by Helen Brooks
Piers had been the perfect boyfriend before they’d got wed: charming, amusing, loving, attentive. He hadn’t put a foot wrong and she’d thought she was the luckiest girl in the world. And then they’d tied the knot and even on honeymoon he’d begun to show his true colours. How could anyone ever really know anyone else?
‘They can’t,’ she whispered into her mug of hot chocolate, cupping her hands round its warmth. They can’t, that’s the truth of it. Some things had to be taken on trust and she was all out of that commodity. She couldn’t, she just couldn’t, take the risk.
Wiping her eyes with the back of her hand, she told herself to get a grip. She had a nice job, her own home and she was in good health. Furthermore, she had plenty of friends and was as free as a bird to do what she pleased. She was so lucky.
It didn’t help. It should have, but it didn’t.
After another hour or so of fruitless soul-searching she resolutely switched on the TV. The weather girl was happily warning of severe snowstorms causing major traffic problems, her hands waving like an air hostess as she pointed out the worst-hit areas. It looked worse directly where Willow lived.
Great, Willow thought. Still, she was warm and snug and had plenty of food. Even if she was kept home for a day or two it wouldn’t matter. She sat gazing at the TV screen wondering if Morgan would come round to see if she was all right if they got snowed in. He might, she thought, her heart thudding, before picturing the look on his face when she’d said she didn’t love him. Of course he wouldn’t come. Why would he? Silly to expect it. He might go as far as sending Jim but he wouldn’t come himself. Not now. He’d stay away because he thought she wanted him to.
After another bout of crying she watched an inane comedy, which even the studio audience didn’t seem to find funny judging by the forced laughter, and then made herself more hot chocolate. She had just swallowed two headache pills when her mobile phone rang, causing her heart to jump into her throat.
Her hands trembling, she looked at the number and could have cried again but this time with disappointment. Beth’s mobile. Likely her sister and Peter were out somewhere and checking she was safely at home in view of the weather. She was still faintly annoyed that Beth and Morgan had been having private conversations she’d known nothing about, and her voice was stiff when she said, ‘Hallo, Beth?’
‘It’s me, Peter.’
She knew immediately something was badly wrong; she’d never heard stolid, reliable Peter’s voice shake before.
‘Beth’s had a fall. I’m ringing on her phone because when the ambulance came I forgot mine but Beth’s was in her handbag.’
Blow whose phone he was using. ‘Where are you? What’s happened?’ she said urgently. ‘Is Beth badly hurt?’
‘We’re at the hospital. Beth fell down the cellar steps earlier. Why the hell she went down there without telling me I don’t know; apparently she wanted to sort the last of the packing cases we stored down there when we moved. It had something in she wanted for the baby’s room. The first I knew I heard her scream—’ His voice broke, then he went on, ‘She landed awkwardly, Willow. They—they think the baby’s coming.’
A month early. Endeavouring to keep the alarm out of her voice, she said quickly, ‘It might be a false labour, Peter. A reaction to the fall. Things might calm down. They often do.’
‘No, we thought that at first but now they’re pretty sure it’s coming. Her waters have broken and everything.’
‘Three or four weeks early is nothing these days,’ she said reassuringly, ‘and babies are tougher than you think. It’ll be fine, I know it will. Beth’s healthy so don’t worry.’
‘She’s asking for you. Is there any chance of you coming to the hospital tonight? She…she needs you with her, Willow.’
She didn’t have to think about it. ‘Absolutely. I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll leave straight away.’
‘Drive carefully though, the roads are already getting pretty bad,’ Peter said worriedly. ‘When you get here, go to the maternity reception and they’ll direct you. OK? I’ll tell them you’re coming and explain so there won’t be any problems.’
‘That’s fine. Now get back to Beth and hold her hand, and don’t forget to give her my love and tell her I’m on my way.’
‘Thanks, Willow.’ His voice was husky. ‘I appreciate it.’
