by Penny Jordan
‘Damn, damn!’ she swore crossly. ‘I didn’t mean to burden you with all this. I’ve already wept once all over Simon, and I promised myself then that my crying was done, but you see, I still love Mel just as much as I did when we were first married, only now instead of being an equal partner in our marriage I feel that I’m excess baggage, a burden Mel has to carry. Every time I see him looking at another woman I’m eaten up with jealousy, wondering if she’s the one who’s going to take him from me.’
India put down the knife and went over to the figure bent over the mixing bowl.
‘No one is going to take him from you,’ she said firmly. ‘Come and sit down. Now, Mel would be a fool to give up a wife like you for the chimera of middle-aged romance, and I’m sure he’s sensible enough to realise that for himself. My mother once went through an experience similar to yours—worse, in fact, because there was another woman, but unlike wives today, she didn’t give up, she hung on. It’s only since I’ve grown up myself that I’ve realised what that must have cost her in terms of pride—and she was a very proud woman, and a very brave one, but in the end it was worth it—and I believe my father thought so too. Wait until the baby arrives,’ she said softly. ‘I’ll bet Mel will be over the moon. After all, what better boost could there be to his ego, and you could always remind him that a baby in the house keeps its parents young.’
‘I’ll try and bear that in mind,’ Alison laughed shakily, ‘although if this one is anything like the other two, he’ll make us both feel very, very old! Neither of them let us have a full night’s sleep for two whole months.’
Glad that she had been able to divert Alison’s thoughts, if only marginally, India gestured to the French dressing. ‘That looks delicious, and I don’t know about you, but I’m hungry!’
Nothing more was said about Mel over lunch, and India found herself saying a silent prayer for Alison’s happiness. It was as they were drinking their coffee that she noticed Alison tense suddenly with pain, her face draining of colour.
‘Indigestion,’ she said with a laugh. ‘Serves me right for being greedy and eating so much of that quiche.’
‘It was delicious,’ India agreed. ‘Look, why don’t you go upstairs and lie down for a little while? I’ll see to everything down here, and then in an hour or so I’ll make us both a drink.’
‘You’re spoiling me,’ Alison protested, but India noticed that she was still tense, her face almost grey beneath her make-up, and alarm began to feather along her own nerve endings. Not wanting to alarm Alison, she said casually, ‘Look, why don’t I give your doctor a ring?’
‘Why? Look, I’m six months pregnant, not nine, and besides, I’ve had enough experience to tell indigestion from labour pains. All the same, I think I will go and lie down for a while if you don’t mind. The doctor did tell me I ought to try and rest.’
‘So you start climbing ladders and cleaning windows,’ India said dryly. ‘I’ll bring you a cup of tea up in an hour.’
It took her almost that to wash up, tidy the kitchen and glance through the paper she found on the pine dresser, and in all that time there was no sound from upstairs.
At three o’clock she brewed a pot of tea and poured a cup out for Alison, knocking gently on her bedroom door before opening it and tiptoeing in.
Alison wasn’t asleep, but the moment she saw her, all thoughts of tea and a cosy chat fled, and India rushed across to the double bed, barely noticing the attractive Laura Ashley furnishings and the pleasant ambience of a room which was homely and attractive, rather than glamorous.
Alison was leaning back against the pillows, her face strained and pale, perspiration beading her forehead.
‘Alison, are you all right?’
She shook her head, her fingers curling round India’s wrist and digging painfully into the soft flesh.
‘The baby,’ she whispered painfully. ‘India, I think something’s gone wrong with the baby…’ She winced as a sudden spasm of pain racked her, biting down hard on her bottom lip. ‘Doctor’s number in telephone book,’ she managed to get out before falling back against the pillows in a dead faint.
To India’s relief she found the doctor’s number without the slightest difficulty, clearly indexed under ‘doctor’, and when she rang the surgery number the crisp, efficient tones of the receptionist were immediately reassuring.
‘Mrs Taylor, you say?’ the woman enquired briskly, clicking her tongue. ‘I’ll put you through to Dr Jenner—she’s his patient.’
There was a second’s pause, when India fretted with impatience, not daring to put down the phone to rush upstairs to check on Alison, every second’s delay seeming to last a lifetime, but at last she heard the calm unflurried male tones of the doctor, who listened as she explained jerkily what had happened.
‘And you say when you arrived she was up a ladder cleaning her windows? These lassies will never learn! I’ll be right there. Try to help her to relax… Tell her I’m on my way.’
From his accent India guessed that Dr Jenner was from the Border country, and feeling reassured by his calm manner, she replaced the receiver and went back upstairs to Alison.
Her reassurance disappeared the moment she entered the bedroom and saw Alison’s still, swollen body, huge mauve shadows under eyes set in a face suddenly far too pale and fragile-looking. India’s heart skipped a beat, and all at once she longed for Simon’s reassuring presence. Almost went downstairs to ring him, but then she reminded herself that he was in London, possibly in an important meeting, and that nothing could be achieved by alarming him unnecessarily.
