It had only been days since they had discovered their love. Since that first kiss. Since Nick had needed reassurance that it was him she was in love with and that she wasn’t chasing Al’s ghost. Was she being naïve yet again in thinking they had overcome any obstacles?
She turned her face up to smile at Nick and felt the brush of snowflakes on her cheeks.
‘Do you remember…?’ she began, but then she trapped her next words by biting her lip.
What had Nick said the other night? That he couldn’t deal with hearing about Al all the time? This memory came from a time that had included Al so maybe she shouldn’t bring it up. It might spoil an otherwise perfect moment.
Would she always have to be careful what she said? Would the easy way in which Sam’s father was often spoken of become awkward? A no-go area even?
That would confuse Sam and if Fiona tried to explain, it might affect his relationship with Nick.
Lord, it was a potential minefield.
‘Do I remember what?’ Nick prompted.
‘That day we made the snowman.’
‘I’ve never forgotten a minute of it. You were not only the most gorgeous woman I’d ever seen but you really knew how to play.’ His voice dropped. ‘You were just perfect, Fi.’ He hugged her closer and Fiona let herself relax. She pushed those niggling doubts into submission. ‘You still are.’ With a glance to check that Sam was still busy on his own mission, he nuzzled Fiona’s neck. ‘Play with me tonight?’
The shiver of anticipation was, quite simply, delicious.
‘If Mum’s going to be home to babysit,’ Fiona murmured, ‘just try and stop me.’
‘If this weather keeps up, we might get snowed in for days.’
Fiona laughed again. ‘Even better!’
They didn’t get snowed in but it was bitterly cold on Sunday morning. Fiona had no intention of getting out of bed in any hurry.
Not when she was sharing this warmth with Nick.
And not when she was tired from lack of rest but so contented she felt like sufficient sleep was something she could happily forgo for the rest of her life.
‘Where did you learn to make love like that, Nicholas Stewart?’
‘It’s not me, it’s you.’ Nick’s hand traced the mound of Fiona’s shoulder and trailed down to skim her breast. ‘I’ve never experienced anything like last night before.’
‘Me neither.’
The raised eyebrow was a question. Did Nick really want to know how he compared with any past lovers? To his brother? Fiona wasn’t going to step anywhere near that minefield and there was no reason to. This was about Nick. No one else. But didn’t every man want reassurance that his love-making was the best? There was only one thing that really made the biggest difference.
‘I don’t think it’s me or you,’ she told him softly. ‘It’s the combination and the way we feel about each other. We’re perfect together, that’s all.’ So perfect it was almost too much to bear and so Fiona smiled. ‘In spite of me being an older woman.’
‘You know that’s never mattered a damn to me. Does it really bother you?’
‘Not any more. And the older we get, the less it’ll matter. By the time you’re fifty you’ll probably look ten years older than me.’
Nick lay back with a groan. ‘I feel ten years older this morning. Are you going to keep me up all night, every night?’
‘Yep.’ Fiona was unrepentant. ‘And seeing as it’s Sunday today, I might just keep you in bed till lunchtime.’
‘But it’s a day of rest.’
‘You can rest later.’ Fiona inched closer so that every possible patch of her skin was in contact with Nick’s.
The ringing of the phone on the bedside table was a very unwelcome intrusion.
‘You’re not on call, are you, Nick?’
‘No.’
‘Don’t answer it, then.’
‘But it might be for you.’
‘I’m not on call either.’ But she did have other responsibilities, didn’t she?
Like her son.
Nick picked up the phone. ‘Elsie,’ he said a moment later. ‘Is something wrong?’
Fiona snatched the phone from his hand. ‘Mum? What’s happened? Is Sam all right?’
‘He’s fine.’
‘Are you all right?’ Stupid question. She could tell from her mother’s voice that she was far from all right.
‘You won’t have seen the papers yet. Bernie’s here—he brought a copy with him.’
‘What’s happened? Who’s hurt? My God, something hasn’t happened to Hugh and Maggie, has it?’
