by Penny Jordan
Diana wanted to protest, but she sensed that if she did Ann would insist on Marcus taking her home, and that was the last thing she wanted. She could just imagine Patty Dewar's reaction if Marcus was dragged away from her to escort her home, and so she had no alternative but to reluctantly follow Ian Michaels out to his car.
The return journey was a silent one. Ian Michaels was obviously preoccupied with his coming business trip. He dropped her off outside the pub, and opened the car door for her. It was obvious that he had relished being paired off with her as little as she had with him.
'Don't worry about it,' he told her kindly. 'Ann means well. She's so happily married herself she can't understand why everyone else shouldn't be paired up as well. I loved my wife very much—so much that I don't have any desire to replace her.'
He immediately went up in Diana's estimation. She had thought previously that he hadn't been aware of Ann's good-natured machinations, but obviously he had, and by talking about them, he had lessened her own sense of angry embarrassment.
As she lay in bed waiting for sleep, she found herself doubting that Marcus would simply drop Patty off outside her front door when he eventually took her home.
The intensity of her sense of jealousy and loss frightened her. She had no right to feel jealous. No right at all… and no reason. She felt nothing for Marcus. Nothing? For the father of her child? Was that what she was going to tell her child when it was old enough to start asking questions? That she had felt nothing for its father?
Too confused to pursue the thought any further, she buried her head in her pillow and willed herself to fall asleep.
By Tuesday, when she had still not seen Marcus, she told herself that she was glad that Patty was obviously keeping him otherwise engaged.
The carpets had arrived and been laid, and very attractive they looked too, but she was discovering that the pleasure wasn't as great when there was no one to share it with. Before, there had always been Leslie, or before that, her family.
She sighed faintly to herself as she went from room to room admiring the pale grey floor covering.
Only that morning she had received a letter from her mother; telling her that her sister-in-law was expecting her third child.
Of course, her parents were overjoyed, and her mother had written that Sandra was desperately hoping that this baby would be a boy, since they already had two girls. The letter contained a vague suggestion that she should go out for a holiday, but her brother had always been closer to their parents than she was herself.
Some time they would have to know about her baby; but not just yet. She sat down to write back and was amazed to discover how quickly she covered several sheets. Normally she had very little to write to them about, and she wondered how it was that while living such a quiet life in the country, as opposed to her busy life in London, she should have so much more to write about.
Perhaps it was because here she knew people on a different level. Here for instance, she knew all about Mrs Gibbs in the Post Office's family, and about her rheumatism; she knew how much Madge Davies, the landlady of the pub, missed her daughter who was away at university. She knew the intimacies of people's lives in a way that had been impossible when she lived in London.
The letter written and posted, she decided she might as well do some work on the preparations for the fete. It would keep her mind busy… stop her from thinking about Marcus.
There was nothing further she could do on the shop until the rest of her stock arrived. Her ad. was due to go into the following week's paper.
The marquee hire firm confirmed that everything was in order from their end, when Diana telephoned them.
'I suppose that as in previous years you'll provide your own generators?' the Manager asked her.
Diana was flummoxed. She knew nothing at all about the generators. Telling him that she would look into it, she went through Jane Simons' extremely comprehensive lists once again.
She found the word 'generators' written at the bottom on a long list of things, with an asterisk marking it. What did the asterisk mean?
Biting her lip Diana studied the list again and could come up with no explanation. She would have to telephone the farm.
She looked up through the window and saw that the sun was shining. Suddenly, she was tired of being cooped up indoors. Instead of telephoning she would drive out there.
So that you can see Marcus, an inner voice taunted, but she silenced it. Of course she wouldn't see Marcus, he would be out working on the farm, and besides, she didn't want to see him. Patty Dewar was welcome to him.
That didn't stop her heart from lurching betrayingly half an hour later when she drove into the farm yard, and saw the Land Rover parked there.
She was being stupid, she told herself. Other men besides Marcus were bound to drive the farm vehicle, and besides, why should she feel this absurd flutter of panicky excitement? She didn't want to see him… did she?
Mrs Jenkins, normally so efficient, seemed to take a long time to answer the door. When she did arrive she looked flushed and worried, although her face cleared a little when she saw Diana.
'Oh, thank goodness someone's here,' she cried worriedly. 'Its Mrs Simons, she's fallen out of her chair. I only found her when I went to take her morning cup of coffee to her. I didn't dare touch her. I've rung the doctor, but he's out on a call… and Ann has gone to Hereford. I've sent one of the men looking for Marcus. He's out supervising some work right on the other side of the farm. Perhaps with the two of us we could get Mrs Simons back in her chair.'
Diana frowned worriedly as she followed the housekeeper inside. 'Would that be wise? Ought we to touch her, I mean? Couldn't we just make her more comfortable? Where is she?'
'In her sitting-room.'
Jane Simons had obviously fallen as she reached out to open her patio door. She lay in a crumpled heap on the floor beside her chair. There was a nasty bruise forming on her temple, and although she was unconscious, there were no signs of any other damage.
