The Nurse's Child Page 5

  She nodded and Freya's eyes met those of Richard over her bent head.

  'I'm sorry,' he mouthed silently.

  She smiled. These two would never have anything to be sorry for, whatever the relationship between Amelia and herself.

  'Why don't you find Alice a nice clean nightgown out of my cupboard and tuck her up in the empty bed over there,' she suggested, 'while I see what your father wants with me?' To her surprise, Amelia obeyed without complaining.

  'There's meningitis in the town,' Richard said as soon as the two girls had moved out of earshot. 'I'm going to arrange antibiotics and all pupils will be given the jab during the next couple of days, subject to their parents' consent.

  'Obviously I'm going to need your assistance, firstly by getting in touch with the parents or guardians and secondly in the giving of the injections.'

  'Fine by me,' she said easily. 'How many cases so far?'

  'Two...at the university as it happens, but we can't be too careful about this place. As we both know, meningitis is a killer...and a fast one at that.'

  His face was grim and she wondered if he was thinking that his wife's death had been swift and terrible, too. His glance was on Amelia dutifully smoothing the sheets over a hot Alice.

  If anything happened to her, that would really finish him, Freya thought, and where would the sudden appearance of a natural mother come in a scale of catastrophes?

  He took a deep breath and called across to his daughter, 'Come along, Amelia. That's it for today. Let's go and see what Annie has cooked for us.' Lowering his voice, he added, 'I don't know what all that was about, do you?'

  'You mean Amelia questioning me about Alice?'

  'Mmm. Do you think she's jealous?'

  'Maybe just a little bit. How much does she see of other women since she lost her mum?'

  'Well, there's Anita, and Beverley, Charlie's wife. You remember him, don't you? The peanuts episode. Then there's the housekeeper, Annie, the teachers here...and you. She doesn't respond to any of them, though they've all been very kind to her. Yet for some reason she's not averse to you.'

  'I think that's because she knows I lost my mum at a similar age,' Freya said carefully. 'And I'm not part of the circle of friends that she thinks might influence you.'

  She would like to have added, Or it could be because I carried her around in my womb for nine months.

  'Maybe,' he agreed. 'Whatever it is, I'm grateful for anything that makes her hurt a bit less. And, Freya, just to put the record straight, nobody influences me against my will.'

  When they'd gone and she'd made sure that Alice was merely suffering from a feverish cold and not showing any signs of the dreaded meningitis, Freya let her thoughts go back to her conversation with Richard.

  It had been revealing, disturbing, and at the end of it had come what...a warning?

  As Richard drove home, with Amelia beside him in the passenger seat, he was asking himself why he'd said what he had to Freya Farnham.

  Every time he saw her he was puzzled by a strange feeling of familiarity. It was in the turn of her head, the set of her jaw, the eyes. Yet he'd known she'd been speaking the truth when she'd said they hadn't met before, and he would have remembered if they had. She was too memorable to be forgotten.

  If she'd been a similar type to Jenny, he could have understood it, but she was nothing like her.

  His dead wife had been bubbly, uncomplicated and gentle, while the new member of staff at Marchmont was the exact opposite. Pleasant on the outside, but sombre and withdrawn when one caught her off guard.

  He knew little of her background, but sensed that there would be nothing uncomplicated about it, and as to her being gentle...well, only time would tell.

  But did he want a carbon copy of Jenny? No, for heaven's sake! he thought in sudden anguish. He didn't want anyone to fill his empty bed at this moment in time. The pain of losing Jenny wasn't going to go away by letting another woman invade his consciousness. Even though he knew that Jenny wouldn't want him to be alone for ever.

  Yet it was ironic that the very person he'd been so quick to assure that he had no plans to remarry was the one who seemed to be constantly in his thoughts.

  On the face of it she was no different to any other young career woman he'd met. Yet he sensed hidden depths to her, emotions tightly controlled, and wondered what went on in her mind.