‘No.’ Her mother was silent for a moment. ‘I can’t tell you over the phone, darling. I think it’s something you need to see for yourself. I’m sorry, but you’d better come home.’
CHAPTER NINE
THE telephone was ringing.
Again.
Bernie picked it up. ‘No,’ he said brusquely. ‘She has no comment to make.’
‘Turn it off,’ Elsie begged. She turned back to where Fiona and Nick sat at the dining-room table in the Murchison house, the pages of a national Sunday newspaper spread before them, an anxious frown creasing her face as she looked at her daughter. ‘You’re awfully pale, darling. Are you all right? Can I get you anything?’
Fiona shook her head in answer to both queries. Nothing was going to make this all right. Her world was in the process of crashing down around her.
‘I just don’t understand,’ she said, not for the first time. ‘How could this have happened? We’ve been so careful!’
‘Someone’s put two and two together,’ Bernie said heavily.
‘But how?’ Fiona cast a worried glance at Sam but he was busy, happily joining cardboard tubes into a long tunnel. Her son was blissfully unaware that his world was threatened. Fiona blinked back tears and her sad query was almost inaudible. ‘And why?’
‘That’s pretty obvious from the point of view of an outsider,’ Bernie said.
Fiona raised her eyebrows. This may not be the best way to meet the man who had captured her mother’s heart but right from the first handshake and sympathetic smile she had liked this man. He had the air of an intelligent person who had seen a great deal in his life but had retained compassion and tolerance.
Right now he was holding both his hands up in a gesture of resigned acceptance. ‘It’s a great story,’ he said frankly. ‘The brother of a world-famous driver at the scene of an accident rather similar to the one that killed his only sibling. Added bonus—the son of the famous driver has been living secretly under a different name in a small New Zealand town. His mother—who could still be living the life of the rich and famous—is a local heroine, responsible for saving lives.’ Bernie gave an incredulous huff. ‘I have to say I was blown away by it all.’
‘But how did they find out? Where did they get all these photos?’
‘That one of you was in the local papers last year,’ Elsie reminded her. ‘When the new helicopter arrived, remember?’
‘It’s a pretty old one of me,’ Nick said. ‘I think it was part of a National Geographic article on MSF.’
And the one of Alistair was the same one that took pride of place on the Murchisons’ mantelpiece. So familiar—but never seen printed right beside a picture of Nick.
‘I hadn’t noticed how like Al you look,’ Elsie murmured. ‘Maybe someone saw you and thought you were Alistair.’
Fiona said nothing. She’d been that someone, for just a heartbeat.
‘They’ve certainly taken that line.’ Bernie’s snort was contemptuous. ‘How sensationalist can you get?’ He read aloud from the article in the lifestyle section of the popular weekend newspaper. “‘Forget Elvis. There’s another king living the life of a recluse right here in New Zealand. Still alive? Almost. From the ashes of well-documented family tragedy, the Stewart clan is reborn…’”
Bernie’s voice trailed away. They had all read the words. Nobody wanted to hear them again. Fiona didn’
t dare look at Nick. She could just imagine how tightly bunched the muscles of his jaw would be. This was more than undoing any reassurance she had tried to give him—that she had known she had been kissing him and not some ghost.
‘Someone’s certainly done a bit of homework,’ Bernie said into the silence. ‘But I don’t think it would have been that difficult. Not with the kind of resources the internet can provide.’ He leaned over the newspaper again. ‘The name of that reporter doesn’t ring any bells for anyone? Trevor Hayes?’
‘No.’ Fiona leaned on her elbows, her forehead against her palms. ‘I don’t know any reporters except that local guy that did the stuff on the helicopter campaign. I certainly haven’t spoken to anyone recently.’
‘The campaign,’ Nick said slowly. Then he snapped his fingers. ‘Of course. Jeff.’
He had Bernie’s full attention instantly. ‘Who’s Jeff?’
