He hadn’t slept all night, and his worry about George had been peppered with anger at Poppy and anger at the boys. She should have been with them, but equally they should have obeyed her, and if they hadn’t that was probably his fault for bringing them up wrong.

  Hence he was also angry with himself, and the boiling cauldron of emotion was killing him.

  It was killing Poppy, too, he could see that. Her cheeks were streaked with tearstains, and he felt a pang of guilt for the way he’d spoken to her last night.

  Ah, well. Nobody was perfect. He gave William one last lingering look to reassure himself that he was all right, then, shouldering himself away from the doorframe, he went through into his bedroom, tugged off his clothes and went into the bathroom.

  The shower was hot, pelting him with scalding rain that washed away the fears and emotions of the night and left him feeling clean inside and out. He shut off the spray, snagged a towel from the towel rail and rubbed himself briskly dry, then went through into the bedroom to find some fresh clothes.

  He had taken one step before he came to a grinding halt.

  Poppy, sleep-rumpled and delectable, was perched on the edge of his big, high bed, her red-rimmed eyes widening at the sight of him. Soft colour flooded her cheeks as she turned away, and he hooked the dressing gown off the back of his bedroom door and shrugged into it, then went over and sat beside her.

  ‘How is he?’ she asked quietly, her voice subdued.

  ‘Fine. Sleeping peacefully. I’m going back in a minute. How’s William?’

  ‘He couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Nor could I.’

  Poppy gave him a shaky smile. ‘Me neither.’ Her fin.. gers twisted into a knot in her lap. ‘James, I’m so sorry—’

  He laid a hand over the tangle of fingers and squeezed gently. ‘It’s just one of those things, Poppy. George told me you’d ordered them to stay away from the woods. He said it was all his own fault—’

  ‘He’s eight,’ she said, her voice anguished. ‘How can he be expected to obey when faced with such temptation? They love the woods. They go in there whenever I’ll let them. I should have realised it wasn’t fair to trust them—’

  ‘Poppy, stop it. There’s no real harm done—’

  ‘How can you say that?’ she whispered wildly, turning her face up to his. Her eyes were huge, drenched with tears she was struggling not to shed, and James gave in to the urge and pulled her into his arms.r />
  ‘Hush, sweetheart,’ he murmured, and then the stiffness went out of her spine and she sagged against him, shaken with sobs she’d held m for hours.

  After a few seconds she pulled away, though, scrubbing her cheeks with her hands, and he passed her a tissue. She stood up, walking away from him, and mopped herself up. ‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. Then she turned to him, her eyes like rain-drenched comflowers in her pale face.

  ‘So do you want me to leave?’ she asked quietly.

  ‘No. Perhaps I’m just talking myself into it because I want you here, but I honestly believe it was a genuine accident and that you didn’t do anything wrong. It was just as likely to have happened with me looking after them.’

  ‘But it was me, not you. That must be different.’

  ‘Maybe. Whatever, it was a genuine mistake. I’m sure it won’t happen again and anyway the boys need you.’ I need you, he nearly added, but stopped himself in time. He didn’t want to confuse the issue, and his emotions were strung out enough without adding to his problems.

  ‘However,’ he went on after a moment, ‘I think it might be a good idea if you went home for a couple of days. I have to go to Birniingham again this weekend and I’ll need you to cover for me then, so if you wouldn’t mind having the time off in lieu, as I’ll be here to look after the boys...’

  She turned towards him, arms wrapped defensively round her waist, and nodded. ‘Of course. I’ll go when you get back with George.’

  She looked so lost and small he wanted to drag her into his arms. Bad move. His libido, ever active despite the lack of sleep, was kicking into gear at the sight of her in that skimpy nightshirt, her hair tousled and her bottom lip soft and full and somehow vulnerable. He had to get her out of here, and fast, he thought, before he lost it totally and did something stupid, like drag her into the middle of his bed and make love to her till she wept for mercy.

  ‘You can go now,’ he said, a little curtly. ‘I’ll take William in with me—George misses him. If you could wake him up, you can go as soon as you like.’

  Confusion flickered in her eyes, and then with a brisk nod she turned and all but ran out of the room, leaving him restless and dissatisfied and pricked by his conscience...

  She didn’t understand. One minute he was holding her and soothing her, the next he was sending her home as if he couldn’t stand the sight of her. She woke William gently, sent him into his room to get ready and threw some clothes into a case. She had to get out now, before her control slipped again and she howled her eyes out all over him.

  ‘Off now?’ he said from the doorway.

  ‘Mmm. When do you want—when should I come back?’ she amended quickly.

  ‘Friday morning? I’ll take the rest of the week off, but I’ll need to pop into the office on Friday before we go away.’

  ‘Fine.’ She looked anywhere but at him, grabbing her case and heading for the door. He stopped her just as she was about to squeeze past him.

  ‘Don’t blame yourself,’ he said softly.

  But she did, and she couldn’t stay and argue the toss with him any longer because her eyes were about to leak and she was losing her grip fast.

  ‘Give George my love,’ she mumbled, and shot past him, down the stairs and out of the back door before he could stop her again, Bridie at her heels. She went home, threw herself into her mother’s arms and howled, then, over a cup of tea and homemade gingerbread, she poured out all that had happened.

  ‘You do realise it’s not your fault?’ her mother said sagely. ‘When I think of the things your brothers got up to—still get up to! You can’t be everywhere at once, and if James asked you to do the drawing room then he can’t complain that you were doing it.’

  ‘I should have done it when I knew they were inside—’

  ‘And they should have done as they were told. Poppy, it’s a lesson learned, for all of you, and no harm’s been done.’