  His glance went to Amelia sitting beside him, tapping her foot in time to the music coming through her headphones. That brief moment of petulance back at the school had seemed like jealousy, and yet why? She hardly knew Freya, but as the enigmatic Sister Farnham had said, they did have one thing in common. They'd both lost their mothers when young.

  As Freya and Richard dealt with the long queue of girls waiting outside the sanatorium for the meningitis vaccination their own personal problems were taking a back seat.

  Two of them had already fainted at the sight of the needle and others weren't too happy at the thought, but, as she told the hesitant ones, better a pinprick than a dreadful illness.

  Marjorie and one of the senior teachers were there to see the girls back to the classrooms once the injection had been given, and by lunchtime they were down to the last few stragglers.

  Alice, who was on the mend but still not well enough to be allowed out of bed, had watched the proceedings with interest. When it was Amelia's turn to be vaccinated Freya hid a smile as she held out a skinny arm and didn't bat an eyelid as the syringe went in, then marched over to the other girl's bed and deposited a bag of sweets on top of the bedcover before marching off.

  'Those two could be good for each other,' Richard's voice said from behind her, and as Freya turned to face him, her face soft with the pleasure that the small gesture had brought, he caught his breath.

  It was there again, he thought. The feeling of being on the brink of something. But there was another bare, youthful arm being presented to him and Freya, too, was being confronted by an unwilling participant, so the moment passed.

  When the last girl had drifted back to her classroom he said, 'That's a job well done. They're all at such a vulnerable age. Hopefully they'll now be protected, but unfortunately there are quite a few strains of meningitis and the vaccine won't prevent them all.'

  He glanced at his watch and when he looked up his smile was wry.

  'I seem to spend half my life checking the time,' he told her. 'There just aren't enough hours in the day. Garth took the morning surgery on his own today to give me time to get the vaccination programme finished, but the afternoon one is almost upon me, so I'm going to have to move.'

  His glance was on the slender, high-breasted figure in the smart dark blue uniform that matched her eyes. They were a good team workwise, he thought with a rush of pleasure, but socially they were nothing. Was she lonely in the evenings in her small suite of rooms leading off the sanatorium? Freya was a stranger to the area and he doubted if anyone had gone out of their way to make her welcome. Maybe he ought to set an example.

  'Why don't you come and dine with us one evening?' he said impulsively, putting the thought into words before he had time to change his mind. 'If you'd be prepared to take pot luck with whatever the housekeeper has left for us. Annie always makes extra in the hope that we might have company.'

  Freya felt her throat go dry. She couldn't believe her ears. Richard was inviting her into the house that his wife had been taken from so abruptly. What would Amelia think about that?

  'I'd love to,' she said hesitantly, 'but what about Amelia?'

  Richard smiled.

  'She'll be fine. Trust me. In fact, why not come tonight? It's been a busy day for both of us and by the time I've finished surgery I'll be whacked. Some company is what Amelia and I both need. Shall we say seven-thirty?'

  'Yes,' Freya agreed. 'That's fine by me.'

  When Richard had gone Freya pressed the palms of her hands against her burning cheeks. Had he seen how her colour had risen when he'd issued the invitation?

/>   Maybe tonight she would be able to pick up on something that would answer the feverish questions that plagued her mind. Because she couldn't go on like this. She had to know if Amelia was adopted. So far there was nothing to indicate that she might be, except her own wild imaginings.

  The adoptive parents had requested all those years ago that they remain anonymous, so short of asking Richard outright about Amelia's parentage she wasn't going to get to know.

  As she pulled a smart, black, calf-length dress over her head later that evening, Freya's hands were trembling. Was it going to be the most momentous night of her life, she thought raggedly, or just an impromptu meal with the Hasletts, father and daughter?

  Whatever it turned out to be, she had this urge to look good, so that if a smack in the face was on the cards at least she wouldn't be seen as a nondescript fantasist.

  So she brushed the soft waves of her hair until they shone, made up her face with soft skin tones and, after relieving the dress with a fine silver chain, slipped her feet into a pair of high-heeled black shoes.