‘He’s a freelance journalist. Got injured in the rally race incident and Fi’s kind of taken him under her wing since then. He’s supposed to be helping write publicity material for the new fundraising campaign coming up.’
‘He doesn’t know about my private life,’ Fiona said. She had made sure of that quite deliberately. ‘And he’s never met Sam.’
‘He saw his photo, though, didn’t he? On your desk.’
‘Oh, my God,’ Fiona breathed. She was staring back at Nick, a cold trickle of fear running down her spine. ‘And you…you said he was your nephew.’
Nick held her gaze but his expression became curiously bland. Did she think she was blaming him for this?
Maybe she was, indirectly. He was the only person who had the surname that could have led to a successful internet search for someone who was curious. Or maybe someone who had known what they had been looking for. How long had Jeff been interested in the rally car scene? Who had he been talking to?
‘What name does Sam have on his birth certificate?’ Bernie asked.
‘Murchison-Stewart,’ Fiona replied. ‘But he’s only registered as Murchison at his kindergarten.’
‘That’s what I really don’t like.’ Elsie set a teapot down on the table. ‘The idea that they were at Sam’s kindy, taking photos, and we didn’t know anything about it. What were they thinking?’
‘I think I’ll look into that,’ said Bernie.
Fiona turned again to look at her son. Sam had propped one end of his long tunnel up on cushions and was poking his small cars into the hole. They came shooting out the other end. Sam looked up and grinned. ‘Did you see that, Uncle Nick? Did you see how fast it went?’
‘Sure did, buddy.’
‘I’ll do it again,’ Sam said. ‘Watch!’
Fiona watched as well but she couldn’t share Sam’s enjoyment. The picture in the newspaper had been of Sam playing with cars. Not that it would have been hard to stage and it couldn’t have been a better shot for the angle the article had taken. A child who had car racing in his blood, being hidden away and denied a world he could have been part of. A world that would be many a small boy’s dream.
Was she really a villain, trying to give him an ordinary life?
Bernie was watching Sam as well and Fiona didn’t like the concern she could see on the retired detective’s face.
‘This guy’s got a hell of a nerve,’ Nick was saying. ‘Fancy suggesting that a fundraising campaign for the ambulance service is hardly necessary, given the kind of wealth you must have tucked away.’
‘Are they exaggerating?’ Bernie asked quietly.
Fiona shrugged, swallowing a new prickle of fear. ‘They’re not far off the truth.’ And the children of very wealthy people could be a target for such horrors as kidnapping, couldn’t they?
Elsie saw the look that passed between Bernie and Fiona and the tea she was pouring wobbled and slopped onto the tabletop. She picked up a serviette and mopped at the puddle.
‘Oh, my…’ she worried aloud. ‘I hadn’t thought of anything like that. What will we do? Keep Sam at home?’
‘No!’ Fiona didn’t mean to sound so fierce but she had worked too hard to create this life for herself and her family. She wasn’t going to let it be ruined.
The possibility of this happening had occurred to her, hadn’t it? Back when she had first seen Nick at the disaster scene that day. When she had just crossed her fingers that nobody would make the connection.
How naïve. It had only been a matter of time. What on earth made her think it would be possible to have a relationship with Alistair’s brother and not step back into a world she had been so determined to leave behind?
And what would the papers make of that when it became known, as it inevitably would? She’d be more than an over-protective mother then. Keeping it all in the family, the headline would probably suggest. Who better to replace a dead hero husband than the spare younger brother?
Nick would find that as intolerable as she would.
It could never work.
The domino effect was making her head spin but it really didn’t matter what the fallout was for her, did it? She’d been through worse. The only thing that really mattered was Sam and his safety. Emotional as well as physical.
The sound of a cellphone ringing made them all jump.
‘It’s mine,’ Nick said. ‘Excuse me.’ He got up from the table as he answered the call, walking away to converse with someone. He smiled at Sam—still sending cars down the cardboard tunnel—as he went past. On his way back he paused to click the wheels back onto the faulty blue car.