She stared at the phone for a stunned moment once the call had finished, and then leapt into action. Five minutes later she was dressed in warmer clothes, the fire was banked down and the guard was in place, and everything was off that needed to be off.
When she opened the front door and the force of the wind threatened to tear it out of her fingers, she realised how bad the storm had become. Already the snow was inches thick and it showed no signs of abating, just the opposite.
Pulling her hat more firmly over her ears, she staggered to the car, wondering if she was going to be able to get out of the lane, let alone all the way to the hospital. In the event she needn’t have worried. The engine was as dead as a dodo.
She tried everything, including crying, praying and finally stamping her feet and screaming like a two-year-old. It was after this she accepted she was going nowhere in this car tonight. She would have to phone for a taxi. It was going to cost a small fortune but it wasn’t the time to count the cost. Beth needed her. Whatever it took, she was going to get to that hospital. ‘Hold on, Beth,’ she prayed. ‘I’m coming.’
CHAPTER TWELVE
MORGAN sat staring down at the papers on his desk. He’d been sitting in the same position for a while, his mind replaying for the umpteenth time the whole disastrous last conversation with Willow. In fact ever since he’d got home and immediately gone to his study, telling Kitty he had some urgent financial reports to look through, he’d been dissecting every word, every gesture, every glance they’d exchanged. It had been a relief when Kitty and Jim had turned in early due to the weather, and he’d had the house to himself. He appreciated Kitty’s motherly concern for his welfare, but there was the odd occasion when he was very thankful their flat was situated over the garages and separate from the main house, and this was one of them. He couldn’t stand her fussing tonight.
He scowled at the inoffensive papers. He didn’t know how Kitty knew he’d fed most of his supper to the dogs, but she’d looked at the empty plate and then at him and asked him point blank if he and Willow had had an argument. He’d snapped at her then, something he felt guilty about now.
Moving restlessly, he rose to his feet and went to stand by the fire, his back to the flames. She was a good woman, Kitty. Gentle, kind. If he’d been placed with someone like her as a boy, his childhood would have been different.
Don’t start feeling sorry for yourself, for crying out loud. Self-contempt brought him straightening his shoulders before he bent to pick up another log to throw on the fire.
He’d been lucky. Overall, he’d been very lucky to get to where he was now. He’d worked hard, of course, but then so did lots of folk who never got the break he’d got. One of his friends had said he’d got the Midas touch where business was concerned, and maybe he had. It had enabled him to rise in the world, to become more wealthy and successful than he had ever dreamed of in his youth, and he had dreamed plenty.
Morgan smiled bitterly. He’d vowed every day of his childhood and teenage years that he would make something of himself, if only to show the relatives who had treated him so shamefully that he’d had the last laugh. And one by one they’d come sniffing around once he’d made his first million or two, hands held out. It had given him great satisfaction to tell them exactly where they could go.
Yes, until a few weeks ago he’d been satisfied he had everything a man could possibly wish for in life. Until Willow. He’d really thought he was getting somewhere with her the last little while, though; there had been something different about her since that night when he had surprised her by walking away.
He should have taken her and be damned,
he told himself savagely in the next moment, spinning on his heel so sharply that the dogs—scattered about the floor—rose as one to their feet with low barks. If he had taken her that night she would probably have been in his arms right now. But he had wanted more than the pleasure of her company in bed; he still did, more fool him. He had slept with many women in his time but until Willow he hadn’t wanted to make love with one, and there was a difference. Oh, yes, there was a difference.
‘Enough,’ he muttered as he crossed the hall. He was going to have a drink. In fact more than one. A lot more. Enough so that when he closed his eyes tonight he would sleep without thinking or dreaming. Oblivion would be sweet tonight.
The sound of the front door bell stopped him in his tracks and sent the dogs charging to perform their canine duty of repelling invaders. Morgan frowned. Who the dickens was that on a night like this? Someone who’d broken down possibly, but he had never felt less like playing the good Samaritan in his life. He could do nothing less than answer the door, though.
