The Angel Tree

by Lucinda Riley

  Despairingly, David stood up, knowing he could be of little help. He watched from a distance as Greta was placed gently on a stretcher. Then he saw Cheska, standing alone under a street light a little way off. He walked over to her.

  ‘Cheska,’ he said quietly, but she didn’t respond. ‘Cheska.’ He put an arm around her shoulders. ‘It’s all right. Uncle David’s here.’

  Cheska looked up at him, her eyes registering a glimmer of recognition.

  ‘What happened? I—’ She gave a small shake of her head and looked around her as if trying to remember where she was. ‘Mummy? Where’s Mummy?’ Cheska’s eyes searched the street in desperation.

  ‘Cheska, I—’ He pointed at the ambulance.

  She pulled away from David and ran towards it. Greta was lying on the stretcher beside it whilst the ambulance crew prepared to put her inside. Her face had the colour and glassy appearance of white porcelain. Cheska let out a scream, hurled herself onto the stretcher and put her arms round Greta’s limp body.

  ‘Mummy! Mummy! I didn’t mean it, I didn’t mean it! Oh God! No!’

  David stood behind Cheska, as he listened to her muttering into Greta’s chest, then sobbing hysterically. He knelt down and tried to pull her away, but she clung on, her words muffled.

  ‘Come on, Cheska. Come on, sweetheart. We have to let them take Mummy to the hospital.’

  Cheska turned to David, a look of raw anguish on her face. Then she fainted in his arms.

  31

  In the days after the accident David shuttled between Greta in the intensive care unit and Cheska on a female medical ward at St Thomas’s Hospital, in a hellish blur of anxiety.

  After Cheska had fainted in the street that dreadful night, David had little choice but to stay with her, despite being frantic with worry about Greta. One of the ambulance crew had stayed behind to attend to Cheska but, as she was being examined, she came to and began screaming at the top of her lungs, then gabbling incoherently about ghosts and witches and coffins. She lashed out wildly at David when he tried to calm her. Eventually, the ambulanceman had no option but to sedate her whilst they waited for another ambulance to arrive.

  Once he’d seen Cheska settled and sleeping on the ward, David had asked the nurse where he’d find Greta. Panic clutching at his heart, he took the lift to Intensive Care, not knowing whether she was alive or dead. He was informed that she was currently in a coma and that her condition was critical but stable. Visitors were out of the question.

  For hours there had been nothing he could do but pace up and down the corridor, anxiously questioning various medical personnel as they bustled in and out. They could tell him nothing, except to repeat that Greta was seriously ill.

  It was two days – during which the doctors remained tight-lipped about her condition – before he was allowed in to see her. The first sight of her, rigged up to a bank of machines, tubes protruding from her mouth and nose, her face swollen and bruised, made him weep.

  ‘Please be all right, my darling,’ he whispered to her over and over again, as he sat at her bedside. ‘Please, Greta, come back to me.’

  ‘Ah, Mr Marchmont.’ The consultant stood up and shook David by the hand. ‘I’m Doctor Neville. Please, take a seat. I gather you’re a relative of Greta’s?’

  ‘Yes, I am, I suppose, by marriage. She’s also a very close friend.’

  ‘Then I can tell you what we know so far. When she was hit by the car she suffered a badly fractured femur and severe trauma to her skull that has caused her to slip into a comatose state. It’s obviously the head injury that’s of the greatest concern, particularly as Greta has not yet regained consciousness, even fleetingly.’

  ‘But surely she’ll wake up eventually?’

  ‘We’re running tests, but I’m afraid there’s nothing conclusive to report yet. If we don’t find anything, we may transfer her to the brain injury unit at Addenbrooke’s Hospital in Cambridge for further assessment.’

  ‘So what’s the prognosis at this stage, doctor?’

  ‘As far as we can tell, we’re in no danger of losing her, if that’s what you mean. Her vital signs are encouraging and we’re now confident there’s no internal bleeding. As to the coma, well . . . only time will tell. I’m sorry.’