It seemed a lifetime before the doctor’s mud-stained Ford pulled up outside the front door. India heard the car and rushed to the window, just in time to see a lean, fair-haired man emerging from the car, a battered black bag in one hand as he hurried up the path, his shoulders and back bowed in the perpetual stoop that most medical men seem to possess.
India flew downstairs to let him in, her face nearly as pale as Alison’s as she opened the door.
‘Aye, well, let’s take a look at her, then,’ he said to India. ‘Silly lassie, I warned her not to have another bairn, but having done so she should have had more sense than to overdo things.’
He seemed to know his way about the house and India remained behind while he went upstairs. He seemed to be gone for an age. When he eventually returned his face was grave.
‘I’ll have to ring for an ambulance,’ he told India briefly. ‘She’s come into premature labour—still in the first stages, thank God. I warned her she might not be able to carry this child full term. Do you know where we can get in touch with her husband? It might be necessary to operate and we’ll need his consent. You’ll travel to the hospital with her, I hope; I’ve given her something to bring her round and she’ll be glad of a familiar face when she does.’
As it happened India did know the number of Mel’s office in Edinburgh, and offered to ring him, after Dr Jenner had rung for the ambulance, a numbing feeling of unreality enveloping her as she dialled Mel’s number. His secretary answered the phone. When India asked for Mel, she enquired who was calling, telling India that Mel was in a meeting.
‘I wonder if you can get a message to him,’ India began, clutching the receiver. ‘His wife… She’s had to go to hospital—a problem with the baby. Dr Jenner would like him to return home if that’s possible,’ she added, earning a nod of approval from the doctor, who was filling a hypodermic needle from a phial he had removed from his bag.
‘I’ll make sure he gets the message,’ the girl told India, ‘even if I have to interrupt the meeting. Before I go in I’ll just check on flight times. May I know who’s calling, please?’
India gave her name and rang off.
‘Good girl! Now I want your help upstairs,’ Dr Jenner told her. ‘I want to try and give Alison this injection. It will help to stabilise her condition, and might, with a bit of luck, help to control the contractions until we can get her into hospital.’
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bsp; Alison came round as Dr Jenner was giving her the injection, looking first at him and then at India, her eyes dark and worried.
‘Well, you have been a foolish creature, haven’t you?’ Dr Jenner told her. ‘But don’t worry, everything’s under control. It was fine lucky for you that this young lady was with you, we’ll have you in St Margaret’s in two shakes of a lamb’s tail.’
‘And the baby?’
Dr Jenner had turned away, opening his case deftly to replace the hypodermic, but India was sure she had not imagined the faint pause before he replied, his voice light and reassuring, as he told Alison not to worry about a thing.
Ten minutes later the ambulance arrived, two efficient ambulance men lifting Alison carefully on to a stretcher and carrying her downstairs. When Dr Jenner made to follow them India caught hold of his sleeve, her throat dry with tension as she asked him huskily, ‘Will Alison be all right, doctor, and the baby?’
‘I don’t know. I’m not God, I’m afraid. Alison has a chance, a good chance, but the baby…’ He shook his head, ‘It will be just under four months premature—dangerous enough in a young, healthy mother, but Alison is neither of those. St Margaret’s has an excellent prem. unit, and the staff there are used to dealing with gynae complications, but in the case where a decision of life or death has to be made… I hope that girl manages to get through to her husband, and that he gets here soon.’
Nothing more was said, but it was what was left unsaid that lay heavily on India’s heart as she followed the stretcher out to the ambulance.
It seemed as though the journey to the hospital would never end, but at last their journey was over and India was trying to keep pace with the stretcher as it was whisked inside and into a lift which bore them upwards to a gleaming, quiet ward. Not until she saw the sign flashing overhead did India realise that they had reached their destination and that Alison was now in the safest and most capable hands.
‘I’ll get someone to bring you a cup of tea,’ the kindly Sister told India.
‘But Alison…’
‘There’s nothing you can do for her now,’ she was told kindly but firmly. ‘Dr Jenner asked me to tell you that all we can do for now is wait. Labour may stop of its own accord. If it does, all well and good.’
‘And if it doesn’t?’ India asked fearfully, but she didn’t need to hear the answer. Dr Jenner had already told her that in order to save Alison the ordeal of a protracted and potentially dangerous labour they would have to operate, and that the baby, so very premature, might not survive such an operation, and yet, when she had come round briefly in the ambulance, Alison had reached for India’s hand, grasping her fingers to say painfully, ‘Don’t let them take any risks with the baby, India—promise me. I feel if anything happens to this baby it will mean the end of our marriage.’
Whether Alison was right or not India didn’t feel qualified to say, but what she did feel was that if she lost the baby Alison might well turn her back on Mel and give up hope of patching up their differences, and knowing how much she loved her husband India knew that if this were to happen Alison would eventually bitterly regret it.
It was nearly an hour before Dr Jenner came to find her. She had glanced through every magazine in the small waiting room, counted the repeat patterns on the wallpaper and endured such a mental anguish she hoped she would never have to endure such an ordeal again.