  Except to my relationship with James, Poppy thought, but said nothing to her mother, who saw far too much as it was. Instead she ate her gingerbread, licked her sticky fingers and curled them round the pretty mug, propping her forehead against the welcome warmth.

  ‘Why aren’t I a shop assistant?’ she mumbled. ’Or a forensic pathologist, even better. They’d all be dead, already, then, and it wouldn’t matter.’

  Her mother laughed and hugged her, and she dramed her tea and went out to visit Hector, now hugely grown and bouncing with health. Poppy wandered through the barn and remembered James kissing her there amongst the animals, and how cosy and right it had felt. He had kissed her upstairs that night, too, and, if they had been anywhere other than under her parents’ roof, she knew the kiss wouldn’t have ended where it had. Perhaps if it hadn’t, if they’d been lovers by now, he wouldn’t have sent her away.

  She hugged her waist, trying to smother the pain his words had caused. Not the words even, really, but the tone, the way he’d looked away from her as if he couldn’t even bear to have her in his sight. He’d tried to be fair and kind, but obviously his gut feeling was that he didn’t want her around.

  She was shocked by how much that hurt.

  The next few days passed slowly, but then Friday morning came and she opened her eyes and felt the chill of judgement day creep over her. She arrived back at nine and let herself in through the back door, Bridie at her heels. They found James in the hall, emerging from the library to greet them. The light was behind him and Poppy couldn’t see his eyes clearly.

  ‘Hi,’ she said. Her voice sounded strained and unnaturally dead. ‘Where are the boys?’

  ‘I took them to school—the GP said they were fine,’ he told her.

  Poppy’s doubts surged to the surface. Perhaps he’d sent them back to school so they wouldn’t be here when he told her to leave. Maybe he wanted her to pack her case and be gone before they got home—

  ‘Poppy?’

  She looked up at him, still unable to read his eyes. ‘Yes?’

  ‘You did the drawing room.’

  Here we go, she thought, and readied herself for the blow. ‘Yes, I did—’

  ‘It’s beautiful.’

  Her jaw sagged a little. ‘Aren’t you angry? I was doing it when George fell—I thought you’d be so furious about that that you’d hate it.’

  He smiled slightly. ‘No. No, I’m not furious,. Not any more. I talked to the boys at some length, and they were adamant it was their own fault and they disobeyed you. I just want to forget all about it, Poppy.’

  She stared at him in astonishment. ‘You don’t want me to leave?’

  He looked down at his hands, studying them thoughtfully for a moment. ‘Of course not,’ he murmured. ‘Poppy, I never wanted you to leave.’

  ‘But I thought—you seemed so angry.’

  ‘Poppy, forget it. It’s all over—and I love what you’ve done in the drawing room. The only problem is the carpet. It came yesterday, and I’ve put it down, but I’m not sure if it’s in the right place.’

  He dropped his arm casually around her shoulders and led her into the drawing room, then released her and asked her what she thought.

  She couldn’t think. She was speechless, still trapped by the feel of his arm around her, even though it was gone. She forced herself to concentrate on the antique carpet he had set between the chairs and sofas in the centre of the room, exactly as she would have done.

  ‘It’s perfect. It looks lovely. Are you pleased with it?’

  ‘I’m pleased with all of it. It’s wonderful—warm and colourful and welcoming. Thank you, Poppy.’

  And with that he drew her gently into his arms and kissed her lightly on the lips.

  Her breath jammed in her throat, and as he lifted his head she looked up into the mellow green-gold of his eyes. Something flickered in them briefly, and then his lids grew heavy and his mouth met hers again hungrily.

  ‘Poppy,’ he said raggedly, and then, gathering her closer into his arms, he pulled her hard up against him so
she could feel every rib against hers, every shift of his chest, every beat of his heart. One hand shd down her back and eased her hips closer, and a shock wave of desire crashed through her.

  Now, she thought. Please, James, no—

  He lifted his head and propped it against hers, his breath brushing against her face in broken shudders. ‘I have to go,’ he muttered, and eased away from her.

  A soft moan of regret escaped from her chest, and he swallowed hard. ‘Poppy, don’t. I have to be in Birmingham by lunchtime, and it’s ten now and I’ve still got to go to the office.’ He closed his eyes and hugged her briefly, then let her go and turned away. ‘I’ll see you on Sunday evening,’ he said in a strangled voice, and then strode across the hall, picked up a case from by the door and let himself out without a backward glance.

  He rang on Saturday evening about seven-thirty, and her pulse rocketed.

  ‘Hi,’ she said softly.

  ‘His. How are the boys?’

  ‘Fine,’ she assured him. ‘George is still quite tired, but William is definitely up and running. I’m afraid they’re in bed now, if you were ringing to speak to them.’

  ‘No, actually, I wanted to talk to you,’ he told her, and her stupid heart started racing again. Was he calling to chat to her? It seemed not, despite the eager response of her heart. No, what he was calling for was to ask if she had any plans for the following weekend.

  ‘Not particularly. Why?’ she asked.

  ‘I’d like to entertain this lot—put them up at a hotel nearby, but give them dinner on Saturday at home. Now the drawing room’s done I feel I don’t mind entertaining, but I didn’t want to ask them if you didn’t feel you could cope.’

  ‘Cope?’ She swallowed. ‘What do you want me to do?’

  ‘Act as my hostess. Cook, if you feel you can, or arrange caterers if you’d rather—just generally be there to give me moral support during the evening.’

  ‘Moral support? You mean, be there with your guests—eat with you and things?’

  He laughed softly. ‘Of course—Poppy, I’m not asking you to be a domestic assistant. I’m asking you to be there at my side and help me entertain these executives.’