'I think we should just ease a cushion under her head, and put a blanket over her, in case she's in shock,' Diana suggested. 'She seems to be breathing normally.'
She squatted on the floor trying to remember her own smattering of first aid training. Wasn't it important to keep the victim's air passage clear? That didn't seem to be a problem in Mrs Simons' case; she seemed to be breathing quite well.
'What did you say to the doctor's receptionist?'
'I told her what had happened and asked her to get in touch with Dr Thomas as soon as possible.'
'If he's out on a call, perhaps we ought to ring for an ambulance…'
Mrs Jenkins seemed to have gone completely to pieces, but now, obviously reassured by Diana's calm presence, she was starting to recover. While Diana sat with Mrs Simons, Mrs Jenkins went to ring for an ambulance. When she came back, she brought Diana a cup of tea.
'Is there any change?'
Diana shook her head. Once or twice Jane Simons had moaned and moved her head, but apart from that here had been no sign of returning consciousness.
The farm seemed broodingly silent and for the first time it struck Diana that it was quite remote. She shivered in the cool breeze from the open window, and tucked the blanket more firmly round Marcus's mother.
Her ears had been straining for so long to catch the sound of a vehicle, that when she did hear it, she thought she was imagining things; but the noise grew stronger, and relief flooded through her as she heard the engine stop and a door open.
Marcus was wearing jeans and a checked shirt. There were smears of dirt across his face and arms, and he hadn't stopped to remove his outdoor boots.
Ignoring everyone but his mother, he dropped down on his haunches beside her, quickly checking her pulse, and flicking back her eyelids.
'It's just concussion, I think—thank God! When I got Rab's message, I thought for a moment she might have had a stroke.'
He had barely finished speaking when simultaneo
usly an ambulance siren and the doctor's car arrived.
Dr Thomas wasted no time in pleasantries, but Diana noticed that despite his brusque manner he was extraordinarily gentle with his patient, pronouncing much the same verdict as Marcus.
'I want her in hospital of course, just to make sure. Marcus?'
'I'm coming with you.'
He got up and frowned, suddenly seeming to realise that Diana was there. He looked at her as though unable to comprehend why, and she explained quickly the business that had brought her to the farm.
'It was a mercy she arrived when she did,' Mrs Jenkins put in. 'I was in a regular panic, I can tell you. I hadn't even thought to ring for an ambulance.'
'I've been afraid of something like this happening,' Marcus said in a low tormented voice. 'I've pleaded with Ma to have a nurse, but she won't. She says that would take away her last little bit of independence.'
'Don't even think about blaming yourself, Marcus.' Dr Thomas interrupted curtly. 'Your mother is a very brave woman, but a stubborn one.'
'I want to be with her when she comes round. You know how she feels about hospitals.'
He was talking to the doctor, but Diana knew that he was referring to the loathing of the institution where she had first learned that she had lost the ability to walk.
'Someone will have to tell Ann. She'll need her things, when she comes round.'
The ambulancemen were already discreetly but carefully putting Mrs Simons on to the stretcher. On impulse Diana said quickly, 'I could stay and do that, Marcus, and I'll ring Ann and explain to her.'
For a moment she thought he was going to reject her offer, and she could feel the hot tide of colour sweep her skin, but after the minutest pause, he said rawly, 'I'll have to accept. I can't leave Mrs Jenkins here on her own. Tell Ann that I'll stay with Ma until she comes round. When the men come back tonight, could you ask Rab—he's the foreman—to keep things ticking over here until I get back? If there's anything urgent he can ring me at the hospital.'
If he was going to stay with his mother until she came round he would need a change of clothes, and his razor; and while Marcus followed the stretcher out to the ambulance, Diana quickly asked Mrs Jenkins to pack an overnight bag of necessities for him.
'Oh, and some sandwiches, and a flask of coffee if we've got time. I'll do that. He won't want anything right now, but later…'
It was all done within five minutes, and Diana thrust the bag and its contents into Marcus's arms just as he was about to get into the ambulance.
'I'll need someone to come and pick me up eventually, but I can sort that out later. Diana…' He looked at her as though he wanted to say something, but the men were already closing the ambulance doors.
The shock of his mother's accident and its effect on him had shown Diana what a genuinely caring man he was. She wanted some of that caring for herself… she needed…
She needed nothing, she told herself firmly. Nothing at all.
She could quite easily have gone back to town. She was planning to move into her new home at the weekend, and there were any number of things she had to do, but somehow she found herself reluctant to leave.
She excused her weakness on the grounds that Mrs Jenkins seemed to want her to stay. The housekeeper was not a young woman, and the accident had obviously shocked her.
It was Diana who telephoned Ann and gave her the news. After her initial concern, Ann was all calm practicality.
'Marcus will stay with Ma until she's safely out of any danger. I'll ring the hospital and report back to you if there's any news. Thank goodness you arrived when you did, Diana. Mrs Jenkins is a darling, but she isn't getting any younger herself, and she does tend to panic when things go wrong. Marcus will be giving himself a hard time over this. He's been trying to persuade Ma to have a live-in companion, or better still, a nurse, for ages, but she simply won't have it. I'll report back to you just as soon as I've heard anything,' she promised again before she rang off.
