A visibly distressed Mrs Henderson relayed, ‘I was rushing too much. It slipped out of my hand. I’m sorry about your coffee but she woke—’
‘It’s all right.’ Cass had already taken in the situation and just wanted to be helpful. ‘I’ll hold her if you want, while you make up another bottle.’
She crossed to take the baby, surrendered willingly by the older woman. The infant continued to cry, but Cass remained calm, curving her into her shoulder, as she murmured soothing noises and began to walk up and down the kitchen until the new bottle was ready. It took a while as the milk had to be cooled but the baby’s crying subsided to a less distressed level and she took her bottle eagerly when it arrived.
Cass sat on a Windsor chair to feed her new niece. Up till that point, she had been indistinguishable from any of the other crying babies Cass had encountered in her short spell in Paediatrics. Now Cass could see her rosebud mouth, blue eyes, a cap of dark hair and long sweep of lashes. She bore little resemblance to her sister Pen, but Cass still felt a rush of immediate love, frightening in its strength. She knew then why she had kept away.
‘I can’t thank you enough,’ Mrs Henderson ran on warmly. ‘Normally I have her feed ready but she woke sooner than I expected and I’m afraid I get terribly flustered when she’s crying.’
‘It’s hard, I know,’ Cass replied in sympathetic tones. ‘You get very torn. Have you thought of preparing a few feeds in advance?’
‘Can you do that?’ Mrs Henderson said in surprise.
Cass nodded, adding the proviso, ‘The teats must remain sterilised and the bottles should be stored somewhere separate in your fridge.’
‘That would certainly make life easier.’ A sigh escaped the housekeeper’s lips. ‘I mean I do enjoy taking care of her, but having never had one of my own…’
‘You can’t be expected to know.’ Cass’s eyes rested momentarily on the housekeeper.
She was a trim, upright woman who looked reasonably fit, but she was closer to sixty than fifty. Did Dray Carlisle really imagine the woman could cope with the house and a baby?
‘I suppose I should have asked that girl,’ Mrs Henderson added.
‘Girl?’ Cass echoed.
‘Melanie.’ Disapproval clouded the older woman’s eyes. ‘The temporary nanny.’
‘Is it her day off?’ Cass enquired.
Mrs Henderson shook her head. ‘She walked out yesterday. No warning. Just up and decided she’d had enough…I haven’t told Mr Carlisle yet.’
Hadn’t he noticed? Cass was appalled. How could he not notice?
‘He’s in America,’ her unspoken question was answered. ‘Mrs Carlisle—Mr Simon’s wife—felt it best to wait his return. I only hope he doesn’t hold me responsible.’
‘Why should he do that?’ Cass tried to sound reassuring, despite firsthand experience of Dray’s autocratic ways.
Mrs Henderson was hesitant. ‘I don’t want to talk out of turn…’
‘That’s all right.’ Cass didn’t press her.
But it was obviously preying on the housekeeper’s mind. ‘It’s just that the girl was happy enough before Mr Carlisle left,’ she confided, ‘only I don’t think Ellie was the main attraction.’
Cass guessed who was, but she didn’t comment. It was too close to home, Dray Carlisle and his easy conquests.
Instead her eyes returned to the baby, a small perfect being, no longer nameless but Ellie. Whose choice? she wondered.
‘Do you wish me to take her?’ Mrs Henderson finally thought to ask. ‘Or will I make that coffee I promised?’
‘Coffee, please. I’ll have it here, if that’s all right.’
‘Are you sure? I can easily bring it through to the drawing room—’
Cass shook her head. ‘To be honest, I’m not used to being waited on and I’ll be more comfortable in the kitchen.’
The housekeeper was disarmed by her frankness, but gradually relaxed as they sat together at the table, drinking coffee.
‘You’re very good with her.’ Mrs Henderson watched Cass amuse the baby after she’d lost interest in her bottle.
‘I did a lot of babysitting for neighbours when I was younger,’ Cass explained.
‘I wish I had more experience,’ Mrs Henderson sighed. ‘Myself and Bob were never blessed.’