  David left the doctor’s office with conflicting emotions. He was passionately relieved that Greta was out of danger but devastated by the possible ramifications the doctor had described. He didn’t know which was worse – the thought that Greta might never wake up or that, if she did, her brain might be so damaged that her life would be untenable anyway.

  Later that afternoon he made his way wearily upstairs for his daily visit to Cheska. As usual, she didn’t acknowledge him but continued to lie motionless on the bed staring at a spot on the ceiling.

  David tried everything to elicit some response from her, but there was none.

  The glassy, staring eyes haunted him whenever he closed his own to snatch a few minutes’ sleep in the visitors’ waiting room. The hospital consultant had told him that Cheska was in a catatonic state, caused, he thought, by the emotional trauma she had suffered when she’d witnessed her mother’s accident.

  The following week a still-comatose Greta was transferred to Addenbrooke’s Hospital. David was told it was best if the doctors spent a few days assessing her before he made the journey to see her. They would call him if there was any news.

  Weak from lack of sleep and the sheer physical and emotional strain of tending to the two women he loved, David went home for the first time in days and slept for twenty-four hours. When he returned, refreshed, to see Cheska, her consultant called him into his office.

  ‘Sit down, Mr Marchmont, please.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘I wanted to talk to you about Cheska. We’d presumed when she was admitted that the shock of seeing her mother’s accident would gradually lessen and she would improve. Sadly, so far, that’s not been the case. Mr Marchmont, we are a medical ward and don’t deal with cases such as this. I had our resident psychiatrist in to assess her, and he believes that she needs to be moved to a dedicated psychiatric unit. Especially under the circumstances.’

  ‘And what are they?’

  ‘Cheska’s over two months pregnant.’

  ‘Oh good God!’ David groaned, wondering how much more he could take.

  ‘I presumed you didn’t know and, technically, I am breaking rules of patient privacy in telling you, but as Cheska is in no condition to tell you herself, and her mother is . . . incapacitated, you are the next of kin. I thought it was important for you to be aware of the whole picture.’

  ‘Of course,’ he answered weakly.

  ‘Given the fact that Cheska is a famous face, I’d suggest a discreet private clinic.’

  ‘Is that kind of institution really necessary?’ asked David wearily.

  ‘As Cheska is currently unlikely to respond if anything went wrong, she must be medically supervised during her pregnancy.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘Let me know which part of the country you’d prefer to send her to, and I’ll ask our psychiatrist to make some calls to suitable establishments.’

  ‘Thank you.’ David left the doctor and walked slowly down the corridor, back to Cheska’s bed.

  She was sitting in her chair, staring out of the window. David knelt in front of her and took her hands.

  ‘Cheska, you should have told me. You’re having a baby.’

  Nothing.

  ‘Bobby’s baby.’ Instinct made him say the words.

  Cheska inclined her head slightly towards him. She smiled suddenly.

  ‘Bobby’s baby,’ she repeated.

  David put his head in his hands and wept with relief.

  ‘Is Leon in?’ David asked the receptionist, as he walked purposefully towards the closed office door.

  ‘Yes, but—’

  Leon put down the telephone when David walked in without knocking. ‘Hello David. Merry Christmas! H
ow are Greta and Cheska?’

  David went over to Leon and put his hands on his desk. He leant forward, using his height and powerful frame to the full.

  ‘A little better, but no thanks to you. I want you to tell me whether you knew Cheska was having an affair with Bobby Cross and, if you did, why you didn’t warn her about his marital status?’

  Leon shrank back in his chair. David, usually so good-natured and gentle, seemed positively menacing.

  ‘I . . . I . . .’

  ‘So you did know?’

  ‘Yes, I had a vague idea something was going on.’

  ‘Oh come off it, Leon! Greta told me you called and said Cheska would have to stay down in Brighton for the weekend. Cheska admitted to her mother there was no filming then. You were covering for her, Leon. Why, for God’s sake? You, of all people, know what Bobby’s like!’

  ‘Okay, okay! Sit down, David, please. You look like a hoodlum standing over me like this.’

  David remained standing and folded his arms. ‘I want to know why,’ he repeated.