When they had heard nothing by evening, apart from a phone call from Ann to say that her mother was still unconscious and undergoing tests, Diana decided that it was time that she left, but the moment she broached the subject Mrs Jenkins begged her to stay.
She had already passed on Marcus's message to his men, and there was nothing for her to linger for. The phone rang just as she was debating the issue. She let Mrs Jenkins answer it, and could tell almost immediately from the housekeeper's reaction that Marcus was on the other end of the line.
'He wants to speak to you,' Mrs Jenkins told her after a few moments' conversation.
'Marcus, your mother…? was her first anxious enquiry.
'She's recovered consciousness, thank God, and the hospital doesn't think there's been any damage. They want to keep her in overnight though, and I'm going to stay here with her. I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done. Will you tell Mrs J that I'll be back in the morning for milking?'
He was gone before Diana could ask any further questions. She relayed his message to the housekeeper, who looked weepy with relief.
'I really must go now, Mrs Jenkins,' Diana told her gently, and this time the other woman did not try to stop her.
It was growing dark as she drove along the country lanes, the sky flushed still with the radiance of the dying sunset. With the car window down Diana could breathe in the soft clear air. Now that the initial anxiety was over she could feel herself relaxing.
What amazed her most was how involved she had become with the local community in such a short space of time. Even if Jane Simons had not been Marcus's mother she would still have been worried for her. She admired the older woman tremendously. Hers was not the sort of courage that made headlines in newspapers; it was a more enduring, more heartbreaking courage, a courage that was far harder to maintain.
When she got back to the pub it transpired that they had already heard the news of Jane Simons' accident. She answered Madge Davies' concerned questions as best she could, knowing they sprang from genuine concern and not avid curiosity.
She felt too restless to settle down to anything, and so she walked down to the shop and let herself in. The few possessions she had brought from London were still packed away in a corner of the store-room. Thinking of human endurance and courage had brought Leslie vividly to life in her thoughts.
The house was really ready for occupation now; all the services were laid on, the new bedding she had ordered had been washed and put away. She picked up one of the light boxes and carried it upstairs to her room.
Kneeling down on the floor, she started to unpack it. The very first thing she found was a photograph of Leslie taken the year she graduated. It showed a happy, smiling girl, with an open, friendly expression and a mass of dark curly hair.
Diana studied the photograph forlornly for several minutes. The plastic frame was slightly chipped. She hadn't noticed that before. Leslie had kept the photograph on her bedside table—to remind her of what she really was, she had once told Diana on one of her bad days.
'This sick person lying here isn't really me, you know,' she had said quietly. 'That's what I tell myself. That's me… that girl in the photograph with everything to look forward to in life.'
After Leslie's death she hadn't been able to bear to look at the photograph, but now seeing it brought back the reality of her friend in sharp focus. She found herself remembering their days at university; the fun they had had…
She wiped the glass carefully and stood the photograph up on the deep windowsill.
First thing tomorrow she would go out and buy a proper silver frame for it.
There were other things in the box. Leslie's GCE certificates, her degree and the gown she had worn, a collection of small glass animals she had loved, Diana found herself weeping softly over them.
The glass animals had been some of Leslie's most treasured personal possessions. She had collected them while she was living with her aunt and uncle, and although they had little monetary value, to L
eslie they had represented the only real warmth and security she had known as a child.
She would keep them for her own daughter—if she had one, Diana decided, carefully refolding them in cotton wool.
There were other things; letters from Leslie's solicitor, which she had simply stuffed in the box in her first shock of Leslie's death, and more photographs, casual ones this time, showing the two of them standing with a couple of boyfriends—two boys they had met on holiday one year.
It was the sudden realisation that all the lights had gone out in the street that made Diana realise how late it was. She glanced at her watch shocked to discover that it was after eleven.
Suddenly she felt intensely tired, and she looked longingly at her bed. The new duvet cover was still in its box; it wouldn't take long to unpack it and make up the bed.
On impulse she picked up the phone and dialled the number of the pub. Madge Davies answered it on the first ring, and Diana told her that she had decided to spend the night in her new home.
'I'll be back for breakfast in the morning though, I'm afraid. I don't have any food here yet.'
She had put the water on earlier in the day and it was still hot enough for a quick shower. She had no night clothes with her, but it was a warm night, and both the bed and the duvet were blissfully comfortable. She was asleep within seconds.
It was the sound of someone knocking loudly on the back door that woke her up.
She opened her eyes, thoroughly disorientated, wondering why she wasn't in her room at the pub. It was not even dawn; a thin grey light filtered through the closed curtains.
The knocking from downstairs continued, imperative and urgent. Pulling on her top and skirt, she ran barefoot downstairs and opened the door.
'Marcus!'
Until that moment she hadn't stopped to think who her early morning visitor might be.
'I saw a light on downstairs and the closed curtains. I was just on my way back from the hospital.'
His skin looked grey in the harsh electric light, tired lines raying out from his eyes.