‘Alison?’ India demanded nervously. ‘Is she…’
‘We haven’t been able to stop the labour pains,’ Dr Jenner told her pragmatically. ‘Her blood pressure is rising dangerously, and if her husband doesn’t arrive soon, we’re going to have to decide whether to operate without his permission.’
‘Alison doesn’t want to lose the baby,’ India told him numbly.
‘She has two healthy children who need her more than they need a brother or a sister,’ Dr Jenner replied, his eyes softening as he perceived India’s white face. ‘I’m sorry, lassie, but we have to face facts. Now where is that man of hers?’
It was a question India was asking herself fifteen minutes later when Dr Jenner had just been in to tell her that if Mel didn’t arrive within a quarter of an hour they were going to have to go ahead and operate.
He refused to allow India to see Alison, explaining that the drugs she had been given had made her drowsy. ‘If you want to do something for her, pray, lassie,’ he told India kindly, ‘for her and her child.’
That was exactly what India was doing ten minutes later, when the door burst open and a dishevelled Mel rushed into the room, his face set and tight with anxiety.
‘Alison?’ he demanded urgently. ‘How is she? Is she…’
‘They want to operate,’ India told him unsteadily, ‘but that may mean that she loses the child, and she’s desperate to keep it, Mel.’
‘To hell with the baby,’ Mel said roughly. ‘Alison is more important to me by far.’
‘Then perhaps you ought to tell her that,’ Dr Jenner suggested softly, opening the door of the small waiting room. ‘She’s come round and has been asking for you.’
‘There’s a baggage porters’ strike on at Heathrow and I had to charter a plane to get me down here,’ Mel explained tersely.
As he disappeared with the doctor, leaving India feeling forlorn and deflated, she could hear him explaining why he had not been able to reach the hospital sooner.
One good thing at least seemed to have come out of the day’s events. One look at Mel’s strained face had been enough to reassure India how he felt about his wife.
Hours seemed to go by, although in reality it could not have been more than thirty minutes before Mel reappeared.
‘They’re operating now,’ he told India gruffly. ‘I’ve told them that I want Alison safe at all costs.’ He dropped down beside India in one of the chairs, his head resting on his hands.
‘Oh God, India!’ he exclaimed in muffled tones. ‘I’ve been such a crass fool! God, when I think what I’ve put Alison through. And she’s never complained… never…’
‘She loves you,’ India told him gently, ‘and you love her, even though your love might have gone into hibernation for a while.’
‘You’re a very nice girl, India Herries,’ he told her with a smile. ‘And I only hope Simon knows what a treasure he’s got for himself. There is one thing I would like to know, though. Were you having an affair with him at the same time…’
‘I met him for the first time on the day I told you that there was no future for us,’ India told him gently. It was after all the truth and would salve Mel’s pride while at the same time betraying nothing of the real circumstances of her own marriage.
To her relief before Mel could question her further, a nurse came rushing in looking distinctly harassed.
‘Mr Taylor,’ she addressed Mel, who got quickly to his feet. ‘Come with me, please.’
After that it seemed an eternity to India before Mel returned, but this time his face was wreathed in smiles.
‘Alison’s fine,’ he told India, ‘and so’s the baby—at least as “fine” as a three-month prem can be. She’s in an incubator. They let me look at her—she’s so tiny… but quite a good weight, so they say, and with a pretty fair chance of surviving, especially as she’s a girl. They’re always stronger.’
‘Does Alison know?’ India asked him softly.
He shook his head. ‘She’s still not come round from the anaesthetic. Come on, I’ll run you home. You look all in. Where’s Simon, by the way? He can’t be too pleased at being deprived of his bride in this way. I must remember to thank him some time.’
‘He doesn’t know. He’s in London—he had to go there last night.’ India explained how she had come to be with Alison, and Mel looked grave, shaking his head slightly.
‘If you hadn’t been there Alison wouldn’t have stood a chance. We’ve both got one hell of a lot to thank you for, India—and not just today. I managed to talk to Alison before they operated, and we’ve both agreed to put the past
behind us and start again.’
‘I think you’ve made the right decision,’ India told him gravely.
He had driven from the local airport in a hired car and India relaxed against the headrest, closing her eyes, trying to cast off the dread and tension which seemed to have grown steadily inside her all day.
When they reached the cottage everything was in darkness, with no sign of the Ferrari.
‘Simon can’t be back yet,’ India told Mel.
‘I’ll see you safely inside, then. And check under the beds, for if you’re anything like Alison—she hates going into a dark house.’
‘Mmm, I’m not over-keen myself,’ India admitted, glad of his protective bulk as he escorted her up the path to the front door, taking her key from her to unlock it and precede her inside, switching on the light as he did so.
‘I don’t suppose you’ve got the energy to make me a cup of tea, have you?’ he asked hesitantly. ‘I haven’t had anything since lunchtime—they offered me a drink at the hospital, but I was too strung up to touch it.’
‘I could do with one myself,’ India admitted, walking into the kitchen and filling the electric kettle.