  ‘Look, I swear I didn’t actively encourage the relationship, although I know Charles Day wanted to because of the film. Cheska was having problems making the transition from the kind of little-girl parts she’d played, and Charles thought a pleasant romance with her co-star wouldn’t do her any harm, in fact would help her mature a little. And it certainly helped her performance. You should see the rushes. Cheska’s fantastic!’

  David stared down at Leon in disgust. ‘So you’re telling me that for the sake of getting a couple of decent close-ups you helped Charles push an emotionally immature teenage girl – still legally underage, I might add – into the arms of a married man whose reputation stinks even more than your morals?! For Christ’s sake, Leon! I knew business always comes first with you, but I didn’t realise you were completely ruthless!’

  Leon waved his hands in David’s direction. ‘Oh come on, it was a little fling, that’s all. They probably had a kiss and a cuddle, nothing more. Sure, she’s not quite of age, but what difference does a few months make? You’ve been in show business long enough to know that this kind of thing happens all the time. What could I have done? Forbid Cheska to see Bobby? It had started way before I arrived in Brighton. I’m sure there’s no real harm done.’

  ‘No harm done?’ David shook his head in despair. ‘How can you be so bloody naive? Apart from anything else, Cheska has fallen in love with Bobby.’

  ‘She’ll get over that. We all have to fall in love for the first time.’

  ‘It’s not quite as simple as that, Leon. I can only guess, but I think part of the reason Cheska is in hospital in a catatonic state is because her mother told her Bobby Cross is married.’

  Leon leant forward. ‘You know, that’s always been the problem with Cheska. She’s been so mollycoddled and protected by Greta that she’s never had to face reality, or make her own decisions and—’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak about Greta like that!’ David leant menacingly over the desk once more, his hands itching to grasp Leon by the throat and wipe the self-satisfied smile from his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, David, really. That was thoughtless, given the circumstances. What I was trying to say was that Cheska is growing up. She’s going to have to face experiences and learn to deal with them, like anyone else. She’s had a bad time in the past few weeks. But she’ll get over Bobby. I’m sure she will.’

  ‘She might have done, of course, if she didn’t happen to be pregnant by him.’

  ‘Oh Jesus!’

  David finally sat down. Silence filled the room as Leon took in the enormity of what he’d just been told.

  ‘I’m sorry, David. I just . . . dammit! I never thought—’

  ‘I’m sure you did, Leon. And chose to ignore the possible conclusions because it suited you to do so.’

  ‘Is she going to keep it?’

  ‘Cheska’s in no fit state to make a rational decision at the moment. She’s being moved in two days’ time to a private nursing home near Monmouth where she can recover properly and in peace.’

  ‘I see. I’ll have a word with Charles Day and see if the studio will cover the costs of the place while Cheska recuperates. Under the circumstances, I think it’s the least they can do.’

  ‘I hardly care about that, but I want you to get in touch with that idiot of a client of yours and tell him the news. You do know he could be prosecuted for what he’s done to my niece, don’t you?’

  ‘Christ, David! Surely you wouldn’t take it that far? Apart from anything else, it would ruin Cheska’s reputation as well as Bobby’s.’

  ‘Where is the slimy little shit?’

  ‘Somewhere abroad, taking a private holiday with his . . . wife and kids.’ Leon lowered his gaze in embarrassment. ‘He never tells anyone where he’s going. Not even me.’

  ‘When is he back?’

  ‘Sometime next month. He’s due to record an album before he starts rehearsals for his season at the Palladium.’

  ‘You wouldn’t lie to me, would you, Leon?’

  ‘Good God, David! Just remember that Cheska is my client, too, and she happens to be worth far more to me than Bobby. Not to mention your good self, of course. When he gets back I swear I’ll tell him straight away. I don’t hold out much hope, though. Mind you, pregnant or not, Cheska’s better off without him. She could have the baby adopted or something, couldn’t she?’

  ‘Thinking of business again, are we, Leon?’ David spat scornfully.

  ‘Look, I swear I’ll do anything I can to help. I’m as horrified as you. And how’s Greta?’

  ‘Still the same.’ David’s eyes filled with sudden pain.