‘You’ll manage.’ Cass wanted to convince herself as well as the housekeeper.
She was just deciding it was time to make leaving noises when the telephone rang. She could only hear one side of the conversation, but it was enough to realise that something had happened to Mrs Henderson’s husband.
When the caller rang off, the housekeeper relayed that her husband had broken his hip while cutting the hedge round their cottage and had been admitted to the hospital.
‘I’ll have to go,’ she said first, then shook her head, ‘but, of course, I can’t. Who’d look after the baby?’
She was talking to herself rather than Cass, and Cass resisted the impulse to offer her help. She’d promised herself that she would not get involved.
‘How about Camilla, Simon’s wife?’ she suggested.
‘I never thought…’ Mrs Henderson considered the possibility. ‘She might, yes.’
The housekeeper telephoned and was visibly relieved on receiving an answer, but it quickly became apparent that Camilla Carlisle wasn’t eager to help out.
‘Mrs Camilla has guests,’ she explained afterwards, ‘but she’s promised to come later and collect Ellie for the night. I’ll just have to hang on.’
Cass could have left it. A broken hip was rarely life threatening. But the worry on Mrs Henderson’s face combined with Ellie’s vulnerability made her say, ‘No, you go. I’ll look after the baby till she shows.’
‘I couldn’t ask that of you!’ the housekeeper protested.
‘You’re not asking,’ Cass pointed out. ‘I’m offering.’
‘But still. I don’t know—’
‘Look, it’s no hardship. I love babies and Ellie is my niece.’
‘Well, yes, of course.’ Mrs Henderson didn’t doubt Cass’s right to care for the baby and, rather than argue with her, accepted gratefully, ‘If you’re absolutely sure—’
‘Totally,’ Cass lied—this wasn’t the brief visit she’d planned.
But Mrs Henderson took her at her word and, after a flurry of activity, was out of the door and into her car, speeding off to see her husband.
Well, it was only a couple of hours, Cass reasoned. Not long enough to get attached.
Certainly Ellie didn’t seem to mind a new face as Cass laid her on a plastic mat on the table and changed her nappy, tickling toes and kissing feet, drawing smiles and gurgles of baby laughter. With enough stimulation and affection, she’d probably be an easy baby to look after.
The question was: how would she be without them?
Cass shook her head. She wasn’t going to make it her problem. She would enjoy this time with her niece and store it away with all the other family memories.
It was a beautiful day so Cass decided on a walk. She placed the baby in the big coach pram and took a key from the board to lock the back door behind her.
She went round the side of the house to the front, then slowly down the driveway. Overhanging tree branches formed a canopy through which the summer sun filtered and the baby stared upwards, fascinated by the dance of shadow and light on her face. Cass felt a similar sense of wonder in staring at her.
All babies were beautiful, but some more so than others. Ellie was one of the ‘more-so’s, with large eyes set in an oval-shaped face and the promise of abundant dark hair to come.
It only made the situation more poignant. Most couples would be delighted to have such a baby, yet here she was motherless, and, to all intents and purposes, fatherless unless one of the Carlisles decided otherwise. Looking at her now, Cass wondered how either could resist claiming her as their own.
In another life, Cass could have done so readily, but not in this one.
For what had she to offer? No real home and no money apart from what she earned.
Cass doubted Ellie would thank her if she were like Pen in nature. A lack of money had blighted Pen’s childhood, but how much worse would it have been if there had been an alternative, a life of luxury denied her?
Because that was what the Carlisles seemed to be offering. No emotional commitment, perhaps, but still a place in the family as one of them. Why else had Dray Carlisle brought her home when he could so easily have allowed her to be put up for adoption?
And what could Cass offer? Love, that was all. Once she would have believed it enough. Once she’d loved Pen and thought she could make everything right for her. But Pen had never been happy, had always looked for something else even when she’d appeared to have everything: money, the big house, a husband who loved her. So what had been missing?
Cass wasn’t sure but it made her question if she’d be any more successful with Pen’s daughter.