‘It’ll go faster now.’ He moved towards Fiona but stopped a pace or two away.
A safe distance?
‘There’s a woman I really should see at the hospital,’ he said apologetically. ‘One of our geriatric patients who sounds like she’s running into a bit of heart failure.’ His smile was grim. ‘And Lizzie tells me there’s a couple of reporters hanging around. What do you want me to say to them?’
Too much had already been said. ‘Nothing,’ Fiona snapped.
‘Maybe I could take the spotlight away from you,’ Nick said quietly. ‘And from Sam.’
‘Not a bad idea,’ Bernie said.
‘It’s my fault they’ve made the connection,’ Nick continued. ‘So I’d like to try and repair the damage. I could give them an interview. Tell them what it was like to come face to face with my personal ghosts at that disaster and deal with them.’
She’d been a personal ghost, hadn’t she? Fiona clung to Nick’s gaze. Had he ‘dealt’ with her? What the hell was he intending to tell the media about that?
‘You’d only encourage them,’ she said. ‘They’ll be hounding you. You won’t be able to go anywhere without people pointing you out as Alistair Stewart’s brother.’
‘So what’s new?’ Nick’s smile was devoid of any amusement. ‘I was dreaming to think I could escape my past, Fi. It could never work.’
Did he mean getting away from being overshadowed by his older brother?
Or was he echoing her grim fear for the future of any relationship between them?
‘You’d better do what you think is best, then,’ she said tightly. ‘You’ve probably had more practice in dealing with reporters than any of us. You grew up with them after all.’
Maybe he would even enjoy the attention—the way every other member of his family always had. No, enjoyment wasn’t quite the right word for their attitude to the media. It had been more like a need. A kind of addiction. As though they hadn’t existed unless other people had noticed. This was bringing back all sorts of unpleasant memories for Fiona. Addictions could be hereditary. Maybe this was the start of Nick’s turn to be famous.
‘I’m not without a bit of experience myself,’ Bernie said. ‘I’ll deal with anyone who comes here today.’
Nick nodded. ‘And maybe it’s better if I don’t come back here today.’
Fiona had to look away from Nick’s steady gaze. He wanted her to contradict the suggestion but right now Fiona just wanted to gather her f
amily around her and lock the doors.
To try and turn the clock back and make her life as safe as it had been.
Before Nick had come here.
‘Mummy! My tunnel’s broken!’
‘Is it, sweetheart? Let me see.’ The move to help Sam was automatic. It was also a perfect delaying tactic so Fiona could decide the best way to handle this situation. For her own sake, she wanted to have Nick close. He, of all people, should be able to understand why she had to fight any pull back to Al’s world. But for her family…? It had been Nick’s presence that had started this. The closer he was, the more interest would be taken. Especially in Sam. The new generation. The Stewart the world hadn’t known about.
The decision was made by not being made. By the time Fiona walked towards Sam and then looked back, Nick was gone.
CHAPTER TEN
IT WAS late afternoon by the time Nick folded his long frame into the driver’s seat of his car and headed home.
Back to Hugh’s house.
He couldn’t go back to the Murchisons’. Not when Fiona’s silence had been acquiescence to his offer to stay away.
It had stopped raining but the roads were wet. It wasn’t until he almost lost traction on a corner that Nick realised the speed he was travelling at and he groaned aloud as he slowed the vehicle. What the hell was he doing?
Trying to become his brother?
He’d stopped doing that at ten years old. When he’d realised that he didn’t stand a chance of winning the kind of unconditional love his parents had lavished on Al.
When he’d escaped into the fantasy that books could provide—at least until he’d found a new outlet in academia. He’d excelled in medical school but that had been enough to impress his adventurous parents and brother, had it? None of them had attended his graduation. They’d all been too busy, away competing in their chosen sports.
Dammit! He hadn’t thought this much about the past in years. Wouldn’t have believed it was possible to still feel that old resentment. It felt like he was travelling backwards, dismantling the life he had built. Maybe that was because it had been built on shaky foundations.
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