Substitute Bride Page 13

  ‘Well? What did you decide about Sydney?’ Her throat was unaccountably dry and she felt a premonition of disaster as he swung round to face her. He gave a harsh, croaking laugh and his golden eyes were pitiless.

  ‘Sorry, Laura. I’m not coming. I’ve enjoyed our little fling, but it’s time to call it quits. The game is over.’

  Dr Williamson’s office seemed exactly the same as usual, with the framed photo of his wife and two university student sons on the wall, the muffled sound of the telephone ringing in the receptionist’s office at the end of the corridor, the clutter of medical journals on the shelves and the smell of antiseptic that hung in the air. Even the worn patch of leather on the chair was poking through Laura’s tights in exactly the same way as usual.

  It was hard to believe that something so dramatic could be happening in such an ordinary place. But she had been back in Sydney for a month now and she had good reason to be apprehensive. She held her breath as Dr Williamson screwed up his red face and frowned at the Petri dish in his hands.

  ‘Well?’ she demanded.

  He gave a long, meditative sigh.

  ‘It’s positive, I’m afraid. But you didn’t need me to tell you that, did you? You’ve got all the symptoms. Two weeks overdue, tingling breasts, nausea in the mornings.’

  ‘Then I’m really going to have a baby?’ asked Laura shakily.

  ‘That is the usual result of pregnancy, yes.’

  An extraordinary tumult of emotions surged through her. Disbelief, dismay, terror and an unexpected flash of total delight.

  ‘I—I can’t believe it,’ she stammered.

  ‘And I can’t believe you didn’t think of this sooner,’ said the doctor disapprovingly, rising to his feet and going over to the sink to wash his hands. He tore off a strip of paper towelling and turned back to her, scowling sternly. ‘You’re not a sixteen-year-old with no understanding of how your body works. Why on earth didn’t you take precautions?’

  ‘I didn’t come here for a lecture!’ flared Laura. ‘I just came here to find out the truth.’

  Keith Williamson sat down again and eyed her over the top of his glasses.

  ‘Well, now you know it, you’re going to have to decide pretty smartly what you intend to do. Is there any prospect of marriage?’

  Laura felt a sickening lurch of horror as she remembered that last unbearable scene with James and her frantic escape to Sydney. She had spent most of the last month in tears of rage or misery, barely able to function because of her grief and disillusionment. He had told her he never wanted to see her again and the feeling was entirely mutual.

  Marriage? Never! Although, ironically enough, she could still marry Raymond Hall if she chose to do so. On her very first day back in Sydney Ray had come round to her house and renewed his proposal, and even her admission that she had had an affair with another man had not deterred him. But she didn’t love Ray and she had no intention of foisting someone else’s baby on him. She shook her head.

  ‘No,’ she said miserably.

  The doctor sighed and reached for a booking pad.

  ‘In that case I suppose you’ll want to consider a termination?’

  ‘No!’ Her misery was transformed to shock and outrage. She crossed her hands protectively over her body. ‘I couldn’t possibly do that! I’m going to have this baby and keep it.’

  ‘Laura,’ said the doctor wearily, ‘you’ve been my patient for a very long time and I want you to think seriously about this. Have you ever considered how hard it is to be a single mother?’

  ‘Well, we’re in the nineteen nineties now, not the Dark Ages!’ retorted Laura defiantly. ‘Lots of women do it.’

  ‘And lots of women have a hard and lonely time of it! Even if you can manage emotionally, it won’t be easy from a practical point of view. And I’m warning you now, your firm won’t be too happy about it. I know there are laws about discrimination, but they’re an old-fashioned conservative lot where you work, and it won’t do any good to your career.’

  ‘Stuff the firm!’

  Dr Williamson blinked.

  ‘Perhaps adoption—’ he began.

  ‘No!’ She was on her feet now and shouting. ‘I won’t have an abortion and I won’t give up my baby. And if my firm doesn’t want to employ me any more, I’ll go elsewhere!’

  Dr Williamson scratched his head.