‘Ellie,’ she said aloud and smiled at the baby gazing up at her.
She really was lovely, as was her name. Cass wondered who had chosen it: Tom or Dray or even Pen before she’d died?
It seemed unlikely to be Tom who’d referred to her as simply ‘it’ when Cass had seen him after the funeral, and it didn’t sound like something Pen would have favoured, but if it were Dray, then didn’t that indicate his possible paternity?
Indicate? Who was she kidding? His taking the baby into his home positively broadcast the fact.
She just had to accept it. Dray Carlisle had slept with her sister. Why should it be a big deal to her? Her feelings for him had surely died many years ago. It was Tom they’d really betrayed. It was Tom who must be devastated at this double act of treachery.
In her case it was surely a case of hurt pride, reminding her of what a fool she’d been all those years ago. God, how easy she’d been!
No wonder he believed she slept around. She’d never felt that way for anyone. Pure lust, though she’d called it love at the time. Not to him, of course. Even, at the height of her madness, she hadn’t trusted him enough to use the word love.
But he had used it and that was the real crime in Cass’s eyes. He hadn’t needed to: she’d already been sleeping with him, already been crazy about him. To say ‘I love you’ was gratuitous unless it was meant, so she’d assumed he’d meant it. How naive could you get?
She wondered now had he said it to Pen. Maybe he had and meant it in her case, making baby Ellie truly a love child. Was that better or worse? For Ellie, better, she supposed, but it left the sour taste of jealousy in her mouth.
Cass swallowed hard to rid herself of it and continued down the winding driveway. She stopped short of the lodge house, fearing Uncle Charles might see her. He’d always been pleasant to her in the past but who knew what Dray had said about her since the funeral?
She strolled back up to the main house and let herself in through the back door. Ellie was once more asleep and she used the breathing space to make up a couple of feeds, then waited for Camilla Carlisle to show.
She’d promised to appear at five o’clock but it was nearer six when she turned up. From the outset, the woman made it plain she was doing so on sufferance.
‘Oh, I was expecting Mrs Henderson. Who are you?’ She stood on the doorstep, looking Cass over in a supercilious manner.
Cass wasn’t surprised at her lack of recognition. They’d met only briefly at the wedding and she wasn’t the type to be particularly interested in other women.
‘Cass Barker,’ she introduced herself, ‘Pen’s sister.’
The woman’s expression changed to dislike in an instant. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I came to visit my niece,’ Cass stated the obvious.
Camilla Carlisle continued to scowl. ‘Does Dray know you’re here?’
‘No.’ Cass wasn’t going to lie. ‘I came on spec, but, don’t worry, I’m not contemplating kidnap or anything.’
‘Pity,’ the woman clipped back. ‘It might solve all our problems, but then I understand you’re too busy with your career.’
She made it sound as though Cass were ducking her responsibilities.
Cass dropped any attempt at politeness, saying, ‘Some of us have a living to earn. We haven’t married money.’
‘Like your sister, you mean?’ A lip curled in contempt. ‘You certainly can’t be referring to me. I have my own trust fund.’
‘How nice for you.’ Cass’s flat tone said she was unimpressed. ‘That must have made you popular.’
‘Implying what?’ This time Camilla Carlisle’s face mottled with anger.
Cass realised she’d touched a nerve but decided not to pursue it. The conversation had already descended too far.
‘Forget it,’ she dismissed and switched to relaying, ‘Mrs Henderson has already gone to the hospital and Ellie’s taking a nap at the moment. I’ve made up some bottles for her. You’ll find them in the fridge.’
She stood aside to let Camilla Carlisle enter.
The woman remained on the doorstep. ‘Well, it sounds as if you have everything under control, so I’ll leave you to it.’
‘What?’ Cass stared at her in disbelief.
‘I’ll leave you to it,’ Camilla Carlisle repeated with evident satisfaction and turned on her heel to walk back towards her silver saloon.
Cass followed rapidly, saying, ‘Hold on! Mrs Henderson said you’d take Ellie tonight.’