  When she stepped back to take in the final effect, a groan escaped her. What was she thinking of? She was totally overdressed. This wasn't Kensington or London's West End. She was going out for a heated-up meal in a Cotswolds village.

  She reached up to unzip the dress and saw the time. It was seven-fifteen. Richard and Amelia would be starving. She couldn't keep them waiting. The outfit would have to stay on. Grabbing her bag, she ventured forth.

  'My goodness! You do look smart,' Matron called as Freya passed the door of her sitting room.

  Freya had already told her that she was dining out, as apparently there had always been an arrangement that if either the sister or the matron wanted to go out in the evening they would cover for each other.

  She hadn't said where she was going, and as she drove out of the school grounds she was glad that she hadn't.

  'Say a prayer for me, Poppy,' she begged her absent friend. 'It was your doing that I came here. Don't let it all have been for nothing.'

  As soon as Richard opened the door to her Freya knew that dressing up had been a mistake. He took a step back and with a dazed expression on his face said, 'Er...hello, there. So you found us all right.'

  She'd stopped off at the late night shop and bought the token bottle of wine for Richard and a box of chocolates for Amelia, and now she was thrusting them into his hands to relieve the awkwardness of the moment.

  He was wearing jeans and a casual shirt and Amelia, who had followed him into the hall, was in her dressing-gown with big floppy slippers on her feet, which made her own smart outfit appear all the more incongruous.

  'Hello, Sister Farnham,' she said with a dubious stare, adding to Freya's discomfiture, 'You look different.'

  Freya rallied. 'I don't wear my uniform all the time, you know,' she told her laughingly.

  As his daughter flip-flopped into the kitchen Richard rallied too, and said in a low voice, 'You're a very classy lady...Sister Farnham. Not the regular nursing type at all.'

  'Oh, but I am,' she protested. 'Nursing is my life. I wanted to get to the top. But I have a weak chest and my GP advised me to get out of the hospital environment.'

  'So that's why you came to this part of the world?' he questioned casually.

  She glanced at him sharply. 'That, and other reasons.'

  'And what were they?'

  She could have asked him then, but not with Amelia behind them raiding the biscuit tin.

  'It's not the right moment to discuss them.'

  'I see. Well, we have more important things to do than talk...such as eat. Amelia has had her meal and she's off to bed, so it will be just you and I, Freya.'

  When the child had wished her a wary goodnight and padded off upstairs, they went into a dining room where the table was laid for two and the feeling of someone being missing was there again as it had been that first time when he'd invited her in for coffee.

  Was Jenny watching them from somewhere unseen? Freya wondered. Unhappy because an alien influence had invaded her house in the form of a woman who might be her daughter's natural mother?

  As Richard pulled out a chair for her to be seated, Freya could feel his warm breath on the back of her neck. Unable to help herself, she swivelled round slowly and looked up at him.

  'You are the first woman to sit at this particular table since Jenny died,' he said huskily. 'She was very beautiful in her own way and so are you, Freya. I don't think she would disapprove.'

  He bent and, holding her by the forearms, kissed her gently on the lips. She became still. His mouth felt as if she'd known it before. The touch of his hands on the smooth skin of her arms was like coming home.

  Getting slowly to her feet, she reached out for him and then they were in each other's arms, fused by the desire of the moment. Until Freya remembered why she was there. Pushing him away, she gasped, 'No! No, Richard. We can't! Not until I've asked you something.'

  He was observing her in hurt surprise.

  'What? What do you want to ask me?'

  'Would you like to make sure that Amelia is asleep first?'

  His expression was guarded now.

  'Yes, if you want, but she will be. She's always out like a light the moment her head touches the pillow. This had better be good, Freya, and by the way there's a casserole in the oven waiting to be eaten.