  ‘Well, you’ll find it very difficult combining a baby and a full-time job wherever you go. Is there any chance the child’s father could help you?’

  ‘No!’ choked Laura, clenching her fists. ‘Don’t even mention it! Nobody can help me. I’m completely on my own.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘GARETH, it’s time for your nap!’

  ‘No!’ shouted the toddler joyfully, and took off at full pelt down the garden.

  Laura caught him up as he was trying to wriggle beneath the plumbago bush near the sandpit, and lifted him kicking and squealing into her arms. She really had been lucky finding a job in this small town in Queensland, where she could afford to rent a house with a garden—even if it did mean that Gareth spent most of his time looking like a sandminer. She gazed down fondly at his riotous brown curls, blue eyes, chubby cheeks and sturdy limbs.

  At just under two years of age, he didn’t resemble James in the slightest. In fact, he looked exactly like Laura’s mother. Even so, she could never catch a glimpse of him without feeling a sharp pang of regret that brought back memories of his father. But, however much pain he had caused her, Gareth was also the greatest joy of her life.

  She carried him inside to the bathroom and he giggled and twisted as she washed the sand off his hands and feet. He also hampered her efforts by trying to play pata-cake and singing.

  ‘This a way a farmer wide, Hobby gee, Hobby gee, Hobby gee.’

  Laura smiled and began to chant obligingly.

  This is the way the farmer rides

  Hobbledy gee

  Hobbledy gee

  Hobbledy gee

  This is the way the lady rides

  Trippety trip

  Trippety trip

  Trippety trip…

  The rollicking rhythm of the song brought back the memory of horses’ hooves thudding along a sandy beach. For an instant she was transported into another world of pounding breakers, howling winds and a tall, blackhaired man on a cavorting horse. She faltered and fell silent, staring into the distance. Gareth nudged her.

  ‘This a way a li’l boy wide, Tumba dow, dow, dow,’ he prompted.

  She smiled mistily at him. ‘Yes, darling.

  This is the way the little boy rides

  Cloppity clop

  Cloppity clop

  Cloppity clop

  Tumble down, down, down.’

  She tipped him backwards off her lap, shrieking with delight, then hauled him back up and kissed him.

  ‘Come on. Bed.’

  Carrying him upstairs, she tucked him into his cot and paused for a moment in the darkened room to cherish the sight of him snuggling up to his teddy. It’s a bad habit, hanging around like this when he’s trying to go to sleep, she told herself. I’m probably spoiling him, but he’s all I’ve got except for Bea, and I don’t see Bea much these days.

  She glanced up at the photo on the wall, which was a colour portrait of Sam, Bea, Laura and James outside the church on Bea’s wedding day. Laura would have preferred to have a photo without James, but Bea had brought this one with her on her visit last Christmas and Gareth had taken a fancy to it, insisting that it be hung on his bedroom wall. Following Laura’s gaze, he pulled his thumb out of his mouth with a pop and pointed at the photo.

  ‘Auntie Bea a pwincess,’ he announced.

  ‘No, not a princess, a bride.’

  ‘Mummy a bwide too.’

  ‘No, Gareth, Mummy’s not a bride.’

  ‘Mummy a bwide, Sam a bwide, James a bwide!’ insisted Gareth loudly.

  Halfway between laughter and tears, Laura retreated to the door
.

  ‘Go to sleep,’ she ordered.

  Downstairs in the kitchen she made herself a cup of coffee and sat sipping the hot, fragrant liquid and staring reflectively at the coils of steam that rose from it.

  ‘I wish I could get rid of that photo,’ she said aloud. ‘I hate having to see James every time I go into Gareth’s room.’

  Then she gave herself a small, impatient shake and reached for a seed catalogue. She must stop being so self-pitying. Really she had been incredibly lucky. Gareth was healthy and lively and she had fallen on her feet by finding this job and house in Queensland.