‘Only as an absolute necessity,’ the older woman responded, unlocking her door and climbing in, ‘and now you’re here, it isn’t.’
‘I can’t stay!’ Cass hung onto the door rim before it could be shut. ‘And, even if I could, Dray Carlisle would violently object to my remaining in his house.’
‘Would he?’ Speculative eyes trained on her. ‘Now why would that be?’
Cass wasn’t about to tell this woman anything. ‘He won’t want a virtual stranger in his home, that’s all.’
‘In case you steal the family silver?’ Camilla Carlisle suggested nastily. ‘No matter, he’s insured… Now, if you could shut my door—’ A superior brow was arched in her direction.
‘Shut it yourself.’ Cass turned to walk away.
The mutter of ‘How common!’ was pitched loud enough for Cass to hear, but Camilla Carlisle didn’t wait around for a response.
Gravel was thrown up as she reversed her car in the courtyard, then accelerated down the drive.
Cass had to be content with making faces at the retreating vehicle. Pen had always said Camilla Carlisle was a cow but until now Cass had kept an open mind.
She went back into the house, wondering what she should do. Call Mrs Henderson and ask her to return? Not knowing which hospital she’d gone to made that difficult. Or take Ellie back to London with her? No, for all sorts of reasons, she couldn’t do that. So what options were left?
None apart from staying.
When Ellie woke again, she fed her from one of the prepared bottles, then went on a tour of the first and second floors until she found a makeshift nursery at the top of the house. She placed Ellie in a carrycot while she looked round. The wallpaper of sailboats and ships clearly dated from an earlier age but there was no shortage of cot toys that rattled and squeaked and a mirrored light that also played music and a beautiful mobile that danced around at the touch of a switch. A changing table stood in one corner with a neatly stacked supply of nappies and wipes, while a chest of drawers contained the prettiest, most exclusive of baby-wear. They were, of course, only material things and didn’t constitute proof of any real concern for Ellie.
She selected a towelling sleep suit and carried Ellie to the bathroom along the corridor. There she found a yellow plastic baby bath and, setting it on its stand, filled it with tepid water. At two months Ellie was too young for bath toys but she smiled and kicked as Cass splashed her playfully and rocked her gently in the water.
She had no idea of Ellie’s routine but she went downstairs ag
ain and gave her a last feed in the kitchen, sitting next to the still warm Aga.
It was not yet nine but Cass decided to have an early night, too, and switched off lights as she went back upstairs.
On the first floor she briefly trespassed in Dray’s bedroom to borrow a shirt and toothbrush, before continuing up to the nursery floor. She put Ellie on her back in the cot, switched on the mirrored light and off the overhead one. The baby cried a little in protest, but, rather than lift her out again, Cass stayed with her, singing and crooning, until gradually her eyelids drooped and she gave up the battle to stay awake.
Cass slipped away to take a quick shower in the bathroom, re-dressing in the borrowed shirt. She smoothed out her trousers and top for the morning and washed her smalls in the sink, draping them over a heated towel rail to dry. Then, checking on Ellie for a final time and clicking off the mirrored light in the cot, she went to bed in the adjoining room.
Despite being in a strange house and even stranger situation, Cass wasn’t awake for long. It was part of her training—to grab sleep when and where she could, and sleep through everything but the sound of her bleeper. Other sounds might register but they usually became part of her dreams unless, of course, they were persistent and too loud to ignore.
A baby’s crying, for example. At first it was merely background noise, an adjunct to the scene playing in her head, until it escalated to a pitch too real to be part of the dream state.
That was another skill learned as a busy hospital doctor. One moment to be fast asleep, the next bolt upright in bed, conscious and reacting. Mere seconds later, she was out of bed and through the adjoining door, reassuring, ‘I’m here, Ellie.’
She took a couple of steps towards the crying baby, then stopped dead. The nursery was still in darkness but a sliver of moonlight crept in round the edge of the curtain and she saw a shadowy figure looming over the cot.
For a split second she imagined it was a genuine intruder and fear gripped her.
A voice breathed, ‘Melanie, it’s me, Drayton Carlisle.’
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