  ‘Well, please send her my love.’

  ‘She won’t return it, Leon, as you know.’

  ‘What are the doctors saying?’

  ‘I hardly think you’re interested, so I won’t waste my breath telling you.’ He stood up. ‘But what I will tell you is that I’m dispensing with your services as my agent, with immediate effect.’

  David turned and left the room before Leon could respond.

  The day before Christmas Eve Cheska was transferred by ambulance to the Medlin Psychiatric Hospital just a few miles outside Monmouth. David followed by car and arrived to find LJ already waiting in reception. After a long phone conversation with his mother, who was desperate to support her son in any way she could, LJ had insisted that she would oversee the care of Cheska whilst David concentrated on being with Greta.

  The Medlin Hospital could have been a hotel. It was a fine Georgian building, set in beautiful grounds, and the entrance hall and other communal rooms had the feel of a smart country house. The patients’ rooms were small but tastefully furnished and homely. After ensuring Cheska was as comfortable as she could be, David and LJ left her in her room with a nurse and followed the receptionist to the chief psychiatrist’s office.

  ‘Good afternoon. I’m John Cox.’ The grey-haired man smiled warmly as he shook hands with David and LJ. ‘Do please sit down. Now, I have Cheska’s case notes from the hospital but I do want to find out some background information to give me the bigger picture. Do you mind?’

  ‘Not at all,’ replied David, with a reassuring nod to his mother.

  ‘Right, I’d like to go back to the beginning. Where was she born?’

  David answered the questions as best he could, finding it painful to remember the past.

  ‘So she went into films when she was four years old?’ asked Dr Cox.

  ‘Yes. I never approved of it, personally,’ sniffed LJ.

  ‘I rather agree. It’s a lot of pressure for one so young. Tell me, has she had any problems of a similar nature before this that either of you know about?’

  LJ bit her lip before answering. ‘Well, there was one time . . .’ She hesitated when she saw the quizzical look on David’s face, but decided she must continue. ‘It was when Cheska came to stay with me at Marchmont, when she was still very young. One evening I f
ound her in the old nursery, mutilating a teddy bear.’

  ‘Come now, Ma,’ interjected David. ‘Isn’t “mutilating” a bit strong? You’ve never mentioned this before and surely all children are sometimes careless with their toys?’

  ‘You didn’t see her face, David,’ said LJ quietly. ‘It was almost . . . maniacal.’

  The psychiatrist nodded and made notes on his pad before continuing.

  ‘So, from Cheska’s hospital notes, I see she witnessed her mother’s accident?’

  ‘Yes, we believe so, anyway,’ said David. ‘At the very least, she arrived on the scene only moments after.’

  ‘I see. Does she remember anything else about that night?’

  ‘I honestly don’t know,’ said David. ‘She didn’t utter a word in the first few days after the accident, and since she started talking again she’s never mentioned it. We haven’t wanted to bring it up in case it upsets her. Her mother is still in a coma.’

  ‘Well, often it’s best to be honest with patients like Cheska. If the subject arises, there’s no need to avoid talking about her mother, within reason of course.’

  David and LJ nodded.

  ‘Anything else you’d like to add that you think may be of help?’

  ‘Well, you obviously know from her notes that she’s pregnant. And very much in love with the father of the baby. But, unfortunately, he is never likely to shoulder the responsibility,’ added David.

  ‘Poor Cheska. No wonder she’s having problems. Well, thank you very much, Mr Marchmont, Mrs Marchmont, for all this information. Cheska will be having an hour’s therapy every day. I’ll need to be able to judge her grasp of reality. Do you think she acknowledges that she is pregnant, for example?’

  ‘Definitely,’ confirmed David.

  ‘Well, that’s a step in the right direction. Leave it with me, and we’ll see how we go.’

  ‘Where are you going? You’re not leaving me?’ A look of horror crossed Cheska’s face as David kissed her cheek. John Cox was standing discreetly a few feet behind David, keen to observe the exchange between the two of them.

  ‘The doctors want you to stay here so they can keep an eye on you and the baby,’ said David gently. ‘It’ll only be for a little while, I promise.’