  After she had discovered that she was pregnant, she had resigned from her firm in Sydney, let out her flat and travelled north. Feeling that her life was spinning wildly out of control, she had decided to do the one thing she had always wanted and had travelled around visiting the national parks and botanical gardens. It had been a chance event which had brought her this parttime job, when she had seen an advertisement for a bookkeeper in a local nursery. Now she was firmly settled here on the Sunshine Coast and all her dreams had come true. Almost.

  ‘Well, eternal love is probably a myth anyway,’ she said bitterly. ‘And at least I’ve recovered from James.’

  The telephone rang. For some reason Laura felt a prickling sense of uneasiness, although she told herself that it was probably only Barbara, the owner of the nursery. She often dropped by for coffee on a Sunday afternoon. Picking up the receiver, she strove to speak calmly.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Laura? This is James Fraser.’

  Her heart almost stopped at the shock of hearing that familiar voice after so long. Had she really thought she was over it? What a fool she was! Her unsteady breathing and fluttering pulse told her she would never be over it. Then her initial astonishment was followed by frantic alarm as she realised that James would not have contacted her unless something serious had happened.

  ‘Is something wrong?’ she demanded sharply.

  ‘Yes, I’m afraid there is. Bea and Sam have had a car accident.’

  Her legs seemed to go from under her and there was a roaring noise in her ears as the room spun round her. Clutching at a kitchen chair for support, she slid down against the wall and sat on the floor with her legs stiffly extended like a wooden doll’s. Bea? No, not Bea! There must be some mistake. Bea couldn’t be badly hurt—not crazy, lovable Bea, who had always been more alive than anyone else. Dear God, it was impossible! A sudden, choking sob caught in her throat. James’s voice buzzed in her ear as if from a great distance.

  ‘Laura, are you there? Laura, answer me! Are you all right?’

  What would he care? she thought savagely. Fighting for control, she wiped away the hot salt tears that were sliding down her cheeks and forced herself to speak.

  ‘Yes, I’m here. James, how bad is it? Tell me the truth.’

  She could hear the rising note of panic in her voice and then James’s reply came back, cool and bracing.

  ‘It’s bad, Laura, but they’re not dead, either of them. They’re both in Intensive Care with fractures, and the doctors are afraid Bea’s broken her neck.’

  ‘Broken her neck? Oh, God! You don’t mean…she could be paralysed?’

  ‘We’re not sure about anything yet, except that we need you down here as soon as possible. Can you come?’

  ‘Of course,’ she said feverishly. Her gaze tracked wildly round the room. ‘But I’ll have to organise flights, money…’

  ‘I’ve already done that. Now, listen carefully—have you got a pen? I’ve booked you on a flight from Maroochydore at five past six this evening and it gets into Melbourne shortly after ten p.m. You stay overnight at the Airport Travelodge and catch the first flight to Hobart tomorrow morning at eight-fifteen, arriving at nine-twenty. I’ll meet you at the airport in Tasmania. Have you got all that?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Laura through frozen lips. Her brain was already leaping ahead to the subject of Gareth, suitcases, warm clothes for the Tasmanian winter, then it swung wildly back to the thought of Bea. Bea! Would she be in time to see her? What if the worst happened? And Sam—she had forgotten all about Sam! How badly hurt was Bea’s husband? ‘James, what about Sam? How’s he?’

  ‘Not well,’ said James in a matter-of-fact voice. ‘But not as bad as Bea. He has broken ribs, a punctured lung and a fractured fibula, but he’s conscious and expected to make a full recovery. I’ll tell you the details when I see you tomorrow.’

  ‘All right,’ she agreed with a shaky sigh. ‘Thank you for calling me.’

  ‘I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news,’ he said roughly. ‘I know how upsetting this must be for you, but you’ve always been brave, Laura, so don’t fail us now. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Laura hung up the receiver and howled. All the time that she was making frenzied dashes around the house, hauling suitcases out of cupboards and clothes out of drawers, she kept crying bitterly. She only managed to stop long enough to phone her boss, Barbara, and ask her to keep an eye on the house and organise a replacement bookkeeper.