One sharp word of command brought the pack of dogs slinking behind him, ears pricked and eyes narrowed, as he opened the door.
‘I’m so sorry, Morgan.’ She was speaking before he’d even got the door properly open. ‘I would never have bothered you normally but Beth’s in the hospital and I have to get there and my car won’t start and the taxi cabs are refusing to turn out—’
‘Hey, hey, hey.’ He interrupted the frantic gabble by reaching out and drawing the snow-covered figure into the warmth of the house. ‘Slowly now. From the beginning, Willow.’
‘Peter phoned me. Beth’s had a fall and the baby’s coming early and she wants me there. I promised, Morgan, but my car won’t start and no taxis are running because of the weather. I didn’t know what to do…’
‘Yes, you did,’ he said quietly. ‘You came to me and I’ll sort it. The snow won’t bother the Range-Rover. We’ll get through. I’ll get my things. Relax, it’ll be all right.’
They stopped outside the garage block and Morgan explained to Jim what was happening, then they were on the road and on their way. Willow had always thought that snow was pretty, transforming even the dullest landscape into a winter wonderland. Tonight she hated it. It was a relentless enemy and unforgiving.
In spite of the powerful four by four’s ability to tackle the most atrocious weather conditions, she could see Morgan was having his work cut out to keep the vehicle moving steadily forward. She sat in an agony of impatience as they passed abandoned cars every few miles; the snow was forming into great drifts in places and the roads were swiftly becoming impassable. They didn’t speak; she knew Morgan needed every ounce of concentration if they were going to reach the hospital safely, but she wouldn’t have known what to say anyway. She had turned up on his doorstep needing his help—yet again—and even after all that had happened that afternoon he hadn’t hesitated or made her feel bad. His response had been immediate and unconditional. He was a man in a million.
She glanced at him under her eyelashes. He was hunched over the wheel, peering into the road ahead as the windscreen wipers laboured under their burden of snow, every muscle and sinew focused on the job in hand. She was cold, tired, worried and scared to death, but there was no one in the world she’d rather be with in this situation than Morgan. Ninety-nine out of a hundred men wouldn’t have dreamt of turning out on a night like this for a nightmare journey, certainly not for a woman who had thrown their love back in their face only hours earlier. Piers wouldn’t have put his nose out of the door for his own sister, let alone hers. She couldn’t compare Morgan to Piers, or any other man if it came to it. Morgan was Morgan, a one-off. Unique. And he loved her. As she did him.
The wind was whipping the car and great swirls of snow were blasting the windows, but for the first time since she had met Morgan the storm within Willow was quietened. Any regrets she felt about the past would be nothing to what she’d feel if she lost Morgan through her own cowardice. She hadn’t liked his straight talking earlier, but he was right—it was time to move on. Every word he’d said to her was true.
The Range-Rover crawled the last few miles to the hospital and they were within sight of the building when the snow finally won the battle. Two cars had slewed across the road thereby blocking it completely, and turning round wasn’t an option.
‘Looks like the last leg will have to be on foot.’ Morgan cut the engine as he spoke, stretching his arms above his head for a moment. ‘Hold on to me and we’ll get there, OK?’
He had just encapsulated her thoughts for the future more neatly than he’d ever know. Quietly, she said, ‘I’m sorry I dragged you out on a night like this. You seem forever destined to rescue me from one disaster or another.’
‘Beth falling down the cellar steps can hardly be laid at your door.’ He smiled. ‘Nor the blizzard.’
She smiled back. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.
A shadow passed over his face but it had gone so swiftly she thought she had imagined it. Words hovered on her lips, explanations, excuses, but then she nearly jumped out of her skin as someone tapped Morgan’s window.
The police officer informed them the road ahead was impassable, as if they didn’t know. ‘This is not a night to be out, sir,’ he added, ‘and all the signs are the storm’s getting worse. Have you far to go?’
Willow chimed in. ‘My sister’s expecting a baby and we’re trying to reach the hospital. It’s not far from here.’