  'She's asleep,' he said briefly when he came back downstairs. 'So fire away. What's the mystery? Because I know there is one. If you're going to ask me if my intentions are honourable, I have to say that until a few moments ago I hadn't got any intentions. I invited you here tonight because you're new to the area. It was meant to be merely a welcoming gesture, but when I saw you standing on the step you took my breath away. It was as if I'd never seen you properly before.'

  'I know, I know,' she said desperately, 'but there are more important things on my mind than a surge of sudden chemistry between you and I. I have to ask you...is Amelia adopted?'

  She watched his jaw go slack.

  'Wha-at?' he cried. 'How dare you ask me such a personal question? You do well to want me to make sure she's asleep. No, she isn't adopted! Not that it has anything to do with you. What sort of a game are you playing? She's fair-haired and blue-eyed like her mother if that's the reason for your curiosity.'

  He grabbed a photograph off the window-sill and pushed it under her nose.

  'See!'

  A pretty, fair-haired woman who looked vaguely like Amelia smiled back at her, and Freya felt a lump come into her throat. She'd done an unforgivable thing. Questioned Amelia's parentage. It was no wonder that Richard was enraged. What she'd asked him must have seemed like the height of nosiness and bad manners, but at least she had her answer. The quest wasn't over. She didn't think it ever would be.

  'I think you'd better go,' he said in cold, flat tones. 'I feel that I've seen enough of you for one night.'

  'I'm sorry, Richard,' Freya said in a low voice. 'I can imagine what it must have sounded like, but I did have my reasons.'

  'Possibly, but I don't want to hear them.' He was striding towards the front door and flinging it open. 'Goodbye.'

  She nodded miserably and went out into the starless night.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  When Freya had gone, Richard slumped on to the nearest chair and gazed down unseeingly at the carpet. He didn't believe it! In a matter of minutes he'd betrayed almost everything he held dear.

  It had started when for the first time since Jenny's death he'd wanted a woman in his arms, and it had been Freya Farnham. Her response had told him that she was as attracted to him as he was to her...and then what?

  She'd spoilt the moment by pushing him away almost with desperation and then stuck a knife into his heart by asking him about Amelia's parentage. And what had he done? Lied to her! Dumbfounded and apprehensive, he'd turned himself into a liar to protect Amelia.

  Where was she coming from, this stranger who'd walked into their lives? There w
as a sickening sensation in the pit of his stomach as he faced up to a possible answer. Yet the girl who'd borne Amelia had been called Caroline Carter. Was Freya a relative of some sort? Even as far back as that night in the hotel when she'd gone to help Charlie, he'd had the feeling that he'd seen her somewhere before. Was it a likeness to Amelia that he'd been registering every time she was near?

  Of course it was! He'd been blind not to realise it before. This was a situation he'd never expected to have to cope with. Jenny's death had been the first unthinkable thing to happen and it had been constantly in his thoughts ever since that they shouldn't have waited to tell Amelia that she was adopted. Now he couldn't do it. Not yet anyway. The pain of losing Jenny was too recent for Amelia to be able to face up to anything else that would rock the foundations of her young life.

  And now something even more bizarre had occurred. The only people who'd known that Amelia was adopted had been Jenny and himself, and it had been at her insistence that they hadn't told her.

  He'd wanted to explain long ago, but tender-hearted Jenny had pleaded with him to wait until Amelia was older and able to understand better. They'd agreed that she should be told when she was eighteen, but now the decision was up to him and he'd been biding his time.

  He knew he would lie until he was blue in the face to protect Amelia, but hopefully it wouldn't come to that. If he'd convinced Freya that Amelia was his child, it ought to be the end of it. If Amelia wanted to trace her relatives when she turned eighteen, that was fine. By then he would have told her himself about her adoption...when the time was right.

  As he went slowly up the stairs to bed, Richard's face was grim. He could still smell Freya's perfume, remember the feel of her in his arms... and all the time she'd had some other agenda.

  Back at Marchmont, Freya was lying sleepless, drained of the hope that had buoyed her up over recent weeks. What a fool she'd been.