  While she was cleaning out the refrigerator and pouring milk down the sink she suddenly went to pieces completely. She was still gulping and hiccuping when she heard a muffled thump overhead, followed by the sound of footsteps. Moments later a small, solid figure cannoned into her thigh and chubby arms hugged her violently.

  ‘What’s wong, Mummy?’

  ‘Gareth! How did you get out of bed?’

  ‘Gaweth cwimb out,’ he announced proudly. ‘Mummy cwying. Hurt aself?’

  He peered anxiously at her knees for signs of bloodstains and then looked up at her. The sight of those wide blue eyes brought her back to her senses. People were depending on her—she couldn’t just crack up! Seizing a length of paper towel, she tore it off and scrubbed her face with it, then gave him a watery smile.

  ‘I’m better now, darling. Would you like to come for a trip on a plane with Mummy?’

  The need to take care of her son helped her through that nightmare journey, even though she was so frustrated by the slowness of the flight that she longed to jump out and push. When they reached Melbourne late at night the homely, familiar task of giving Gareth a bath and getting him into bed gave her something to take her mind off her own desperate anxiety. Only when the blue waters of Bass Strait appeared beneath the wings of the plane the following morning and the first mountain peaks of Tasmania began to rear up ahead of them did her fears come hurtling back in full force.

  Poor Bea! She had thought she was coming to this island to live happily ever after, and now look what had happened! Staring down at the jagged blue peaks with their covering of white snow, Laura remembered Bea’s radiant joy on her wedding day and could not suppress the host of other memories that accompanied the thought. Memories of James…Not that it mattered. Nothing mattered now, except that Bea and her husband should recover from their injuries. Even the thought of confronting James in person no longer had the power to hurt Laura as it might once have done.

  A cold wind was whipping across the tarmac and rain was falling in a steady drizzle as she came down the front stairs of the plane. Exhausted by his long journey the previous day, Gareth had dozed off and was lying like a log across her shoulder, so that she had to struggle with him and a folding pushchair and an overnight bag. Luckily a middle-aged man came to her aid. Overriding her protests, he hoisted Gareth into his arms and took the pushchair, leaving Laura with the overnight bag.

  ‘Put your head down and we’ll make a run for the terminal,’ he advised.

  James was waiting just inside the building, wearing a dark cashmere coat that made him look extremely sombre. Laura had rehearsed this scene in her mind a million times, but she had never imagined that it would be like this. Even though she thought she hated him, she could not suppress a treacherous rush of relief at the sight of him, and with a low cry she ran forward and flung herself into his arms.

  In spite of the grim expression on his face, he gr
ipped her tightly. Once again she had the ridiculous feeling that he was as safe and unchangeable as a rock, that he would give her shelter and protection, no matter what went wrong. Gazing up at him, she saw that his black hair, tawny eyes and hawk-like features looked the same as ever, although he was more haggard than she had ever seen him.

  ‘How are they?’ she demanded urgently.

  ‘There’s no change, but don’t give up hope. Let’s find your suitcases and we’ll get out of here.’

  A man cleared his throat beside her, and she turned to see the passenger who had helped her off the plane.

  ‘Here’s your little boy,’ he said kindly. ‘Can you and your husband manage now?’

  Laura winced inwardly at his assumption that she was married to James, but she did not think it worth explaining.

  ‘Yes, we’ll be fine,’ she replied, reaching out her arms and taking the sleeping child from him. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  She realised that James was staring down at Gareth with an appalled expression on his face. Had he guessed the truth? Her heart began to hammer violently.

  ‘Is this your son?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Yes.’ She might have added, And yours, but she didn’t. Surely he would guess, in any case. Who else’s child could it be? Was it really likely that she would have had an affair with James while she was expecting somebody else’s baby? Or did he think she had conceived Gareth after they had parted? If only he would say something, anything.

  She looked at him, trying to read his thoughts in his face, but, as always, James was completely inscrutable. His lips tightened with some indefinable emotion, but she couldn’t guess what he was feeling. Anger? Jealousy? Indifference? Contempt? At last he shrugged, as if dismissing the issue.