The policeman nodded. ‘You’ll do that all right, but I suggest you think about staying there the night. Come morning things will be easier but any journey tonight is foolhardy. People don’t realise how treacherous these sort of conditions can be. Stay in the hospital and keep warm.’
‘We’ll do just that, Officer,’ Morgan said appeasingly.
Once the policeman had trudged off, looking more like Frosty the Snowman than anything else, Willow said again, ‘I am sorry to have put you in this position, Morgan. Will the Range-Rover be OK to leave here until morning?’
‘It’ll be fine.’ His tone was dismissive, even curt.
Again she told herself to say something but the moment—and her courage—was gone.
She watched as Morgan walked round and opened her door, helping her down into the snow, which immediately rode over the old boots she’d pulled on before leaving the cottage. The snow was blinding and she was glad of Morgan’s arm around her once they began walking. Far from being the enchantingly feathery stuff of fairy tales, this snow was vicious. It stung the eyes and lashed the skin, making the several hundred yards to the hospital an ordeal. She’d never experienced snow like this.
When they reached the automatic doors leading into the maternity section of the hospital, the warmth hit them as they walked in. Willow made herself known at Reception as Peter had instructed, and the efficient hospital machine kicked in. Within a few minutes a bright, cheery little blonde nurse was standing in front of them. She explained Willow needed to be fitted with a hospital gown before she joined her sister in the delivery room, and Morgan could wait in a special area designed for that purpose close to the room where Beth and Peter were.
Willow wondered if the girl’s fluttering eyelashes and bold smile had registered on Morgan, but gratifyingly she rather thought not. He’d been equally oblivious to other women’s interested glances in the past too, although she’d found them irritating to say the least.
She forgot about the nurse when she walked into Beth’s room, knowing she’d never forget the look on her sister’s face when Beth saw her. She spent the next little while between contractions assuring Beth that of course the baby was fine and lots came early, and were happy and healthy; praying inwardly all the time it was true. Beth would never forgive herself if things went wrong.
As time went on the contractions got stronger and the minutes between them less, but Beth wouldn’t hear of her leaving. It was another three hours before the baby was born. It was a boy and he was a good weight, his lust
y lungs proclaiming all was well as he bellowed his way into the world.
Willow was misty-eyed and Peter was crying unashamedly, but Beth was radiant as the nurse put the baby into her arms. ‘This is David Peter,’ she said, glancing at Willow who nodded her understanding. David had been their father’s name. As Beth glanced towards the window, she seemed to realise it was snowing for the first time. ‘How did you get here?’ she asked. ‘You didn’t drive in this, did you?’
Willow smiled at her sister. ‘I came courtesy of Morgan’s white horse, although it was the four by four this time, not the Harley.’
It was totally against hospital rules, the nurse murmured a little while later after she had been to see the sister, but what with the storm and all everything was topsy-turvy tonight. If Mr Wright only stayed for a minute or two the sister would turn a blind eye this once. Beth nodded and assured the nurse sixty seconds would do it. ‘Go and fetch him,’ she said to Willow after the nurse had left. ‘I want him to feel included in this; but for him you wouldn’t have got here tonight.’
It was more than that and they both knew it. Willow hugged her sister. ‘I love you,’ she whispered softly, marvelling at how her world—which had seemed so disastrously out of kilter when she had stumbled through the snow to Morgan’s house earlier—was righting itself. If she had the courage of her convictions, that was.
The waiting room was in semi-darkness when she reached it, the subdued lighting presumably so that its occupants could grab a little sleep if they needed it. It had worked with Morgan anyway.
Willow tiptoed in. How he had managed to fall asleep on one of the so-called ‘comfy’ chairs in the waiting room she didn’t know. The wooden arms and plastic stretched tight over lumpy stuffing would have kept a sleeping-sickness sufferer awake. But he was dead to the world, his long legs stretched out at an impossible angle and his head draped over the back of the chair.